Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2)

by Suzanne Halliday

  Angie almost choked to death on the margarita she was sipping. Girlfriend? Had the word GIRLFRIEND come out of her aunt’s mouth? She was seriously going to murder that man. A girlfriend? Really? Fuck. Hadn’t seen that coming.

  “Oh, Wendy. I don’t think she was a hillbilly. That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? To the hillbillies, I mean,” Uncle Matt drawled with a sarcastic bite.

  As her aunt and uncle cracked up over what was obviously an inside joke, Angie glared malevolently at Parker. At least she thought her look was menacing. Was hard to tell. Tequila always made her face feel numb, but it was just so damn yummy when it came to her in one of Uncle Matt’s crafted margaritas that before she realized the folly of her ways, she was double fisting the tasty drinks and pounding them down like ice water.

  “Girlfriend?” Shit. Had she slurred that out loud?

  Glancing at her then back at his mother, Parker griped, “Ma, let it go. That was a year ago and I told you. She wasn’t rude—just . . . insensitive.”

  Wendy laughed and pushed the hair from her son’s forehead. “Thank god you came to your senses.”

  “I need some air,” Angie mumbled, scrambling awkwardly to her feet.

  Learning that Parker had at some point been with a girlfriend was making the excellent dinner she’d just inhaled rumble menacingly in her belly.

  “Why don’t you take Angie out back, son?” Uncle Matt suggested. “It’s a beautiful sunset. We’ll all go out to the patio for a while. I’ll just help your mom clear everything away and join you two in a bit.”

  “Go on, now,” Wendy encouraged. “Matt, honey. Freshen their drinks. And Parker?” she added. “Show Angie my violets in the greenhouse.”

  There was a lot of hustling and bustling, chairs scraped on the floor, dishes and glasses clinked as they were gathered but all she could focus on was the term girlfriend.

  Taking their drinks, Parker nodded solemnly, “Come on.” Nodding toward the patio door with his head, Angie considered kicking him—like she would have when she was five years old—instead of going anywhere with him.

  The sound her boots made as she stomped ahead of him seemed to mock Angie. A girlfriend changed everything, right? Who was she kidding? Remembering that she’d been cavorting with a fiancé around the same time only diminished her displeasure by degrees. How dare he have a girlfriend?

  Flouncing dramatically across the patio, she dropped clumsily onto a swing bed hanging beneath a heavy wood frame and stared glumly at her date for the evening. Where five minutes ago she might have considered stretching out with him on the distinctive outdoor swing, at the present second she was considering pushing him down and jumping on him—to tear his heart out.

  “Here,” he drawled pushing the icy cold drink into her hands. “She wasn’t a girlfriend. She was a lawyer in the Public Defender’s office. Did I see her a couple of times? Yes. It wasn’t serious, though. I swear.”

  “Oh?” She winced at the shrill sound of her voice. Yep. Drunk. Or damn close. Knowing that, unfortunately, didn’t stop her mouth from continuing to snarl. “Then how come your mother met her? Usually when the parents enter the picture it’s more than a. . . .”

  “Nope,” he muttered swinging his head side to side. “Nope, nope, nope.”

  Was that the tequila talking? She couldn’t be sure.

  “Whatever you’re thinking . . . just, NO.”

  “Did you sleep with her?” Oh, my god. Had she lost her mind? Never ask a question unless you were prepared to hear the answer.

  “That’s not fair, baby girl.” His voice was deceptively calm though she saw the rigid tension in his spine.

  “How do you figure?” Angie’s tone? One hundred and ten percent courtesy of the tequila.

  And then she saw his jaw clench and eyes narrow dangerously. Oh no, no, no! Wait. Shitfuck. Well, too late now. Open mouth—insert foot.

  “I’m not the one who was engaged.”

  Having asked for the harsh rebuke, she gulped. No. Really. An actual gulp. His quiet voice was also ripe with a hostility that burned her like a brand.

  Swiping her tongue along the rim of the salted glass, she tipped the tasty drink and swallowed a huge mouthful—probably a mistake, but hey, tequila and mistakes are bosom buddies, right?

  The most awful hideous uncomfortable silence ensued while he stood in front of her as she huddled on the swing bed alternating between biting her lip and tossing back her drink.

  “Were you really going to marry that asshole?” The emphasis he placed on marry sounded an awful lot like he was accusing her of contemplating something heinous and disgusting.

  Okay. That was definitely the alcohol talking. Until now, he’d tossed off a few disparaging remarks where Aldo was concerned but this was the first time he actually challenged her outright. How come she felt like she owed him an apology?

  “I don’t know,” she whispered miserably. She stopped from voicing the rest of her thought, which was that, at the time, she figured if she couldn’t have what she wanted, well, she might as well accept what she had. Twisted, yeah. But there you have it.

  And what she’d wanted? Then and now? He was standing there, inches away, glaring down at her sparking feelings that were making her uncomfortable. Part of her cringed—How could she? Another part, howled—How dare he?

  This time, the alcohol helped her find some cocky bravado as she pithily informed him, “Don’t you dare fucking judge me.”

  His head snapped back at her angry words.

  “I still had one foot planted in my teenage years when you made me your plaything without any goddamn thought to what that was going to do to me. Demonstrate your mastery of my body? Mission accomplished. And congratulations for setting a standard that no other could ever possibly meet.”

  She saw his eyes flare at the bold admission and wanted to throttle the arrogant jackass.

  “But what all that did to my head . . . well,” she bit out. “Did you ever once stop to consider what you were doing to my mind? And my heart?”

  “Shit, Angel,” he muttered.

  “I need a man who will pick me up when I’m down. Someone who will have my back even when I’m full of shit!”

  Tossing back the end of her margarita, she downed it with theatrical precision and laid the empty glass on a side table.

  Rising a bit unsteadily to her feet, she straightened her blouse and smoothed her skirt then fixed him with a pained frown. “Expressed clumsily . . . perhaps, but no different than hearing what you expect of me—if you think about it.”

  The intensity of his expression held her fast. A nerve had been tapped, she could see it in his eyes.

  “So when you judge me, you judge yourself,” she ended in a whisper.

  He looked at her. Really at her.

  “I want the master, Parker. Not the judge.”

  She saw when her words hit home. The air around them was crackling with static energy that made her skin prickle.

  “Do you know what you’re saying?” he asked sharply.

  Angie shrugged. “No. Not really. Tequila brain and all.”

  A sound came from behind them. His parents were coming, and from the sound of their boisterous laughter, the party was just getting started.

  “This discussion is not over,” he growled a second before Uncle Matt smacked him soundly on the back.

  “Help your mother, my boy,” he said. “And let your old man enjoy this lovely young lady’s smile for a bit.”

  PARKER REALLY WANTED ANOTHER DRINK, but he was driving later and needed to start shaking off the buzz, not adding to it. But motherfucker, he was practically undone and feeling how he imagined someone who bungee jumped felt after being left hanging upside down for too long.

  Watching his folks fawn all over Angie had been a test of his composure. He knew his dad adored her. Shit, the man was president of her fan club and he was his damn father, but that didn’t stop him wanting to shove him aside and stake his claim of the sexy raven-
haired woman with the naughty pout on her crimson lips and the sweet twinkle in her sapphire eyes. What the hell was wrong with him?

  They were discussing some shared adventure from his parents’ most recent trip to Europe that Angie was a part of. He listened impassively; his mind drifting from thought to thought. After a bit, his father wandered away and Parker focused on just the two women huddled together on the big swing.

  The saints had blessed him with the most amazing mother. She was smart, funny, clever, irreverent, and Parker’s first love. His father had taught him from the cradle to cherish this gift from the heavens and that his mother was the queen of the universe as far as his dad was concerned.

  For the first time, he understood all those feelings and sentiments in a way he never had previously.

  “Here we go,” his father boomed a bit too loudly. “One guitar, as requested.”

  Parker jumped, sat up from his slouch and flinched when his dad shoved the instrument not into his hands, but into Angie’s.

  What the fuck?

  Angie reacted just as startled as he felt and looked helplessly at his mom.

  “Will you play that song, sweetie? The one you sing for your mom and dad?” his mother asked quietly.

  “Oh, Aunt Wendy,” Angie cried. “I can’t. You know I can’t,” she wailed softly—giving him a hurried side-glance that grabbed his attention.

  Song for her mom and dad? What song and why won’t she play it?

  “You’re right, my dear,” his mom said as she patted Angie reassuringly on the arm. “But play something else. You know Uncle Matt loves when you sing.”

  Angie giggled and shook her head no.

  With a self-deprecating smirk, she asked, “Wouldn’t you rather hear Parker play?”

  Dammit if his mom didn’t toss back her head and laugh.

  “Aren’t you cute,” she teased Angie. Turning to his dad, she giggled and said, “Matt, honey. Isn’t that cute? She thinks your son actually plays for us.”

  His dad snorted and held his drink aloft in salute.

  “I take that as a no, then?” Angie quipped.

  Settling the guitar on her lap, she crossed her legs and pushed her hair out of the way. She’d worn a simple white blouse unbuttoned to the top of her cleavage and tucked into a long, flared denim skirt that had a wide leather belt the same color as her lace-up ankle boots

  She looked like a cross between a modern day Laura Ingalls and a denim-clad Megan Fox with overtones of Snow White. He almost laughed at the absurd thought until admitting the comparison was right on. She had Snow’s delicate beauty and innocence blended together with the actresses hot sexiness all dressed up in some Little House on the Prairie clothes. Fan-fucking-tastic. He wanted to fuck Laura Snow Fox.

  Okay. Definitely no more to drink ‘cause that was funny as shit. Laura Snow Fox. That one was a keeper.

  Angie was quietly strumming the guitar, talking with his mom who sat by her side smiling warmly.

  There was something about the way her long, delicately tapered fingers swept across the strings that made his blood heat. Remembering how it felt to lay still beneath those same fingers as they explored his body, and every grunt, sigh, and quiver her tactile inspection drew from him, sparked a lusty chain reaction inside Parker.

  Out of nowhere, his father leaned over and drawled close to his head, “That’s a special woman, son. Don’t fuck around,” he growled. “You hear me, boy?”

  Could this get any weirder? The patriarchal threat of good behavior or else, he expected from Angie’s father. After all, it was the man’s right and as it should be. But hearing his own father admonishing him not to be a dick? Wow, that was eye opening.

  The first few chords of a familiar song vibrated in the evening air. What was that? He listened a few more seconds. It was pretty. Melodic. She, of course, played beautifully.

  He knew what the song was the second she started singing. Five seconds in his mom captured the harmony and the two women belted out a spine-tingling rendition of Sheryl Crow’s Strong Enough.

  Parker suspected she was singing the song to him, then knew for sure she was when on the last verse, she locked eyes with him.

  How much plainer or clearer could she make what she’d said before? His angel wanted the master. Not the judge.

  “I’m on it.”

  Alex saw Meghan tense all the way from across the room. He’d been on the phone with his father for the past half hour listening as the man went back and forth between dire threats and hopeful ramblings about the Angie-Parker situation.

  Seemed like the cat was out of the bag and from what his dad was saying, it was Angie herself who confessed everything to their mother. He was going to kill her when she got back from Uncle Matt and Aunt Wendy’s for not fucking warning him that she’d spilled her guts. Maybe if he’d known that they knew, he’d have been better prepared to handle his dad instead of what was happening now.

  He had to end the call and see about Meghan. Frankly, he was sick to death of the Angie-Parker dance. Knowing well where the man’s tastes lay, Alex couldn’t understand why he didn’t just stop all of Angie’s flightiness with a bit of caveman.

  “Look, Dad,” he muttered, scraping his hand against his skull and across his face. “Angelina’s a big girl. I know she’s the baby and everything, but we have to give her a chance to figure this out for herself. You know Parker’s a good guy and I think she’ll pull her head out of her ass eventually so just chill, okay? As I said, I’m on it.”

  After that last statement, he heard Meghan slam something onto her vanity followed seconds later by the distinctive sound of water rushing into the huge soaking tub in the bathroom.

  Cornering her in a tub full of bubbles would make calming her down a whole hell of a lot easier. He knew exactly what was bothering her, making quick decisions on his feet as to how to proceed.

  Promising to call with any news, he ended the call and tossed the phone onto his nightstand with a frustrated grunt.

  It was time to tell her. He couldn’t stand to see her bent out of shape—not that she didn’t have a cause.

  Reefing his t-shirt over his head, he wadded it up and tossed it into the hamper in a perfect three-point throw from the outside. Deftly undoing the heavy buckle on his jeans, he peered over his shoulder toward the doorway to the bath after yanking his zipper down and pushing the denim down his legs.

  He picked up the scent of warm vanilla, one of his favorite for shared bath times and quirked a half smile. Surely, she realized the smell was like an invitation to join her.

  Naked, he walked in her direction. Though it was something she didn’t normally do, his woman was sulking—for good reason, and he was going to thoroughly enjoy making it all better.

  She was already in the tub, her glorious red curls in a sexy mess atop her head. With her head tilted back along the edge, he admired the long arch of her neck and licked his lips. He wanted to bite her there.

  Growling, he demanded that she make room for him, knowing his Alpha bullshit would earn him a snicker and a leer. Her answering smirk reminded Alex how much she got off on his lord and master routine.

  Settling in behind her in the tub, Alex put an arm around her waist and pulled her back against him. Taking the sudsy pouf from her hands, he swept it across her chest from shoulder to shoulder right above the water line.

  “All right,” he murmured when she sighed and relaxed against him, laying her head upon his chest. “Go on—I already know what you’re going to say, but say it out loud, baby.”

  Some serious over-reactive shit almost went down when he heard a tiny quiver in her voice.

  “Energy. Other people’s. I love Angie, and though it pisses you off, I sorta love Parker, too.”

  Dickhead,” he muttered for effect and because he knew she’d smile.

  “But look what’s happening. Your parents are in a tizzy about those two. And there they’ll both be—standing by our sides at the altar and I’m sorry for bein
g such a bitch but you know damn well Parker’s parents will be hearing wedding bells for those two and from what I just gathered, your parents are on board with that.”

  No. She wasn’t a bitch. He totally got where she was coming from. Those vows were the most important words either of them would ever speak out loud. She wasn’t wrong or crazy for wanting nothing but love and light to surround them at that moment.

  He continued to slowly wash her, raising one arm at a time and running the pouf across her skin.

  “Baby,” he started in a gravely voice. “I have something to tell you, and I want you to stay calm and just listen. Okay?”

  She went absolutely still. Well, fuck. At least he knew he had her full attention.

  “Breathe, Meghan,” he admonished softly.

  Her head turned on his chest until she could look up at him, those alluring green eyes drawing him in.

  “Don’t say anything until you kiss me,” she whispered in a small voice.

  Ah. She needed some reassurance before he spoke. His heart thudded. This was the way it was with them. Nothing came before this—the connection. Seeing her need gave him dick butterflies.

  He put a finger beneath her chin for leverage and lowered his mouth to hers kissing her tenderly, never letting the passion that was ready to explode take control. One thing at a time.

  “Better?” he asked with a smile after thoroughly kissing her until the tension left her body.

  She nodded and relaxed in his wet embrace.

  Discarding the pouf, Alex reached into the water and found her hands, twining his fingers through hers and resting them on her stomach below where her breasts bobbed weightlessly.

  “I wanted to wait a little longer and surprise you with this, but we’re close enough anyway,” he told her. “You’ll be jetting off with Angie sooner than we realize and after that, we won’t have any privacy until after the wedding.”

  He liked the way she sighed. What a pair they made!

  “You saved me, Meghan O’Brien. The day you walked through my door, I felt like my life came back after a long journey through a dark hell that nearly destroyed me. You are my only love, and I would do anything to see you happy,” he told her.