Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2)

by Suzanne Halliday

  Her fingers squeezed his. “I know,” she whispered.

  Alex took a deep breath. He hoped to god she was on board with what he was proposing ‘cause, if she wasn’t, he was screwed in more ways than one.

  “I’ve been thinking. You’re right. Our families would be crushed if we eloped, but maybe there’s another way to have the private, spiritual moment we want while still giving everyone who’s supported us what they want, too.”

  She shifted in the water and looked at him. Her hands were like two tense blocks so he kissed the tip of her nose and grinned.

  “What have you done, Major?” she asked warily.

  There was something enormously fucking cool about knowing he’d get to hear her ask that question a zillion times in the years ahead of them. He was always going to be fucking shit up and she would always shake her head and use that tone—call him Major for good measure and do her best to keep him in line.

  Letting go of her hands, he placed his over her floating breasts and gave a gentle squeeze.

  “How does this sound? The day after St. Patrick’s Day, which I specifically chose so you’d always remember,” he snickered. “You and I wander out to Amor Vórtice. We’ll get dressed up, take some flowers, whatever you want. And we’ll have our own private ceremony. Say the things we need to say—the way we want to say them.”

  She turned in his arms so fast that water sloshed from the tub.

  “Are you serious?”

  Yeah, he was serious, but he hadn’t even told her the best part yet, and maybe he wouldn’t have to. Perhaps he could keep that one secret a bit longer.

  “Would that make you happy, baby?” he asked cautiously.

  “Oh, my god! Alex!” she cried. Throwing herself on him, she started pressing feverish kisses all over his face while her hands gripped his head.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” She laughed joyfully. “Oh my god, yes!”

  He laughed, astonished his half suggestion of some dress-up time out in the desert and the promise of some pretty words was apparently enough to make her content. God, but she was ridiculously easy to please and boy, was she in for a surprise. The rest of his laugh was for Carmen who was going to want to kill them both because he had no doubt they were about to make one holy hell of a mess in that bathroom.

  With nothing more than the promise of a pretty dress and some flowers, she was all over him.

  I’m a lucky man, he thought. Luckiest son-of-a-bitch alive.

  “YOU OKAY TO DRIVE, SON?” Matthew Sullivan sternly quizzed. Parker had to smile. He didn’t take shit from anyone because he learned the trait from his father. The warm and fuzzy teddy bear side of him might have been on display this evening, but his old man could be a complete nightmare. Not as much now after his heart scare, but the guy had serious balls. Parker wouldn’t even try to fuck around where his father was concerned.

  “I’m good, Dad,” he assured him. “Am well acquainted with those death-by-cocktail pitchers of fun you mix up, so I knew when to back off.”

  “Don Julio, my boy. Will kick you in the ass every time!”

  “Indeed,” he drawled.

  Where the fuck was Angie? She trotted off after his mother a good twenty minutes ago. Women. Jesus. Didn’t they ever look at the damn time? They had a long drive in the dark back to the Villa and he wasn’t looking forward to Alex sitting by the door with a shotgun in his lap waiting for his sister to be delivered safely from Parker’s lecherous clutches.

  His dad snickered at Parker’s restlessness. “Get used to it,” he quipped.

  Hmph. “Uh, Dad,” he half-blurted. “You don’t have a problem with me and Angie, do you?”

  “I have a huge problem with you and that little girl, son, but I’m counting on you being the man I raised. You do right by her or heaven help you.”

  “She’s making me nucking futz,” he muttered. “Didn’t talk to me for years, ignored my ass completely despite how close our families are. And now that she’s here and in my face? You’d think I’d never been with anyone before.”

  “That bad, huh? Welcome to the club, son. Y’know, I was seeing somebody else when I met your mom, but all it took was one glance followed by a double-barrel unloading of her wiseass mouth and that other girl may as well have been invisible—it was that quick and that overwhelming. The family curse, my boy.” He laughed. “Just like my dad. We fall hard, the Sullivan men do. When they meet their match, there’s just no other.”

  “Do you think it’s creepy?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Parker sighed and searched for a way to express his worries. “She’s like my sister.”

  Matthew Sullivan roared with laughter.

  “No, she’s not! I hear what you’re saying but look at it this way.”

  Parker searched his dad’s smiling face and prayed he had some words of wisdom ‘cause no matter how anyone spun this thing, it was right on the line.

  “You’ve always felt protective of her, haven’t you?”

  Well, it would be fruitless to deny it. Between him and Alex, they’d all but investigated each of her teachers when she started school and even as teenagers would have gladly punched out any sniveling five-year-old brat on the playground who wanted to act the bully.

  “Yeah,” he mumbled.

  “And, after a while, that protective impulse got a bit blurred. Started feeling more possessive maybe?”

  His eyes swung to his dad’s. Uh . . . that was exactly what happened.

  “You believe in destiny, don’t you, son?”

  Hmmm. Did he?

  “I think Alex and his bride are a great example of how that destiny and fate thing works.”

  Good point, Parker thought with a slight head nod.

  “Maybe what you’ve been experiencing all these years isn’t so much brotherly as the stirrings of your destiny. With that girl. Something for you to think about.”

  “There you two are!” his mother cried as she ushered Angie out of the house to where he and his dad were standing by his car. “Sorry about the delay but I wanted Angie to have some violets to take with her.”

  Parker chuckled. His mom’s newest passion was growing violets and exotic plants in her hi-tech greenhouse off the garage.

  “Look,” Angie gushed, holding up a little pot of the purple flowers. Throwing an arm around his mom’s neck, she hugged her tight. “Thanks, Aunt Wendy. I love them!”

  “Do you know what the symbolism of the little flowers is?”

  He and Angie shook their heads.

  “Violet folklore says the little flowers depict a simple, delicate love. The kind that needs plenty of care to thrive and bloom.”

  Good lord. Were parents always this obvious?

  “All right, all right,” he teased as he went to his mom for a good-bye hug. After kissing her dutifully, he murmured low so only she could hear, “Give it a rest, Mom.”

  She smiled sweetly, patted him like a good boy on the chest, and shooed him into the car. His dad had already handled getting Angie settled, effectively robbing Parker of the chance to get close and touch her. Balls.

  After one more round of good-byes through the open windows, he rolled the car out of the driveway, turned the wheel toward the highway, tooted the horn, and off they went into the night.

  Whoa. How much had she had to drink? Angie wondered. Feeling as if she was enveloped in a cloud of soft warmth, she let out a deep sigh and turned to look at Parker. With her elbow resting on the door, she fingered a long curl while contemplating how seriously hot he looked.

  Had he looked that yummy when he picked her up earlier? She couldn’t remember because Alex had been a complete asshole, hovering about, playing the overprotective brother. Seriously. She wanted to smack him—and especially so if his bullshit had distracted her from noticing the drool-worthy hunk sitting next to her.

  The serious, formal lawyer-esque thing he usually did was not in evidence this evening. Nope. Tonight he was rock ‘n’ roll Parker with hi
s inner rebel on clear display and she loved it.

  Because their evening had been dinner at home with his folks, everyone had been super casual. Another thing she enjoyed about the rhythm of life in the Southwest. There was a time and place for dress-up and doing things properly but a relaxed family get-together wasn’t it.

  And tonight, Parker looked like all the best things about every drool-worthy country boy rock star rolled into one. Faded t-shirt? Check. The close-up inspection would reveal it was an old and well-worn Garth Brooks concert shirt. Hmph. Made sense.

  The jeans? Well, they were old too and fit him perfectly. Too perfectly, molding to his thighs and butt while challenging her to look at the zipper area and not blush.

  Keeping the pink tinge at bay was made harder by the oddly breathless reaction she was having to the belt he wore. Nothing special, it was dark leather, looked well-used and probably soft to the touch . . . something her fingers itched to discover on their own.

  “You’re staring a hole through my brain, Angel.”

  Dropping the curl she’d been absently twirling, Angie snickered and for some insane reason reached out and pushed the hair off his forehead with a rumbling sigh.

  “Sorry,” she grimaced with a smile. “I was just admiring your attire,” she mocked.

  “My attire?”

  “Yeah.” She chuckled. “Guess I’m just a little astonished that at your age . . . well, you know. That you can still carry off the jeans and t-shirt thing.”

  He started to sputter at her jibe, just as she knew he would, but she was already off and running in another direction before he could say anything.

  “Oh! Let’s have some music!” she cried gleefully.

  Making herself at home with the controls of his car, she cracked the moonroof, adjusted the dual temperature settings, and commandeered the satellite radio, scanning stations until she found something she liked.

  She was killing him. First, she subjected him to an visual pat down that got his blood boiling and thoughts racing. He might be driving, but Parker knew when his junk was being checked out and had glanced over to find her seemingly hypnotized by his crotch while she toyed with a long curl and chewed her lip.

  Being looked at like he was about to become her main course, after a long fast, sorely tested him. He was only human, after all, so, of course, he contemplated pulling over because there certainly were plenty of remote roads to park along but that would have only ended with him dragging her tipsy ass from her seat and slam fucking her from behind on the hood of the damn car.

  Mmmmm. Probably not a good idea.

  Ordinarily, he could make the trip between his folks’ house and the Marquez Villa in forty-five minutes if he was flying, which meant it was really an hour long trip. Thoroughly enjoying himself and the company he was keeping, he slowed down. Big time. At best, they meandered down a dark sparsely traveled road as Parker relaxed and got his groove on with the Angel show happening in his passenger seat.

  She was singing along and bouncing in her seat having proclaimed that she was “car dancing” at the top of her lungs over the sound of some Jay Z song thumping through the speakers. If she got any more adorable, it would be criminal.

  “Take me dancing sometime?” she husked breathlessly between songs. She was leaning on the console between them scanning satellite stations, completely unaware that he was hanging by a thread.

  For as long as he could remember, Angie barreled through life with a full head of steam at all times. It wasn’t even a little unusual for her to ask a question or make a bold statement and then seconds later be off on to something else. Keeping up with her was exhilarating.

  “Hey!” she chirped happily. “Will you dance with me tomorrow night at Pete’s? You know what this car needs?” she asked waving her hand at the displays and the dashboard.

  Lord. Talk about a complete about face.

  “A bar. Like right here,” she pointed where the GPS screen was. “Fuck that navigation stuff. A bar though would be so cool. With those little bottles, you get in a mini-bar. I love those little bottles. They’re so cute!”

  He chuckled. A bar? Really? “Don’t know how practical that would be, baby girl. With the driving and all.”

  “Oh,” she mumbled settling back heavily in her seat sounding miffed

  Parker was biting back a laugh when she suddenly blurted out, “That’s what the limo is for! Oh, my god! Red was right.”

  Looking at him with a solemn expression that completely belied how absurd the conversation was, she drawled, “We should have used the limo.”

  “Is that the alcohol talking?” he asked with a smile.

  “Maybe a little,” she shrugged with a hair toss worthy of an Oscar. “But I assure you, counselor,” she told him pointedly, “I am far from drunk.”

  “My dad’s margaritas are a legend, you know. And he prides on having experimented with a whole slew of different tequilas. They sorta creep up on you.”

  “Don’t let me forget the little pot of violets in the backseat. I love your mom,” she sighed and just like that they were talking about something different.

  He made sure to take his good ol’ time getting her home and knew a bit of regret when he turned down the long road onto the Marquez property.

  Truth be told, he loved the feeling he got, especially at night—like now, when he’d pull into the big circular drive that curved outside the vine-covered iron gates leading up to the winding walkway leading to the massive hacienda’s front door.

  Rather than bathe the house with glaring outdoor lights, Alex had gone with subtle ground lighting carefully hidden among the plantings and trees that gave the old distinctively Spanish architecture a warm, romantic feel. He understood why everyone loved this place so much. It was special, unique, and had for generations been the home base of a family he was proud to know.

  As he was lifting Angie down from her seat, she started whispering like it was two hours past her curfew.

  “Sh, sh!” she breathed with a finger to her mouth. “Come on,” she whispered. “We need a drink.”

  “Do we, now?” he smirked. Oh man, what was she thinking? “What about your violets?”

  “Pssh, I don’t think they like tequila,” she burbled nonsensically.

  Ooookay.

  Grabbing his hand, she started dragging him away from the hacienda and toward the barn. Following along dutifully while she dramatically tiptoed, he was trying not to crack up laughing.

  Did she really imagine that they were actually sneaking around? Surely, she knew that all the common areas on the property shared by Justice were under twenty-four-hour surveillance. There were cameras everywhere and while he didn’t know what Alex was doing this exact moment, he was pretty sure if he wasn’t aware that they were there, he could review the security tapes and have a great laugh watching his best friend and little sister skulking about like naughty teens.

  As they neared the barn, she waved her fingers again and sternly shushed him, “Shh! Gush is closing up,” she whispered-slurred. Pushing him down to the ground, they crouched beside a long water trough while old Gus switched off some lights and ambled slowly away to a nearby truck that he climbed into, started, and drove away.

  “Good! He’s gone. Come on!” Angie commanded after springing to her feet like a cat and dashing for the side door to the old barn. “Hurry up.”

  The renovated barn was huge and part of the original Villa. Though it was heavily in use for Justice purposes, it still housed a private section, maintained just for the family, of stables and tack rooms where the vaqueros traditionally gathered.

  Switching on a row of lights that lit a long hallway, she quickly skirted into the room behind Parker, as he watched, bemused, wondering what was happening in her mind.

  “Help me,” she called out so he followed her into a mess of a room littered with old leather sofas and heavy wood tables along with a kitchenette in one corner. She rummaged through a couple of cabinets, whipped open the r
efrigerator, pulled something out, then whispered conspiratorially, “Carry this and don’t drop!”

  In short order, she pushed a bottle of Cuervo into his hands, shoved a plastic container of god knows what under his arm before taking two shot glasses and putting one in each of his back pockets, something she took her damn good time doing. He didn’t miss the sexy little sigh she made when she was finished—like she wanted to go on touching his ass and was disappointed that she couldn’t.

  “Wait a minute,” Parker drawled. “What are you carrying if I’ve got all this?”

  She held up a container of salt and a bag or pretzels, stuck her tongue out at him, said “Nyah, nyah,” laughed and scooted out the door.

  Okay then. Fun times ahead.

  “THEY’RE BACK,” ALEX INFORMED Meghan when she came from the bath.

  He was sitting in an easy chair, the French doors leading to their small vine-covered balcony were open. The cool nighttime air spiced with mesquite and acacia filled him with peace. Knowing the love of this lifetime was within his grasp made a moment like this seem perfectly perfect.

  She was wearing a short, white robe that was soft and silky—one of his favorites because it was simple and showcased everything he found alluring about his fiancée.

  Meghan stopped for a moment at the open doors where he heard her take a deep breath, before turning around.

  Sliding a rubber band from her hair, she pulled on it until her glorious auburn curls tumbled across her shoulders and down her back.

  “How do you know?” she asked, eyeing his present state of undress with a raised brow. “And please tell me you weren’t prancing about in your skivvies where everyone could see.”

  “First of all, woman . . .” He smirked as he reached out and grabbed hold of the tie on her robe and yanked her forward.

  “I do not prance.”

  Smiling, she chortled lightly. “Aw, it’s so cute that you think that!” she teased with a wicked leer.

  When she was standing at his knees, he untied the robe and patted his thigh indicating exactly where he expected her to plant her bottom.