Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2) (29 page)

Meghan slid a chair next to hers and gave Angie a knowing look before she settled in for a listen.

As if the two guitars weren’t enough to fill the air with rich and vibrant sounds, when Alex and Parker started singing, they harmonized effortlessly, just like they’d been doing for decades and the result was staggering.

She felt unusually honored to witness the two powerful men, completely relaxed and in sync with each other and the music they were making. The moment felt magical.

They sang about cowboys and being wanted, and without glancing her way, Meghan’s hand shot out with the neck of her beer bottle tilted in Angie’s direction.

Indeed.

Responding by firmly clinking their two bottles, Angie and Meghan drank deeply and sat back as they enjoyed the desert alpha show.

“T
HEY’RE SO FUCKING CUTE I
can barely stand to be around them,” Angie joked when Alex and Meghan wandered away hand-in-hand for a short walk.

Parker watched his friend and Irish cling to each other as they strolled beyond a cluster of shrubs next to the big wood structure that Drae had magically built. They really were cute, those two. He’d never seen his old friend happier. Shit. He didn’t even realize Alex could actually
be
that happy. If that dumb fuck could get his happily ever after, maybe there was still hope for him as well.

Eyeing Angie as she watched the couple with a sweetly wistful expression, he tried to control his crazy hope that one day soon he and his beautiful Spanish Angel could be like that, too.

She sighed and turned away, leaving them to their private moment. “Red’s one in a zillion, huh?”

He snickered and nudged her playfully. “Puts up with his tired-ass shit so yeah, she’s something.”

“I’m serious, Parker,” she mumbled. “You know what I’m talking about. I mean, you saw my brother a hell of a lot more than I have these past couple of years. He’s been so . . . empty. It was awful.”

She was right, and he shouldn’t make light of what she was trying to get across. He’d been freaking out for years—even well after Justice had been firmly established and started churning and burning some serious bucks—because, despite the success and the stability afforded by the business he built, Alex remained but a shadow of his former self for much longer than just while he was convalescing from his injuries. That damn war had nearly sucked his soul dry.

Meghan coming to the Villa had changed everything. Angie was so right. One in a zillion.

“It’s this place,” she added solemnly with a half-shrug. “It changes people, or it brings out their best . . . best qualities, best hopes, best efforts.”

She smirked shyly and dipped her head just as he spied a rosy blush creeping up her neck.

“Sorry. Sometimes my hippy dippy side takes over! Blame my mother.”

Aunt Ashleigh. Parker grinned broadly. The woman was a force of nature and he loved her to death. She was always the first one to crack everyone up with an inappropriate comment or observation while her husband rolled his eyes in long-suffering mock-horror. Angie was so much like her mother. A free spirit in every sense of the word—such a far cry from Sophia, who got more from the sober and serious side of the family DNA.

Leaning in, he jostled her with his shoulder. “I blame your mother for a lot of things—that sorry piece of shit you call a brother, for one—but the charming way you put things is all you, Angel. And your mom would be proud.”

More shy blushes. So unexpected. He didn’t remember her being so . . .
something.
Not shy so much as shocked. Yeah. That was it. She was shocked.

“It’s weird.”

He looked at her with a questioning gaze.
Weird? Shit.
There wasn’t anything about this that
wasn’t
weird.

“Not being afraid to be around you. That’s what’s weird. I almost don’t know how to act.”

Her quietly spoken admission started a brawl inside him.

The sensible guy, the one who drove a sports car and had a kickass career, tried to listen and think supportive thoughts.

While the man with the cock ‘n’ balls swagger wanted to pin her to the spot and show her exactly how he wanted her to act.

Talk about a dilemma.

“I’ve missed you in my life, Angelina,” he told her gently.

He was getting so many different signals that were all jumbled and messy. She searched his face.
Dammit.
He could see it in her eyes—she still didn’t trust him. Or herself.

Careful not to cross a line because dragging her ass to third base at the club hadn’t worked out so well, they were dancing around one another trying overly hard to be friendly, polite, and leave the drama behind.

Shit.
Parker was actually a little afraid of what might happen the next time he touched her if he didn’t get control.

Okay,
he thought.
Maybe this will help ease some of her fears.
Remind Angie that they already have a place in each other’s life.

“My folks are asking when you’re coming round for dinner. Mom’s dying to talk about the wedding. Something about choosing a dress color.” He chuckled with a mystified shake of his head.

He hadn’t expected her to gasp or reach and grab his arm. Her reaction revealed so much. She knew damn well what would happen two seconds after they had dinner with his folks. The fucking phone lines between Arizona and Spain were going to be on fire.

Wait a minute, wait a minute.
That might be a good thing,
Parker considered as he patted her hand reassuringly. If his mom got it into her head that he and Angie had a chance, she’d move heaven and Earth, with Ashleigh Marquez egging her on the entire time, to get them together. Hm
mm.

“C’mon, Angel,” he chided. “Tell me you weren’t thinking about hiding from them because of . . . well, because of me. My dad loves you. Calls you his Desert Angel.”

He’d certainly seen some shit and some stuff in his day but seeing Angelina Marquez melt right in front of his eyes was huge.

“Really?” she squeaked, her voice brimming with emotion. “He calls me that?”

Parker slung an arm around her neck and pulled her in for a friendly hug. “Yeah. He does. Stealing my best shit, too.”

She looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

“I wanted to be the only one calling you Angel,” he admitted with a self-conscious snicker. “But lately, I’ve noticed the name falling out of everyone’s mouth. Even my dad.”

She laughed and pushed against him, stepping out of his half embrace. “I know, right? Here I thought that was some super cool private thing between you and me . . . and now? That’s what the girls call me in their little karaoke dojo. Shit!” she hooted. “I’m thinking about having a t-shirt printed with Desert Angel across my boobs.”

Do not look at her boobs. No matter what you do, man—do NOT look at her boobs. Oh, shit. Can’t be helped.
Angie’s boobs were fucking magnificent with or without a t-shirt.

Like right now, they were perfection. A nice, big round handful. And the nipples on those perfect tits? Damn. Also perfect. His teeth ached for a chance to nibble on the naked globes.

He cleared his throat and moved around a little, trying to bring some relief to the hard-on threatening to destroy his vascular system. Was it possible to think clearly when all the blood in your brain detours to your cock?

“Um, so back to dinner at the Sullivan’s. What do you want me to tell Mom?”

She paused and let go of a little sigh. “Will we be going together?”

For once, Parker fervently hoped that was a loaded question. He wanted there to be a lot of
togethers
from here on out.

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

He held back a smirk. She wanted so badly to say something. He didn’t know what, but frustration was written all over her face.

A few strands of her hair moved as a slight breeze blew by and the chimes on the pergola tinkled sweetly. Brushing the wayward strands away from the face staring so intently at him, Parker twirled the dark curl in his fingers and marveled at how soft her hair was.

Brain farts, when they occurred, tended to either send everyone to the floor with laughter, die a slow, painful, silent death, or shake things up.

Half-consciously, he lifted the smooth, glossy curl to his face and inhaled. She made a soft, sweet sounding gasp that he ignored—he was too busy taking in the delicate scent that was so Angie.

“How do you do that?” he asked, giving her back her body space. “Get your hair to smell like that all the time?”

She gently laughed. “It’s called shampoo.”

“Don’t shake your head at me like I’m a dolt,” he sniggered. “The shampoo smell lasts about twenty minutes tops after a shower and you know it!”

Parker arched an eyebrow and smirked into her smiling face.

“It’s you. Your smell. Nobody smells like you, baby girl.”

Yeah—the smell brain fart shook things up.

Her eyes flared. Next to her sexy-as-fuck lips, or her badass tits, or that please-spank-me ass . . . or, well . . . what was he driveling on about? The throb in his groin scattered his thought process. Oh yeah, right. Her eyes. Or was it her smell?
Shit.

Anyway, her eyes were a treasure map that he could stare at and try to decipher until the end of fucking time. They changed color. Sapphire with the emphasis on fire, or sometimes a dusky blue–warm and peaceful. He’d seen them flash violet too, and when they did, holy shit, cover your balls and run for cover.

But what he saw was more like the shifting blues of the ocean on a moonlit night. They were both trying so hard to stabilize their friendship. As if that wasn’t enough, there were these little telltale heartbeats of intense attraction that kept happening. She looked hungry and cautious at the same time.

“I, um . . .” She gulped and shook her head slightly like she was bringing some sense into the discussion because he was pretty damn sure they had just been about two seconds from jumping on each other. “Can I get back to you about dinner? Ask Aunt Wendy what works for them and we’ll go from there, okay?”

Parker was about to answer when he heard Meghan shriek, and not in a happy way, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Uh-oh. Not good.

He and Angie turned toward the sound at the same time. Irish was on fire; that much was pretty clear. Her body language suggested his old friend had stepped in it, and judging by the way Meghan’s head was wagging as she laid into him, he’d stepped into it pretty good.

Angie mumbled, “
Uhhhh,
” and leaned into him seeking protection from the nuclear meltdown happening seventy feet away.

Meghan began stomping angrily toward where the truck and cart were parked with Alex right behind her.

“What is wrong with you? Why the hell would you tell me that? Are you insane?” she screamed, whirling on Alex without warning.

Parker shuddered.
Holy shit.
The trifecta of hollered challenges that were every man’s worst nightmare. What the fuck had Alex done?

Alex’s hands were hanging in the air in that
whoa, slow down, remain calm
gesture that Parker imagined was going over like kerosene on a bonfire.
Jesus, dude!
He groaned silently to his friend.
Do not ever infer a woman should calm down.

“Baby,” Alex chuckled. “Meghan, come on. Seriously. I thought you’d laugh. This is nothing, hon. We’re talking like what? More than twenty years ago.”

“Oh! And what?” Meghan screeched. “There’s a time limit on being an asshole?”

Her arms were waving all over the place, and Parker was pretty sure if there was anything laying around that she could throw, she would have.

And then she did that Wonder Woman thing that shriveled a man’s balls. Jamming her hands on her hips, she adopted a fuck-with-me-at-your-own-peril stance, sucked in her gut, and thrust her boobs out front.
Bombs away.

“So, just the once then?” she barked sternly.

No, no, no,
he groaned silently. Wanting to jump in and holler “Objection! Leading the witness . . .” Parker tried to psychically prevent Alex from making things worse by answering the obvious gotcha in the question.

“Baby, it’s not like it sounds . . .”

“I’m a teacher, Major. And I can count. A threesome sounds like what it is. Do not try and change the subject.”

Parker groaned and hung his head.
Oh, dude. You dumb fuck. Please do not have told her . . .

Angie stiffened when he reacted and looked up at him. “Parker Sullivan,” she growled softly. “Oh. My. GOD! What the fuck did you two do?”

Shit. She knew him, and them, too well.

“Fuck my life,” he gritted with a heavy sigh of resignation. Jumping into the verbal fray was what he did. Didn’t stop him from wanting to throttle Alex for opening his damn mouth.

Parker had been worried this might come back to bite them in the ass—admittedly his fault for bringing it up in the first place—but he thought his friend would have at least half a brain cell operating and not spill his guts. Shit. Some stuff wasn’t meant for public consumption and generally the more embarrassing or salacious the secret, the more drama down the line; and this one deserved a Tony nomination for best performance by two horny teenage fucknuts.