Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2) (50 page)

“W
ANNA TRY SOMETHING DIFFERENT?”

One shot and she was already starting to float. And now he wanted to . . . try something different? Sure! Why the hell not.

She looked at him expectantly and found herself biting back a groan of raw female appreciation when he abruptly whipped his t-shirt over his head and threw it aside. Goddamn, but his chest was a work of art. Smooth. Muscled. Broad.

He poured two more shots, grabbed a hunk of lime and smiled wickedly at her.

Taking two fingers, he held them to her mouth and drawled huskily, “Lick.”

Swiping her tongue across his skin, she managed to fight a whimper when he then wet the spot where his neck met shoulder with her saliva and quickly dropped a big pinch of salt on top.

In a voice that sounded gruff and demanding, he commanded her to, “Lick,” as he tilted his head to the side to give her room.

In a trance, she leaned into him and laved the flat of her tongue on the salt, pausing to suckle at the spot . . . I mean, after all, she DID want to get all the salt, right?

Now, the truth was she would have happily kept on just like that, her mouth on his skin, sucking, but him pushing the shot glass into her hand reminded Angie what she was supposed to be doing.

Quickly huffing out a deep breath, she knocked back the second shot and before hyperventilating from the burn, destroyed the lime wedge while she swung her head back and forth. “Fuck!” she yelped again as the alcohol tore a hole through her core.

Through watery eyes, she found him grinning broadly as once again, he patted her on the back to help her catch a breath.

Oh, my dear sweet lord!
she thought. Maybe this stuff should be illegal.

Murmuring silkily, he said, “My turn.” Eyeing her from head to toe, he kind of smirked then shook his head. “You’re all covered up,” he objected with a disgruntled bark.

Angie giggled.
Yeah. Tequila was the shit.

“Sorry,” she confessed with a pouty frown intended to get a smile—which it did along with an eye roll and a head shake that acknowledged he knew how easy she had it when it came to charming the shit out of him. Winning!

“I didn’t want my ass hanging out in front of your folks.”

She wasn’t sure but when she said ass, it might have sounded more like ash. He didn’t react, so either he didn’t notice or he wasn’t listening to her anyway.

Now, where were they? What had they been talking about?

Angie saw his eyes flare. Oooh. Likey! What made him do that?

“I’d like to bite your ass and then lick a tequila shot off the dip in your back.”

Oh. That was why he flared.

“All covered up. Remember?” she said, pointing at her head-to-toe outfit.

“Lay back,” he commanded.

“Uh. What?”

The skin on her neck prickled when he fixed her with a meaningful look and said roughly, “My turn. And since I can’t have your ass, your stomach will have to do. Now lay the fuck back.”

She didn’t know why she laughed, but the dark scowl on his face and the way he was sizing her up hit her as hilarious.

Giggling wildly, she scooted back until her legs weren’t dangling and teased him, chirping away, singing, “Ooooh, look at you! So big and bad. Dommy, dom, dom, dom! Knock, knock. Who’s there?
Can’t have your ass,
” she mimicked him growling then fell back laughing until she was, as he asked, on her back.

“Ready, Mister Dommy, sir. Sir Dom-your-great.
Sir
dom. Sir
dom,
” she grumbled mischievously as she nodded to him with a drunken salute.

He stood over her where she lay sprawled on the big table. Remembering her earlier thought that she could probably spread out and still have plenty of rooms got her flinging both arms wide. He didn’t say anything so Angie picked up her head and looked at him. He was just standing there—staring at her. The whole thing suddenly felt very virgin sacrificey.

“I like this,” he said. Waving his hand for emphasis, he indicated her laid out before him. “Works for me.” He chuckled deeply.

He reached for the buttons on her blouse, just beneath her breasts and started undoing them, pulling the tails from her skirt until he could fold both sides back and expose several inches of her stomach.

Nothing showed. Not her bra and not even her belly button. Sensual modesty. Just enough skin to titillate without being vulgar.

Sliding onto the table, he rested on one hip and turned toward her, giving him complete access to her body. Angie shivered.

This time, instead of asking her to lick his fingers, he inserted them into her mouth. Briefly shocked—probably the tequila slowing down her responses—she recovered and swirled her tongue around his fingers, sucking on them. His eyes devoured, watching every expression and reading her responses.

When he wiped the saliva from his fingers onto her stomach, her skin quivered with anticipation.

A quick pinch of salt and then he leaned over her and his mouth was on her stomach.
Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god.
His breath was hot, his lips soft, and his tongue . . . wet and slow against her skin.

When he threw back his head for the shot, she watched his throat work as he swallowed then drifted her eyes down his bare torso imagining the tequila moving through his system. Through an expression blazing with desire, he looked into her eyes as his mouth made greedy sucking noises on the lime.

She watched, fascinated, and involuntarily licked her lips.
Mmmm.
His lips probably tasted real good.

Had she said that out loud? The look on his face and the fire in his eyes told her that, yep, she most definitely had.

Tequila mouth. Speak first and then deal with whatever you said later.

Parker grabbed hold of her chin and hovered over her for a second then swooped straight onto her mouth.

She was right. He tasted divine. Salty. Sweet. Tangy. The flavor of the tequila clung to his lips and tongue, driving her wild with the beguiling aftertaste.
Mmmmm.
Maybe tequila was their drink. Angie was certainly enjoying the warmth creeping along her nerve endings, and though she was definitely a bit lit, she was far from drunk.

After kissing her with a deliberately slow thoroughness that rendered her stupid, he eased back and feathered her hair away from her face. The way he was looking into Angie’s eyes made her quiver.

“I didn’t treat you right before, Angel.” The deep roughness in his voice gave his words gravity. “Can you forgive me?”

Acting on tequila time, which basically meant she had no damn idea how long it took her to reply, she put a hand on the powerfully big bicep that caged her in and sighed.

Forgiveness wasn’t the issue. Or then again . . . maybe it was.

When she said something, Angie was surprised by how small and uncertain she sounded. Parker did that to her. Made her feel vulnerable. Nothing and nobody else had ever made her feel this way.

“I make it too easy for you.”

“How?” he growled, his face a mask of confusion mixed with concern.

Running appreciative fingers on the warm skin of his muscled arm, she attempted to shrug and looked away—unsure how to explain.

“I don’t find any of this easy, Angelina,” he told her emphatically.

Pfft.
Did he really have no idea? How was that possible?

“Yes, well . . . ,” she murmured self-consciously. “Truth is, I’ll always forgive you. No matter what you do—I can’t help myself.”

She continued to stroke his arm while he silently considered what she said.

“And you imagine this gives me some sort of . . . power? Advantage?”

She could hear him trying to make sense of her statement.

Swinging her eyes to his, she thought,
Well, it does
. . . but didn’t say the words aloud.

“It means,” she eventually told him quietly, “that you could hurt me. And I’d let you. That’s scary shit, Parker.”

He was quick to respond to her bold statement.

“I did not mean to hurt you. What I said that day was not meant for you to hear and my words, though chosen poorly, were an attempt to shield you from malicious gossip.”

“I know that now,” she whispered. “But I
did
get hurt and knowing I’d forgive you anything—even tearing my heart out—is what kept us apart. I had to stay away from you just in order to stay sane. You do realize that, right?”

He grimaced. “As you say, I know that now.”

Her most secret inner thoughts and fears broke loose—thanks, Cuervo—and she blurted out one of the big ones before she could bite back by the words.

“I’m afraid I won’t be enough for you.”

“Shit,” he barked as he jerked upright, pulling her with him. “Sit up. Let’s get this out in the open and put it to rest so we can move on.”

There they were, sitting on a huge wood table, having scooted to the edge, they sat side-by-side, their legs dangling toward the floor.

“Okay look,” he bit out sharply. More sharply than should have been possible after a couple of healthy shots. Oh, sheesh. She’d hit a nerve.

“We can fuck around and play word games till hell freezes over, which I admit can be fun, but let’s cut to the chase.”

He eased off the table and moved to stand in front of her—so close his thighs almost rested against her knees. When he did, his big body blocked the light behind them and made him seem huge in her field of vision. Her mouth went dry.

“When have I ever given you the impression that you’re not enough? And don’t give me that tired shit about what you overheard. Just show me one fucking time when . . .” He was yelling and clearly frustrated. Running a hand through his hair, he growled and looked at her with pleading eyes. “Dammit, Angel. What the fuck? I can’t defend myself against something I don’t understand.”

“Don’t be upset with me,” she implored, frowning. With a bravery she hoped was real and not just fueled by the liquor, Angie put her hands on either side of his handsome face.

“Is this the age thing?” he asked.

“Partially,” she admitted.

“And . . . ?”

Dropping her hands, Angie saw something flash in her mind. “Can I ask you a question?”

“If it relates to this, yes. Don’t change the subject, okay? I need to understand what’s happening in that head of yours.”

“Oh.” Was she changing the subject? She didn’t think so. Biting her lip, she fidgeted, looking anywhere but at his bared torso, even going so far as to shove her fingers beneath her bum to keep from tracing the definition of his muscular chest.

“Um, before we get into this, I think I need another drink.”

Parker’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. She didn’t give him long to ponder her sudden detour thinking that by taking him by surprise, she’d have some sort of advantage.

Pulling on his arm until he was close enough to touch, Angie bent over and swirled the flat of her tongue on and around one of his nipples. Taking a clumsy pinch of salt between two fingers, she dropped it on the wet spot her tongue left and then thoroughly sucked and licked the area clean.

Not resting on ceremony, she grabbed the Cuervo bottle and upended a stream of tequila into her open mouth. Sputtering as she swallowed, she slammed the bottle down and scrambled quickly for a lime wedge shoving it into her mouth for relief.

“Mother of god,” she choked out through her burning mouth as tears blurred her eyes.

His expression was unreadable. The only thing that indicated he was alive was the fists clenched tightly at his sides and the slight vibration she felt coming off him. Come to think of it . . . he hadn’t so much as taken a deep breath or moved a single muscle since she licked his chest.

Suddenly whirling away from her, she saw a hand go into his hair and a low, steady rumble come from his mouth. Took her a couple of seconds—in tequila time—to figure out the rumble was actual words being growled. She heard
tied up
and
behave herself
and Alex’s name thrown in there but . . . oooh, wait! That was her tequila brain babbling—wasn’t this where, according to the talk around the Villa, her brother tied up his fiancée?

Taking a sudden interest in the ceiling, she was peering upward, and had completely missed whatever Parker was mumbling when he took her by the arm and gently shook her.

“Are you even listening?”

Mmmmm. She liked the growl. Remembered it well.
Knees up, angel, and hold on tight.
I bet the hooks and hanging rings for the tack were what he tied her to. Oh, look at that! Her shirt was almost completely unbuttoned. Angie sighed and looked at Parker, who was openly scowling at her. Okay, NOW she was starting to feel tequila fuzzy and had to admit her thoughts were a jumbled mess.

“Ask your question, woman, or by god, Angelina . . . I swear your ass will be bright red when I’m finished with you.”

What? How the hell had they gone from licking each other’s skin to a spanking?

“That’s what I’m talking about,” she whined. “You want to spank me?”

“Oh for god’s sake,” he barked two seconds before yanking her off the table and hauling her ass to sit on the long leather daybed bench. She’d like to imagine she sank gracefully to her seat but knew she actually dropped like a rock and sat there staring up at him, her mouth open, eyes wide.

Uh-oh. In the low lighting, standing over her bare-chested, eyes blazing—he looked like . . . well, shit. He looked like a dangerously sexy cowboy wearing nothing but a pair of jeans that knew his body well and some boots that for some reason were giving her the swoons.

“How drunk are you,” he demanded. “Maybe we should do this another time.”

“No!” she blurted. “I know what I’m saying Parker and being a little drunk only means my fillers are off.”

“Your fillers?”

She licked her lips, aware that she had to concentrate when she spoke. “Fill-
ters.
Filters are off.”

Without warning, he picked up the tequila bottle and downed a mouthful, his eyes never leaving her.

“I’m thinking I may need that if we do this sans filters.”

He might be right.

She suddenly fell silent. How should she start?