Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2) Page 29

  So far—so good.

  All joking aside, Angie had a sudden urge to talk to her mother. She could use her mom’s Zen-like calm and snarky humor right about now. One look at the man-in-black thing Parker had going on and the always irreverent Ashleigh Marquez would be the first one to start wagging her eyebrows and fan herself.

  She’d already decided that she needed to call home anyway. Once she had dinner with Aunt Wendy and Uncle Matt, the phone lines between Arizona and Spain were going to light up big time. She wanted her mom to hear about this thing with Parker, whatever it was, from her first. One thing her folks had drilled into all their heads was . . . don’t put us in a position of hearing things from other people. Always tell us first. Don’t embarrass your mom and dad.

  Somehow, she’d find a way to explain and then she wanted to ask her mom what she would do in Angie’s position. She definitely wanted to be with this man. Oh, hell yeah, she did. But what about him? Was she what was best for him? And how did she go about figuring all this out? Help me, Mom!

  As they walked to the hostess stand, she glanced down and caught sight of his hand where it lay curved around her cinched-in waist. Oh! It looked so huge and his fingers seemed so long and sturdy.

  Her shoulder rubbed against his side where he held her fast—she felt small and fragile next to his impressive size even though she was neither of those things. He didn’t smell entirely like himself, though. What the heck was that all about?

  He let go of her as he spoke with the hostess, giving Angie an opportunity to glance around the lobby and really notice where they were. She knew the place of course, everyone who lived anywhere within a hundred mile radius had at least heard of Jim’s Ranch—a steakhouse with a Michelin rating and the cachet of having been the former home of Gentleman Jim’s, a legendary private club that catered to the bordello inspired.

  The lobby was covered with pictures and newspaper clippings about the historic gentleman’s establishment and all around were artifacts from the original club. Dark wood walls, beautifully worn by time, reflected the lights and flickering candles in every nook and cranny.

  Large red leather benches and couches provided seating while unusual art nouveau pieces softened the severe look of the décor. It was eclectic and inspired and she was immediately enthralled.

  When her eyes finished the three-sixty visual once-over, she turned toward her date and had to catch her breath. God. He was so handsome and there was something about the black clothing that made her feel excited and all tingly. It made him look solid, imposing—maybe a bit menacing. She liked it. Very much.

  What she also liked . . . very much was the way he was looking at her. There was no mistaking exactly what he thought when she turned and saw him. His eyes said it all. She felt . . . consumed.

  He didn’t say a word—the demand in his eyes spoke for him. Angie’s feet began moving in his direction before she consciously willed them to. A prickling sensation like flickering bolts of electricity spread from her neck out to her shoulders. He put out his hand—she homed in on it and basked in his silent approval.

  As she slotted her hand into his, he pulled her close and pressed his lips to her forehead, whispering, “You look beautiful, honey.”

  That weird sound? It was her—melting into a puddle at his feet.

  THE MINUTE THEY FOLLOWED THE hostess to their table, Parker started questioning his sanity. Expecting him not to break down into a grunting, knuckle-dragging caveman with a thundering hard-on, as he walked behind what had to be the sexiest and most fuckable ass he’d ever laid eyes on, was laughable. The way Angie rolled her wicked hips with each step was enough to tip him over the edge from civility to lusty predator in record time. And those shoes? Jesus fuck me Christ, he moaned. The number of erotic scenarios he could imagine involving those shoes was pretty impressive.

  When she’d drifted down the steps at the Villa, she’d stolen his fucking breath. At any other time and in any other place, she wouldn’t have gotten out of the house without being thoroughly . . . taken. Exactly what her outfit begged for.

  But, timing and opportunity being what it was, he satisfied himself another way by changing his previous dinner plan and replacing it with this one, where he swaggered through Jim’s with a beautiful woman by his side. Hell, he wanted everyone and their sister’s best friend’s cousin’s mailman to get a look at Angelina Marquez and then envy the shit out of him knowing who she belonged to.

  Parker loved Jim’s Steakhouse. It was where he and Alex came whenever it was just the two of them. He dined there two or three times a month enjoying not just the amazing menu but the distinctive setting which was just slightly shy of being a garish spectacle held over from the region’s wild west days. Someplace perfect for showing off his lady.

  The thing was though that as they walked along, it was Angie who swaggered and not him, as every male eye and not a few females as well, nodded appreciatively as she rocked on by. Dammit.

  And what was he doing while she commanded the suggestive leers of all the men in attendance? Dragging his knuckles along the floor in her wake, snarling and green-eyed with possessive jealousy.

  With none of the private spaces available without a reservation, they were seated in one of the smaller lounge rooms at a small corner table away from the foot-traffic pattern.

  This time when they sat, Angie didn’t scramble as far from him as she could get, moving to the seat next to his. The hostess quickly instructed the wait staff to rearrange everything before directing their attention to the menu.

  “Karen will be taking care of y’all tonight,” the bubbly woman informed them. “You need anything, just let her know.”

  She had taken a dozen steps away from them before Angie gushed enthusiastically, “I love this place! How did you know?”

  His mind stuttered to a halt at her question. Huh? What?

  Snap out of it! His mind barked. The most beautiful woman in this whole damn place is talking to you. She’s giving you your shot, you dumb fuckwad! Man up, dude.

  “Know that you’d happily fall face first onto a bloody steak?” he smirked playfully. “Easy. Where us carnivores are concerned, takes one to know one.”

  She managed to accentuate her already over-the-top cleavage by leaning on the table with crossed arms and smiled warmly at him.

  “Thank you. This is a first for me. Did you know? I’ve never been here before but always wanted to.”

  “Sign me up as conductor of all your firsts, baby.”

  Balls. Parker had to wince. Had that sounded cheesy? He didn’t have time to think about it ‘cause she asked a question that floored him.

  “Can I trust you, counselor? With my firsts, I mean.”

  What was the meaning of the word coy? She had it in spades, whatever it was.

  He half shrugged and reminded her grittily, “You have no reason to think you can. Trust me.”

  She blinked at him in slow motion.

  “But I’m going to change all that. We’re starting fresh, remember? Gaining your trust would seem to me to be key. Yes?”

  She didn’t give him anything by way of a response—just continued looking at him intently.

  “Can you even imagine how badly I want to trust you?” she asked so quietly that he had to watch her lips as a backup to make sure he’d heard her correctly.

  Everything became a blur after that. They ate. Drank. Laughed. Ate some more. Drank some more. Laughed some more. It was perfect. And it was rooted in the present and not the past. They talked mostly about Family Justice and life at the Villa. As the night and their conversation wore on, Parker got the distinct impression that she was thinking about more than just an extended stay because of her brother’s wedding.

  “Today was like Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, huh?” she asked.

  “You mean your stupid head brother and his wild Irish rose? Yeah!” He snorted through a big grin. “Wedding jitters make people say and do the strangest things.”

  Angie curv
ed in his direction, crossing her legs and pushing some of her long curls over her shoulder. In a conspiratorial voice, she told him, “I think it’s more than jitters.”

  “Oh, jeez. What have you heard?”

  “Mmm, you know,” she jested. “People talk. Comments are made. Apparently, my big brother has a kinky streak a mile wide.”

  Parker lifted an eyebrow but tried not to smirk. “Uh-huh. And?”

  She let his non-surprise go with a mocking smile.

  “Apparently, Drae needed an intervention after stumbling upon Meghan, um . . . I guess there’s no other way to say it than she was tied up in the tack room and . . .”

  A gruff sounding laugh rumbled up from inside him. He fucking loved this story. It always made him smile. Good for Alex.

  “Sorry.” He shrugged. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  Angie was looking at him as if she could see straight into his deepest thoughts. Should that awareness bother him? He considered the ramifications and concluded he was good with it because it was her. Let her look. She needed to know.

  “What’s so funny?” Her breathy question brought him back from his private thoughts.

  Maybe it was the brandy, or maybe it was the good company and the generally awesome way he was feeling—he’d actually never know what made him say it, but he took a hefty swallow of his drink and nudged Angie’s leg with his.

  Winking, he quipped, “The boy learned his lessons well, I must say.”

  The second he stopped talking and saw Angie’s eyes flare, he knew he’d done a stupid. Alex wasn’t the only one eating his words today. Fuck.

  She looked at him with such wide-eyed incredulity he had to smile especially when he all but saw each and every light bulb in her imagination go off inside her head.

  “What did you do?” she hissed.

  “Uh,” he croaked, stalling for time. “Do? I didn’t DO anything.”

  “Parker Sullivan,” she bit out sternly. “You and my brother were a nonstop, live action version of Monkey See—Monkey Do. I grew up hearing my mom lament this fact. Just because I’m younger than you two doesn’t mean I’m stupid!”

  Whoa. She worked up to a full head of outraged steam pretty fast. Something he’d better remember in the future. His Angel had a bit of a hot Latin temperament. High five!

  “You tied me to your bed years before red rooms became all the rage so don’t even try to act innocent. Not with me.”

  “Touché,” he drawled with an obvious grimace. She fucking had him there.

  “Was my brother your padawan?”

  First he delivered a knee-jerk, “No!” followed by, “My whaaaat?”

  He was a lawyer, for god’s sake. He knew how that double-sided response was going to play. Fuck. My. Life.

  “Oh, don’t even!” she scoffed.

  Walloping him with a kidding slap on the arm, she shook her head at him in mock disbelief. “Says he who has a Stormtrooper coffee mug and a Star Wars shower curtain,” she tsked.

  Her mocking reference to Star Wars had him breaking out one of his absolute favorite movie quotes which, to him anyway, perfectly summed up his entire assessment of those years along the Potomac. The description—a wretched hive of scum and villainy was the perfect fit. Goddamn D.C. He learned far more than simply how laws got made and enforced during his tenure in the nation’s capitol.

  He suspected she was taking a shot in the dark without knowing it was a dead center bull’s-eye. The girl was smart. Clever. She put it together in record time after nothing more than an off-hand comment. He liked it. She was going to keep him on his toes.

  Sniffing, Angie crossed her arms and bit out, “And if you think about it, I barely reacted to the threesome thing.”

  Hmmm. Now that you mention it . . . she hadn’t reacted. At all. He looked at her questioningly.

  “I know you two. Better than you think.”

  Ha! She sounded so confident. So full of herself. Though she knew him, huh? Well, he decided, let’s use some language intended to get a reaction and see what she did. Goddamn, this was exhilarating.

  Staring her down, he spoke calmly, succinctly—like he would to a jury. Commanding the pulpit was something he excelled at.

  “Well, if that’s really the case let me clarify a comment you made. It’s not a kinky streak. I dislike that term. What you’re referring to is better described as the traits of a dominant.”

  She swallowed but didn’t back down in her expression, gaze, or posture. Parker recognized his match when he saw it.

  “And before your fertile imagination runs wild, since you already have a, uh . . . movie-themed understanding of these things . . .”

  He did not miss the caustic glare she fired his way.

  “Being dominant is not just about what happens in the bedroom. To some, it’s a natural expression of who they are. You know damn well that Alex was born that way. Shit, Angie. Your family celebrates his dominance. Think about it. The man is like flypaper for control. If he hadn’t almost gotten blown to kingdom come, he could have gone right up the military chain of command.”

  He’d struck a nerve. She sat back and her general posture softened. Parker took a last swallow of his brandy and watched the play of emotions and thoughts she was picking apart show through her expression.

  “But you’re right,” he continued with a silky drawl. “Nobody knows us better than you do, baby girl. Sure,” he chuckled, “I may have shared some . . . technical things . . . with your brother but the bottom line? The rest is all him.”

  The bill for dinner arrived, he engaged in a bit of friendly chatter with the waitress, even straightened up their area and started making moves to leave, all while monitoring Angie’s silent analysis—wondering what she’d say when she finally spoke.

  His legal mind was working overtime and seriously . . . he never thought the skills he’d acquired in a courtroom, taking depositions, even researching precedents . . . was going to come in handy trying to decipher the female mystery of the woman avoiding his gaze.

  Finally—after she’d racked up god only knows how many assumptions in her head that he figured he’d be dealing with at some point—she came back with a surprising but very wise observation. Instead of continuing to focus on Alex and him, she had ended up on the other side of the divide.

  “But what about Meghan. She doesn’t . . . oh, I don’t know.” She shrugged. A confused frown made her expression almost pouty. “Doesn’t seem the type.”

  Yeah. He had to shut that thought process down. She was looking at it the wrong way. A bunch of pre-conceived pop culture bullshit. He sighed heavily.

  “Honey,” he said roughly—something that he noted made her go quite still. “There is no type. Think about what you’re saying. You’re right about not fitting a Hollywood template but the truth is simpler than the play-acting. Where those two are concerned, Alex’s natural control gives Meghan the freedom to grow. She surrenders but never gives up being the one with all the power. She wants Alex to be a beast. He’s happy. She’s more than content. Who gives a shit about type or what they do in the bedroom.”

  He snickered. “It could just as easily have been him tied up, you know. Quid pro quo and all.”

  “Quid pro quo,” she mumbled as her head shook and she tried not to laugh. It was cool that she got the joke.

  Truth be told, Parker was worried that some of the shit he’d subjected her to before, which he knew at the time went way beyond what an innocent twenty-year-old should be exposed to, might be coloring her perceptions.

  What a fucking dick he’d been. In his rush to mold her into his ideal mate, he’d been a complete idiot. I mean, fuck—he’d known from the get-go that he and Angie had a volatile sexual connection. She lit him up and provided the fuel for the massive combustion they created together. Instead of letting that unique connection unfold naturally, at its own pace, he’d pushed and prodded until she was the perfect naughty plaything without fully understanding what that really meant
.

  Leaving out the emotional connection had been so huge a mistake that he was certain a page existed in some Alpha handbook somewhere with a subheading that read How to Shoot Yourself in the Foot with his picture alongside and a caption that read—Wanted for Grave Stupidity.

  “Are you okay?” he asked gently.

  She didn’t hesitate to jump right in.

  “Is that how you see yourself, counselor? As a dominant.”

  Parker snorted, amused. Instead of using his name, she thought to distance herself from the discussion with a shrug and the use of his lame ass title. He also noted she all but choked on the word dominant.

  “I don’t care for the emotional reaction that word evokes in people. And I don’t . . . appreciate . . . the posers who hide behind the power implied and use it to manipulate and abuse.”

  He let that statement sink in as they drove.

  She was fixed on him, and even in the darkened car, he imagined he could see flecks of gold swirling in her sapphire gaze.

  “I’m a man who doesn’t take shit. Am I controlling? You know damn well, I am. But not in an asshole way.”

  She made a noise . . .”Hmmph.”

  “What’s the real question, Angel? Are you asking me if I want that in a relationship? With you?

  She gasped.

  Parker smirked. “Oh, and I don’t play word games. I cut to the chase. It’s an occupational hazard.”

  WHAT WAS IT ABOUT DRIVING through the dark that sent a person inside their thoughts? Maybe the nighttime was imbued with special powers that helped to clear away cobwebs and open the mind.

  Did she want a relationship like that? Angie was surprised he was so direct, but at the same time, as the pieces began falling into place, she simply started seeing things she already knew, in a different light. This side of her brother’s best friend had always been there. It wasn’t new. Not at all.

  Her thoughts were tempered by knowing that the last time she’d fallen under his commanding spell, she’d had been woefully unprepared for what she was getting herself into. This guy did not fuck around.