Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2) Page 38

He should probably tell her, but the view was so enticing and offered a distraction from the bass drum pounding in his head so he said nothing—just sat there, sipping his coffee, slowly coming back to life while flat-out fantasizing about licking the tiny nub and nibbling at it while she thrashed and moaned.

  “I want my undies back,” she snapped. Was that indignation he detected in her voice? He didn’t know exactly how he came to be the one in possession of her panties, but he was certain he hadn’t wrestled them off her. She had nerve playing the outraged innocent.

  “The fuck you say,” he drawled sarcastically to her stupid request. “You gave ’em to me and I’m keeping them.”

  He had no idea if any of that was true. He just liked needling her.

  “You’re an asshole when you’re hung over.”

  He snickered. Yeah. He was. “I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

  “How ya figure?”

  “’Cause I’ll be the one cheering the loudest when y’all take the stage at Pete’s.”

  Flashing her his very best although decidedly hung over, Tom Cruise style toothy grin, he added, “And if you’re a good girl,” he paused when he saw a flare that threatened the safety of his testicles move across her expression and grinned broader, “I’ll invite you to the mic at the end of the night.”

  “Why would you do that?” she asked.

  “Because Pete asked Desert Thunder to close out after karaoke.”

  “You’re playing tonight, too?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He watched a slew of emotions shift on her face and waited for her comeback. Would she sing with him in public? She had to know the significance of him making such an offer. There’d be no doubt what his fucking intentions were if he ever got her next to him on stage.

  A soft but getting louder by the second commotion was building behind him making Parker swivel in his seat to see what was going on. He heard Red’s voice and someone else.

  From a different angle, he saw that Alex, Cam, and Drae had appeared, standing off to the side across from him and Angie and away from where Meghan was coming from.

  What the hell was going on? Those three looked mighty suspicious over there—almost like they were waiting for something. And how the hell had they managed to creep up on them without being noticed? Fucking hangover.

  Meghan’s gentle laughter filled the air. As she came closer, he heard her say, “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Some water? We can wait in the kitchen. I’m sure Carmen will find her shortly and . . .”

  As she rounded the archway into the big open room, Meghan stumbled to a halt when she caught sight of him and Angie, a look of worried tension all over her face.

  “Oh, my! Angie. There you are. We were looking all over for you.”

  The look Meghan gave him made his skin prickle. Parker sat up straighter. Red’s tone signaled something was up. He glanced sharply at Angie, her mouth hanging open and a look of pure shock that slammed into him.

  What the fuck?

  Following the direction of her gaze, he turned back toward Meghan and felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

  “Uh, Angie,” Meghan tittered nervously. “You’ve got a visitor.”

  Last year, an up and coming turd in the D.A.’s office had blindsided Parker with a surprise witness at the eleventh hour of a trial that left him flabbergasted and flat-footed. Two things he did not like. This, right here, felt a little like that.

  For Angie’s part . . . she became a statue. One made of cold marble because whatever color she’d regained after washing up and having some coffee had quickly disappeared. She was pale as death and looked like she saw a ghost.

  Not surprisingly, this so-called visitor had a slimy sounding, unctuous voice that set his nerves on edge.

  “Querida. Why do you seem so surprised? Surely you knew how impossible you are to give up.”

  Was this douchebag kidding?

  “A-Aldo,” Angie sputtered. “What are you doing here?”

  A deep, red haze seeped into Parker’s vision. So this little fucker was that Esperanza prick. Prepared to hate him on sight, the puny hipster didn’t disappoint. Wearing a blazer so blindingly white it looked fake, he had a fucking navy blue pocket square that matched his slacks and the polka-dotted tie that perfectly complemented the medium blue of his dress shirt. The red haze turned dark and dangerous. Fucker was wearing skinny jeans. Who the hell wore those things? They were fucking undignified if you asked him.

  All in all, Parker thought he looked perfect for target practice. What in the fucking fuck had she ever seen in this pretentious poser?

  He watched silently as the one-dimensional stick drawing masquerading as a dude, skirted around the island and went to a still speechless Angie.

  “Darling.” He chuckled.

  Parker already hated the asshole’s heavy accent.

  “What is this you are wearing? Is this how the horse girls dress?” he asked as he went in for a two cheeked Euro-hug. “You do know there’s a hole for every button, hmmm?”

  The minute the shithead touched her, Parker was on his feet. Uh, he didn’t think so . . . but before he could take a step, Meghan was right there with her hand on his shoulder and a warning look in her eyes.

  She gasped and looked down. Seeing her blouse gaping open, she glared at Parker as she fixed the damage. When Angie found her voice, she took a hasty step backward and crossed her arms in front of her. She couldn’t say back off any louder, but the stick figure didn’t seem to notice.

  “Um, it’s cowgirls and I am not your darling.”

  He’d had enough. Moving from Meghan’s restraining grip, he started in Angie’s direction only to find Alex coming at him from behind. He felt him yank on his pocket, sending him off balance so he had to plop back down, followed by his hand doing something else in the area of the pocket.

  Whispering so only Parker could hear, Alex drawled, “Pink isn’t your color, shithead.”

  His hand immediately swung to his rear and slid inside the pocket where Alex had stuffed Angie’s panties deeper where they wouldn’t be seen.

  He glared at his friend with frustration and escalating possessiveness that he knew Alex would understand. Was he really expected to just sit here and let that limp-wristed pansy ass touch his woman?

  Once Alex made his presence known, Meghan dragged him forward for an introduction.

  “Ronaldo Esperanza, this is my fiancé and Angelina’s brother, Major Alexander Valleja-Marquez.”

  That she used his formal title said a lot. Meghan wasn’t going to take this guy’s shit either.

  Transforming before everyone’s eyes into the undisputed Big Daddy of Family Justice, the Major—and Parker used that term snidely—extended his hand and spoke in a voice he’d known him to use when scaring the agency’s recruits.

  “Mr. Esperanza,” the Major said smoothly. “I didn’t expect we’d be meeting.”

  Snap. Parker wanted to high five his old friend. Subtle putdown. Perfectly delivered.

  Ronnie’s handshake was exactly the type of phantom creep out that guys like him and the Justice brothers generally mocked. The bony hand came out but just as quickly slithered back—like he was afraid of being touched.

  From the shadows, a duet of comical snickers told him Cam and Drae had seen and were also marveling at the fuckstick. Shooting them an eye-rolling look, he was relieved when they came forward—ready to engage.

  At the same time, Carmen bustled into the kitchen from the back door, saw Meghan, and immediately started jabbering that she looked everywhere but hadn’t found Señorita Angelina. This was turning into a circus.

  Angie started awkwardly and put her hand in the air like a kid during roll-taking. “I’m here, Carmen,” she mumbled. “Sorry. I was . . . um, in the barn earlier.”

  She looked at him, but her face was almost on fire whether from embarrassment or anxiety, he didn’t know. Perhaps both.

  Drae was almo
st at Parker’s shoulder when he exclaimed, “Who’s your little friend, Ang? I don’t think we’ve met.”

  Cam cleared his throat when Drae referred to the stranger in their midst as Angie’s little friend. Those fuckers. They were going to be laughing about this later. Goddammit.

  It took Parker a good minute to realize that Alex, Cam, Drae, and Meghan had positioned themselves in such a way that he was effectively caged in. They obviously knew how close he was to losing it. Might be funny any other time. Now? Not so much.

  “Oh,” Angie said peevishly. “Right. Everyone, this is my . . . uh, friend. Ronaldo Esperanza. I had no idea he was coming,” she insisted. “Aldo, um . . . obviously you’ve met my sister-in-law, Meghan, and my brother, Alexander.”

  “Not a sister-in-law just yet though, eh?”

  The asshole looked at Meghan like she was a threat to humanity. Probably because she could bench press the skinny little bastard in her sleep. If Alex didn’t smack the shit out of this fucker, he would.

  “Yes, well . . . a mere formality, I assure you,” Angie snapped defensively. “Close enough.”

  “As you say,” he simpered with a derisive smirk.

  Motherfucking asshole. Parker looked at Drae and Cam and pleaded with his eyes. Come on, guys. Let’s kick this shithead’s ass. They didn’t react, but he could tell both of them were ready to snap.

  “And who might these others be? Ranch hands?”

  Ranch hands? RANCH HANDS? Okay, that was it. He was going to chew this fucker up and spit him out. Breakfast special style.

  Alex’s mouth opened like he was about to say something, but Parker beat him to it. Sliding between his two handlers, he made straight for the obnoxious turdage in their midst and approached him like a hostile witness he was about to destroy.

  Pointing at Cam and Drae, he dug out his Supreme-Court-Judge act and laid it on kinda thick. The Garth Brooks t-shirt and jeans probably didn’t help so he relied on his physicality to make an impression.

  “Yeah, ranch hands—those two,” he emphasized as he crowded Angie’s little friend with his size.

  Without bothering to put out his hand, he nailed the white-jacketed pussy to the spot with a baleful glare.

  “Parker Sullivan. Esquire,” he added with a sneer as he speared Angie with a quick look. “I am the Major’s personal attorney.”

  He saw the flare of concern in the other man’s eyes. Finding out there was a lawyer in the mix usually made the weak go silent.

  After he was sure his words had made an impression, he arrogantly pushed the pretentious prick out of the way and went right up to Angie. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he slung an arm casually around her shoulders and added, “My firm has handled all of the Marquez family affairs for years. And Angie, here?” He smiled at her, but he made sure she saw the challenge in his eyes. “I’ve known her long enough to have changed a few of her diapers.”

  Carmen snickered.

  Meghan outright laughed.

  Angie groaned.

  Drae muttered, “Dude,” with a choked laugh, and Cam nudged Alex’s shoulder when the man snorted out loud.

  Parker had absolutely no doubt he was going to pay for that speech.

  “I see,” Ronnie said.

  Yep. He just bet he did.

  “Why are you here, Aldo?” Angie muttered anxiously. “And where are you staying? How did you find your way to the Villa?”

  Looking annoyed as all hell, clearly Mister Skinny Jeans wasn’t up for an audience, he made a lame attempt to convince Angie they needed to speak privately.

  “We should talk, querida. Your father thought we might clear the air, too. That’s how I knew where to come,” he said sanctimoniously as if that particular grenade had any real explosive power.

  What an idiot.

  “My father sent you?” Angie made no effort not to shriek when she asked.

  Meghan chewed the inside of her mouth, and he saw the unmistakable curl of laughter on her lips. Do not mess with a daughter where her daddy was concerned.

  Turning blazing eyes on her brother, Angie angrily barked, “Dad did this? I swear, Alexander—if you knew and didn’t tell me . . .”

  Alex jumped like he’d been shot. “I just talked to him the other day, and he never mentioned any of this.” The look he gave Esperanza didn’t bode well for that man’s life if he was lying.

  Carmen, knowing full well she was stirring the pot as evidenced by her comic tone, turned to Meghan and politely inquired if she would like her to have Ben take the luggage of Miss Angie’s guest to the casita.

  At the mention of luggage, Angie looked around frantically as if she suddenly realized that a visitor from Spain wasn’t just hanging out for fifteen minutes and then hitting the road.

  When Parker heard the word casita, he went apeshit. Over his fucking dead body. No romantic and very private little hacienda-bungalow was in that ass munch’s future. Thank Christ, Cam jumped in and saved the day.

  “No can do, I’m afraid. My wife is redecorating the casita in preparation for guests when the Marquez clan descends after the wedding,” he informed everyone like what he was saying was even remotely based on fact.

  Parker knew better. Nobody was using the casita because the Villa was big enough to house everyone. He knew this because his folks were making all sorts of plans for Ashleigh and Cristián’s extended visit. It was one big happy and the family would be staying under one roof.

  “The apartment Victoria used above the business center is empty right now,” Drae offered as an alternative.

  Good. That was settled. Parker didn’t rest on ceremony nor did he let Alex or Meghan handle any of the details. Acting like lord of the fucking manor, he instructed Carmen to freshen up the small studio and told her to have Ben take care of the luggage.

  Throughout all of this, Angie didn’t say much. Or move. She seemed frozen like she was watching from an out-of-body perspective.

  Fuck. He should have made love to her last night whether they’d been trashed or not. If he had, this whole ridiculous conversation would be moot.

  GALES OF LAUGHTER FILLED THE cramped dressing room at Whiskey Pete’s as Angie readied for the big night ahead with her new friends. They were going on after the group presently belting out a bunch of stage hits and after having seen what everyone else had to offer, she and the girls were going to bring the house down.

  “Beside the sore nipples, these baby boobs are bangin’!” Tori hooted gleefully. Wearing a completely see through lace blouse with a black push-up bra visible underneath and a pair of indecent Daisy Dukes, Draegyn’s wife looked every inch the naughty MILF. The lace-up ankle boots that added several inches to her tiny stature gave vampy a run for the title.

  Meghan roared with laughter. “I heard Draegyn refer to them as a double handful.”

  Tori giggled. “Why am I not surprised my husband was discussing my boobs with the Major?”

  “Cam was there, too,” Meghan added with an apologetic hand gesture to Lacey and an Oops, my bad, smirk.

  Lacey shook her head and laughed along. Working on putting in an earring, she cocked a hip at Tori and told them all rather drily that, “You know damn well once we hit that stage, they’ll be high-fiving each other about the tits and ass.”

  “Holy crap!” Meghan yelled. “Did my ears hear you correctly Mrs. Cameron? Did you just utter the expression TITS and ASS?”

  Tori gasped dramatically and clutched at her heart. “Oh, my god. Has hell frozen over?”

  Angie was the first to break apart in giggles. Teasing Lacey and her sometimes-prudish behavior was their go-to comic relief. In the simplest of girlfriend terms, Lacey was their Charlotte, a reference anyone who ever watched Sex and the City would understand. There were some people who were just naturally sweet.

  “Do I look okay,” she asked with a hurried twirl. “This outfit seemed like such a good idea a few days ago, but I’m not so sure now.”

  Meghan tsked a couple of times. “Now,
now sweetie. You look fantastic—absolutely perfect for the part you’re playing.”

  God, Angie thought. She hoped so.

  “You certainly did bring it, girlfriend!” Lacey cooed. “Nicely done.”

  Victoria winked at her. “That’s what we call a fist fight outfit, Angel. I’m thinking that dress—or lack thereof,” she snickered as the other two laughed, “and those I-Dare-You-To-Fuck-Me boots are going to unleash the Kraken.”

  Unleashing the Kraken. That was what she was afraid of.

  What a friggin’ shit show this whole day had been. First waking up with the evil stepmother of all hangovers and discovering she and the hunky lawyer had passed out dead drunk in the barn, and then Aldo’s surprise arrival and all the complications that brought. And then, the uncomfortable conversation with her dad because she hadn’t been able to stop from calling him with a demand to know what he’d been thinking.

  She’d been out of her mind, of course, to take a tone with her father, and he’d let her have it with both barrels. Threw down a slew of uncomfortable truths—told her to get her shit in order, and without actually saying so, alluded to being on Team Parker should it ever come to a vote.

  After Aldo had gotten settled in the studio apartment, she’d gone and talked to him, leaving forty minutes later before she lost it and throttled him. She’d broken their engagement. Ended the relationship. Moved on. What part of that didn’t he understand? And why did he keep insisting that she just needed to get this out of her system. What exactly was this?

  And then Parker. He’d flat out refused to leave the Villa and Alex, that jerk, had just shrugged and said nothing. He’d cornered her in the courtyard and given her a raft of shit, which she promptly served right back to him. She hadn’t asked Aldo to come and Parker could go fuck himself with a donkey dick, she believed was how she put it, for handing her a pile of grief over something she had no control over.

  The part where he grabbed her, growled something about belonging to him and how he didn’t share, then kissed her senseless . . . and, well, somehow that tawdry little interlude was the high point of her day.

  With an angry, frustrated lawyer hovering about and Aldo behaving like a royal fucknut, she was unraveling fast. He’d protested and bitched like a spoiled brat about the group outing to Pete’s—even going so far as to express an objection to her performing in public.