Her reply when he asked if she trusted him worked on his conscience. How could she be so sure and confident that he would never hurt her after what she’d later revealed?
He knew the answer. It was in every word she said. Angelina Marquez loved him down to the deepest part of her soul. When he was in pain or sad, she needed to offer comfort. Needed to. Not wanted—needed. They were bound to each other for better or worse even without marriage vows.
Holding her trembling body close, he took his time as he walked, willing her to breathe along with him. When he pulled back the covers on their bed and gently laid her down, she was still shaking but not as badly.
“I never wanted you to know,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to feel bad.”
She curled into a ball. He stroked her hair and softly kissed her cheek. “We don’t keep things from each other, my Angel.” He’d address the feeling bad comment later.
“I don’t feel very good.”
No surprise there. Sobbing one’s soul out wasn’t a walk in the park.
He tried to get her to look at him, and even made a direct request that stopped just short of being a command, but she wasn’t there yet.
“I’m going to make you some tea. Some of that shit Meghan sent over. Desert Chamomile.”
She nodded—that was it.
He took off in a fast sprint for the kitchen.
16
After a horrible night, Angie felt frozen and numb as she stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror. Embarrassment colored her skin. There was no place left inside to hide. Raw and feeling fragile, she was barely holding on.
Drawing the brush through her hair, she tried to corral her wandering thoughts. They were easier to ignore that way.
Parker strode up to her from behind and took the brush from her hand. “Here. Let me do that.”
Watching his movements in the mirror, she concentrated on his hands—counting the long, slow strokes. She could feel his watchful gaze but kept her field of vision soft and unfocused—if their eyes accidentally met, there’d be nothing.
He used his soothing voice when he spoke. “I thought we might take a drive a little later.”
“Don’t you have to work?” She tilted her head back and bit off a moan when the brush scraping against her scalp made her quiver.
His answer was firm and resolute. “No.”
Totally by reflex, her eyes flew to his. She didn’t tense so much as her senses went on high alert. He held her gaze but continued the slow brushstrokes.
“My priority is you. Us. Nothing else matters. You understand?”
She nodded slightly and bit her lip.
“I’ve already called the Villa and arranged for Vorticé Amore to be exclusively ours for the day.”
A small corner near her shoulder began to thaw out. Another section melted when he added, “I love your hair.”
With a short sigh, she offered a half-smile. “Thank you.”
He ran his fingers through her long mane as he brushed it. She enjoyed the firm grip he kept and would happily sit there all day if he’d keep it up.
They weren’t talking about last night. Part of her was glad—another part confused. She’d dumped an assload of private agony in his lap, but so far, he’d been nothing but a determined gentleman—treating her like a delicate treasure.
His tender loving care kept up. He did everything except breathe for her. An outfit appeared—something she recognized as a personal favorite. Dressing her and doing everything except handing off toilet paper, Parker went about showering her with levels of aftercare that attested to the sort of man he was.
Instead of nonsense talking, they let the silence speak for them. She found it comforting; maybe because after everything she’d said last night, Angie wasn’t sure what words she had left, if any.
In the garage, he led her to the SUV. When she tossed her purse onto the back seat, she saw a guitar case and a ratty duffle bag that seemed vaguely familiar.
On the way out of town, they hit up the Starbucks drive-thru. She listened to him calmly explain their order, taking great pains to stress specifics about her drink. Venti, full strength white iced tea. No liquid cane sugar. Double shaken—said twice for emphasis. Splenda on the side.
When the disembodied voice asked if they’d like anything else, he started as if remembering the nuclear codes and added two butter croissants, warmed.
Watching him had been her secret and not-so-secret guilty pleasure for Angie’s entire life. She didn’t care what he was doing or from what angle she viewed him because Parker Sullivan was always worth the eyeful.
She examined the sweater beneath his leather jacket. It was a deep shade of blue and looked soft. So soft that her fingers itched to touch and find out. The old black jeans he wore clung to his thighs.
His head slowly turned, and she thought for a flashing second she saw vulnerability in his eyes. Reaching for her hand, the one that wore his ring, he kissed it gently before dealing with their order at the window.
Another area around her jaw thawed and almost allowed a smile when he refused to drive away until she was certain the order was correct.
The drive away from town took longer than usual because from what she could figure out, they were on a slow and lazy time schedule. They drove in silence as the miles passed under their wheels.
What her sweet man arranged almost took her from thawed smiles to flat-out giggles when she got a look at the sacred Family Justice spot with the enormous pergola and ever-growing assortment of embellishments.
It was ridiculous how spoiled she was, but she knew it was also no use in denying it. A swanky porta potty was set up next to where they usually parked, and a small travel trailer—the kind that can hook to the back of a truck—held a huge picnic basket, two coolers, and some stacked bins.
The pergola and patio were freshly swept, and she could easily imagine a crew sent out from the Villa to get everything ready. Fresh flowers decorated the hanging vases and extra pillows covered all the patio furniture.
If she ever wondered what it’d be like to be waited on hand and foot, he certainly showed her how it was done. As the day wore on and more and more of her tension eased, she started to understand what he was doing.
He was giving her time. And he was waiting her out. In his nature or a learned skill every lawyer picked up? Didn’t matter ‘cause it was effective.
They ate an amazing lunch. At one point, he’d reached into the basket, pulled out the box with two pieces of pecan pie, and they’d completely inhaled them. He looked for the label, found it, and sneered.
She glanced to see what earned the scowl and bit back a laugh. Whiskey Pete’s. So the Irishman was also a Southern boy with pecans and brown sugar on his hands? Probably pissed Parker right the hell off that he liked the pie.
He made sure she wore a hat and was appropriately lathered in sunscreen before taking her hand and dragging her away from the pergola for a walk. For all his sweet and loving care, there was one thing Parker didn’t understand. Slow walking. Never had and never will. Taking a leisurely stroll drove him nuts, so the times they did go walking quickly turned into an arduous hike.
The rest of her thawed out as he dragged her along. By the time they’d circled back, she finally felt like she was back in her body.
Removing her shoes, she settled on a lounge chair and let the desert take away whatever lingered of last night. Parker sat nearby, strumming his guitar, and peace slowly seeped into her heart.
She’d been right to tell him what lay hidden in her heart. It hurt like hell and opened some old wounds, but Angie knew they had nothing if total honesty wasn’t their foundation.
He sang “Yesterday” with such poignancy that she was sure her beloved angels wept with her. The look on his face as the final notes faded in the air got her moving. She rose from the lounger, went to him, and took the guitar from his hands. Then she sat him on one of the sofas and climbed on his lap. There was no need to say anyth
ing.
She felt his chest heave before he wrapped her in his arms. They lingered in each other’s embrace for a long time. She was ready to hear what he had to say. Was ready to face whatever her words triggered.
She caressed his face and lay on his shoulder. He’d speak when he was ready.
Until she crawled on his lap, he wasn’t sure if they were really going to be okay. Humbled and moved by her rock steady love, he sent a silent prayer heavenward to a God he hoped was paying attention.
When she curled into him, and he could breathe her in, Parker buried his face in her neck and tried not to cry. The past was always going to be a trip wire in their relationship—how could it not? But he wanted her to see it through his eyes. It was time he showed half the balls she did and tell her what those times were like for him.
She hadn’t been alone in her misery.
“You were fourteen, and I was old enough to know better but sense was in short supply that summer.”
Her head lifted, and she looked at him with shock.
“You aren’t the only one with a confession,” he told her.
“Law school had practically killed me, and I was miserable twenty-four seven, so I came home for a few weeks of Mom’s TLC. And then I saw you and pretty much lost my shit.”
Instead of lying on his chest, she sat straight and got comfortable on his lap. Angie needed to see his face while he talked. Having a connection was important to her.
“You wore this insane red one-piece suit straight outta Baywatch. I couldn’t understand what Aunt Ash was thinking letting you prance around in that thing.”
He brushed his fingers up and down her back and thought about the outrageous bathing suit. “Do you remember?”
She colored slightly and looked away.
Tapping her lightly on the nose, he told her, “My confession comes with show and tell.” Carefully shifting so he didn’t do permanent damage to his dick, he went for the duffle bag he’d stashed earlier and released a sigh of relief when it was within easy reach. He put it on her lap and said, “Open it.”
She eyed him with clear questions in her expression. Unzipping the bag, she slid a hand inside and pulled out a shoebox, followed by a large, manila envelope that was stuffed full and had seen better days.
He put the backpack and shoebox aside. From the big envelope, he pulled a picture and flipped it over to read the inscription aloud. “Angel in red ~ Arizona Summer.”
She took the picture and stared at it. He’d studied that damn photo so many times that he had it memorized. Angie laughing—with her hair in a sloppy ponytail. She had braces and blood red nails. The look was cute, girl-next-door, and uncomfortably sexual at the same time.
“Care to guess how often I beat off to that picture?”
The admission was so grossly uncomfortable that he squirmed. He let out a shallow groan when her shocked eyes pinned him to the spot.
“That’s right. You heard me. A grown man jerking off to a fourteen-year-old’s picture. I knew I was screwed a long time before that.” He shrugged. “Knowing it was fucked up and wrong didn’t stop me from loving you.”
She started with the lip biting again, but he didn’t stop her. There was quite a bit more to say.
“I went out with a girl in law school named Angie because saying your name while we had forgettable sex was the only way I could get off.”
Sapphire eyes widened as her expression went from mild shock to total amazement.
“You’ve got the picture, right?”
She nodded jerkily, and her cheeks suffused with color.
He picked up the manila envelope and upended it. Pictures of Angie came spilling out. Some he’d taken and some his mom or Aunt Ash had sent by email. Email he’d promptly printed out.
Snarling, he picked up one of the pictures. “Here’s you going on your first date. I fucked up a legal brief over that little gem ‘cause all I could think of was Joey fucking Rojas putting his smarmy hands on you.”
“How’d you know his name?” she asked incredulously.
“I’m a fucking lawyer, babe. Got the stupid shit’s name out of your mom. He’s damn lucky I didn’t change all his grades online or put his whole family under surveillance for shits and grins.”
He picked through the pile of photographs. “Here’s a good one. Your junior prom.”
“Oh, I remember this,” she murmured. “Mom wouldn’t let me wear a strapless gown.”
Yeah, no shit, and he knew why. His jaw clenched, and she jumped on the telltale movement.
“Was that you?”
He nodded and let the embarrassing memory wash over him. “Lost my mind. Convinced our two moms that with too much skin on display, you were sure to get trafficked.”
“Trafficked?” She scoffed. “Seriously?”
“So while you were drawing hearts around my name, I was acting like a love-sick pervert from thousands of miles away.”
He let his words sink in and sat quietly while she picked through the pictures and came to terms with the fact that he had a veritable day-by-day visual record of her growing up years.
“Open the box.”
Putting the pictures aside, she looked at him and carefully lifted the lid. “Every fucking letter you sent after I went away to college—some of them written in crayon. Postcards, Christmas cards. All of it.”
With a stack of the written stuff clutched in her hands, she crushed the pile over her heart and stared at him.
“I love you, Angie. Have always loved you. At times, I wondered if I was sick for all the feelings I dealt with. Look,” he told her sincerely, “I can’t defend what happened with that woman at the party, and I’m not going to pretend there weren’t plenty of others. Chalk it up to the age difference.”
He took all his Angie mementos and replaced them in the duffle bag. With an enormous inhale, he gathered his thoughts and put one more piece of the puzzle in her hands.
“I was so scared when my dad was in the hospital. Everyone expected me to know what the fuck I was doing, but baby, I was lost. I did need you, Angel. More than I can express. But it all got jumbled up in my head. I was afraid. I thought you’d think I was a pussy because all I wanted to do was feel your arms around me once more. I knew how badly I’d fucked up when you left me, and my dad almost dying felt like karma taking a swing at me for being such a dick.”
Tears welled in her pretty eyes.
“Later, when I found out you were engaged, I lost my shit completely. Alex had to rescue me from myself. If he knew why at the time, he kept it to himself.”
“What does that mean?” she asked. “Rescue you from yourself?”
“Oh.” He scoffed. “Well, let’s see. Hookers,” he admitted with a sick feeling in his stomach. “Booze—lots of it. I’m permanently banned from Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas, and I’m embarrassed to admit Tijuana probably has my picture on a wall. The immigration folks don’t take kindly to naked border crossings.”
“My god, but we’re a sorry pair,” she muttered.
“I denied my feelings, and for that I will suffer for the rest of my life. My denial hurt you, Angel, and right now, my soul is crying out—begging your forgiveness. Please don’t give up on us.”
“I’m not giving up, Parker. Don’t you get it? I’ll never give up. I can’t. You’re in here,” she said as she put his hand over her heart. “You said we must be honest if this would work. I trust you with my life, but that doesn’t mean my love for you hasn’t brought me pain.”
He brushed hair away from her face. “I shouldn’t have used the Dom scenario last night. It wasn’t fair, and I knew that going in. I’m sorry.”
“Are you kidding?” she asked with soft incredulity. “What you did was perfect. I think some part of me knew when you took me back to the playroom and gave me a collar that I’d have to tell you. Eventually. The anniversary just pushed up the timeframe.”
She was an extraordinary creature, his Desert Angel.
“D
oes that mean you still want to explore that kind of arrangement in our relationship?”
“Yes,” she answered quickly and clearly. “It feels right. It feels complete to me. And I know you have doubts,” she hastily added. “But I’ve thought about what you said, and you’re right. I’ve always been hardwired to put you above anything. There’s a reason you’re the only one who’s been able to control me.”
“I don’t want to control you.”
“You know what I mean.” She snickered. “And yes, you do.”
They looked at each other.
“I want to be the wife you deserve,” she said and put her hand over his mouth when he started to interrupt. “And I can’t be happy unless you’re happy, so if that strips me of my feminist credibility, oh fucking well. I need you to be proud of me, Parker. I need you to push and then be there when I fall. And I need you to know that I will always be there for you—no matter what.”
“Are we okay, baby girl?”
“What do you think?”
He tried not to snigger, but it slipped out anyway. “Care to prove it?”
She laughed for the first time since last night. “Oh, shit. Is this going to be one of those you the big bad Dom and me the mewling sub scenes?”
“Nah,” he teased. “Better than that.”
“Enlighten me—please.”
He picked up the duffle again and reached into an outside zipper pocket. When he held up the sexy sub collar, she gasped. “I have need of my kitten.”
Her eyes blazed with lusty delight. His Angel liked it dirty.
Unclasping the heart lock, he opened the collar and gestured with it. “And you know what being my kitten means, don’t you?”
Naughty Angie Marquez gave him a seductive smirk and asked, “What else do you have in that bag of goodies?”
He grinned. “Carabiners, silk rope, and a bottle of lube.”
“Oh, for god’s sake,” she yelped. “Put the damn collar on. I’m yours to use.”
He fucked with her because it was fun and she liked it. Instead of putting the collar around her neck, he held it open and waited for her to lean into it. Cheap ass power play but he was more than sure it’d get her wet.
Everlasting (Family Justice Book 6) Page 23
