He was too old for this shit. It was embarrassing on some level. Here he was, watching forty round up the bend, and for all his success, good looks, and rock ‘n’ roll badass charisma, his personal life was a tired joke.
And why was it a tired joke? Because the fucking truth was that he’d given his heart away a long, long time ago to a scrap of a girl who loved to laugh, never met a taunt or challenge she wouldn’t try to defeat, and looked at him with the most adoring sapphire colored eyes.
He’d wanted Angel, and when he had her, he hadn’t been careful. Hadn’t been honest. It seemed the cruelest irony of them all that she still believed he’d regretted their involvement.
How could he tell her now that he’d loved her every day of her life? How, since she was a teenager, he’d lusted after her in ways that still haunted him? Could he make her believe?
Maybe all he should hope for was a foot in the door. A chance to control the inevitable firestorm that would erupt when Alex figured out what had gone down. His friend getting all bent out of shape about upsetting Meghan was a sign that the shit was already approaching the fan.
Angie’s drunken performance the night she came back only made matters worse. He was pretty damn sure all that bullshit about Ronald McDonald, or whatever the fuck that Spanish asshole’s name was, was meant to piss him off. And it worked. The more she’d taunted about this great love of hers that crashed and burned because of timing, the more he’d wanted to break something.
And timing as an explanation for calling off a wedding? Who the fuck was she kidding? Her breakup had nothing to do with timing. He knew her too well—even after years of silence. There was something completely disingenuous about the way she’d talked about her life in Spain and this so-called love of hers.
Them yelling at each other at the foot of the big staircase in the hacienda was not a proud moment, either. Still not sure how I kept it together, he thought. At one point when she was hopping up and down on the bottom stairs and snarling two inches away from his face, he’d been sorely tempted to haul her over his knee and blister her ass for acting like such a brat.
Actually, that might still be an option. This was Angelina, after all, and few knew better than him what an indulged princess she’d been as a child. The grown-up version exuded an energy that was electrifying, but her spoiled inner bitch-child was a right royal pain in the ass. As far as Parker was concerned, what the girl needed was a firm hand. Someone to temper the fire. And that someone was him.
“SO, WHEN DO YOU GUYS leave?”
Wiping away a glob of hot sauce that had clung to her mouth, Lacey smiled at Victoria with a conspiratorial grin. “Tomorrow afternoon. Sawyer’s all jazzed. Said the last time he flew anyone from Justice into Vegas, well . . . you know the outcome.”
“Oh, I know that outcome well!” Tori trilled with a giggle. “Fuck the souvenirs. Try a baby on board and an arrogant playboy in denial. Now, there are two things that did not stay in Vegas.”
Everyone cracked up laughing. They were crowded around a high-top table in the back of the bar, annihilating a platter of buffalo wings while Meghan, who was wandering around at the moment, scoped out the dirty on their supposed karaoke competitors.
Enjoying their comical interplay, Angie nodded in Meghan’s direction. “By the way, you guys have nothing to worry about. Those good ol’ boys at the mic before did a passable harmony, but they lack the tits and ass to bring the crowd to their side!”
Lacey snorted. “T and A. I think we’re better than that.”
Angie agreed. When the girls had told her about the karaoke fever they had going on, she figured it was just a bit of housewifey fun. Boy, was she ever wrong. Earlier, when they were waiting for the men to get their rides sorted out, she’d listened in delighted disbelief as the three women gathered around the grand piano in the Villa’s magnificent open foyer and picked apart a harmony for a song they wanted to perform.
Why . . . Boots, Ass, and Sass needed a record contract! These ladies rocked out with their tits out as Tori so succinctly put it.
Besides the fact that it was completely, awesomely hilarious that the Justice wives got their giggles through sing-along performances in a dusty old honky tonk bar, there was something touching and sweet about their intense camaraderie. A year ago these women didn’t even know each other. Today—they were a family.
“Hey, guess what?” Meghan blurted breathlessly as she dashed into their midst. She had the look of someone with gossip to share.
“Oooh, wings! Yum,” she murmured, reaching between them to snag one. “Please tell me these aren’t nuclear before I shove it in my mouth.”
Tori smirked. “You’ve had hotter things in your mouth, Red.”
Meghan smirked right back, earning a hearty snicker-snort from Lacey, who clapped her hands with praise when Meghan arched an eyebrow at Tori, opened her mouth, inserted the entire little drumstick covered in sticky red sauce, and in one nibble, stripped it to the bone all while glaring comically at Victoria.
“Well done, Lady Mama,” Lacey hooted. “That’s showing us!”
Angie cracked up when Tori pushed her Kahlua and cream toward Meghan, who now had the look of someone with the hot sauce sweats. “Here, take a sip. It will cut the fire better than water.”
She took a healthy swig of the creamy drink and smacked her lips. “Mmmm. Thanks. That was like breathing fire. Shit! Is Pete insane? Those wings will kill someone.”
Angie nudged Meghan playfully. “Um, they’re on the menu as insane wings.”
“Seriously?” Meghan scoffed.
She polished off the rest of Tori’s drink and looked around the table. “So anyway, as I was saying before swallowing a mouth full of molten lava—some chick at the bar told me that Wally, the little guy who sings with those old-timers? He’s off on an oil rig for the next couple of months so they’re like mad scrambling trying to find a lead.”
“Well, if that duo earlier are in the competition, y’all don’t even have to bother swinging for the fence. A nice double up the middle will do fine ‘cause those guys sucked.”
“Agreed, Angie,” Lacey said as they fist bumped. “And now that we have another musician,” she added with an exaggerated air-kiss in her direction, “we’ve totes got this.”
“I wish my mom was here,” Tori sighed with her mouth full of food. “She could help us with some choreography.”
Oh, right! Tori’s mom was a pageant consultant. She must know all sorts of cool moves. “I can’t wait to meet her,” Angie gushed. “Stephanie Bennett sounds like my kind of lady. Anyone who could stop my Uncle Calder in his tracks has to be the bomb.”
“Any news on that front?” Lacey asked.
It was definitely funny how all eyes swung to Meghan at the asking—as if she had all the answers.
“Okay, look,” Red snapped. “All that Lady Mama stuff and expecting me to be an extension of Alex . . . I really don’t know as much as you think I do. Marrying Big Daddy doesn’t come with any special privileges.”
They all exploded in shrieks of laughter at the exact same time. Who the fuck was she kidding? Angie couldn’t remember laughing this hard in forever.
After a round of good-natured teasing at Meghan’s expense, the mood around the table changed in a nanosecond when Lacey returned after a beer run and mock whispered as she bent to put her burden down, “Something seems to have crawled up the good counselor’s shorts because he’s corner lurking with an expression suggesting he’s about to poop out an egg roll.”
Everyone turned in unison, like a damn synchronized routine, and fixed their gazes on Parker who, indeed, was skulking in the shadows across the room.
A tiny smile fought to overtake her lips. The energy coming from the dark corner was focused on her—she could sense it. Shivering, she turned away and groaned when her companions continued to stare at him like he was on display in a zoo.
“Anyone got some chocolate? Maybe a marshmallow or two, ‘cause we could melt so
me yummy s’mores from the heat coming off that man.”
Tori. Of course. She was the resident wiseass. Always ready with a quip or a zinger. Only, in this case, Angie had to hand it to her. She was spot on because right now? Parker had clearly let his fire-breathing dragon off the leash.
With all eyes now on her, she squirmed and looked around at the frank, assessing expressions coming her way. Oh, boy.
“Angelina Marquez,” Meghan drawled. “Enough with the zipped lip, enigmatic bullshit. I’ve never seen Parker so fired up. Have either of you?” she asked Tori and Lacey who smirked and shook their heads. A chorus of “Nope” and “Hardly” followed.
Uh, neither had she, and Angie had certainly known him longer, better, and more intimately than any of them. Good heavens. Even she was surprised by the intensity he’d been putting off from the moment they all met up out in the parking lot.
She saw the three women exchange glances. Meghan cleared her throat. Lacey sat there and sipped her beer, watching. Finally, Victoria spoke up.
“I think all of us here know that look,” she said as Meghan and Lacey chuckled. “That man’s been inside more than your head, senõrita. And the fact that he’s still got two working legs means your brother is unaware that his oldest friend has,” she smirked and took a pull from her beer, “known you in a . . . uh, biblical sense.”
“Mmmm,” Lacey murmured on a sip. “Well put, Mrs. St. John! Well put.”
For the first time, Angie really considered that whole alpha male thing and realized she was hip deep in them at the moment. Christ. Alex and his band of merry men were the Alpha poster boys.
Dominoes began falling fast and furious in her head. How had she never seen this before? Her entire world was made up of strong men. Her distinguished, patrician grandfather and her forward-thinking father. Both alphas in their own right. Calder. Uh, duh. Even Uncle Eduardo. Being a priest hadn’t diminished any of his natural alpha tendencies. And Parker, well, he’d always had the intensity and strength she’d associated with Alex only more so. He might very well be the most powerfully alpha of them all.
That was what she knew. Men who tended to be bigger than life. No wonder people were mystified by her engagement to Ronaldo. He was so polished, and yes, she meant that in a slightly derogatory way. That whole suave, continental, shtick bored the ever-loving shit out of her.
No. She dreamed about a man whose jeans dropped to the floor with a thud from the weight of his belt buckle, who had eyes that saw through her, and had the broad chest and strong arms that could make her feel safe.
But she’d been foolish before. Believed sex meant the same thing as love. Having her nose rubbed in that fact had been a misery she’d never quite overcome. Judging by the way he was looking at her—as if she was about to be devoured—she could have the sex if she wanted. He was a guy, after all. But what did she want beyond that? Anything? Everything?
Remembering that the ladies were still waiting for her to say something, she quirked a half-grin and hung her head for a second. Looking around at their amused faces, she choked off a giggle and rolled her eyes.
“Suddenly, this Family Justice thing is starting to make sense. I mean, is there something in the water here?” she snickered.
Red laughed. “It’s like the damn love boat, only in the desert, of all places!”
Angie laughed at Meghan’s description. Indeed.
“Okay,” she sighed. “I suppose it was insane to think this wasn’t going to come out at some point, but yes. Guilty of that biblical thing,” she said solemnly while nodding at Tori.
Turning to Meghan, she said, “And no. Alex has no idea. It was a long time ago when we were all in different head spaces.”
Meghan snorted and laughed at the same time. “You’ve met your brother, right? Do you actually imagine for a second that he knows nothing? Tell me you don’t feel his fingerprints all over what’s going on now!” she squawked, incredulous that Angie was so out of touch.
Finishing her beer, Meghan pushed the bottle to the center of the table and looked at her thoughtfully.
“I’ll say it again; he may not know the details, but he knows something.”
Lacey, who seemed to have a unique way of not letting anything get by, said, “And for extra giggles, ladies, check out the menacing glare the pretty boy at the bar is getting. He’s been eye-balling the senõrita here and somebody doesn’t seem to be liking that!”
Tori pretended to cross herself then muttered, “Heaven help us. Another Justice top dog has come into our midst!”
This time, their raucous laughter bounced off the walls.
Parker ground his teeth as his jaw locked down tight and his mouth grew grim and taut. Peals of laughter from the table he was watching ricocheted off the walls and slammed into his chest. At least the ladies were having a great time.
Him? He was in hell. Left on his own at the corner table they’d commandeered while Alex and the guys wandered off to show a couple of guys from the construction crew the ropes. When the girls scooted away to eat bad things and gossip; he was nursed a drink and a bad attitude.
Goddammit, if Angie wasn’t being an absolute bitch. And by bitch he meant her regular adorable self, charming everyone who came near, only with a fine veneer of bite me directed solely at him.
Women. Fuck. Anyone who thought they had them figured out was so full of shit.
And to make matters a million times worse? Dammit. If there wasn’t a dumb fucking cowboy wannabe at the bar checking out his Angel with a look that had Parker seething with anger.
The second their noisy boisterous group had burst into the place, every single, on-the-prowl guy in the joint started sizing her up. Yeah—there were other unattached females in the club but none who came close to Angie’s unique beauty. And it did not help in the fucking least that she was wearing the sort of outfit that screamed innocent and available . . . even though as far as he was concerned, she was neither of those things.
Abandoning the table after moving some shit around so it was clear the spot was occupied, Parker stomped toward the far end of the long bar where he could keep an eye on the whole room.
“Dude!” a barrel chested bartender covered in tats bellowed at him over the sound of the music. “What are you drinking?”
Leaning over the rough-hewn bar, he barked a response. “Corona and lime.”
Glancing down the bar at the urban cowboy-type with his shiny new boots and jeans that had a fucking ironed-in crease running from knee to the hem, Parker contemplated dragging the douchebag outside and dropping him with one punch. When he saw the fucker trying to get the bartender’s attention, Parker made an impulsive decision and acted on it without any consideration.
When the bartender returned with the beer, he asked, “You’re Barry, right? Pete’s new barkeep.”
“Yep. That’s me. Barkeep Barry!” the guy chuckled.
Extending his hand for a hearty shake, Parker smirked at the jest. “I’m Parker. My band takes the stage every couple of weeks. Me and Pete go waaaay back.”
Barry grinned. “I know who you are, man. Desert Thunder. Me and my girlfriend have been to a couple of your shows. She loves that old-school rock shit.”
“Old-school shit?” Parker drawled. “Fuck, Barry. Bit harsh, don’t you think?”
They each chuckled and smirked at the same time.
The barkeep came back with a crooked grin and half a shrug. “I’m more a Metallica -kick-your-ass kind of guy but my lady? She’s all about the rock ‘n’ roll and you know how that shit goes,” he quipped with a good-natured conspiratorial wink. “Whatever keeps her happy, right?”
Uh-huh. He and Barry were going to get along just fine. Shooting a malevolent glare down the bar, he nodded to the barkeep.
“See that city boy pussy?”
Barry absently swiped the bar rag at some imaginary mess and sneered at the object of Parker’s attention. “You mean the pretend Keith Urban? What an asshole.”
; “Yeah. My thought exactly. Look, he’s gonna call you over and try to send a drink to that lady standing over there.” He nodded at Angie. Reaching into his back pocket, Parker pulled out his billfold and removed a crisp hundred-dollar note that he slid across the bar to Barry. “Make sure any drinks he sends don’t make it there or better yet, are of the non-alcoholic kind.”
The barkeep studied Angie a minute. “She your gal?”
And there was the million-dollar question.
“Will be when she stops running,” he murmured.
Barry snorted a laugh. “Women! Right?”
For good measure Parker threw down a bit more information.
“See that big guy across the room? The one standing with a bunch of other big guys?”
“You talking about the Justice crew? Good men, all of ’em. Do a lot for the vets around here.”
Bingo. “Yeah. Justice. The lady is one of them, and I don’t need to tell you what sort of shitstorm will blow through here if anyone fucks with her.”
The other man’s eyebrows bumped together. “Understood and duly noted.” Then he pushed the hundred-dollar bill away from him. “Don’t need to do that, Parker. I got your back, man.”
Taking a draw of his beer, Parker nodded but told him, “Thanks, Barry. I appreciate it. And you take that hondo and treat your lady to a night out. On me. Okay?”
“Hehehe,” Barry chuckled. “Tell you what—next time your band plays, can I bring Shelly round? She’d totally get off on a meet and greet with y’all.”
“Deal. Now make sure pretty boy Keith strikes out, okay?”
“Leave it to me, man.”
They did one of those bro-handshake fist bump things and then Parker turned and put Angel squarely in the crosshairs. Fuck this run and pretend bullshit. The girl was his. And it was time that she understood that.
WITH KARAOKE OVER FOR THE night, the house band was on stage playing that damn song. Angie was in shock but did an amazing job of looking like she was a little bit bored, while inside, she was running in a circle, screaming at the universe to stop the avalanche of memories those lyrics and that tune unleashed inside her.
Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2) Page 11
