She felt her sister’s sharp-eyed gaze checking her out. “Oooh,” Sophie murmured. “I see what’s happening. Honey,” she said. “You will always be that man’s baby girl. Always. And it doesn’t matter if you fill his house with daughters. You were first, Angelina. Do not discount the power of him loving you from your first breath. I get why you are anxious. Pregnancy mood swings can be brutal, but cut yourself a break, okay?”
“I’m being such a baby, sorry.”
“You’re pregnant, sis.”
Sophie stood and kissed the top of her head. She grabbed their measly assortment of shopping bags. “Stay put and I’ll go look for Ben. When I come back, we’ll stop by the loo, okay?”
After Sophie walked off, Angie shifted and scooted until her chair was out of the sun. It was hot, and the last thing she needed was a sunburn. Pushing the decaf coffee drink aside was no hardship. After two or three sips, she’d had enough anyway, so drinking more would only trigger a bathroom stop on the drive home.
The sound of a 35mm camera clicking away caught her attention. She looked up and glanced around. It was all over the news that Brent Harper was in town filming his latest spy thriller. She and Sophie made Flagstaff their destination after giggling up a sister-storm over how cool it would be to stumble upon him or the location shoot.
There was nothing. Everywhere she looked, all she saw was normal. Except for the oversized dog taking a dump on the curb. That was just rude.
Before too long, Sophie returned and hurried them into the restroom. They were at the sinks washing up when she caught her sister’s curious gaze in the mirror.
“What?”
Sophie shrugged and said, “Nothing.”
Angie ripped half a dozen flimsy paper towels from the wall mounted holder and gave her sister shade while drying her hands. “We’re too old to play this game, Soph. Spit it out.”
“Okay, but don’t freak out.”
Her brows went up.
“Um, I think some guy was trying to take your picture. Through the hedge. I saw him when Ben pulled up to the curb.”
A zing of anxiety pinballed back and forth inside her, but she shook it off. “You were probably imagining things.”
Sophie’s eyes narrowed. “Uh-huh. Sure. Then you won’t care if I tell Alexander.”
Pure, simple instinct made her say nothing. She certainly wasn’t going to ring up their brother and get him going with crazy thoughts. They’d looked into the European gossip that might or might not have been about her and Parker, and Cam had even taken a deep look into Ronaldo’s current status. Everyone felt it was a case of overreacting.
But something didn’t feel right, so she zipped her lip. Let Sophie broach the subject with Alex. That was good enough.
She changed the subject and gave Sophie a guilty smirk. “Will you ask Ben to stop for ice cream when we get to Sedona?”
“Whatever you want, little mama. Whatever you want.”
Parker assessed the scene that awaited him when he came through the door. A stack of bags in the foyer looked like they were dumped and then immediately forgotten. On a console table against the wall, Angie’s purse and keys sat next to an ice cream cup from a kitschy sixties parlor his wife frequented. With a second glance, he saw it was oozing melted goo onto the table.
He tossed his keys into the bowl for that purpose, scooped hers up, and dropped them in as well. The TV was on in the living room, and he caught the local weather guy making a funny about using sunscreen with a one million SPF factor for the next few days.
A stack of mail on the coffee table called to him. He was waiting for some vinyl decals that somehow ended up in his cart one day when he was killing time on Etsy. The excuse he used for this strange use of his time was research. He was checking out handmade vendors to help Roman and Kelly make some decisions about her online presence.
On his way to fetch the mail, he heard Angie making noise in the kitchen. There were so many scents hanging in the air that he didn’t know which to enjoy first. When he stepped through the archway and could see into the kitchen, his eyes widened. What the hell was she up to this time?
The tune she sang was called “Broken Wings.” A confession in her journal about the song’s importance was something he was well aware of. There was a time when his Angel felt broken and couldn’t fly. Because of him. Those empty, tortured years still haunted them both.
He watched and listened from the shadows, searching for clues to her mood. All of she sudden, she whooped a very loud, “Dammit!” and flew to the oven. Parker came around the corner as she placed a pan on the counter. Her back was to him. The sight she made in her flowery sundress got the usual reaction when his dick instantly woke up. He did not care how old they got. Every day of his life, he wanted her with a passion that no longer surprised him.
She bent over the counter and took a big breath. Beneath the summer dress, he glimpsed his downfall. White panties.
“Woman,” he joked in a bark loud enough to shock but not to scare. She jumped at the sound and whirled around. A happy grin lit up her face. He continued in a throaty growl. “Was there a battle in this kitchen that I wasn’t invited to?”
“Look,” she squealed with an excess of delight. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him to her side. “Popovers! Homemade. Your mom says they were your favorite.” She inhaled the aroma. “Mmm. When they cool, we can ice them!”
The pan of golden popovers looked appealing. “Is that apple I smell?”
“Uh-huh,” she chirped. “And lemon. From the tree at your folks!”
She was idling in the manic zone but not fully off the wall. Maybe he caught her before shit got out of control.
Wiping her hands on a towel, she whirled away and ran to the stove. He counted one extra large pot—the one she called el grande—and two smaller pans bubbling away. There was no need for him to ask—she would start narrating soon enough.
Parker crossed his arms and sighed. Cutting off the noise in her overactive mind on a normal day was challenging enough. However, controlling that shit while her hormones were running the show was a nightmare.
“Paella,” she explained. “I can’t have any, so I hope you like it a lot.”
“Angie.”
She moved to the counter. It looked like she was chopping enough lettuce to make a salad for half the town. The knife waved in the air when she gestured and rambled on.
“I don’t think the baby likes cucumbers. They make her burp, or maybe it’s me who burps.” She shrugged and started chopping again. “I don’t know.”
This time, he used what she called his Dom voice. “Angelina.”
She froze but did not turn around.
“Put the knife down and greet your husband properly.”
His tone was a reminder that she broke protocol. They agreed, and she insisted that nothing change because she was pregnant. No matter what was happening or how busy she was, when he came through the door after work, she was supposed to focus on him. On them. Sometimes, those moments were the best part of his day.
Her shoulders rose and fell on a deep breath. She put the knife down, turned off the burners, and wiped her hands before turning to face him. Her eyes were down, and she was wringing her hands.
Her mouth moved, and a murmur that was little more than a mumble made his heart ache. She looked so lost. He heard her words but chose not to acknowledge them.
He uncrossed his arms and held them open. She ran into his embrace, begging for forgiveness. Her desperation touched his heart. He thought about what his parents went through. Tried to imagine his mother’s state of mind.
Gently leading her to the kitchen table, he sat and pulled her onto his lap. She curled into him and pressed kisses to his face and throat.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to defy you.”
“I know, Angel. You get carried away sometimes, but you also have to learn when to slow down. All this activity is exhausting you, baby girl.”
She buried her face
against his neck with an emotional wail. Her whole body shook as she sobbed. He was almost out of his skull with concern, but they had been down these emotional roads before, and he knew to wait her out.
“I, I, I,” she cried with trembling sobs, “I don’t know who I am if I’m not your”— the sobbing got serious – “baby girl.”
He barely understood a single word. Think man, think! What was she trying to tell him?
She sat up and grabbed his lapels. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Only a terrible person would be jealous of their own baby.”
Oh, Jesus. This was now officially ridiculous—the irrational fear she harbored that somehow their daughter would be more precious to him than she was. Luckily, he understood what this was really all about. Being pregnant fired up all her insecurities. He had to shut her down and take over before she fell apart.
“Angelina,” he growled. “Enough of this. I mean it,” he demanded. “I can’t have you this upset over nothing.”
She was trembling. The way she wiped her nose with the back of her hand reminded him of when she was a snotty kid.
“We do this my way,” he told her. “Starting with not a word out of you.” He nodded at the destroyed kitchen. “Can that food wait for a bit?”
“I don’t care about the food,” she mumbled. “But yes.”
“What do you care about, Angel?” He brushed some flyaway curls off her cheek.
“You,” she murmured. “And the baby.”
They both relaxed, and he caressed her belly. Now that she was calmer, he could take care of her.
“Kiss, kiss, Parker.”
Her small voice sounded so vulnerable. He responded to the familiar demand and calmed her even further with a string of sweetly seductive kisses.
He wanted her to step outside the busy thoughts. The message his father delivered by telling him something powerfully personal got him thinking. Before anything else, the most important thing of all was the two of them—as a couple. It was not about him or his fantasy about an angel daughter. It was about the love of his life and what she was going through.
“Empty your thoughts, kitten.”
Her eyes swung to his.
“I’m going to take care of you.”
Parker stood, cradled his pregnant wife in his arms and reverently carried her to their bedroom. He sat her in a chair and tilted her chin for a demanding kiss.
“Do not think,” he drawled. “Only feel. And sit still. I want you in this chair when I come back.”
Her hand stroked the side of his face. “As you wish.”
He grinned as he straightened. It was her concession to mandatory obedience. “Smartass.”
She winked. “You know what you can do with my smart ass, right?”
“Why, Mrs. Sullivan,” he sternly drawled. “I do believe that an obvious topping move when I’m trying to assert my dominance earns you an automatic three-point penalty. Keep it up, baby girl. You know I cannot wait to tie you to a cross-bar and whip your sexy ass. At this rate, I’ll need to practice.” He yanked on a handful of hair. “I’m eager to try a new wrap I saw online. They say it can make a woman come with five good lashes.”
“And to think, it’s my brother they call Zorro.”
He leered at her suggestively but said nothing. Alex’s thing was the rope. It was Roman who shared Parker’s skill with the lash. With the guy hanging around Bendover all summer, they cautiously danced around the subject. He didn’t want to imagine Kelly swinging from the ceiling any more than he wanted Roman thinking the same of Angie.
“Stay put,” he commanded and strode off to set the stage.
“I am truly sorry, sweetie,” she cooed to her belly. “Mommy is a mess right now. It’s just that I love Daddy so much and being pregnant is kind of freaking me out. I don’t want you to think having a baby is scary. It’s not that. Once I hold you in my arms, all of this will be water under the bridge.”
She swept her hands all around her swelling tummy. Meghan said it was a way to communicate through touch.
A swift kick in the ribs made her laugh. The Sullivan princess was practicing to be a ballbuster. Angie liked to imagine her kicking one of Draegyn’s sons in the shin. Lately, she had been entertaining the notion of how goddamn funny it would be if Parker’s daughter was destined to be with any of the St. John boys. The irony and karmic kick to the head was worthy of Justice legend.
“What the hell is that man doing?” she grumbled aloud. Knowing better than to move from the spot where he told her to stay, she squirmed this way and that, trying to get a look at what he was up to. She smelled a favorite bath scent and clapped her hands. Ever since she wrote in her journal about how sexy she found it when he bathed her, he turned the task into an art form.
Blowing a breath into her hand, she checked to be sure she didn’t smell like garlic.
“I can hear you thinking,” her sexy as fuck husband called from the bathroom.
Angie chuckled. God! He was so demanding when his inner Dom was in control. Cupping a hand to the corner of her mouth, she yelled, “I was thinking about you, oh master mine. Thinking about how hella hot and sexy you are.”
He stomped into the bedroom and put his hands on his hips. Sometimes, she loved making him crazy.
“Why can’t you behave? One minute, it’s the boohoo chorus over some crazy shit about being jealous of the baby, and then as soon as I tell you to cut it out, you do a complete one eighty and turn on the sex kitten.”
She twirled a long curl of hair around one finger and smirked. “Why’s it gotta be one or the other? Can’t I be an angel kitten?”
The look on his face was adorable and hilarious. Not even the great lawyer himself could effectively argue when she applied woman logic.
Mumbling and griping up a storm, he walked over, grabbed her wrist, and hauled her from the chair. She yelped and tried to keep up as he pulled her into the bathroom.
“Aren’t you going to carry me?”
“No,” he grunted. “Smartasses walk.”
The bathroom was warm and steamy. There was a mountain of bubbles in the bathtub.
He twirled her around and pulled the zipper down on her dress. It took a wiggle or two to push the damn thing over her bump.
“I intended to tell you how much I enjoy your panties.”
“But now you’re not? Why?”
“Because I can’t spank you while you’re pregnant.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” she countered.
“Really?” Parker’s snicker made her tingle. “Now you know how it feels.”
Her jaw dropped open. Score one for the lawyer. She liked that he didn’t let her get away with much.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked.
“No. But I want this nonsense to stop. You are my baby girl, understand? Nothing could ever change that. Not daughters or granddaughters or great-granddaughters. There’s nothing for you to worry about. I want you to make me a promise.”
Ergh. Promises made to Parker were something she did not take lightly. And he knew that, so when he asked for a promise, he was being serious.
“Let’s get you in the tub and we’ll talk.”
Showing the solemnity of a royal anointing, he helped remove her bra and panties before handing off a clip for her hair. When he held out a hand to help her into the tub, she felt the love coming off him in strong waves. Parker Sullivan would walk barefoot through hell for her.
The warm water felt so good. She sat straight in a mound of shifting bubbles. Before he came to get her, he’d removed his suit jacket and rolled his sleeves back. She watched as he dipped a soft poofy bath sponge into the water.
Angie cradled her tummy and slouched forward as far as she could because the gentle circles he drew on her back felt lovely. Before long, she was ready to melt from Parker’s loving care. Each time he cupped water and let it cascade over her skin, she sighed.
After sinking back into the water so he could wash her legs, she sat up an
d offered her lips for a kiss he eagerly reciprocated.
“How’s the water? Warm enough?”
Before she answered, he plucked the clip from her hair. Squawking with surprise, she was about to complain when he went with some carefully applied domination.
“I’m going to wash your hair. You’re not to do anything without being told. And no talking. Do you understand, Angel?”
Hmm. Not kitten. Angel. She suspected whatever lesson he had in store was about to begin. Knowing how seriously he took his commitment to her and their relationship, Angie almost teared up. She loved this man with her whole heart.
It was tough to hold back her giggles when he reached into the tub as some of the cooling water drained. She stroked his arm with her foot, and when he glanced at her, she gave him her very best flirty pout.
He didn’t fall for it.
Once the tub refreshed with warmer water, she drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs as an anchor. When her told her to put her head back and shut her eyes, everything except the man and the moment faded away.
Oh. My. God. Why had nobody told her how sexy and erotic a hair washing could be? His strong fingers scrubbing her scalp and the pitchers of warm water poured over her head made Angie want to stay in the tub forever.
His voice was calm but direct when the words started.
“Eyes closed, baby girl. You’re to listen only.”
She nodded. Her heart was open, and her mind ready to hear. Learn.
Bathing his naughty angel was definitely a favorite pastime, and the clues he picked up from her journal helped him make each occasion special. Mostly, he gave her his entire attention. One hundred and ten percent. Because with her, nearly everything led back to him. She blossomed when he paid attention. Not doted. Angie most certainly did not have time for clingy shit. What floated her boat was when he focused only on her. Like when they were in the playroom.
This time, he came prepared to wash her hair. The pleasure he got from the husbandly task was a surprise. He could not remember the last time something so simple affected him this deeply.
A slow smile spread across his face. Angie loved the attention. Her sultry purrs and peaked nipples told him of her pleasure.
Enduring (Family Justice Book 8) Page 12
