Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2) (46 page)

She looked at him strangely. The grumpy bark that was just this side of a snarl was a bit much even by his standards. Did it help that his dad was openly smirking at him? No, it did not.

“Well,” Angie sniffed after giving him a dismissive look, “you must meet her before Boston. That way you can tell my folks how awesome she is.”

“Why don’t we do lunch in town?” his mother suggested enthusiastically. “Or go get a manicure. Just us girls.”

“I think our manly importance in this matter has been pretty thoroughly spelled out, don’t you, son?” his dad snickered.

Humph.
Parker just grunted and stomped to the refrigerator. He needed a beer. Maybe a couple of them. When he turned around again after tossing the cap away, he was alone in the kitchen.

What the fuck? Really? Glad to know he was as important to the evening as, well . . . as what?

Laughter rang out from the family room. On reluctant feet, he headed toward the sound, grumbling the whole way.

He found Angie bending over his dad’s shoulder as he showed her something on his laptop while his mom was nowhere to be seen.

“So you know how your dad and I have that Rube Goldberg Challenge?”

“Challenge?” Angie snickered good-naturedly as she nudged the older man’s shoulder. “How about lifelong pissing contest?”

“And then there’s that.” His father chuckled. “Well, anyway—this time, instead of doing a video reveal, your dad’s shipping his machine to the Villa so after the wedding while we get in a long, extended visit, we can complete the challenge together.”

Oh, god,” Angie muttered sarcastically. “My mother must love that!”

“Hey!” his dad teased. “Come on now. Be nice. We keep it within a set of restraints so neither of us can get too crazy.”

“You call
no bigger than a big screen TV and can’t use electricity
restraints?” She chuckled.

“Tell me, Angel, do you know what he’s building this time?”

“Hell no, Uncle Matt! Sophie and I stay away from the mad professor’s workshop and Mom only goes out there when she has to.”

From his perch in the doorway where he leaned casually against the door jam and nursed his beer while eavesdropping on their conversation, Parker blurted out with a snarky snort, “Mad professor. Good one! Alex’s apple didn’t fall far from your old man’s tree.”

Angie, who had turned around the moment he’d made his presence known, laughed joyfully.

“Oh, my god! You’re so right. What’s that expression?” she asked with a questioning frown. “Two peas in a pod? Something like that.”

“The Marquez men are most definitely two of a kind,” his mom chimed in as she came into the room carrying a platter overflowing with homemade tortilla crisps, a mound of guac, and a carafe filled with fresh salsa. Apparently, it was southwestern night at the Sullivans.

“Dig in,” she nodded at the pile as she put out individual salsa cups for each of them. “I kept the hot in the salsa to a slow burn.” Turning a raised eye in Parker’s direction, she noted the beer in his hand and said, “And Uncle Matt has a pitcher of margaritas ready to go, Angie. You ready to get your tequila on?”

“Don Julio!” his dad hooted. “None of that Cuervo crap in my house.”

“I’m stuffed,” Angie groaned. Laying her napkin over her empty plate like a tarp at a crime scene, she pushed it away and clutched her stomach. “Everyone look away.” She giggled. “Have to let out my belt a notch or two.”

Uncle Matt, who always had the best one-liners, made the perfect response to her comment by way of an ear-splitting belch that was met with a stern groan from Aunt Wendy and a quiet chuckle from Parker.

“Must you?” Wendy drawled.

“Better out than in,” her uncle quipped with a wink.

Lord but she loved these two people.

“Need help with the dishes?” she asked politely, rising from her chair.

Angie was startled when her aunt pounded Parker on the shoulder and said, “See? That girl’s been raised right. Not like that Allison person. Nobody bothered to teach her any manners.”

What? Allison? Who the bloody hell was Allison?

“Mom!” Parker groaned.

“Man up, Parker,” Aunt Wendy smirked. “The woman was a twit and you know it. No need to be embarrassed just because your girlfriend was brought up by hillbillies.”

Angie almost choked to death on the margarita she was sipping. Girlfriend? Had the word GIRLFRIEND come out of her aunt’s mouth? She was seriously going to murder that man. A girlfriend? Really?
Fuck.
Hadn’t seen that coming.

“Oh, Wendy. I don’t think she was a hillbilly. That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? To the hillbillies, I mean,” Uncle Matt drawled with a sarcastic bite.

As her aunt and uncle cracked up over what was obviously an inside joke, Angie glared malevolently at Parker. At least she thought her look was menacing. Was hard to tell. Tequila always made her face feel numb, but it was just so damn yummy when it came to her in one of Uncle Matt’s crafted margaritas that before she realized the folly of her ways, she was double fisting the tasty drinks and pounding them down like ice water.

“Girlfriend?”
Shit.
Had she slurred that out loud?

Glancing at her then back at his mother, Parker griped, “Ma, let it go. That was a year ago and I told you. She wasn’t rude—just . . . insensitive.”

Wendy laughed and pushed the hair from her son’s forehead. “Thank god you came to your senses.”

“I need some air,” Angie mumbled, scrambling awkwardly to her feet.

Learning that Parker had at some point been with a girlfriend was making the excellent dinner she’d just inhaled rumble menacingly in her belly.

“Why don’t you take Angie out back, son?” Uncle Matt suggested. “It’s a beautiful sunset. We’ll all go out to the patio for a while. I’ll just help your mom clear everything away and join you two in a bit.”

“Go on, now,” Wendy encouraged. “Matt, honey. Freshen their drinks. And Parker?” she added. “Show Angie my violets in the greenhouse.”

There was a lot of hustling and bustling, chairs scraped on the floor, dishes and glasses clinked as they were gathered but all she could focus on was the term
girlfriend.

Taking their drinks, Parker nodded solemnly, “Come on.” Nodding toward the patio door with his head, Angie considered kicking him—like she would have when she was five years old—instead of going anywhere with him.

The sound her boots made as she stomped ahead of him seemed to mock Angie. A girlfriend changed everything, right? Who was she kidding? Remembering that she’d been cavorting with a fiancé around the same time only diminished her displeasure by degrees. How dare he have a girlfriend?

Flouncing dramatically across the patio, she dropped clumsily onto a swing bed hanging beneath a heavy wood frame and stared glumly at her date for the evening. Where five minutes ago she might have considered stretching out with him on the distinctive outdoor swing, at the present second she was considering pushing him down and jumping on him—to tear his heart out.

“Here,” he drawled pushing the icy cold drink into her hands. “She wasn’t a girlfriend. She was a lawyer in the Public Defender’s office. Did I see her a couple of times? Yes. It wasn’t serious, though. I swear.”

“Oh?” She winced at the shrill sound of her voice.
Yep. Drunk.
Or damn close. Knowing that, unfortunately, didn’t stop her mouth from continuing to snarl. “Then how come your mother met her? Usually when the parents enter the picture it’s more than a. . . .”

“Nope,” he muttered swinging his head side to side. “Nope, nope, nope.”

Was that the tequila talking? She couldn’t be sure.

“Whatever you’re thinking . . . just,
NO.
”

“Did you sleep with her?” Oh, my god. Had she lost her mind? Never ask a question unless you were prepared to hear the answer.

“That’s not fair, baby girl.” His voice was deceptively calm though she saw the rigid tension in his spine.

“How do you figure?” Angie’s tone? One hundred and ten percent courtesy of the tequila.

And then she saw his jaw clench and eyes narrow dangerously. Oh no, no, no! Wait.
Shitfuck.
Well, too late now. Open mouth—insert foot.

“I’m not the one who was engaged.”

Having asked for the harsh rebuke, she gulped. No. Really. An actual gulp. His quiet voice was also ripe with a hostility that burned her like a brand.

Swiping her tongue along the rim of the salted glass, she tipped the tasty drink and swallowed a huge mouthful—probably a mistake, but hey, tequila and mistakes are bosom buddies, right?

The most awful hideous uncomfortable silence ensued while he stood in front of her as she huddled on the swing bed alternating between biting her lip and tossing back her drink.

“Were you really going to marry that asshole?” The emphasis he placed on
marry
sounded an awful lot like he was accusing her of contemplating something heinous and disgusting.

Okay.
That was definitely the alcohol talking. Until now, he’d tossed off a few disparaging remarks where Aldo was concerned but this was the first time he actually challenged her outright. How come she felt like she owed him an apology?

“I don’t know,” she whispered miserably. She stopped from voicing the rest of her thought, which was that, at the time, she figured if she couldn’t have what she wanted, well, she might as well accept what she had. Twisted, yeah. But there you have it.

And what she’d wanted? Then and now? He was standing there, inches away, glaring down at her sparking feelings that were making her uncomfortable. Part of her cringed—
How could she?
Another part, howled—
How dare he?

This time, the alcohol helped her find some cocky bravado as she pithily informed him, “Don’t you dare fucking judge me.”

His head snapped back at her angry words.

“I still had one foot planted in my teenage years when you made me your plaything without any goddamn thought to what that was going to do to me. Demonstrate your mastery of my body? Mission accomplished. And congratulations for setting a standard that no other could ever possibly meet.”

She saw his eyes flare at the bold admission and wanted to throttle the arrogant jackass.

“But what all that did to my head . . . well,” she bit out. “Did you ever once stop to consider what you were doing to my mind? And my heart?”

“Shit, Angel,” he muttered.

“I need a man who will pick me up when I’m down. Someone who will have my back even when I’m full of shit!”

Tossing back the end of her margarita, she downed it with theatrical precision and laid the empty glass on a side table.

Rising a bit unsteadily to her feet, she straightened her blouse and smoothed her skirt then fixed him with a pained frown. “Expressed clumsily . . . perhaps, but no different than hearing what you expect of me—if you think about it.”

The intensity of his expression held her fast. A nerve had been tapped, she could see it in his eyes.

“So when you judge me, you judge yourself,” she ended in a whisper.

He looked at her. Really at her.

“I want the master, Parker. Not the judge.”

She saw when her words hit home. The air around them was crackling with static energy that made her skin prickle.

“Do you know what you’re saying?” he asked sharply.

Angie shrugged. “No. Not really. Tequila brain and all.”

A sound came from behind them. His parents were coming, and from the sound of their boisterous laughter, the party was just getting started.

“This discussion is not over,” he growled a second before Uncle Matt smacked him soundly on the back.

“Help your mother, my boy,” he said. “And let your old man enjoy this lovely young lady’s smile for a bit.”

P
ARKER REALLY WANTED ANOTHER DRINK,
but he was driving later and needed to start shaking off the buzz, not adding to it. But motherfucker, he was practically undone and feeling how he imagined someone who bungee jumped felt after being left hanging upside down for too long.

Watching his folks fawn all over Angie had been a test of his composure. He knew his dad adored her. Shit, the man was president of her fan club and he was his damn father, but that didn’t stop him wanting to shove him aside and stake his claim of the sexy raven-haired woman with the naughty pout on her crimson lips and the sweet twinkle in her sapphire eyes. What the hell was wrong with him?