Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2) (11 page)

Angie straightened and looked out at the beauty around her. Tugging the horse’s reins, she brought the mare in and easily hoisted herself onto the saddle. Ready to head for home, she paused one last time to enjoy the moment then urged the horse forward.

Unfortunately, she in no way felt like she had any control or shame where that man was concerned. Especially not after the scene she’d caused at dinner the first night she arrived. Damn the Jameson. Alex was right. Meghan could pound that shit like water and walk away laughing.

Note to self,
she mockingly thought.
Don’t compete with an Irishwoman when whiskey is present!
Great, only this was now and that had been then. Then, as in
before
she understood that slamming back an endless parade of drinks while retaining her dignity, was not in the realm of alcohol soaked possibilities.

She didn’t want to think about the scene she’d caused. It was positively cringe-worthy but continuing to walk on eggshells wasn’t working. She’d hidden away the following day claiming she needed to adjust to the time and climate changes. Was a pretty good excuse for holing up in her room. Even the housekeeper, Carmen, stayed away.

But she had to grow the hell up and take this one on the chin. Shit, she was old enough to know better, but the truth was, she’d fucked up. Plain and simple. Everyone did from time to time, right?

That was the real reason she was riding alone in the desert—to clear her head. She was here to help Meghan—not make a fool of herself in front of the boy who’d broke her heart.

Thing was, he wasn’t the boy her seven-year-old heart adored. He was a grown man, and she’d been out of her mind to think she could calmly handle being around him again.

She heard his husky growl in her head and shuddered.
Hello, Angel.
Calling her by that name meant she’d been doomed from that moment on. Or maybe she was damned?
Hmmph.
Doomed. Damned. She shrugged. What difference did it make? Either way, she’d been screwed.

After dinner was cleared and they were gorging on dessert, things got weird and they got weird fast. Emboldened by her whiskey buzz, she tried to be all European sophisticated, an act she failed at quite miserably. Angie was a lot of things, but a trendsetter was not one of them.

At some point, she got all high-and-mighty about something. Alex had probably been egging her on in that big-brother-knows-everything way he had. High and mighty led to pithy. Pithy segued quickly to unleashed snarky and the snarky, unfortunately, ignited her inner bitch. Only this bitch was hammered.

Oh fuck. What the hell had she been thinking?
Traveling for an entire week, hopscotching from Madrid to London to New York to Arizona. That first night she hadn’t even unpacked yet. She was still partially in airplane mode so drinking her ass off and thinking that was going to help had been the height of lunacy.

For some insane reason, she’d blathered on and on about Aldo and their doomed engagement. Not a shred of fucking reality or truth made it out of her mouth, a fact that made her uneasy. Basically, she explained away their breakup as a simple matter of bad timing.

In her alcohol-blurred recollection, Meghan and Alex said next to nothing during her cosmopolitan rant while Parker turned every shade on the color wheel from seething blue to angry red and outraged purple. She’d said awful things that tasted bitter in her mouth—but that hadn’t stopped her from throwing down.

After Alex and Meghan had said good night, she remembered stumbling from the room only to find a scowling Parker hot on her heels. They’d gotten into a nasty row at the foot of the stairs. Angie grimaced remembering the angry exchange.

He’d scolded her like she was a kid. Said getting wasted and going on and on about her love life was disrespectful to her brother. He’d been right and since she’d been lying about all of it anyway, that only made her feel worse. But she couldn’t admit that to him. Hanging on to her pride was a struggle around Parker on a good day. Dammit. Why did talking to him have to hurt so much?

He railed at her about behaving like a snotty Euro-socialite and wondered where the real Angelina was.

She’d lost it in rather spectacular fashion, waving her arms, hopping up and down like a crazy person moving from the floor to the first two steps—up and down and up and down. What was it she’d thought before? That she was older, wiser, and would make better decisions this time? Yeah, that didn’t even last through one night. The truth was, she had no idea what she’d even said. Drunken explosions were like that.

What she did remember was Parker yelling and her wanting to cry. She didn’t want him to yell at her. Why wasn’t he happy to see her again? Why didn’t he love her? Why? Then finally, like a plug was suddenly pulled, she’d hit maximum overload and just like that, she’d slithered to the ground in a drunken blackout.

There was nothing after that. She’d simply woken up late the next morning feeling like she’d been run over by a herd of buffalo only to find that she was half-naked and safely in her bed.

How embarrassing. She’d tried to remember but the harder she tried, the more it seemed a given that he’d scooped her drunk ass up and gotten her tucked safely in her room. The clothes she’d worn were draped over a chair, her favorite ankle boots nearby. She had been too wasted to be that organized.

Finding herself wearing nothing but a bra and panty set had seriously rattled Angie’s cage. Knowing he’d undressed her, she didn’t know whether to be outraged or excited, especially when she fixated on his reaction to stripping her down to her lingerie.

And that right there was the real reason why she was plodding along on a horse out in the desert. A week ago, it hadn’t seemed possible that the situation between them could get any worse, but boy, had she been wrong about that. She’d really fucked this up and had to get her shit together.

Now if only she knew how . . .

A
LEX WENT LOOKING FOR MEGHAN
the first chance he got. He’d been dragged from their bed by an early call and hadn’t gotten a chance to start the day the way he preferred—with her writhing on his cock while he played with her breasts. By the time his business was concluded, she’d risen, showered, and gone to start breakfast.

Quickly following suit, he raced through his morning routine, still buttoning his shirt when he hurriedly left the master suite hoping to catch her in the kitchen.

Damn.
She was gone. He’d missed her by mere minutes. She’d left a note stuck to the fridge that said
Yoga
with a cute drawing of a lotus flower for emphasis.

There wasn’t anything to do at that point. He knew better than to interfere when she was in the zone so he grabbed a mug of coffee and headed to the tech cave. There were a couple of things he needed to do and check with Tori about.

He gave her ninety minutes then headed across the compound to the cute southwestern style bungalow that she’d had custom designed into a yoga studio and meditation retreat.

He still hadn’t figured out what was eating away at her and then last night she went slightly batshit when some sort of problem came up with her dress. The freak-out was minor and very short-lived—Meghan wasn’t a drama junkie—but it reminded him that she was under an enormous amount of pressure. Just because he was a guy and had no fucking idea what any of this bridal shit meant didn’t make her worries any less valid or troublesome.

Coming prepared with a surprise might help so he’d had Betty working the phone and the internet for a couple of days, putting together something special for his stressed out bride-to-be.

At the bungalow, he made his way quietly onto the wraparound porch and glanced in a window before rounding for the door. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

Okay, something was definitely up, and dammit, he needed to know what.

Aarrgh!
She was beyond her limit. Dropping onto her knees like a puppet whose strings were cut, Meghan slumped, her whole body limp and useless. Thinking maybe pushing so hard wasn’t such a good idea, she eventually rolled flat on her back, arms and legs outstretched.

“Relax,” she whispered out loud. “Breathe.”

In and out. Slowly. Mindfully. She breathed deep. For long minutes, she tried to bring her thoughts back when they wandered, but the unseen forces battering Meghan’s mind and spirit were too strong to control. Or ignore.

She was worried twenty-four seven and not about the wedding itself. Her mother and Angie were doing all the real work. No, what was nagging at her day and night was something else. Something she was having a hard time putting into words.

Meghan lay there on the studio floor with her eyes closed and tried to calm the anxiety. She heard a noise and in the next heartbeat felt his presence. He was there in the room with her. She didn’t have to open her eyes for visual confirmation. His effect on her was palpable.

She heard the quiet snick the lock made when he shut the door followed immediately by the distinct sound of the shutters closing.

Her stomach fluttered with anticipation. He hadn’t dropped by to look at silverware patterns. Gracefully rising, she stood and admired the handsome giant moving around her studio. Alex never failed to take her breath away with his brawny masculinity. Not one of those guys with the carefully styled hair and at least some awareness of fashion, her Major was a bona fide absentminded mess. If their life were a comic book, he’d be the Nerd King and she’d be an Irish version of a very sexy Jessica Rabbit.

He was so commanding that the minute she was in his powerful presence, all the chatter in her head quieted. Just by
being,
he cut through all of it. This unique facet of their relationship fascinated Meghan. He led. She followed. Without question or inner murmur.

But at times, she didn’t feel like waiting and following took too much time. Sometimes, like now, she couldn’t be the obedient submissive when her passions took over.

She didn’t exactly jump on him but came damn close. All Meghan knew was she desperately needed that inner noise and turmoil to relax its grip. Losing herself in Alex’s arms became as necessary as taking her next breath.

“I missed you this morning,” she murmured. Wrapping around his big, sturdy body, she felt the heat coming off him and sighed.

He groaned. “You know I don’t like it when you leave our bed unsatisfied, my love.”

She smiled shyly and nuzzled into his neck. They had an agreement. She wasn’t to leave their bed in the morning without permission. Actually, it wasn’t so much an agreement as an edict made by her domineering lover. She’d struck gold with her hunky bad-boy Major. His day was entirely shot to hell unless he had seen to her pleasure first thing. And by pleasure that meant anything she wanted. A back rub. A screaming orgasm. A foot massage. Hell, he would’ve lain in bed with her and read
Green Eggs and Ham
if that was what she needed from him.
Ah, the shit she had to put up with,
she thought, giggle-snorting against his skin.

His arms tightened as she relaxed against him.
Mmmm.
Rubbing on his hard, wide chest felt delicious and he smelled so damn good.

And just like that, her pussy clenched with need. No, really. Actual
clenching.
The sort that triggered a husky moan to rumble from her throat.

Ordinarily, she didn’t call the shots. Another one of their so-called unspoken agreements, only a bit more basic and in your face than the others. This one was all about roles. When it came to what went on in private between them, Alex was very much the sexy, caring dominant. Right now though? She was greedy.

“Kiss me, Major,” she demanded.

He didn’t hesitate at her gruff command, holding her face in his hands and taking her mouth with a hunger that thrilled Meghan.

Their tongues tangling, Alex devoured what she gave. His voracious sexuality consumed her, and in moments, she was panting with need and completely out of control.

She wanted him. Now. As in right fucking
now.

Her hands were everywhere—undoing the buttons of his shirt, gripping his waist, kneading his muscular back, and massaging his scalp.