Sanctuary (Family Justice Book 3) (47 page)

“Can you snap a picture so I can see it?”

“Mrs. Marquez, I would be honored if you’d allow me to include your ass—I mean the design—in my portfolio. It really is magnificent.”

Angie snickered when Meghan’s entire body tensed. “Easy bride. Close-up only. Nobody but you, me, Tiger, and that shithead brother of mine will ever know where it’s inked.”

Meghan sniffed and looked over her shoulder. “And Parker. He’ll know. You won’t be able to stop from telling him. Not after he sees what you’ve been up to.”

“True that. Although my tiny angel wings are a lot less, um … well, you know. Brand-ish. Short of inking Alex’s face on your twat, the beast from the family crest is a close second. Says
this ass is mine
.”

Dammit if Tiger didn’t burst out laughing. She heard them slapping out a high-five and laughed along. Angie and the amused ink artist didn’t know how spot on her words were. Using
beast
and
ass
in the same sentence really did say it all where she and the Major were concerned.

“Okay, lady,” Angie said after Tiger went through the care instructions and everyone was reassured that it would heal sufficiently to be pretty by the time of the wedding. “Let’s grab something to eat before we head back to the hotel. Meeting Mom and Sophie is probably best done on a full stomach. Keep the nerves at bay.”

Speeding across town in the big black Town Car, Angie kept up a running commentary of times, dates, and facts. Her mind operated a lot like Alex’s, and Meghan wondered if the whole family was as smart, analytical, and savvy. Traits she wouldn’t hesitate to wish on a son or daughter.

When she shifted in the leather seat and let out a hushed grunt, Angie looked at her sharply. “What’s wrong? Does the tattoo hurt?”

Actually, Meghan could barely feel it. Most likely because her ass was not exactly what you’d call lean. Plenty of soft flesh to blunt any discomfort. No, what made her squirm was a lot more common.

“I’m fine,” she assured. With a look every woman understood, she ground out one word. Nothing else needed to be said. “Cramps.”

“Ohhhhh,” Angie answered. “Interesting timing,” she added after a short pause.

Pfft. Tell me about it.
Meghan’s mouth quirked into a twisted snarl. “My period is a calendar crap shoot now that I’m off the pill.”

Angie shuddered. “Understood.” A minute or so passed and then the sister who lived to fuck with her brother started to chuckle. Angie was putting the pieces together and getting way too much enjoyment out of something that should be private between Meghan and Alex.

“So what’s the plan, Red? And does my brother know you two will be, uh, playing the chastity card until your wedding night?”

Eek.
No. He most certainly did not. She wasn’t insane. Telling him that up front would have been wildly stupid. Alex wasn’t going to like that she made a unilateral decision without his knowledge.
Topping
, he’d call it, and he was right. But now that her period was looming, Meghan was even more certain she was doing the right thing. Keeping the tattoo a secret until their wedding night was always going to be nothing short of nearly impossible, but now that her cycle was conveniently timed, she had the perfect out. One he wouldn’t be able to argue. Waiting until after the wedding would make the occasion even sweeter because of what it represented. Making love as husband and wife with zero barriers between them. Legally wed, fertile, and no contraception in sight. Oh, yeah and his brand on her derriere, staring him in the face.

“O
H, MY DEAR,
” the petite whirlwind resembling a gypsy butterfly cried as she held her arms open wide and smiled at Meghan. “You’re everything a mama could hope for in her son’s bride.”

Something that felt like utter shock and a shitload of awe was running rampant inside Meghan. Angie and Alex were right. Ashleigh Dane Valleja-Marquez was nothing like she’d imagined
. Nothing.

First, she was tiny. Like seriously tiny. Victoria tiny. Meghan marveled at how a big, strapping baby like Alex came from someone so … miniature.

Second, she was beyond beautiful. Ageless California girl beautiful with long blond hair, flawless skin, and a face that in no way looked like it belonged to a woman her age. Oh. And she had Alex’s smile and penetrating gaze.

And then there was the third thing that struck her as nothing less than downright hilarious. If there were another soul on this entire planet Meghan could compare this woman to, it would be Stevie Nicks. Right down to the high-heeled boots and flamboyantly feminine wardrobe.

No, seriously. They were like doppelgängers and damn close in age. Dressed in what could only be described as a cosmic tablecloth, she looked like a twenty-first-century version of a Woodstock hippie and it was
ah-may-zing
. Now, she understood why Alex was such a connoisseur of classic rock and roll. His mother defined being the patron goddess of her generation, and Meghan was instantly enchanted.

“Mrs. Marquez,” she murmured in a tight voice when tears threatened. Trying not to trip over her own feet, she flew into the woman’s arms and was immediately enveloped in a ferocious hug coming from someone so small.

“You must call me Ashleigh, and when you’re ready, I’d be tickled if you’d think of me as Mom.”

When Meghan pulled back from the welcoming embrace, green eyes met blue and an instant bond formed. They had something in common. Each of them would die for Alex. That single thread would hold them together throughout time.

Angie was standing by the door with tears sparkling in her eyes. And next to her was a woman she’d know anywhere. Sophia Valleja-Marquez. In every way that mattered, she resembled a feminized version of Alex. Tall, dark-haired, and intense, Meghan sensed a bit of Alex’s quirky professor lurking inside her. But instead of the messy hair and clothes that didn’t have a hope in hell of matching, Sophie gave off an entirely different air.

Buttoned up tight and carefully smoothed, the poised, immaculately dressed woman looked like she belonged on a First Lady’s podium, not hidden away in a dusty ancient vineyard. She was, in a word, striking. Strikingly beautiful and strikingly mysterious. This Marquez was a dormant volcano. Something dark and seething existed beneath the surface. She picked up the fleeting impression of a wounded animal. And you know what they said about an animal in pain. A sliver of intimidation wound through Meghan’s nerves.

“I told you she was great,” Angie burst out happily. “And wait till you see her and Alexander together. Mom,” she gurgled joyously. “He glows. For real.”

Sophie offered an awkward smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes and reached for Meghan’s hand. “I seem to be sharing my brother with more and more women every day,” she opined with a smirk. “But you. Well, Meghan … you were different from the first. I knew the second I heard him say your name that he was hopelessly infatuated.”

Hmmm. There was nothing shitty about what Sophie said, but Meghan still felt like she’d just been judged. The expression
hard-ass
came to mind. Instead of shrinking from the dismissal, Meghan struggled not to laugh. Yep. Sophie Marquez was a female Alex. Her manners were impeccable despite the subtle shade, and in an eye-opening burst of clarity, Meghan envisioned her as a no-nonsense Domme. This woman was dealing with some issues, that’s for damn sure. It would take an incredibly formidable male to handle her brand of iron-willed control. They were going to be great friends even if Sophie didn’t know it yet.

Grinning mischievously, she accepted the proffered handshake. “Sophie. It’s a pleasure. Alex told me to tell you straightaway to remove the stick from your ass.” With a broad smile, she laughed. “Message delivered, ‘cause you know he’ll ask. Now, don’t shoot the messenger.”

The whole room stilled then burst into wild laughter. Ice broken, Meghan relaxed and let whatever happened … happen and hoped Alex would be proud of her.

Much, much later and after having way too much drink and fun, she was curled on her side with a phone propped to her ear, cocooned under a heavy feather comforter. It might be spring-like and beautiful in Arizona, but here in the East, there was an April cold snap.

“My phone wouldn’t stop going off.” Alex chuckled. “Message after message. Angie. Mom. Sophie.
Gah
!”

She smiled. He sounded really happy and that was all she cared about.

“But nothing from you. How come?”

Good question. Easy answer. “I don’t want to text you, baby. Sometimes, it’s okay, but I needed to hear your voice, not wait for my phone to buzz.”

She imagined his smile. How his lips curved and the way he grinned. Her panties were instantly wet.

“What is it you need to hear, my love?” Alex’s deep voice wrapped around her heart. “That everything you do pleases me beyond measure?”

Goddamn, but he had a gentlemanly way with words.

“My mother is rhapsodizing about you. Your beauty. Charm. Wit. Oh, and your delightfully filthy mouth. That’s a direct quote, by the way.”

Meghan giggled. As the meeting with Ashleigh and Sophie wore on, and after polishing off two bottles from the winery, everyone’s filters turned off and the shit talking and hilarity got real.

“Your mom is a piece of work. I don’t know why I was so worried. She was great.”

“Told you.” He chuckled.

“But Sophie.” She sighed. “Mmm, mmm, mmm. That one’s got a bulletproof outer shell.”

She heard his brotherly sigh. Alex adored both his sisters. The relationship he enjoyed with Angie was endlessly amusing, but she knew the sibling dynamic with Sophia was much, much different.

“She brandish the butt stick?”

Yep, gentlemanly or irreverent. The man had a special way of expressing himself.

“Eh, once or twice, but all done for effect. Know how you and Deval have become friends but that doesn’t stop him from threatening your balls on the regular? It was something like that.”

“Sophie’s got a good heart. She’ll grow on you. You’ll see.”

Meghan hoped so. She liked the enigmatic beauty. She showed … chutzpah.

“What’s her story? You and Angie never say much except that Sophie had it rough. What’s that mean? Maybe if I understood her better …”

“Fuck, babe. I’m not the one to ask. It’s complicated. With Sophie, it wouldn’t be any other way. But Angie explains things better than I do. Lots of girl stuff and shit guys don’t understand. Give her a margarita and a bowl of chips and she’ll spill her guts.”

Maybe she’d do just that if the opportunity presented itself. But she was done talking about everyone else. “I miss you. Terribly. It was harder than I thought—getting on the plane.”

“And here we thought I would be the one thumb sucking in the fetal position.”

Her sigh was real. Under the voluminous comforter, she was, indeed, on her side with her knees pulled up. The thumb sucking was implied. When her lower lip trembled, she fought the wave of melancholy threatening to take her under.

Alex’s gentle, “Are you all right?” felt like a lover’s caress.

Lying or pretending wasn’t an option. “No.” On a sob, she cried, “I was crazy for trying to leave last week. And one punishment isn’t enough for being so stupid. Don’t ever let me do anything like this again.”

“Say the word, baby, and I’m on the phone to Sawyer. The second he’s available, I can get on the plane.”

The temptation was there. She needed him so badly.

“Meghan?”

Aargh
. Cramps, wildly swinging hormones, his sexy voice, and being flat-out horny … all conspired to fuck with her head.

“No,” she grumbled miserably. “We can’t. I’m just being foolish.”

Alex’s loving grunt calmed her nerves. “I miss you too, you know.” She noted the pause before he asked, “Getting your period?”

Whoosh! Just like that, she swung from horny and weepy to snarling outrage. “And how exactly would you know that? I swear to god, Major, if you’ve written some sort of code to track my cycle …” She didn’t finish. He was laughing too hard for her to go on.

“No code needed, darling. And no tracking app either. You have a tell and it’s a good one too. I always know where you are in your cycle.”