Somebody to Love (11 page)

Regan’s whisper, loud enough to ensure she was heard, followed Parker. “Those books? They, like, make you want to
hurl.
And her mother? On her
fourth
rich old man. Seriously.”

The thing was, Regan couldn’t say anything about her books that Parker didn’t already think herself. The books were a joke, it was true. That they were bringing Save the Children some serious money didn’t matter to the Coven.

As for Althea, well, it was also true.

“How about another one of these?” she said to the nice bartender.

She sidled through the crowd, saying hello here and there, making her way out of the throng. She had to stay; if she left, it would be an admission of defeat. But hey. She could have a quiet moment. The thing about having a three-year-old…the only time he didn’t talk was when he was asleep, and the questions these days!
Why, Mommy? Why? Why? Why not? Why?
She smiled. Maybe she’d give Ethan a call, see how their wunderkind was doing. So much for not wanting to talk to anyone. A friendly, nice person…she would
love
to talk to a friendly, nice person. But these mean people? They sucked.

Seemed as if the martinis were having the desired effect. That bartender knew what he was doing, yes, sir.

She wandered into the foyer—well,
a
foyer, because this place was huge. It was less crowded here, and oh, perfect. A small, secret staircase leading up to the second floor.

Parker went up, not spilling a drop of martini because hey! She was a Miss Porter’s grad, thank you very much! Stellar education
and
social graces. Also, the drink was nearly gone.

At the top of the staircase was a long hallway blocked by a velvet rope. Parker sat down a few steps from the top. From here, she could see not only the foyer, but the guests going in and out of the ballroom. Esme, despite being Bridezilla, was beautiful in her crystal-beaded dress, and certainly, as settings went, it didn’t get better than Rosecliff, if you liked ostentatious excess, which the Welles family certainly did. Everyone was dressed to kill, and laughter and squeals floated up.

Oh, bugger. A dark-haired man had spied her staircase and was heading up. Parker looked into her purse, planning to make that phone call and avoid conversation. But the man stopped.

“Parker. Always lovely to see you.”

She winced and looked up. “Thing One. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks.”

“Is my father here?” she asked, hating that he would know and she didn’t.

“I’m afraid he can’t make it.”

For God’s sake. Her father was blowing off his own niece’s wedding. The Coven would have a fit. Parker was used to it—Thing One: Emissary—but Harry usually put in an appearance with the extended family, the better to lord his power.

“Anything you need, Parker?”

“No thank you.”

“Not even this?” He handed her an icy glass and sat next to her. “I asked the bartender what you were drinking.”

“And to think I never liked you,” she said with a small smile. He raised an eyebrow. “Thanks, Thing One.”

He had a drink, as well, and sat down next to her. Like every man there, he was wearing a tux, which was…good. Not many men looked worse in a tuxedo, and Thing One was no exception. He was quite attractive. Not to her, of course. But he looked…good.

Wicked good.

She took a sip of her drink.

“Having a nice time?” he asked, giving her a sidelong glance.

“Oh, absolutely. You?”

“You bet.” This was their first one-on-one conversation since…since Nicky was born, come to think of it. “So how have you been, Parker?” he asked.

She smiled as she sipped the martini. “Do you care, Thing One?”

“Of course. I’m paid to care.” He grinned at her, and Parker had to laugh.

“At least you’re honest. If there is such a thing as an honest lawyer, that is.” He had a nice smile. Hell.

“I get the idea that you’re somehow persona non grata around here,” he said. “Why is that?”

“No clue.”

“Probably because you’re prettier than anyone else.”

Parker rolled her eyes. “Save the ass kissing for my father, dear boy.”

He shook his head and looked into his drink, the smile playing around his mouth. “Beautiful women. So cruel.”

“Smarmy men. So common.”

“Now you’re just reinforcing my point.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a long, slender box tied with a silky black ribbon. “Happy birthday from your dad.”

Oh, hell. Bugger and damn. She swallowed carefully, not looking at Thing One.

Because yes, it was her birthday. No one had mentioned that fact when Esme’s wedding date had been set, and Parker hadn’t wanted to bring it up. She wasn’t sure that her aunts knew when her birthday was.

She wasn’t sure her
father
knew when her birthday was.

Parker took the package from Thing One’s hand and untied the ribbon.

Inside the box was a fountain pen made of some glossy blue stone. It was heavy and beautiful, and there were two cartridges of peacock-green ink. She could use it for signings. The kids would love the ink color, and her signature would look like calligraphy, coming out of the brass nib.

It was perfect. “My father did not pick this out,” she said, not looking at him.

At least he didn’t deny it. She turned her head to look at him. His eyes were brown. She’d never noticed that before. There was a warm, tugging sensation down in Lady Land. Thing One had nice brown eyes. He’d brought her a present
and
a martini. And had she mentioned the tux?

“What’s your name, Thing One?” It was James. She knew that. She just didn’t want him to know she knew it.

“James.”

“James what?”

“James Francis Xavier Cahill.” He smiled as he spoke, and she felt the tug harder this time, her stomach tightening, knees tingling.

“Thank you for the beautiful pen, James Francis Xavier Cahill.”

“You’re welcome,” he said.

That was a
good
smile, vodka goggles or not. A great smile. That was a smile involving his whole face. Yep. With vodka goggles—quite possibly without, she’d never really let herself dwell—Thing One was
smokin’
hot. Really thick, dark brown hair. It would be hard to check for deer ticks in hair like that. Okay, that was the mother part of her speaking…also maybe the vodka part.
Let’s shift gears, shall we?
Parker asked herself.
No need to waste a perfectly satisfactory ogle thinking about ticks.
Hair that would look excellent if it were all tousled and rumpled. There. Much better. His eyes were, shoot, she couldn’t think of the word for them, but they were smiley. Smiley eyes with very nice crinkles around them. One of his incisors was a little bit crooked, and for some reason, that made his smile even better.

“How old are you, James Francis Xavier Cahill?”

“Twenty-eight.”

Five years younger than she was. She could’ve babysat for him. She wouldn’t have
minded
babysitting him, now that she thought about it…when he was around eighteen, let’s say, and she was twenty-three. Weren’t there porno movies about that kind of thing?

He seemed to read her dirty mind, because he smiled again, just a little. Then his eyes dropped to her mouth. Heck yeah! So he was having kissing thoughts, too. And from the looks of it, his mouth would be excellent for kissing, full and generous.

Kind.
That was the word she was looking for. He had kind eyes.

He reached out, slowly, and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, and without further thought, Parker leaned in and kissed him.

She was right. His lips were smooth and warm and it was so, so nice, simply having her lips against someone else’s, someone not her child—crikey, it had been a
very
long time. And James let her kiss him, the gentle pressure of his mouth just enough to let her know he didn’t mind. A lovely kiss. Perfect. Made Lady Land feel kind of wriggly and warm, and oh, hey, look at this, she was frenching him, and that wriggly feeling leaped and twirled and surged.

He didn’t mind at all, apparently, because the next minute, he was kissing her back. She could taste whiskey on him, and oh, God, he was good at this, kissing was so underrated, there should be kissing apps for phones or something. Her fingers slid through his thick, wavy hair, and his arms slipped around her and pulled her closer. The heat and the gentle scrape of his five-o’clock shadow, and oh, man, that
mouth
against hers…this guy would graduate top of his kissing class, no doubt.

Her heart was thudding, lust thick and hot in her veins, drowning out rational thought. Parker ran her hands down his neck, his shoulders thick with muscle—
nice,
Thing One!—then slid her hands under his tuxedo jacket and felt the heat of his skin under the thin cotton of his shirt.

From down below came the sound of someone laughing.

“Know what?” she said, tearing her mouth off his and standing unsteadily. “Come with me.” She grabbed his hand and practically dragged him up the rest of the stairs, shoved aside the velvet rope and towed James down the hallway, opened the third door on the right, and bingo. A bedroom, thank you very much.

James pushed her against the wall and kissed her again, and it was so welcome, so wonderful, being kissed like that, as if the building could burn down around them and it would be more important to keep kissing, hard and hot and fierce. His hands slid down her sides, to her ass, pulling her against him, and damn if her legs weren’t already shaking.

His mouth had moved to her neck, his dark hair brushing her cheek, and Parker felt such a wave of…longing and tenderness and gratitude and a melting sweetness. He
wanted
her. There was no doubt about that, and she turned her head and kissed his jaw, just under his ear, making him groan a little.

Then he straightened up and looked at her, leaning his forehead against hers. “You really want this to happen?” he asked, and his voice wasn’t quite steady, and that sealed the deal.

“Yes,” she said. Then she pulled him close and pulled his shirt from out of his pants and slid her hands up his hot skin.

He unzipped her dress and didn’t ask any more questions.

No, sir. No indeedy.

* * *

A
S
P
ARKER
WOKE
UP
—holy halos, she’d fallen asleep with a near stranger—her first thought, aside from “Parker, you slut,” was “Dear Lord, don’t let me be pregnant.” Yes, they’d used a condom. And she was on the Pill, not that she’d needed it for contraception; her gynecologist recommended it as prevention for ovarian cancer. Whatever. Chances were, she wasn’t preggers.

Next thought was “Please don’t let him wake up.”

James Francis Xavier Cahill was
beautiful.
His cheeks were flushed, giving him a boyish look, and one arm was up over his head. How had she not noticed how delicious he was before this day? He looked like a fallen angel. He looked beautiful. He looked…eesh…young.

If she could get out of here without talking to him, that would be fantastic, because what the heck do you say after you, the somewhat inebriated older woman, drag a man, the hot young stud, into a bedroom, basically tear off his clothes and shag him silly? She barely let him speak. May as well have commanded him to
do
her.

Not that he seemed to mind.

Her dress, his shirt, her shoes, his tie, were all strewn around the room. So classy. Parker grabbed her panties and dress and slunk into the bathroom attached to the bedroom—excellent for trysts, these mansions—and looked at her reflection. Her mascara was smudged, her lips pink and bee-stung, her cheeks pink. Eyes were dreamy.

We’re so disappointed,
said the Holy Rollers.

We’re not,
said Lady Land.
Thank you! That was rather spectacular, yes?

Yes.

Nevertheless, this was a huge mistake! Thing One? For God’s sake! What was she thinking? She was thinking Stoli Elit, that’s what she was thinking. Stoli Elit, a bad case of poor little rich girl and James Cahill’s smile. Bad, bad combo. So bad. So naughty.
Dirty,
even.

The thought of what they’d done…what he’d done to her…and the noises it evoked…the feelings that had practically—
Okay! Stop! Let’s get moving here, shall we? Before the Coven finds us?

She dressed and ran a wet facecloth under her eyes, dampened her fingers and slicked her hair back into its twist once more. There. She looked normal—for a woman who’d spent the past hour against the wall, on the bed and yes, on the floor. With her father’s attorney.

Oh, this was bad.

She’d slip out of the room and call her driver and get out of Dodge. James could wake up and do whatever he wanted, but a face-to-face encounter? Bad idea.