During the time that he was with them, his father would toss back one drink after another while his mother ate a couple of bites of salad. Then she would produce a compact from her purse and carefully reapply her lipstick and touch the skin under her eyes as if checking for any new wrinkles. If was as if she didn’t hear a single word that her husband slurred out.

Looking at them tonight across the table, he’d felt something in addition to the usual anger and impatience. He’d had an epiphany of sorts. He’d avoided relationships all of his adult life because he’d been terrified of becoming what his parents were. Hell, it hadn’t been long ago that his friend Brant had accused him of having mommy and daddy issues and he’d laughed in agreement and told him that he’d even throw in some grandparent issues as well. He’d been moody that day because he’d just finished dealing with his father’s latest tantrum. He’d shown up drunk and disorderly at the DeSanto Group’s Charleston headquarters, and Hank, one of the security guards there, had been forced to call Mark and ask what to do. That had been one of the worst instances since his father had swung at Hank before being subdued. Just another fucking moment of family embarrassment.

But tonight, when he’d been at his lowest point of the evening—ready to toss his napkin on the table, have the jet fueled, and leave the country—his phone had chimed. He’d pulled it from his pocket, welcoming any excuse to block out his father’s grating voice. There had been a surprising text that instantly soothed his despair and brought a smile to his lips. Hey, DeStudo . . . I’ll never complain about being a booty call again. Could use one right about now. . . . A smiley face followed the comment.

She would never know how much he had needed that text from her tonight. He’d quickly hit the REPLY button and typed, Wish I could oblige, Angel. . . . You okay? Regardless of her words, he didn’t think she was necessarily trying to sext him. He had a feeling that like himself, she might have had a rough evening and just needed to reach out. It was already after ten, and he hoped like hell he could get out of here soon so he could call her before she went to bed. He longed to hear her sweet voice and her laughter tonight. Normally, after a hellish dinner like this, he’d be looking for someone to take the edge off for a few hours. Physical exertion followed by a release—or several of them. Right now, though, the idea of a one-night stand held no appeal for him.

He was still holding his phone when she responded, I’m fine . . . but I miss you. As he sat reading her words and wondering why the sentiment she’d expressed wasn’t freaking him out, another one chimed right behind it. Crap! I shouldn’t have said that. I mean—we barely know each other and now you’re going to think I’m some kind of clinger. He’d no sooner finished reading that comment when another popped up. He couldn’t help it; he started to laugh. She went on berating herself for at least two minutes before there was a lull in the action. God, he loved how adorably rattled she got when she was nervous. He could only imagine how flustered she was right about now.

Before she could continue on, he typed out, It’s fine, Angel. Then, because it was very much true, he added something he’d never admitted to another woman. Miss you too.

Really?? Her reply was almost immediate.

Across the table, his mother had called his name and he’d known his reprieve was over. His fingers flew over his phone and he sent back, Yeah, baby. Call you later, before turning once again to his parents.

In the end, it was hours before he’d gotten away. He’d ended up taking them home since their driver was off for the rest of the night. His mother had insisted he come in and he figured that she needed his help with getting his father into bed after he passed out. He had no idea how she handled it on other nights, but some part of him couldn’t leave her stranded. She’d never be mother of the year, but she was a damn sight better than her husband.

As he slumped back against the plush cushions of his sofa, he thought again of Angel. It was far too late to call her now—but he wanted to. He reached for his phone lying on the table beside him and waged an inner war. He could text her once and if she didn’t reply, he’d know she was asleep. He chose to ignore his inner voice telling him that he’d wake her up either way. Sorry was later than I expected. Bet you’re already asleep. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. He was dozing off when the sound of his phone ringing jolted him abruptly. He looked at the display and chuckled. “What’re you doing awake, Angel?”

“Waiting for you to call,” she responded softly and without hesitation.

His gut clenched, and his heart did a funny flip. So fucking sweet and innocent. He should walk away and leave her alone. If only he didn’t want her so damned much. She was changing him—changing everything. “Baby . . . ,” he said, unable to get anything else out.

“You sound tired,” she added. “Is your trip going okay?”

“Yeah, Angel,” he said huskily. “Just dealing with some family shit.”

She sounded curious now. “Problem?”

“The usual.” He had no idea why he was compelled to add, “My father makes your mother seem like June Cleaver, if that gives you any idea.”

All was quiet before she let out an “Ohhh. Wow, I had no idea. I’m sorry.”

He was moved by the sincerity in her voice, but he didn’t want to think about his parents anymore for a while. “It is what it is, Angel. So, tell me about your evening. What had you stressed enough earlier to request a DeStudo drive-by?”