Wild about Weston (The English Brothers Book 5) (14 page)

Her eyes welled with tears and she released his hand so she could roll over and face him. He tightened his arm around her, his face uncertain, searching her eyes in the dim light.

“Weston,” she whispered, touching her lips to his before drawing back. “I won’t change my mind.”

She didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he exhaled, the warmth of it soft on her cheek. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers, nuzzling her nose with his, their chests pressed together, her sex and thighs flush against his, their legs and feet entwined.

This
, she thought,
is what heaven must feel like.

“Goodnight, Molly McKenna,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

“Goodnight, Weston English,” she said, taking one last look before closing her own.

And in the wee hours of the morning, heart to heart and tangled up in each other’s arms, they finally fell asleep.

For the past hour, Weston had been watching Molly sleep.

Her freckles were scattered across her face like stars, in all different tones of brown: warm, light brown, chocolate brown, and there were some, most compelling to him, that were a gentle reddish-tan like her hair. Most heavily concentrated on her nose and cheekbones, he couldn’t possibly count them all, but as streams of morning sunshine dappled her skin, he tried. His eyes were drawn to the darker flecks: the one on the thin skin under her eye, another perched on the apple of her cheek, another just grazing her hairline near her ear. These were tiny parts of the woman he’d spent the night with, shared his body with, whom he was reluctant to wake up because the romance-by-proxy of the wedding was over, and he didn’t know how they would fit into one another’s realities.

He rested his head on the curve of his elbow, marveling at the reddish-brown lashes that lay so softly against her skin. Her lips beckoned him, the lower one more pillowed than the top. He knew what it felt like to have those lips moving beneath his, sliding across his hot skin, the warmth and firmness of them around his sex. He might have sighed longingly as he leaned forward and grazed her lips with his, breathing in deeply, memorizing everything he could about the woman in his arms, just in case, just in case…

“Molly,” he whispered. “It’s time to wake up.”

“Mmm,” she murmured, curling her body into his and burrowing her head under his chin. She exhaled, her breath hot and damp on the hollow at the base of his throat.

His body which had been behaving itself since waking up, stirred to life, his blood coursing unerringly to his hips, to his sex, which swelled against her belly.

“Molly,” he said again, his voice more gravelly now. “It’s morning.”

“Mm-hm. Morning.” She sighed. She pursed her lips and kissed his neck, then rested them there, pressed against him.

“Molly,” he tried again, knowing they needed to get dressed before the stable staff arrived around nine, before he flipped her over and took her again, clean bill of health or not. “It’s time for breakfast.”

“Ohhhh…” Her eyes finally fluttered a little. “Breakfast?”

He grinned. They’d barely eaten a bite last night. She had to be as starving as he was.

“My mom said the caterers would lay out a brunch starting at nine and it’s eight forty-five now. You hungry?”

“You’re inviting me to breakfast?” she asked, leaning back. Her drowsy eyes were opened but heavy, her face still slack and lazy from sleep. Red, wavy hair tumbled around her neck and shoulders in lovely, messy waves.

“Of course,” he replied.

“With your family? They’ll know we…”

“Does that bother you?”

“Only if…” She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth as her voice trailed off, her eyes troubled.

“Only if what, sweetheart?”

Her eyebrows furrowed together briefly as she searched his face. “Only if I was a one-night stand. It would bother me if they thought that.”

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. “Then you have nothing to worry about. I’m picking you up tonight at six.”

She smiled at him, and it was like the sun had come out; she looked so happy and relieved. “About that…would you mind staying in?”

“Not at all.”

“Take-out and a movie?” she suggested, her eyes twinkling.

“Stand and Deliver?” he suggested. “Your bed or mine?”

She laughed softly, shaking her head like he was being naughty. “My
apartment
. We’ll see about my bed…”

“We’ll see it, alright.”

“Hey…” Her smile faltered a little and she gave him an uncertain look. “You’re not just coming over for
that
, are you?”

“
That
,” he said, “as I recall, was mind-blowing. So, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for a repeat performance. But—”

“But?”

“I’d watch a hundred movies with you if that’s what it took for you to feel comfortable enough to invite me into your bed. And I’d be happy just to be with you, Molly.”

Her mouth dropped open softly. Her eyes darkened. Her breathing hitched. He heard it happen, and it did crazy things to his chest which swelled and fluttered like he was a teenager with his first crush.

“Weston?”

“Yeah?”

“You are
so
getting laid tonight.”

His sudden laugh was so loud, Biscuit nickered in the stall beside them, and Weston knew—no matter what—he was going to fall in love with this girl. His heart was going to be served to her on a platter to do with whatever she pleased, and he was going to have no say in the matter. He knew it. He felt it. He was fine with it.

Because, hell…it was already happening.

***

As they walked side-by-side, holding hands out of the barn into the morning sunshine back to the main house, Molly realized it had snowed again, and the whole world was covered in a diamond-like frost which glistened and twinkled in the sun. It felt like everything around her reflected the feelings of her heart—bright and hopeful and beautifully alive. How was it possible that she’d woken up almost twenty-four hours ago with red, weepy eyes and a trounced heart, only to find herself so blissfully besotted now? She wasn’t sure how it had happened, but her feelings wouldn’t be denied. She was falling fast and hard for Weston.

“It’s so beautiful this morning.” She sighed, tightening her grip on his hand as they drew closer to the house.

“It’s got nothing on you,” he teased, stopping to lean down and press his lips to her nose. He pulled a piece of straw from her hair. “But you smell like horses.”

“You do too,” she said, grinning.

“They’re going to tease us,” he cautioned.

“Good thing I’m the youngest of four,” she replied, winking at him. “With twin brothers.”

“Try four, all older.”

“If you ever meet Trav and Todd,” she said, remembering the merciless pranks and teasing she endured at her older brothers’ hands, “you’ll understand why your four equal my two.”

He pulled her into the mudroom and she sat down on the white bench. As he already had several times before, Weston dropped to his knees and helped her take off the boots, then reached behind him for her strappy heels and buckled them in place. Molly’s cheeks flushed as she remembered the first time he’d unbuckled her shoes, how she’d ended up in his bed, almost naked, on her back, ready to have cheap, meaningless sex with him.

Thank God Alex had interrupted them. Thank God they’d managed to somehow find their way to something deeper.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, his voice low, his eyes bright blue and focused as they stared up at her.

“This is the third time you’ve helped me with my shoes.”

“Well, when we met, you said I was the fairytale King, right? From
Sleeping Beauty
?”

“You’re mixing up your fairy tales,” she giggled. “You’re thinking of
Cinderella
.”

He shook his head, chuckling softly. “Yeah. But, I’m still the fairytale King. I woke up next to you, Beauty.”

She leaned forward and put her palms on his cold cheeks, pulling his face to hers and dropping her lips to his. She kissed him gently and tenderly, wanting him to know how much the hours she’d spent with him meant to her, how much she hoped his words from last night—
This is just the beginning
—were the truth.

When she drew back, his eyes opened slowly and he looked taken aback, almost helpless. “What was that for?”

“For making this the best wedding ever.”

He grinned at her, standing to shrug out of his coat. She stood and took hers off too, strangely sad to say goodbye to the red canvas jacket that almost felt like hers now.

Buzz. Buzzbuzz.

Buzz. Buzzbuzz.

Molly looked at Weston, but she quickly realized that for the first time the phone in question wasn’t his, but hers. It was buzzing inside her purse.

Weston looked at her with laughter in his eyes. “I knew you’d buzz sooner or later.”

Molly fumbled with her purse and withdrew the phone, her smile fading as she realized that in addition to a number of unread texts from Dusty, there was now several voice messages, the most recent one just delivered. This was getting ridiculous. As soon as she got home, she’d call Dusty back, tell him to stop bothering her and to never, ever bother her again. He wasn’t getting her forgiveness, but she was moving on and there was no room for him in her future.

“Bad news?”

Molly looked at Weston’s concerned eyes and felt her face relax and eyes soften as she considered the fact that she had plenty of room for
him
and wanted—more than anything—for Weston to figure prominently in her future.

“No,” she said, shaking her hand and gazing at him with all the tenderness in her heart. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s right.”

“Ready for breakfast?” he asked, grinning as he offered her his hand.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she answered, holding her head high as she let him lead the way.

***

Barrett, Emily, Alex, Jessica, Stratton, Valeria, and Kate were already in the dining room when they arrived. Stratton was at the buffet, piling scrambled eggs, bacon, French toast and fruit on his plate. Barrett and Alex chatted intensely by the coffee. Kate sat at the table, looking less hung-over than Valeria, but slightly more than Jessica, who propped up her head on her hand, a mug of steaming coffee before her.

Emily rose to greet them as they walked in.

“We wondered where you two had gotten off to last night.”

“Stables,” said Stratton, sniffing as he passed behind them to take a seat beside Valeria at the table.

Emily raised her eyebrows at Stratton’s back before grinning at Weston and leaning forward to speak in a soft voice. “Barrett’s calmed down a little, but I can’t speak for Alex. He kept Jess up half the night and not for the usual reasons.”

Weston darted a glance at Alex, who’d stopped his conversation with Barrett to stare at Weston with menace. Weston looked down at Molly. “Grab a plate. I’ll get you some coffee.”

Pressing a kiss to the side of her head before releasing her hand, he was grateful when Emily ushered her over to the buffet. Weston rounded the table and approached his brothers. They parted from in front of the coffee so he could grab two mugs.

“Good morning,” said Barrett.

Weston took a deep breath and looked up at Barrett. Emily was right. Barrett was still angry, but his eyes were much softer than they’d been last night, like he was trying to understand, trying to make room for Weston’s decision.

“Good morning,” he answered.

“Is it?” sneered Alex. “Is it
good
? Because it doesn’t feel like
good
to me. It still feels like
disappointment
and
betrayal
.”

Weston shifted his glance from Barrett’s blue eyes to Alex’s, which were narrowed, his lips pursed and puckered.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” said Weston. “But it’s my life. I have a right to choose a different path, Al.”

“Well, don’t expect us to save a position for you. Don’t expect to come sailing into English & Sons looking for a job when some clock-in, clock-out, paper-pusher job at the DA’s office turns out to be shit.”

Weston held Alex’s eyes for a long time, feeling anger surge inside of him, but forcing himself to be calm. “You’re an asshole, Alex. Just because we shared the same womb and have the same last name, you don’t own me. You don’t get to choose the direction of my life.”

Weston felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and assumed it was Stratton. “Leave it, Strat!”

“Stratton’s having his breakfast, son,” said the low, familiar voice of Tom English, Weston’s father.

Weston whipped his head around with wild, sorry eyes, to look at his father. Damn it, but this is not how he wanted his father to find out. He winced. “Dad…”

“What? You don’t think these two were ranting and raving until two in the morning? I already know, Wes.” He dropped his hand from Weston’s shoulder. “Can’t say I’m not sorry.”

“Me too,” said Weston, turning his back to his brothers to face his father. “I respect the work you all do at English & Sons. So much. I’m grateful for the life it’s afforded me. But…but, I…”

His voice trailed off and he swallowed, feeling a little lost as he tried to explain his life’s dream to his father. Glancing over his father’s shoulders, his eyes mercifully slammed into Molly’s. She stood in front of the buffet, holding a plate, her brown eyes focused on him. In her gaze, he read compassion and pride and…and love. Holding his breath as he held her eyes, and filled to the brim with gratitude for her presence and faith in him, he saw everything he needed to give him the courage to finish saying his piece.

Shifting his glance back to his father, he exhaled. “I want to make a difference. I want to defend kids who make crappy choices and push themselves to the brink of ruining their lives. I want to be the one thing that stands between them and a life in the system, in juvenile detention, in jail. I want to understand why they made the choices that led to their arrest and I want to help reverse the direction of their lives.” He paused, looking for some indication of his father’s thoughts, but his eyes were cool and thoughtful. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to turn my back on English & Sons, Dad, but, this is something I have to do.”