Wild about Weston (The English Brothers Book 5) (16 page)

“Thank you, sir,” said Weston, shooting a quick look to Fitz. Of all his brothers, Fitz, who was the only other lawyer presently employed at the company, would be most personally affected by Weston’s decision. “What about English & Sons?”

“Oh,” said his father, a small grin turning up his lips. “You mean English & Co.”

“No, I mean—”

“Well, if Kate comes on board as legal counsel, as she agreed this morning, I can’t very well sideline her from the company name, can I? My brother would have a fit.”

All five of her cousins whipped their eyes to Kate who smiled back at her uncle, shaking her head. “You always did have a flair for drama, Uncle Tom!” Looking around at her cousins before stopping on Weston’s face, she nodded. “It’s true. I accepted the job this morning: Chief Legal Counsel for English & Co., starting in three weeks. I’ll need to give notice at my job in New York and tie up some loose ends there, but I’ll be moving to Philly in March.”

As the room exploded into surprised approval and warm congratulations, Weston took a deep, ragged, relieved breath and felt the weight of the world tumble from his shoulders. He stood, taking two steps to the couch where Kate sat, surrounded by his brothers. Looking up, she grinned and stood. Weston opened his arms and wrapped her in a fond embrace, whispering, “I owe you,” in her ear.

“Don’t worry,” she answered, humor thick in her voice. “I’ll remember to collect.”

Over Kate’s shoulder, Weston caught a glimpse of Alex, his face slowly segueing from anger to acceptance, but Weston still saw disappointment in the blue depths. He knew that it would take a little time for his relationship with Alex to recover, but after watching Alex fly into a rage and hit Dusty this morning, he knew everything would eventually be okay.

As Stratton and Fitz commandeered Kate for a quick conversation about upcoming legal issues, Weston stepped behind his father’s desk. His father stood, clasping Weston in a bear hug of an embrace and clapped his back twice before releasing him.

“Glad we got it all sorted out,” he said, grinning at his youngest son.

“I’m relieved, Dad. Thank God for Kate.”

“Indeed. And I have to admit, it’s high time English & Co, had a woman on board. We don’t want to appear sexist, do we? Kate’s going to do wonderful things with us, son. And it was… well, let’s just say Kate was ready for a change, too.”

Weston wondered at his father’s suddenly thoughtful expression as he looked across the room at his niece, but he didn’t pry. Kate was entitled to her secrets…at least until she started attending Thursday Nights at Mulligan’s when the Edwards sisters, Jessica, Valeria, and…and—his face softened as he realized the course of his thoughts—
Molly
started wrangling them out of her.

“Uh-oh. I know that look. Had it plenty when I met your mother. Who
was
that woman at breakfast this morning? Created quite a spectacle.”

“Her name’s Molly,” said Weston, taking a deep breath.

“Can I assume we’ll all be seeing more of Molly?”

“If I have my way. I have a date with her tonight, but I’m half tempted to show up at her place right now and put things to right.”

Tom English nodded. “Sounds like it might get serious.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Weston without hesitation. “I hope so.”

“Then I think you better make a detour to the front parlor first. There’s someone waiting there to see you.”

Weston started, tilting his head to the side in confusion, but his father gestured toward the parlor with his chin and Weston slipped out of the study unnoticed by his brothers, who were all gathered around Kate.

Someone waiting…
who? Had Molly come back? He practically ran the rest of the way down the hall.

Pushing open the parlor door, the first thing he noted was the lit fire and silver service of tea on the coffee table. Entering the room softly, he leaned over the high back loveseat where he and Molly had sat together last night, to find a softly snoring Connie, still dressed in jeans and a blazer like the last time he saw her. He took his phone out of his back pocket to check the time: a little after eleven o’clock. There’s no way she’d come back and forth from Italy. It wasn’t possible.

He circled the loveseat and squatted down before her, nudging her shoulder gently.

“Con? Connie?”

Her eyes blinked twice before opening.

“Wes,” she breathed, her dreamy voice full of tenderness.

He helped her sit up and she rubbed her eyes, then patted her hair. “Sorry I fell asleep.”

Opting for a chair near her, instead of sitting beside her, he saw a small wave of disappointment cross her face.

“I can’t figure out how you got here.”

“I flew to New York yesterday afternoon. I was at Kennedy, waiting for my flight to Rome to be called when I texted you. When you wrote back, wanting to talk today, I cancelled my flight and stayed with my sister, Felicity, in the city. We had a …late night.”
Late night.
Her voice was suggestive and when she met Weston’s eyes, his chest started to tighten as it always did when she baited him like that. “I took a car back this morning.”

“Late night, huh?”

“Oh, you know Felicity,” she demurred, a coquettish smile hiding whatever she’d done—or not done—last night, dangling non-information and innuendo in a way that used to make Weston patently crazy.

Used to.

Huh. Used to.

His chest loosened and he took a deep breath.

He didn’t care. He didn’t care what Connie had been up to and who she’d been up to it with. He didn’t want to know or need to know. In fact, he was glad that while he’d been having such an amazing time with Molly, Connie had been enjoying herself too.

“Good for you. Felicity was always fun.”

Her grin faded and her eyes searched his face, disappointed and confused. He wasn’t giving her the response she’d expected: the pouting, the jealousy, the possessiveness.

“Yes, well. New York boys are
so
…you know.” She flipped her wrist in the air and reached for her tea cup, watching Weston over the rim.

“Con?”

“Mmm?”

“You were right yesterday. It’s not going to happen for us.”

She tilted the cup back down as her lips parted in surprise. “But I lov—”

“No, you don’t. You don’t love me, and I don’t love you.”

“Yes, darling. I
do
love you.”

“Connie, if you loved me, you wouldn’t come here trying to make me jealous as a way back into my life. You’d just come and tell me how you felt, but unfortunately, I’d still have to tell you no. We played too many games with each other. We killed whatever could have been good between us.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she replaced the cup to her saucer a bit too roughly, rattling the delicate china.

“I canceled my trip to—”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” said Weston. “And you’re still packed, I assume? I’m sure there’s another flight this afternoon.”

Her eyes suddenly glistened with tears. “I wanted to give us a chance, Wes. A real chance.”

“We’re no good for each other, Con,” he answered gently, taking her hand and pressing his lips to it in goodbye. He stood, pulling her up with him.

She yanked her hand away, her nostrils flaring and her eyes flinty with anger. “Just another English brother dumping an Atwell sister.”

“You’re re-writing history.”

She lifted her chin. “I don’t think so. I think I just beat you to the punch yesterday and today you’re having your revenge.”

Weston crossed his arms over his chest and took a step back from her like he’d been slapped. “If that’s what you really think of me, it’s a mystery why you showed up here this morning.” He gave her a hard look before turning away and walking to the door. It baffled him to think of what he’d ever seen in her…and he felt a sudden deluge of thanks for Molly, whose sweetness and goodness had ensnared his heart before Connie could get her hooks into him again. “Goodbye, Connie. Shall I call you a cab?”

Molly had settled for
Titanic
, though she wasn’t really in the mood to watch it.

After Dusty had driven away, she’d taken a long, hot shower, put on baggy sweats and a worn out T-shirt that said “Buckeye Girl!” Her damp hair was looped up in a messy bun and she’d eschewed her contacts for glasses. Charming was curled up beside her on the couch and her grandmother’s afghan was thrown over her legs, which rested on the coffee table in front of her. She was comfortable, but tired, and wished she could have taken a nap, but her brain was humming with uncomfortable questions, her thoughts an unpleasant cocktail of misgivings and impatience.

Was it a mistake to sleep with Weston last night?

Would he show up at six o’clock for their date or not?

Why would he even want to see her again after the scene Dusty made?

She sighed, flipping over the phone in her left hand and muttering a curse word when the screen showed no new texts. It was after noon now. She and Dusty had left the English estate hours ago, but no word from Weston was making her heart clench.

Three times she’d started a text to him.

The first?
So sorry about this morning. Dusty’s headed back to Hopeview. See you later?

She quickly deleted it. It sounded too cloying.

The second?
I’m so sorry about this morning. Dusty’s gone.

She could practically smell the desperation, so she deleted that one too.

Plus, she’d learned long ago…if you didn’t ask a question, you couldn’t expect a reply and the only thing—the
only
thing—Molly wanted to know was whether or not she’d be seeing Weston again. The thought that he’d pull the plug on their tiny baby of a relationship made her want to weep ugly tears.

The third text?
We still on for later?

Ugh. She stared at the text for an extra minute, then rolled her eyes and quickly deleted that one too, flipping the over the phone in an attempt to ignore it for a while. They’d left it that he’d come over at six. She’d be ready at six. If he didn’t show, she’d have her answer.

As she ignored Kate and Leo racing around the ship holding hands, she thought about all the beautiful things Weston had said to her last night—just for the purpose of torturing herself, of course—and made a list in her head of her favorites:

Thanks for making it not-so-horrible, Molly Samaria McKenna.

He gives up a girl who kisses like you do? He’s a douchebag, a jackass, and certifiable.

I think you’re amazing.

I follow you willingly every time.

You look lovely in the moonlight, Molly.

It doesn’t matter how long ago we met…I like you. I think you like me.

It all got horrible again when you left.

I’ve got a feeling about you, Molly McKenna, my sweet Samaritan. I get the feeling I’d bend for you.

This? Right now? Between us? It’s not casual to me, Molly. I don’t know where we’ll go from here, but I feel like we’re at the beginning of something good.

This is just the beginning… This is just the beginning… This is just the beginning…

Those were the words that circled endlessly in her head as she tried to convince herself not to call him, not to text him, just to trust that in five hours her doorbell would ring and he’d be standing there. She had to believe it was true. She had to believe it, because next to her position with Teach for America, she’d never wanted anything else as much in her entire life as Weston English, and the thought of him not showing up was too painful to contemplate.

She sighed again and Charming pricked his ears up, tilting them back and forth like he was listening for something. It always freaked her out when he did that.

“Charming? What do you hear?” she asked, scratching under his chin. His body relaxed and he purred softly, but a moment later, his ears pricked up again, so she shouldn’t have been surprised when her doorbell rang.

***

Weston wasn’t convinced that driving her car back to her apartment several hours before their date was the right plan, but any plan that didn’t include seeing Molly again as soon as possible was simply wrong.

With a huge slice of wedding cake in one hand and her car keys in the other, he prayed that Dusty would be gone, and Molly would be happy to see him.

What he didn’t expect was for her to open the door, cover her mouth with a gasp and run away.

Stunned, but curious, Weston stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind him, walking down the short entry hallway into her living room.
Titanic
was playing on TV, and a large, grumpy-looking cat yawned as Weston caught sight of him.

“Molly?” he called.

Was Dusty here? Was Dusty still here and she’d run to her room to tell him to get dressed? Weston’s face flushed uncomfortably. Well, even if that was the case, he still wasn’t leaving. He’d fight for a chance with Molly if he had to.

Placing her keys and the cake on her kitchen counter, he shrugged out of his jacket and folded it over one of two bar stools under her kitchen counter, then turned and faced her cat again.

“Where’s your mama?” he asked. Then, “Molly?”

“One minute!” she called from behind a door at the opposite side of the small living room.

Feeling awkward and wondering what she was doing, he crossed the living room to knock softly on her bedroom door. “Molly? Please come out.”

She finally opened the door and stepped toward him, wearing jeans and a T-shirt that proudly proclaimed her a “Buckeye Girl!” Her hair was loose, but damp, around her shoulders and while he thought he’d glimpsed glasses when she opened the door, she was wearing contacts now.

Seeing her made him so happy, he just stood there, saying nothing, smiling at her like she was a present, a surprise, a miracle.

“I didn’t expect you,” she said, her voice breathy and uncertain.

“I’m early.” His eyes lowered to her breasts, then to her jeans. “Did you just go and change for me?”

She nodded. “I was bumming around in sweats.”

“Sorry I surprised you,” he murmured, reaching for her, grateful when she let him pull her into his arms. “Plus, you look completely beautiful.”

Her chest pushed into his as she took several deep breaths, as though her sprint to the bedroom and quick change had winded her. He rubbed his hands over her back and it took him a second to realize that the hitch in her breathing wasn’t breath-catching. It was crying.

“Molly?” he whispered, leaning back to look at her face.

“Sorry,” she said, her broken voice weak from tears and a sniffle.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“I didn’t…I didn’t know if you would…I mean, if we were…”

He took her hand and led her to the sofa, drawing her down beside him. She swiped at her eyes, and he put his arm around her shoulders so she could rest her cheek against his chest.

“You didn’t think I was coming?” he asked.

“I did. I mean…I wanted to believe it. But this morning was so awful with Dusty and the fight and your face…”

“You mean my stomach.”

“No,” she insisted. “Your face. When I left with Dusty.”

“Oh. Yeah,” he agreed. “It sucked to see that.”

“I just wanted to give him back the ring and say goodbye. I wasn’t choosing him over you.”

He grinned. Her frankness was so refreshing and reassuring to him. It was something that had been missing from his relationship with Connie. “I know. I knew it then. I just hated seeing you walk away with him. I get jealous sometimes…but I’m working on it.”

“It’s okay. You don’t need to be jealous of anything,” she said, her tears finished now and her voice stronger. “Sorry for the tears. I do that sometimes…when I feel overwhelmed.”

“I know,” he said, tilting her chin up and dropping his lips to hers in a swift, gentle kiss. “I remember from last night.”

Then he kissed her again, slipping his hands to her hips and pulling her onto his lap. He marveled at the way she fit against him, straddling his thighs and wrapping her arms around his neck. Through the thin, worn cotton of her T-shirt, he felt her nipples pebble, pressing against his pecs as she moaned into his mouth. The dozen condoms he’d brought were burning a hole in his back pocket, and he suddenly wondered if a dozen would be enough. The heat they generated with one kiss made him dream of spending all afternoon on her couch, in her bed, buried inside her body every way he could come up with until she begged him for release and they found paradise together over and over again.

But there were a few more things he wanted to say first. Because even though they’d met at a wedding, real life began again today, and his heart demanded that
his
real life, moving forward, included Molly.

His lips glided from her mouth to her cheek, pressing butterfly kisses to her freckles until he paused beside her ear.

“Molly?”

“Huh?”

“Connie stopped by my house this morning.” Molly drew back to look at him, and he continued quickly, having no interest in toying with her. “And we said goodbye for good. The only woman I want in my life…is you.”

Her face erupted into the sweetest smile he’d ever seen as her hands reached up to cup his cheeks.

He swallowed, willing himself not to kiss her again until he’d finished his speech. “I want thunder and lightning. I want my good Samaritan. I want to make a difference. I want to bend. I want to make love to you every day—in a stable, in a bed, on this couch in about five minutes—because I can’t imagine my life without you. Or maybe I don’t want to, because everything in my life started making sense the moment I met you. And regardless of everything that happened this morning with Dusty and Constance, it’s
still
a perfect day because I started it with you and I’m here with you now and you better believe I’m going to end it with you, too. And I know we only met last night and it was at a wedding, which is probably why everything moved so fast, and I don’t know if you want what I want or if last night was just—”

“Weston,” she said, her eyes dark brown and luminous as she stared back at him. She leaned forward, her body flush with his, and took his bottom lip between hers, kissing it tenderly before catching his eyes again. “I’m
wild
about you. All you want is me? All I want…is
you
.”

His eyes closed in relief and a second later he felt the softness of her lips against his eyelids, pressing a kiss to each before skimming over his face like a blessing, like a benediction. He pulled her closer and his heart swelled with emotion—gratitude and tenderness, wonder and love—as he wove his fingers into her hair and poured every feeling he had into their kiss.

He wanted Molly to know—no matter how they met, or where, or when—that his heart was at home with hers.

That he was, and likely always would be, wild about her too.

THE END