Wild about Weston (The English Brothers Book 5) (9 page)

“You have to admit, Christmases would have been awkward,” noted Barrett, as they all eschewed conversation for dinner.

They weren’t meant to be, him and Connie, and it startled him how much the realization didn’t sting—how right it felt in his heart to be finished with her.

Knowing his possessive nature, Connie had still made it her goal in life—every time they went out together—to arouse his jealousy. If they were at a dance club, she’d say yes, then rub up against the random man who asked her to dance. If she accompanied Weston to a horse show, she’d disappear for thirty minutes only to reappear plucking a piece of straw from her hair with a cat-that-got-the-cream smirk. When her phone buzzed with a text, she’d giggle coyly, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth as she quickly typed a response, then sighing as she waited for an answer. She was always playing these little games with him—making him think one thing, then making him apologize when it turned out to be untrue. Connie liked his jealousy. She goaded it. She encouraged it. Hell, half the time she probably engineered it. Why? Why did she want him to be jealous? Did she like the arguments? Did she like fighting with him?

And then it occurred to him…this morning, he’d referenced their fights, saying that they’d let “stupid shit” come between them, but Connie hadn’t addressed those concerns. All Connie had asked about, several times, were his feelings for her: what did he feel for her and did he love her. Was that it, then? Was she just goading him into jealousy to try and figure out his feelings for her?

In his heart, Weston suddenly knew—with absolute certainty—that it was true. He’d never loved Connie, but she had loved him, and making him jealous was her way of trying to nail down his feelings. But, the truth was that Weston had never crossed over from jealousy to love. He’d see her or imagine her with someone else, and it would make him angry. They’d throw insults at each other and have a big fight. One of them would leave. A few weeks or months later, they’d run into each other and fall into bed again.

But love? No. Love had never been a part of the equation at all because Weston’s jealousy wasn’t about loving Connie. It was about proving something that had nothing to do with her. It was Weston, the youngest English brother, trying to prove he was just as good as any other man. It was Weston longing to be first when he’d always be fifth.

With startling clarity he realized that until he made a clean break from his brothers and his family in some real way, he’d always be jealous and longing. Jealous of something he longed for, but by virtue of birth order could never, ever have. If he wanted a fallow field, he was going to need to find it himself. He was going to have to make it happen on his own.

Turning in his seat, he looked across the room, searching for Molly’s red head in the candlelit room. Her back was to him, but his heart surged when he found her. He thought of her determination and bravery. Somehow she’d summoned the courage to follow her dream: to leave her parents farm, risk her engagement and disappoint her family. All because she wanted to make a difference, because she wanted something no one else in her life respected or understood. She came to Philadelphia alone and set forth every day from lovely Bryn Mawr to the treacherous world of Strawberry Mansion, hoping that today was the day one of her students’ faces would light up with understanding, and she’d redirect the course of one of their lives.

And suddenly Weston felt like one of her students, learning from her example, and desperate to apply her wisdom to his own life.

The bar was in two weeks.

He shifted back toward his family and quietly circled the table with his eyes: Barrett, so stern and strong, Stratton, with his clumsy words and brilliant mind, Fitz, who was their conscience and backbone, and Alex, whose charm and twinkling eyes could sell sawdust to a lumber mill.

The problem wasn’t Weston’s future. At some point tonight, the die had been cast, the scale had been tipped, the decision had been made. Deep inside of Weston, he knew he wouldn’t be going to work for English & Sons in two weeks after passing the bar. He’d be applying for a position at the Philadelphia District Attorney’s office. And with his education and family name, he had no doubt there would be a position for him. He enjoyed the thrill of this momentous decision for just a moment before an immense heaviness descended.

No, the problem wasn’t Weston’s dream for his future. The problem was he was going to have to break his brother’s hearts to make it come true.

Molly shook her head at J.C. with a grin, wondering how often his lines worked and on what type of woman they were effective. Not that she was totally immune. Was he tempting? Yes. With his dark hair and hooded eyes, he looked the way she envisioned one of her favorite romance heroes, Gideon Cross. Powerful, sexy, and magnetic, J.C. Rousseau was probably every woman’s dream of the perfect man.

Except that Molly’s head was captivated by a different look entirely, and she couldn’t shake it. Tousled blond hair, intense blue eyes, and an altogether younger face were dominating her brain, despite J.C.’s efforts to charm her. More than anything, Molly wanted to reconnect with Weston again. As soon as possible.

Which is why, when she saw him take to the dance floor with a gorgeous blonde bridesmaid between the salad and main courses, her heart fell.

His dance partner was lovely.

Blonde and blue-eyed, she looked far more sophisticated than farm-raised Molly, her hair twisted up in a tasteful chignon and creamy pearls nestled against her tan skin.

Molly drew a shaky breath, reviewing that Weston had four brothers and no sisters, and so she assumed the beauty was one of Daisy’s friends. Weston smiled into her eyes with ease, throwing his head back at one point to laugh at something she said. Molly’s fist clenched in her lap and she turned sharply around to face the table.

“Mmm,” murmured J.C., glancing at Weston before inclining his head to Molly. “Weston is dancing with Kate, I see.”

She looked at her dinner partner. “Kate?”

“Mm-hm. And she has changed quite a bit, hasn’t she? Much improved.”

“I don’t know Kate,” said Molly, practically spitting out her name and hating the way her stomach clenched into a knot.

Why would Weston want to spend any more of his brother’s wedding with dumped, sad-sack Molly when he could spend time with “much improved” Kate? Molly snuck another glance at the stunning blonde, only to see Weston lean down to whisper something in Kate’s ear. She gave him a look, shaking her head like he was being a bad boy, then giggled, dropping her forehead on his shoulder.

Molly’s cheeks flared, and she turned back around.

Stop looking. Stop torturing yourself.

“Kate’s been a favorite of the English family forever,” said J.C. smoothly, his eyes mischievous as he picked up his wine glass to take a sip. “Their families are…entrenched. Entwined.”

Molly’s eyes widened, searching J.C.’s face, but she could tell that he was telling the truth. Whoever Kate was to Weston, they’d known one another for a long time and there appeared to be a deep affection and ease between them.

“Do Weston and Kate…have history?”

“Yes,” said J.C. gravely, his face telegraphing his sympathy for her. “Quite a lot, I’m afraid. A very close and intimate history that goes all the way to their births.”

“So, he’s loved her forever?” asked Molly in a dazed voice, feeling a burn behind her eyes.

“Forever? Oh, yes.
Absolument
.”

Unlike Molly, who had no prospects waiting for her after Dusty’s betrayal, Weston had had Kate in the wings. His girlfriend dumps him this morning, he dallies with Molly for an hour or two, then makes his move on picture-perfect Kate.

“How efficient,” said Molly under her breath, reaching for her glass and gulping down the contents.

Placing her empty glass back on the table, Molly took a deep breath, feeling like all sorts of an idiot and hating that she felt dumped for the second time in two days, even though she had no right to feel that way. Weston didn’t owe her anything; he didn’t belong to her. They’d shared a few kisses, and honestly, he’d been kind to her. She should be grateful for that much.

She had no right to expect anything else from him.

And yet, despite the terrible timing of their meeting tonight, Molly wanted more. After knowing the hot sweetness of his smile and the gentleness of his eyes as he listened to her, the way he held her in his arms and kissed her like the world was ending…it made it unexpectedly difficult for her to accept that their short, sweet liaison was over.

Looking back over at the dance floor, she watched Weston stare at Kate with deep tenderness after she whispered something in his ear. Stopping mid-dance, he pulled her flush against him, embracing her tightly. When his eyes darted in the direction of Molly’s table, they bypassed Molly, lingering on J.C. Rousseau with marked disdain, before turning back to Kate. Weston reached up and palmed her cheek, smiling at her with deep emotion, before taking her hand and walking her back to their table.

Molly’s breath caught from the blow of their exchange—she’d read love, tenderness, compassion and protectiveness in Weston’s gaze. The way he’d held her, the way they touched each other so familiarly…it was clear: Kate was
very
important to Weston.

Angry, bitter Molly from earlier in the night suddenly raised her brittle head. She had no right to the jealousy she felt, but she couldn’t help it. Her head said she had no claim on Weston, but her heart virulently disagreed. First Dusty, now Weston. There was only one solution to waylay tears: move on. Quickly.

Her heart thumping almost uncomfortably, she turned to J.C., affecting her best smile and licking her lips before pulling the bottom one between her teeth. “Do you care to dance?”

He looked surprised only for an instant before smiling at her, his white teeth perfect behind sexy, pillowed lips. “With you,
mignon
?
Oui.
Yes.”

“Great.”

Molly stood upright without giving him a moment to help her with her chair, and she didn’t look at him as she took his hand.

J.C. led her to the dance floor, smoothly weaving around tables as they made their way, and Molly followed closely behind him, keeping her eyes fastened on the shoulder of his navy blue suit. Once on the dance floor, he pulled her into his arms possessively, holding her very close with his arms around her waist rather than in a traditional dancing pose. Something in Molly protested this liberty as she placed her hands on his shoulders. But when her mind flashed back to Weston dancing with Kate, she pressed herself forward against the hardness of J.C.’s chest, and looped her arms around the back of his neck.

Resting her cheek on his shoulder, she felt his hot breath against her neck, moving against her hair as they barely moved to the Beatle’s “Here, There and Everywhere.” His hands laced together on her lower back and Molly clenched her jaw in defiance of his touch, feeling utterly miserable.

“Molly,” he whispered. “You’re a wonderful dancer. We should go out together sometime.”

“Sure,” she agreed quietly, wishing her eyes weren’t burning and her heart wasn’t longing for someone else’s arms.

“Next weekend?”

“Why not?” she murmured, hating that a sexy, intimate dance with a Gideon Cross-lookalike wasn’t enough to make her forget the rogue lock of Weston’s blond hair running through her fingers.

J.C.’s chest heaved, and his cheek brushed hers as he pulled back to look into her eyes. His dark eyes flicked a glance at her lips in question before tilting his head to the side and—

“I’m cutting in.”

Molly sputtered in surprise, shocked to hear Weston’s voice laced with fury so close to her ear.

J.C.’s body tensed, pulling back from Molly’s just a little, like he’d been caught doing something wrong. But his face remained impassive as he flicked his hand at Weston like an annoying bug. “Go away,
petite
Weston.”

“I have already punched Alex twice tonight, and he’s my brother. I promise you, I will rearrange your face if you don’t let go of her right now.”

J.C. turned his gaze to Molly. “
Mignon
?”

Molly ignored J.C. and stared back at Weston, confusion dominating her other feelings of hope, anger, and relief. She cocked her head to the side. “Why don’t you dance with Kate some more? You two seemed pretty cozy.”

“Kate?” Weston demanded, his face shocked and incredulous.

“Yes, Kate.
Entwined, improved
Kate
who you’ve known
intimately
for years, and
loved forever
.”

Weston looked at J.C., holding his eyes with fury. “You told her that?”

“It’s not the truth?”

Molly didn’t know what was going on, but she let her hands fall from around J.C.’s neck as she watched his face segue from mischievous to sheepish. She darted her eyes to Weston who looked disgusted with J.C. and more furious by the minute. He finally cut his humorless, searing eyes to Molly.

“Kate’s my cousin, Molly. Our fathers are brothers. Kate’s the closest thing I have to a sister and she just shared something with me”—his eyes darted, with hatred, to J.C.,—“from her past. Me embracing Kate? That was just me comforting my cousin.”

“Oh…” Molly sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head in embarrassment.
Oh, God, I wish I could turn back time.
“I thought—”

“I know exactly what you thought,” said Weston, taking her hand and pulling her away from J.C., who released her with a vaguely amused, mildly guilty shrug.

He finally smirked, putting his hands in his pockets. “
Tout est juste dans l'amour et la guerre
.”

“This wasn’t love but it could be war,” said Weston, his tone thick with disgust. He tucked Molly against his side, his arm tight around her shoulders. “
Another
Rousseau brother being a total asshole.”

“Ah, Weston. You English brothers take yourselves so seriously. We French have far more fun.” J.C. winked at Molly before turning away from them and sauntering back to the table.

“Yeah. That was super fun,” said Weston, still stewing as he eyed J.C.’s retreat.

“It was my fault,” Molly whispered.

“It was
his
fault,” he murmured, staring into her eyes. “Dance with me?”

She nodded and Weston pulled her into his arms as a new slow song, Billy Joel’s “She’s Always A Woman,” started playing. Just as J.C. had a moment before, Weston laced his hands on Molly’s lower back, but this time her body, finally paired with the man she wanted, relaxed in gratitude, and she rested her cheek on his shoulder, breathing deeply and closing her eyes.

His scent was a mix of messy sheets, something lightly spicy and a faint hint of hay, which made Molly’s heart sigh with pleasure. Her hands slid up his chest to his shoulders, meeting at the back of his neck, which she grazed with her fingers, the heat of his skin burning her tender tips.

“Molly,” he whispered, slowly and gently against her ear. “How could you think I’d—”

“I barely know you,” she answered, and she imagined her words deflected off the throbbing pulse in his throat.

“That’s not true.”

“I only met you a few hours ago,” she insisted, even though she agreed with him. In a relatively short time, they’d somehow bonded far more than she would have thought possible.

But the timing was dreadful, as evidenced by her gullibility. Molly’s heart wasn’t ready for this much action. She’d barely processed Dusty’s betrayal and rejection. It wasn’t prudent to open her heart to someone else. She didn’t want to feel jealous of Weston, possessive of Weston, tender toward Weston. She needed perspective. She needed to protect herself—give her heart a chance to heal before opening it up to the possibility of more pain.

Sensible Molly, who had been sidelined for a good portion of the evening, was suddenly awake and full of energy, while Wild Molly was starting to feel a little beat up. Sensible Molly patted Wild Molly on the head, rubbing her back with maternal compassion and urged her to go take a rest.

“It doesn’t matter how long ago we met,” said Weston. “I like you. I think you like me. I want to—”

“I’m sorry, Weston,” she murmured, the slow swaying so comfortable and easy, she hated the words that came out of her mouth next. “The timing is all wrong here.”

“What do you mean?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to savor the last few bars of the song, the feeling of his arms around her, the touch of his breath so close to her throat.

You’re just scared.
Don’t do it
, said Wild Molly in a thin, barely-there voice.

“I mean,” she said, opening her eyes and gathering her Sensible Molly strength, “that it’s time for me to go.”

His face instantly clouded over in protest. “But I told you. Kate’s just my cousin. Please don’t go. You were going to stay and we were going to—”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, lowering her hands from his neck to hang loosely at her sides. “It’s just too much.”

He bit down on his bottom lip, staring at her with dismay. “What can I say?”

“Goodbye.”

“This is ridiculous.”

I think so, too
, said Wild Molly, almost too softly to hear.

“I think it’s for the best,” she said, reaching behind her back to loosen his hands.