Wild about Weston (The English Brothers Book 5) (11 page)

“No?” he murmured against her ear, his body stilling.

“No,” she whispered meekly.

“No.” He sighed. Not an argument, a resigned confirmation.

“I’m sorry,” she said miserably, slack beneath him.

He rolled to his side, and Molly reached up to pull the cups of her bra over her breasts, the cool, wet lace making her shiver.

“Are you cold?”

“A little,” she said, covering herself as she sat up, afraid to look at him.

He shuffled a little, into a kneeling position. She watched as he plumped the three pillows, then piled them against the headboard. He sat back with his legs out straight in front of him—the crotch of his pants tented aggressively—then opened his arms and said, “Come here.”

His face was hard to read. She saw frustration, disappointment, amusement, tenderness. It was the tenderness that made her inch forward to rest her cheek against his chest and let herself be wrapped in his arms.

“Pull up the comforter,” said Weston, and Molly leaned forward, grabbing an end and tugging it over their legs before resettling herself against him. Her dress was still bunched around her waist, but she didn’t mind lying against him in her bra. She closed her eyes, breathing him in: messy bed, spice (which she now identified as scotch), and the barest whiff of stable. It was a combination of smells she would always love and always remember—no matter what—as long as she lived.

“You kind of surprised me there,” he said. “I was sure we were going to say—”

“I surprised myself,” she confessed.

She felt the press of his lips against her head. “Can’t say I wasn’t hoping.”

Molly sighed. “It’s just…me and Dusty. You and…Connie? It all happened so recently, you know? And this is really intense…this, this thing between us. I don’t want to get hurt. I don’t want
you
to get hurt.”

“I understand,” he said gently, lifting his lips from her head and leaning against the pillows. His fingers ran soothingly up and down her back and she kept her eyes closed, listening to the strong beat of his heart under her ear.

“What happened with Connie?”

“Hmm,” he murmured, as though composing his thoughts, his fingers maintaining their gentle up and down rhythm. “I’ve known Con forever. We grew up together. Same country club. Same hunt club. Same dance instructor. Barrett dated her sister, Felicity, and Alex dated her other sister, Hope.”

“Ahhh,” said Molly, looping her arm over his chest. “Felicity, Hope, and Constance. The virtues.”

“Not really,” he said sardonically. “We dated off and on for the past year. We’d be together for a while, and then we’d get into a big fight, say awful things, and go our separate ways. A few weeks or months later, we’d run into each other again and give things another try. Same cycle, over and over.”

“You never moved forward.”

“What do you mean?”

Molly shrugged. “I don’t know…one of you would need to bend, you know? When you got into that big fight and said awful things, one of you would need to bend. Say you’re sorry. Make amends. Move forward.”

Weston nodded and his lips touched down on the crown of her head again. “You’re right. Neither of us ever bent, and we never moved forward. We were stuck in the same cycle over and over again. I don’t know why.”

“My guess is because you weren’t in love. You could imagine your lives without each other.”

***

She was right. She was 100%, exactly, perfectly right.

He and Constance had heat, but they didn’t have love.

“You’re pretty smart.”

“Not really,” she said softly. “I only just realized it, but I’m speaking from experience.”

“You and Dusty? Endless fights? Walking away? Somehow I don’t see it.”

She sniffled softly, and he held her tighter as a surge of protectiveness made him almost breathless. What was it about this girl that was so compelling to him? How did she pull at more heartstrings after five hours than Constance had in over a year?

Her voice was soft and measured when she continued. “We didn’t fight much. We didn’t say ugly things. But I thought them, and I’m sure he did too. And we both walked away. Figuratively and literally. I think my engagement was over the day I took the job in Philly and he watched me go. I just didn’t realize it at the time.”

“He was a fool to let you go.”

She shook her head, the light brushing if her cheek against his chest more affecting than any other woman grabbing his junk.

“No,” she said in a quiet, accepting voice. “Somewhere inside of Dusty he knew I wasn’t the one. He just
wished
I was. He liked the idea of us. That’s why he’s…”

“Why he’s what?”

She started to say something else, then shook her head. “Nothing. I don’t want to talk about him, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

They were silent for several long minutes after that, and Weston became distinctly aware of her breathing, the way her chest pushed lightly into his as she inhaled, the way her fingers lightly flexed and relaxed against his waist. Her hair smelled sweet, like the Wisteria that grew over the arches at the entrance to his mother’s rose garden. He inhaled it, and it reminded him of warm summer days, of blue skies, of clean slates and fresh starts, sweet smiles and gentle touches. Would he still know Molly four months from now when the arbors were in full bloom, their lavender tendrils hanging low and bathing the air in sweetness? Suddenly it seemed unbearable to imagine that he wouldn’t know her, that she wouldn’t somehow be a part of his life four days from now, four months from now, four years from now, four whatever-else’s, anything-else’s from right now.

Like other person on the planet, he’d heard of men who said that they met a pretty girl one day, and felt it in their gut with a certainty that couldn’t be denied:
This is the girl I’m going to marry.
But he never, ever thought such a fanciful thing would happen to him.

And yet. Here he was. Five hours in, and no way to turn back.

And all he wanted to do, suddenly, was make sure that Molly McKenna would linger in his life beyond tonight.
It’s Saturday
, he thought.
Would a date for dinner tomorrow night be too soon?

“Mol—”

“Wes—”

He chuckled softly. “You go first, sweetheart.”

“You got really high marks on your LSAT,” she said.

He furrowed his brow, but grinned with pleasure. He wasn’t expecting that, but he realized with her cheek against his chest, she was staring straight at his desk.

“I guess. Not perfect, though.”

“When we were in the tack room, you said you didn’t want to be a corporate lawyer for English & Sons.”

“Mm-hm,” he conceded, his jaw tightening.

“What
do
you want to do?”

He tensed, just a little, because he’d never shared his dreams aloud. Before tonight, he’d never even admitted that he didn’t want to follow his brothers into the family firm. Was he ready to tell someone what he really wanted to do?

Not surprisingly, surrounded by the magic that was Molly McKenna, the words came quickly and cleanly. Regardless of the hurt it would cause, he wouldn’t be working at English & Sons.

“I want to work in the Philadelphia District Attorney’s office. Ideally in the Juvenile division.”

“Wes,” she murmured, sitting up straighter to look at him.

He searched her eyes, wondering what she was thinking, wondering if she thought he was crazy for turning his back on his family’s venerable business.

“Tell me more,” she said, her eyes flooded with admiration, her lips tilting up just slightly.

He swallowed, his bravery bolstered by her encouragement. “I had this professor in law school…my advisor, actually, who served in the D.A.’s office. Professor Callum told us a lot of stories about kids—first-time offenders who made bad choices and screwed up their lives. And I just don’t believe that a sixteen-year-old arrested for armed robbery should go to prison for twenty years. I think there’s got to be another way, a better way, to rehabilitate that person. But first he’s going to need a decent defense, and I…well, I…”

“You want to make a difference,” said Molly, her wide eyes skimming over his face like a caress, like he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

He nodded, dropping his lips to hers just for a moment before pulling away. “I do.”

Her eyes fluttered opened slowly and she smiled at him, her face so utterly lovely, his breath caught. “I think
you’re
amazing.”

For a moment—just a moment—he let himself bask in the warm glow of her admiration, soaking it up like sunshine and tucking it away into the corner of his heart that would belong to her after tonight.

The pleasure only lasted for a moment before real life intruded. “No, I’m not.”

“You are!” she insisted, her arm around him tightening. “You’re wonderful. You’re going to do something…something real and relevant and meaningful with your life.”

“Molly,” he said, dropping her eyes. “I haven’t even told my brothers yet.” He scoffed and it sounded bitter in his ears. “You’re the only person I’ve ever told.”

Her fingers under his chin forced his eyes to meet hers. “The hard part was deciding to follow your heart. Your brothers will forgive you.”

He shook his head, dislodging her fingers and sitting up straighter. “You don’t know that. You don’t know how much they love English & Sons.”

“I know for sure that they love you more.”

The quiet certainty in her voice made his heart swell with affection for her, made him stronger, made him hopeful that he could follow his dream without losing his brothers. She was a miracle of gentleness and wisdom, of courage and heart.

“Molly, I—”

Buzz. Buzzbuzz.

Buzz. Buzzbuzz.

“You’re buzzing,” she said. “Again.”

“How come
you
never buzz?” he asked her.

He meant the words playfully, as a reference to the orgasm she’d denied herself a few minutes ago, so he hoped he hadn’t somehow stepped on her toes when her smile faded.

“No one’s looking for me,” she said quickly, dropping his eyes.

“I was just kidding. I just meant—”

She cut off his words by leaning forward and pressing her lips to his. They were soft and seeking, a little urgent maybe, and he pulled her closer, slipping his tongue between her lips as his blood quickly drained from one head and started filling another.

Buzz. Buzzbuzz.

She drew back, her sweet little smile back in place as she chuckled softly. “I think you should answer it.”

Unable to look away from her beautiful, bright eyes, he leaned to the side, wrestling his phone from his back pocket and pressed it to his ear.

“What?” he demanded.

Stratton’s voice answered, “You disappeared.”

“I’m busy.”

“You missed dinner.”

“And?”

“Time for Daisy and Fitz to dance. Then cake.”

“Nobody will notice if I’m not there.”

“Daisy will notice. She wants a picture. With all of us.”

Weston grimaced. His new sister-in-law was a baker and they’d all heard from Fitz how important the wedding cake was to her. She’d allowed Weston’s mother to choose the invitations and flowers, the menu, the music, the favors…just about everything. But the cake? The cake was
all
Daisy, and he needed to be there, nearby and smiling, when it came time for her to cut it.

“Fine,” he growled.

“Did Molly leave?”

“Huh?”

“Molly McKenna? The girl who was dancing with J.C.? You almost got into it. I was watching.”

Weston felt his face soften. Of course Stratton was watching. Watching and waiting and ready to beat J.C. Rousseau to a pulp if he so much as laid a hand on Weston. Quiet, protective Stratton, the youngest of his older brothers, the most pragmatic, the fixer. Circuits fired in Weston’s brain, neurons putting an idea together, his heart gathering courage and refusing to let it slip away. He glanced at Molly’s soft red hair against his chest, recalling the admiration in her eyes, the quiet confidence of her faith in him.

“Strat,” he said. “I need to talk to you.”

“Well, get your ass down here first,” said Stratton, adding slyly, “And bring Molly with you.”

On their way back to the ballroom, Weston stopped by a closet in the front hallway and pulled out a folding chair, then led Molly to his table, pushed his chair right up next to Kate’s, and shoved the folding chair in the small space he’d created on the other side.

“Everyone?” he said. “This is Molly. She’s joining us.”

Molly blushed as Weston’s four brothers, their dates, Daisy, and his cousin, Kate, looked up at her with nine different smiles ranging from knowing (Daisy) to delighted (Kate) to teasing (Alex) and everything in between.

“Welcome, Molly,” said Fitz, raising his eyebrows and winking at her from across the table. He seemed very much like a man who’d been given the inside scoop by his wife.

“Thanks, Fitz,” she said.

“I’m Kate,” said Weston’s cousin, leaning over Weston to take Molly’s hand and offer her a wide, warm smile. “He looks much happier now.”

Ashamed of herself for ever thinking poorly of Kate, Molly smiled back at the cheerful blonde. “That makes two of us.”

Weston slung his arm around Molly’s shoulders. “What was the rush, Strat?”

Stratton eyed his little brother from across the table. “What do you need to talk to me about, Wes?”

Weston’s face froze for a second, which was just long enough for Alex and Barrett to pick up on the sudden awkwardness that Stratton seemed to miss.

“Yeah, Wes,” said Barrett. “What do you need to talk to Stratton about?”

“Leave him alone,” chided Emily, giving Weston a sympathetic smile. “Sucks being the youngest, huh, Wes?”

Weston looked at Molly and smiled. “Doesn’t have to.”

“I’m Jess,” said the stunning, raven-haired beauty next to Alex, to Molly’s left. “I think you were sitting with my brothers before.”

“The Winslow brothers?” asked Molly.

Jessica nodded. “Did they behave?”

Molly grinned. “They were very supportive of Alex’s speech.”

“Probably because Rousseau was talking smack about me,” groused Alex.

Molly felt her cheeks heat up, because he was right. J.C. Rousseau had made a point of telling his sister, Jax, to stay away from Alex. How odd because with his arm securely around Jessica’s shoulders, he didn’t look like the type of man who would philander. He looked about one step away from “I do.”

“So, Molly, how do you know Weston?” asked Jessica.

“I’m in a community theater group with Daisy,” she explained, then twisting her head slightly to catch Weston’s eyes, she added, “I only met Weston tonight.”

Jessica’s eyes widened with surprise. “The plot thickens…”

“What does that mean?” asked Molly.

“Nothing. Just…I’ve never seen Weston so…I don’t know, ga-ga over a girl. He’s been chasing you around all night. And unless you got stung by a bee”—Jessica pointed to her own lips with a grin—“he keeps catching you.”

Molly chuckled softly. “You’re trouble.”

“That’s what they tell me,” said Jessica with a wink.

“
My
trouble,” added Alex, whom Molly could have sworn wasn’t listening, but had apparently hung on every word.

On the table beside her hand, she felt Weston’s phone vibrate, and he picked it up and flipped it over. It briefly occurred to Molly to joke “Your brothers are all here, so who is it this time?” but she realized it really wasn’t any of her business. Weston grimaced as he scrolled down the message, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth before typing a quick response and laying it back on the table, face down. Before Molly could wonder about it further, the music stopped and the bandleader walked to the front of the stage to adjust the microphone.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said. “Please raise your glasses and welcome Thomas English, who’d like to say a few words to his son, Fitz, and new daughter-in-law, Daisy.”

Everyone faced the stage to listen to the last toast, giving Molly an opportunity to examine them each unobserved.

What would it be like to be part of this clan?
she wondered, looking around the table.

The English brothers, with their patrician good looks—all tall, fit, blond and blue-eyed—were also bright and successful, entrenched in Philadelphia society and old money ways. They were, in every way, exceptional. So, it should have been no surprise that the women they’d each chosen seemed to be exceptional too. Soft, lovely Daisy with her genuine warmth and surprising business sense, Valeria, who seemed so fiery, Emily, who looked to be sensible and kind, and Jessica, who was a beautiful minx. They glanced at each other across the table with economical looks, but Molly sensed that the four women were very good friends, and they understood one another without needing to speak actual words.

Even though Molly had been raised far from the city lights and urban sophistication of the English family, the way they communicated, teased, and bantered felt familiar to her, and while she didn’t exactly miss Claire and the twins, she longed for a surrogate family in Philadelphia, yearned for that feeling of belonging. She envied the woman who would eventually take her seat, who would sit next to Weston at all the weddings to come, dance with him, go home with him, sleep in his bed, and return in the morning for a boisterous, teasing brunch. It was forward and ridiculous even to imagine, but something about sitting beside Weston, surrounded by his family, felt like coming home.

Mr. English raised his glass, and everyone at the table reached for the magically-full Champagne glasses that had been refilled by a whisper-quick cadre of servants while he spoke.

“To my second son, Fitz, and my first daughter, Daisy. May your lives be happy, rich, and full of love. Cheers.”

As she sipped, Molly looked across the table at Daisy and Fitz, who stared deeply into each other’s eyes before sipping their Champagne and kissing. And suddenly the music started playing again, but it was the spare sound of a banjo, guitar, and drums that played the first few bars of a bluesy-folksy song.

Daisy pulled back from Fitz, her face erupting into the most beautiful smile Molly had ever seen.

“Sweet Pea?” she asked him, cocking her head toward the band.

“Of course, Mrs. English. What did you expect?”

“Fitz…” she said, her eyes glistening as she shook her head back and forth in pleased surprise.

Fitz stood up, offering his hand to his bride. “Dance with me, wife?”

“Absolutely.”

Daisy spared a quick look at the bridal party as she took his hand. “I expect all of you out there in the next two minutes!”

“What do you say?” asked Weston, grinning at Molly with a sparkling, happy gaze.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Molly caught Kate’s wistful grin, trained on her cousin and his bride.

“I think you’re Kate’s escort,” she said, softening her refusal with a smile. “I’ll wait for you here.”

“You’re one in a million, Molly McKenna. Save me a dance? I’ll be back as soon as we take cake pictures in the dining room.”

“I’ll be here,” she said.

He leaned down and kissed her lips tenderly—which wasn’t lost on his remaining three brothers, who whooped softly—before offering his hand to Kate. “Ready to dance, cousin of mine?”

Kate’s face brightened and Molly knew she’d done the right thing. As the rest of the brothers led their dates to the dance floor, Molly sat back in her seat, watching, not feeling lonely at all. More and more as the evening progressed, she felt increasingly sure that whatever was happening between her and Weston wasn’t going to end tonight. No, he hadn’t asked for her number or for a date, but her intuition told her this wasn’t a one-night relationship. And no, she didn’t know where they’d go from here, exactly, but giving each other a chance beyond tonight felt certain.

Which is why she definitely, positively should have minded her own business…

Buzz. Buzzbuzz.

Buzz. Buzzbuzz.

…but curiosity got the better of her.

She eyed Weston’s phone, shifted her pursed lips back and forth, trying to decide what harm it could do for her to flip it over and see who was trying to get in touch with him. She shouldn’t have done it. She had no right. She positioned a clean knife under the phone and with a little flick, it toppled face-up.

The screen was locked, but the latest text was previewed, and she leaned over to read the words.

Connie:
You’ve given me hope.
Of course, darling. Tomorrow is perfect. I love you.

Feeling like the wind had just been stolen from her sails, Molly tried to suck in a deep breath, but came up short. She blinked rapidly, looking at the text again, then down at her lap. When she finally managed to fill her lungs it had the added effect of filling her eyes. Trying to swallow past the lump in her throat, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to and it would be best for her to leave.

Weston had his back to her on the dance floor, but Kate was engrossed in conversation with him and wouldn’t notice Molly slip out. She grabbed her purse, pushed in her chair, and exited the ballroom via a side door.

***

The next time Weston spun Kate, he noticed the bridal party table was empty and his chest squeezed for a moment before he told himself not to be an ass. Molly probably went to the bar to get a drink or to the ladies’ room, and dancing with Kate instead of Molly gave him a few minutes to process the fact that Connie had texted him about two minutes before his father’s speech.

She’d written that she regretted their conversation this morning, loved him, and wished she’d given him a chance to make his case for them giving their relationship a real try. She wondered if they could talk sometime soon. Anxious to tell Connie that there was no hope for them—to settle things between them once and for all—he told her to call tomorrow. He didn’t relish the idea of telling her the ship had sailed, but it had to be done. Though he had no idea how things would play out with Molly, he knew for sure he wasn’t, nor would he ever be, in love with Connie.

And, yes, he was hoping the only girl in his life, in his bed, in the near future, would be Molly.

“I like your Molly,” said Kate.

“She’s not mine yet.”

Kate shrugged. “It’s on.”

“You think?”

“Oh, it’s on. A hundred percent. Just don’t screw it up.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said, sneaking another look at the empty table.

“I’m sorry we keep talking about him, but…I didn’t know Étienne was in a car accident last night,” said Kate softly. “Did you know that? Jessica just told me when we were in the powder room together.”

“I considered telling you when we danced before, but I didn’t think it was appropriate.”

“I don’t hate him,” said Kate earnestly. “All of you hate him much more than I do.”

“Stratton looked ready to strangle J.C. just to hurt Étienne by proxy,” said Weston, who wasn’t interested in hearing anything remotely good about Étienne Rousseau. “It was a fucked up thing he did to you, Kate, leading you on like that.”

“He didn’t lead me on. Not really. He never promised me anything, Wes. He was so—” She dropped his eyes, her face soft and wistful, and a little sad, as she sorted through her memories. “You have to understand…I thought I loved him. I thought he—well, at the time, I thought he loved me too, so...” She was quiet for a moment, but when she looked up again, her expression was crisp. “For him, that was the end of it. For me? I just wasn’t ready for all of the feelings that a girl feels when she…you know, sleeps with someone for the first time.”

“Nice to outgrow that shit show, huh?”

Kate gave him an incredulous grin. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. We’re all adults now. We can handle that sort of thing.”
“Oh, Weston. You make me want to weep with your ignorance. Girls don’t
ever
outgrow that particular shit show. Sleep with us at your peril, because it
always
means more to us than it does to you. The girl who loves casual sex is a myth, a unicorn.”

He grinned at his cousin as the song ended, but his stomach turned over uneasily as he realized Molly wasn’t back from the bathroom yet. He released Kate, feeling for his phone in his back pocket. Not that Molly had his number, it was just second-nature, but it wasn’t there anyway. He gulped as he looked back at the table and saw it sitting in front of Kate’s empty chair, face up, screen glowing.

“Hey! Dining room? Cake pictures?” reminded Kate, hooking her thumb toward the dining room, which was the opposite direction than their table where Weston was heading.

“I’ll be right there.”

Weston sprinted over to the table, his spirits sinking as he grabbed the phone, which showed a single text on the bright screen. Reading it, he swore softly and he knew: Molly hadn’t gone to the bathroom. Molly was just plain gone.

“Shit,” he muttered again, tucking his phone into his back pocket and striding across the dance floor to the door that led to the dining room. The photographer had Daisy and Fitz posing as though about to cut the cake and the rest of the bridal party stood nearby watching, waiting to be summoned.