Wild about Weston (The English Brothers Book 5) (12 page)

Weston slipped inside the room and pulled the door behind him, sliding one of the twenty-four gilt chairs away from the vast dining room table and slumping down unhappily. Of course she hadn’t been able to see Weston’s sterile message to Connie that read:
Busy night. Talk tomorrow?
Based on Connie’s language—calling him “darling” and saying she loved him—he guessed how Molly had interpreted the message: like he was getting back together with Connie tomorrow. Fuck.

Well, there was nothing he could do about it now. He’d do the pictures for Daisy and go to bed. Before she and Fitz left for their honeymoon, he’d get Molly’s phone number and give her a call. Maybe he could explain the context of his messages with Connie, and hopefully Molly would still agree to go out with him.

“Wes.”

He looked up to see Stratton pulling out the chair beside him.

“Hey.”

“You okay?”

“Not one of my ten best days, Strat.” He sighed, finally hitting a wall.

Although meeting Molly had rocked his world, he was pissed with the way things had ended between them tonight. Not to mention, he’d gotten four hours of sleep last night, been broken up with, been forced to attend his brother’s wedding stag, met this sexy, angry girl at the bar, almost slept with her, met her again, gotten to know her, almost lost her, almost slept with her, talked—really talked—to her, fallen for her, and lost her again. His energy was sapped. He was exhausted. All he wanted to do was finish the pictures, shove a piece of cake in his mouth, and go to sleep until tomorrow when he could—maybe, hopefully—track down Molly.

“You needed to talk to me?”

The interesting thing about hitting a proverbial wall is that you had nowhere else to go. It was time to stop running. It was time to tell his brothers the truth.

“I don’t want to work for English & Sons,” he confessed wearily.

Stratton’s brows creased as he searched Weston’s eyes. “What do you mean?”

He locked his blue eyes with Stratton’s, wondering if Molly’s sister Claire had red hair and brown eyes and if that had made it harder for Molly to break the news that she was leaving Hopeview and moving to Philly.

“I don’t want to work for English & Sons. I want to work for the Philadelphia District Attorney’s office.”

“What are you talking about? Why?”

“I don’t want to be a corporate lawyer. I want to defend kids who make stupid mistakes and ruin their lives.” Molly’s voice was so clear in his head, it was like she was whispering in his ear. “I want to make a difference.”

Stratton swallowed, looking disappointed, looking uncomfortable, but, amazingly, not abandoning the conversation.

“It’s going to be bad when you tell them.”

“Bad for who when you tell what?” asked Alex, plopping down on the arm of Stratton’s chair. He ran a hand through his hair. “I promise you guys when it’s Jess’s and my turn, we’re not doing four million pictures.”

Weston looked at Alex, then back at Stratton, who pursed his lips and shrugged.

“Hey,” said Alex. “Seriously, what’s going on here?”

“Is something going on?” asked Barrett, standing in the V created by Weston and Stratton’s chairs, his arms crossed over his chest.

Alex eyed Stratton, then Weston, warily. His eyes remained on Weston. “I don’t know yet.”

Weston looked at Stratton again, wishing there was an easier way to do this.

“Wes doesn’t want to—”

“I don’t want to work for English & Sons.”

Barrett’s eyes widened and his lips tightened, but he didn’t say anything, just stared at Weston like he’d suddenly morphed into an alien life form.

“
What?
” demanded Alex, springing from his perch on Stratton’s chair. “What the
fuck
are you talking about?”

“Calm down, Al,” said Stratton.

“Fuck you, Strat.” Then to Weston. “What the hell is going on?”

Weston took a deep breath, looking at Barrett again. Letting down Alex and Stratton sucked. Bad. But letting down Barrett, whom Weston had idolized from birth, really and truly ached.

“Try to understand. It’s not what I want.”

“What
do
you want, Wes?” asked Alex in a clipped tone.

“Just tell them,” advised Stratton.

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

“You want to go into politics?” spat Barrett. “Are you insane?”

“I didn’t say I wanted to go into politics,” said Weston, keeping his voice calm and even. “I want to defend stupid teenage kids who make one bad—really bad, maybe—mistake and end up paying for it for the rest of their lives.”

“Ohhhh,” said Alex. “You want to defend criminals instead of taking your rightful place in the family business built by our father and entrusted to—”

Stratton stood, placing a hand on Alex’s shoulder, but Alex shrugged him off.

“Stop taking his side, Strat!”

“I’m not,” Stratton insisted. “But he has a right to do what he wants to do with his life.”

“So, why don’t you quit too? And me? And Fitz? And Barrett? And there won’t be any more English & Sons! How’s that?”

Weston stood up, clenching his jaw as he looked at the hurt and betrayal on Alex’s face. “Sorry, Alex, but this isn’t personal. I gotta go with my gut. My gut says public defender.”

“Your gut says
quitter
,” hissed Alex, jabbing his finger in Weston’s chest before pivoting sharply and stalking away.

Weston flashed his eyes to Barrett and swallowed the wince he felt, staying as stoic as possible. “It’s not personal, Barrett.”

“Feels personal, Wes. The idea was always for all us to work together. To build something.” Barrett’s face was pinched and disappointed as he turned away to follow Alex.

“Stratton?”

Stratton shrugged. “I’ll talk to them. When are you talking to Fitz and Dad?”

“Tomorrow.”

The weight of Stratton’s hand on his shoulder was welcome. “It’ll be okay in the end. They’re just upset.”

“You’re not?”

“I get it,” he said. “Because I love walking into that office every day. I love the numbers. I love spending the day with Barrett and Fitz, the shorthand of working with Alex, the way Dad pops his head in to get my opinion on a deal. For me, it’s a rush. It makes me feel great.”

“And that’s awesome for
you
, Strat, but I—”

“I didn’t finish.” Stratton dropped his hand and gave Weston a grim smile. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to dread going to work every day, and if working for English & Sons sounds terrible to you…well, you gotta go a different way. I can’t say I’m not sorry. But, I get it.”

Daisy was calling all of them over to stand in couples behind the cake.

Weston put his hand on Stratton’s arm, feeling infinitely grateful for the brother whose quiet ways had always been one of the most comforting forces in Weston’s life.

“Thanks, Stratton.”

As he walked over to the cake, he looked at Barrett and Alex, who glowered at him from their places on either side of Fitz.

“It’ll be okay in the end,” Stratton said again, none too convincingly. “Just give it some time.

“What do
you
think?” Molly asked the chestnut-colored Tennessee Walker. The dark green and gold sign over her immaculate stall read “Biscuit” and the mare had a pretty white patch that ran from her forelock to her muzzle. Molly reached up to stroke her smooth hair and the horse leaned closer. “Oh, you’re such a love.”

When Molly first left the ballroom, she headed back to the front hall, determined to leave once and for all. But to her left was the parlor where she’d cried about Dusty after Weston’s toast, and her confused heart skipped a beat, remembering his arm around her shoulders. Wandering into the snow-lit parlor, she remembered his words,
I follow you willingly every time
. It was probably just her romantic imagination, but as Molly gazed at a portrait of all five brothers hung over the fireplace, Weston’s eyes beseeched her to stay.

She wished she hadn’t read the text. Most problematic were the words
you’ve given me hope
because Molly wondered what Weston had said to make Connie feel that way. Had Connie asked for another chance with him and he’d told her “maybe?” It hurt Molly to think so, but it didn’t make sense. When she’d told him to dance with Kate, he’d made her promise to wait for him, to save him a dance, and then he’d leaned down to kiss her. Now, it’s true, Weston could be the black-hearted player of the century, romancing one girl via text and another at his brother’s wedding, but Molly had good gut instincts and something told her that she wasn’t seeing the whole picture.

Was she ready to leave? No.

Was she ready to give up on Weston? No. No, she wasn’t.

Maybe it was ridiculous to even contemplate after a five or six hour acquaintance, but what she realized with searing clarity was her heart had already been compromised. She liked Weston English. She
really
liked him. And yes, she met him at a wedding, and yes, there was a chance he was using her for a good time and she wouldn’t hear from him again after tonight. But as the hours strode onward, she had a harder and harder time believing that was true.

I couldn’t fall for you this fast if my heart belonged to her.

Molly had left the parlor, but headed for the kitchen instead of her car. She waved at the kitchen staff who’d seen her a couple of times now, and grabbed a roll from a tray as she passed by, her empty tummy growling. She pulled on Eleanora English’s waders and borrowed her red canvas barn jacket, buttoning it up as she made her way out to the stables, hoping that Weston would find her there sooner than later.

And as she and Biscuit had a heart to heart, she realized she wasn’t getting out of the way for Connie. Molly was only getting out of the way if Weston asked her to.

Biscuit nickered softly and Molly turned from the mare’s soft muzzle to the barn door entrance where Weston appeared like magic, snow dusting his hair and his shoulders which twinkled like glitter in the soft night lights of the stable.

“You didn’t leave,” he said with quiet surprise, standing just inside the door.

Her heart tripped. “Did you want me to?”

His stride across the barn was long and determined as he closed the distance between them and pulled her roughly into his arms.

It was exactly the answer Molly had been hoping for.

***

Weston closed his eyes, feeling relieved and profoundly grateful for yet another chance with Molly.Her clean wisteria smell was mixed with snow and straw now—
How long had she been here?
—and he breathed deeply, holding her tightly against him.

After the pictures, Weston had left the dining room without a word, feeling the hot, angry eyes of Barrett and Alex on his back. Photos finished, duty complete, he wouldn’t be returning to the wedding again tonight. He went to his room immediately, hoping Molly would suddenly be there as she was last time. When he found the room still and empty, his heart had clutched with disappointment, and he’d had to remind himself that he could ask Daisy for her number tomorrow
. This isn’t the end. This isn’t the end.

He sat down on his bed and thought about his brothers’ reactions to the news that he wouldn’t be joining the firm. Stratton was disappointed, but quietly accepting, anxious to help mend bridges as possible. Barrett was cold and let-down, looking at Weston with disillusionment and regret. But Alex’s reaction had been the most fiery, the most blatantly angry. Weston understood. When Alex was faced with the most challenging situation of his life—how to have a life with Jessica away from Philadelphia—he’d never once considered leaving English & Sons, his only goal to make space for both his love and his work in his life. Alex loved Jessica more than English & Sons, but Weston guessed that the margin was narrower than people would guess.

He knew that Fitz’s reaction would fall somewhere between Stratton and Barrett’s, not quite as accepting, not quite as damning, but also inconvenienced because Fitz would be the only lawyer on staff now. Weston’s decision would make more work for Fitz until they hired someone else. He was sorry for that. He was sorry for all of it. But he wasn’t sorry for choosing the right path for his life, and his energy and enthusiasm surged as he imagined the kids he’d be defending: maybe some of the kids that left Molly’s class showing promise, but fell in with a bad crowd instead. The connection he felt to her as he surveyed his future was strong. If he was honest, her story, commitment, and sacrifices were what had fueled his determination tonight. Molly’s example had given him the courage he needed to make the right choices for his life. And he was deeply grateful to her.

But sitting on his bed alone, his chest still felt hollow without her. Angry that Connie’s texts had driven Molly away, he fished his phone out of his back pocket and looked at the messages again.

Connie:
Wes, I’ve been wretched since we left each other this morning, you in your handsome tux with those glorious roses, and me pushing you away. You were asking me for a real chance, for a commitment. You wanted to give us a chance, and I stupidly shot you down. I should have said yes, darling. I should have told you that I love you. I should have said that giving us a chance scares me because if I love you and you don’t end up loving me back, you’ll break my heart. But by turning you away, now I’ll never know. Is it too late? Please can we talk, darling? I know you’re at Fitz’s wedding, but call me as it winds down. Your Con.

Weston:
Busy night. Talk tomorrow?

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

He hadn’t meant to give her hope.

Weston already knew how he felt about Constance—his time with Molly had made his feelings for Con abundantly clear. Tomorrow’s conversation would be short and awkward, and probably painful for her. He wasn’t interested in pursuing a relationship with Connie…the only person he was interested in pursuing was the woman in his arms right now.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Weston whispered in her ear. “I thought you’d seen the text from Constance and left.”

“I did see it,” Molly admitted. “And I did think about leaving.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I don’t know what you said to her.”

Weston leaned back, searching her lovely face. “Do you want to know?”

Molly nodded.

“I said four words to her: Busy night. Talk tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

He could tell Molly wasn’t reassured by this answer. He drew back from her, taking her hand and leading her into one of the empty stalls. It was covered in fresh straw with several bales piled up in the corner. Sitting on one of them, he pulled her down beside him.

“Connie wants to get back together. Or rather, not
back
together, just together...um, it’ll be easier if I explain my conversation with her this morning.”

So he did. Holding hands with Molly, he told her that Connie left for Italy this morning and although he’d asked for a “real chance” with her, when push came to shove, he was unable to tell Connie that he loved her.

“That must have been a difficult conversation,” said Molly, her thumb stroking his hand in the most gentle, distracting way, and
Oh, God!
he wanted to be finished discussing Constance so he could concentrate on Molly.

“At the time, it was. But, I was more irritated than sad, to be honest. I mean, I like Connie. I’ll always like Connie. And who wants to go to his brother’s wedding stag? I was steamed about it, but I have to confess…I knew Connie had done me a favor in walking away. I don’t love her. I don’t want her.”

Molly sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, and Weston gasped softly, his eyes drawn to her mouth like a tractor beam.

“Please don’t do that again until I finish telling you everything,” he begged.

She let go of her lip and her eyes darkened just a touch.

“Anyway, she texted me earlier. She loves me and she was sorry that she shut things down between us this morning, and she wondered if it was too late to give things a chance. She asked if I would call her tonight after the wedding.”

“In Italy?”

“It’s early morning there.”

Molly nodded. “And you replied: Busy night. Talk tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He swallowed. “She poured her heart out. I can’t just ignore it. I’ll call her in the morning and tell her that…that…”

Molly turned her face to his, her eyes wide and wondering as she captured his. Her voice was intense—low and soft—when she asked, “What will you tell her?”

“I’ll tell her that I met someone at Fitz’s wedding. I’ll tell her that the girl from the wedding turned my world upside down over the course of a few hours. I’ll tell her the thought of not knowing the girl from the wedding after tonight is eating me up from the inside out. I’ll tell her there’s no room in my heart right now for anyone else except for the girl from the wedding, and I’m so sorry, but I’m just not available anymore.”

“Wes…”

“Go out to dinner with me tomorrow night.”

“Yes.”

“And Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday nights too.”

She grinned at him, shaking her head, her face bright and delighted. “You’ll get sick of me.”

“I don’t think so. And how about Thursday?”

“Your brother’s fiancée, Emily, invited me to go out for drinks.”

Weston smiled, chuckling softly. “Of course she did…Friday?”

“Rehearsal. With Daisy gone for the next two weeks, I can’t miss this one.”

“I’ll come and take Daisy’s place,” he said, remembering what his sister-in-law had shared about hanging out with Molly in the backstage darkness. That sounded just about perfect to Weston.

“You’re a little crazy,” she said, but her eyes were tender.

“About you.”

Her smile was priceless and adorable. “You’ve only known me a handful of minutes!”

He nodded, pulling her closer and dropping his eyes to her lips. “That’s true…but they’ve been pretty great minutes. I’ve got a feeling about you, Molly McKenna, my sweet Samaritan. I get the feeling I’d bend for you.”

He watched her eyes dilate to almost black, knowing his were doing the same.

“Let’s just start with tomorrow,” she whispered, leaning closer to him, reaching up to touch her fingers to his cheek.

“Let’s just start with tonight,” he countered, tilting his head as it drew closer to her lips.

“Done.” She sighed as his lips touched down on hers.

***

To date, Weston had kissed her gently, hungrily, and frantically. This kiss was different. This kiss was about melting, savoring, blending, fading into her, into him. As his lips moved over hers in a deliberate, inevitable ballet, his fingers skimmed from her shoulders to the front of his mother’s red canvas jacket, opening the buttons one by one, little plucking sounds bringing her closer and closer to feeling his skin pressed against hers.

Because that’s where they were headed. That’s definitely where they were headed. Mouth to mouth. Hand to hand. Hand to body. Body to body. It’s what Molly wanted. It’s what Molly refused to overthink because they’d been teasing each other with the promise of sex since the moment they met, and so many hours later, both were starved and exhausted. The only sustenance would be their joining, the only rest, their hearts beating in tandem as Weston buried his body in hers.

Molly slipped her hands under the lapels of his jacket, and he pulled his arms back so it slid down his shoulders, then she shrugged out of her own, too. The barn was heated, but cool, and the skin on her bare arms puckered as the night air kissed her.

Weston found her hands and guided her onto the soft, thick pile of straw at their feet, half-covering her body with his as he kissed her with increasing hunger. His lips were firm and soft, his tongue like wet silk, sliding decadently along hers. His hands unlaced from hers and one glided up, over her dress, from her hip to her breast, which he massaged and molded gently. Molly moaned into his mouth, the growing heat in her core forcing her to fight for patience. She arched her back and his other hand slipped under her body to unzip her dress and unclasp her bra. Molly’s eyes were closed, but she felt him hovering over her, felt his eyes on her face as she sighed with relief, letting her bare back fall onto the bristly, but soft straw once again. It heightened the sensitivity of her already aroused skin.