Wild about Weston (The English Brothers Book 5) (7 page)

He had a quick mental flashback to Molly lying on his bed, her nipple in his mouth, her body tensing and tightening beneath him. He groaned, hardening everywhere almost instantly, wondering what her face would have looked like thirty seconds later if Alex hadn’t interrupted them. His fingers curled into fists against her lower back, his short nails digging into the red canvas as he plundered her mouth with his tongue, tasting her, exploring her, discovering the hot, wet heaven that was Molly McKenna’s mouth beneath his.

A small whimper from the back of her throat clued him into the fact that he was holding her very tightly, almost aggressively, and worried he was hurting her, he dragged his lips away from hers. Bending forward to rest his forehead on hers, his breathing was ragged and shallow and impossible to catch.

She leaned limp and breathless against him, her clipped breaths loud in his ears. Her fingers relaxed, and she lowered them from his hair, but laced them around his neck, laying her cheek against his chest as she had before, so close to his heart, he imagined she could hear it roaring beneath her ear.

“Instead of what?” he panted, needing a distraction, half-mad with lust for her.

“What?” she gasped softly, out of breath.

Was her heart hammering as hard and fast as his? What was happening between them? And how was it happening so goddamned fast?

“You said, ‘Kiss me
instead
.’”

“Oh. Mm-hm. Instead of trying to figure it all out tonight,” she answered, sliding her hands to his face and drawing him back down for another kiss.

Hers was an infinitely gentler kiss than his, her small, cold fingers softly curling into the skin of his cheek as she licked and sucked on his lips. Her pace was unhurried, as though exploring him, so different from his wild rush to possess her a moment before, but it reassured him that he hadn’t hurt or frightened her. She wanted more of him just as he wanted more of her. His hands on her lower back relaxed, and he laced them together, holding her tenderly as she calmed him with her softness.

Once thing was certain: her fiancé was the stupidest man ever born, because this girl—this beautiful woman in his arms—was spectacular. Any man who had a chance with her would have to be—

Buzz. Buzzbuzz. Buzz. Buzzbuzz.

“You’re buzzing,” Molly murmured against his lips.

“Ignore it,” he said, his voice—drunk with passion—almost unrecognizable in his ears as his tongue flicked softly over her lips, answering her gentle touch with his.

Buzz. Buzzbuzz.

“Answer it,” she whispered, drawing back from him.

Her eyes were very dark and wide, her lips red and kiss-swollen. as she looked at him with kiss-swollen lips.

“Molly, Molly, Molly,” he murmured, leaning forward to nuzzle her nose with his, his chest heaving into hers with unrequited longing. “I don’t want to.”

Buzz. Buzzbuzz.

She lowered her hands and pushed against his chest. Not hard, but hard enough to get his attention. “Answer it, Weston. It could be important.”

Regretfully, he unlaced his fingers and reached into his pocket. Seeing Barrett’s name on the screen almost made him throw the phone across the room. He swiped the screen with frustration.

“
What?
”

Barrett’s voice was clear despite the loud hum of the party behind him. “Ten minutes to toasts. Where are you?”

Weston flinched, looking at Molly who wore an inquisitive look on her face. His lips tilted up in a smile.
God, she’s adorable…

“I’ll be there.” He pressed end and tucked the phone back in his pocket without ever dropping her eyes. “Toasts.”

“Ah.”

“I, uh…I didn’t get to introduce you to the horses.”

“We’ll just have to come back,” she teased.

Relief filled his body like sustenance. He hadn’t realized how sad it would make him to have to say “goodbye” to her until this moment. “You’re not leaving yet?”

“And miss your speech? No way.”

“You’re staying,” he said, hearing the pleased wonder in his own voice.

“For a little longer,” she said.

He grinned. “I promise we’ll come back later.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Then she took his hand, lacing her fingers through his and pulling him toward the tack room door.

After they’d hung up the coats and changed back into their party shoes, Weston led Molly back through the kitchen to the closest powder room, kissing her gently before promising to come find her later.

“Promise you won’t leave?” he asked.

“I promise.”

“I’m going to be looking for your face in the crowd, Molly McKenna.”

“Then I’ll be sure you can see me,” she replied, leaning up on tiptoes to press her lips to his again.

He shook his head, smiling at her, then drew back, running down the hallway toward the ballroom as Molly entered the powder room. She realized that she’d left her purse upstairs on the counter in Weston’s bathroom, but she didn’t want to be late for his toast, so she dragged her fingers through her hair, grateful she’d opted for L’Oreal Infallible, because she’d done enough kissing tonight to wear off any normal lipstick.

Kissing.

She’d lost track, at this point, of how many times she’d kissed Weston. On the stairs, in his bed, in the tack room…he’d kissed her tentatively and softly on the stairs, with more hunger in his bed, but the tack room kiss had blown her mind. Starved, eager, demanding, and fierce, it felt almost savage in its raw lust.

Thunder and lightning? That barely seemed to strike at the surface now. They were like flint and stone. Gunpowder and a match. She’d never felt anything like it in her whole life. But what did it mean?

She was just getting out of an engagement that ended in betrayal and pain, and Weston had shared that the girl he’d been seeing had broken things off this morning. Neither was remotely in the right place for a new relationship. And yet ever since Weston had rescued her from crying all over Daisy’s wedding dress, she’d felt a subtle shift between them from random hook-up to something more. Was that crazy?

“A little,” she whispered to her reflection. But it was the truth, too. And she couldn’t account for it, but she didn’t care to explore it any more than she already had.

While she was with Weston in the tack room, she’d barely thought about Dusty once, and the crushing weight of his betrayal had been kept at bay through Weston’s hugs and kisses. The timing was all wrong for Weston to be anything but a wedding-fling, but Molly found she was satisfied with that, and just for tonight, she was going to try to enjoy the ride.

Exiting the bathroom, she walked down a long corridor, past several doors and ante-rooms, by the sweeping front staircase, through a small parlor and back into the grand ballroom.
My God,
she thought, taking a sweeping view of the room. Even though she’d leaned against the bar and drunk several Chardonnays in this room less than two hours before, she hadn’t processed the full scope of the space.
My parents’ entire house could fit into this room.

Plucking her name card from the leftovers on the table just inside the door, she looked around the buzzing room for table eleven, finally locating it on the far left side of the ballroom. Stopping for another glass of Chardonnay first, she joined the other guests who were looking for their seats.

At the front of the ballroom, there was a raised stage with a six-piece band that was playing a slow, sweet melody, and Molly recognized it as “Would You?” from
Singin’ in the Rain
and grinned to herself. It was her mother’s favorite movie, and she’d easily seen it over twenty times in her life. Humming softly as she made her way through the crowd to her table, she remembered the words:

He’ll kiss her with a sigh.

Would you? Would you?

And if the girl were I

Would you? Would you?

“I wish I was the man who put that smile on your face,” said a low, sexy, French-accented voice from beside her.

Molly looked up, flustered, but flattered, to find a very handsome, dark-haired man to her left.

He winked. “Make my day and tell me you’re at Table Eleven?”

She grinned at his charms, holding up her card. “Done.”

Laying one hand over his heart, he offered her the other. “Rousseau. J.C. Rousseau.”

“Molly McKenna,” she answered, chuckling softly. She guessed he was several years older than she, infinitely more sophisticated and brutally handsome.

“Molly McKenna,” he said, looking into her eyes and holding onto her hand. “The pleasure is all mine.”

She laughed a little sound of nervousness and pulled her hand away. He took the liberty of putting his hand flat on the small of her back and led her the last few feet to the table. There were two seats left, and J.C. pulled out one, gesturing for her to sit. Molly sat down, casting a quick look around the table.

“Everyone? This is Molly.
Charmant
Molly
.
”

Eight sets of eyes looked at Molly in unison, and she felt her cheeks flush to be the object of so much attention.

“Hi, Molly,” said the woman to her left. “I’m Jacqueline Rousseau. J.C.’s sister.”

“But everyone calls her Jax,” said the stunning woman sitting beside Jax. “And I’m Madeline Rousseau, but everyone calls me Mad.”

“Jax and Mad,” repeated Molly, offering them both a friendly smile, while puzzling internally about such odd nicknames.

“I don’t suppose you know the Winslow’s?” asked J.C., bending down to whisper intimately in her ear.

“N-No.”

J.C. pointed to the insanely handsome quartet of brothers sitting across from her. “Brooks, Preston, Christopher, and Cameron.”

Four sets of perfect teeth flashed swoon-worthy smiles, and Molly waved at them weakly. “Hi.”

“And next to Cameron is Margaret Story.”

Margaret, who was waiting to return to her conversation with Cameron Winslow, turned to say a quick hello to Molly.

“And finally we have Margaret’s lovely sister, Betsy—” The woman to J.C.’s immediate right gave him a warning look and he laughed softly. “
Elizabeth
Story.”

Elizabeth winked at Molly. “He’s a terrible flirt. Just ignore him. We all do.”

Molly grinned and nodded as J.C. pretended to be hurt.

“Are you all related?” Molly asked.

“No, No,” said J.C., finally sitting down beside her and leaning so close she could smell the sweet Champagne on his breath. “Mad and Jax are my sisters.” His face clouded over momentarily and his voice lost its playfulness. “My, um, my little brother, Ten, uh, Étienne, wasn’t able to be here tonight.”

“Is he all right?”

“I hope so,” said J.C. “I mean, I think so. He
has
to be.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, wondering what was wrong with Étienne Rousseau, but hesitant to pry.

“He got some bad news, and…” J.C. fingered the rim of his lowball glass distractedly. “I’m afraid he was in a very bad accident.”

“Oh, no!”

J.C. nodded, allowing his concern to be masked quickly by a tight smile. “But, he has good care, and this…this is a wedding. We won’t dwell on the sad things. To answer your question…No, we’re not all related,
mignon
. But we all grew up together. On this street, in fact.”

“You grew up with the English brothers!” Molly exclaimed.

The music ended and Molly looked away from J.C. to see Barrett English take the stage. The bandleader stepped forward with a microphone, adjusting it to Barrett’s height, and Barrett began speaking about his brother, Fitz, and Daisy.

“I did indeed,” said J.C., whispering close to her ear, his deep voice warm and teasing. “May I ask which of them got his hooks into you?”

Molly’s eyes cut from the stage to J.C.’s fathomless brown eyes. “You’re forward.”

“I’m charming,” he countered.

“Yes, you are.” She grinned like he was incorrigible. “I suspect it lets you get away with a lot.”
He put his arm around the back of her chair. “We’ll see,
mignon
.”

The room exploded into applause for Barrett’s toast, and Molly felt a little bad that she’d missed it, since Barrett looked like someone who had very meaningful things to say. Alex English stepped up to the mic next and introduced himself with an off-color joke. J.C. Rousseau laughed beside her, the low rumble pleasing.

“Do you know Alex?” J.C. asked her.

“Everyone knows Alex,” whispered Jax, to her left.

“Not me,” said Molly, smiling politely at J.C.’s younger sister.

“And not you,” growled J.C. at Jax, with a direct look.

“Shut up, J.C.,” said one of the Winslow brothers from across the table. “He’s reformed.”

“Alex? Never.”

The Winslow brother seated next to the older Story sister—Molly believed his name was Cameron—looked like steam was about to come out of his ears. “Shut it, Rousseau.
Ferme la
douche
,
huh?”

J.C. chuckled softly beside her, not the least bit bothered by the Winslows’ hot-headed warnings.

The crowd clapped again for Alex, and two of the Winslow’s hooted loudly and clanked their Champagne flutes together as he exited the stage.

“And next is Stratton,” said J.C. with a smirk. “This should be amusing.”

“Why?” asked Molly.

“Stratton has a certain
je ne sais quoi
. He is…unique. Especially at social events,” said J.C. with a hint of mockery as his fingers gently stroked her shoulder.

Molly leaned forward to grasp the stem of her Chardonnay glass and took a long sip. When she sat back, his arm was still draped across her chair, but he kept his fingers to himself.

Stratton’s speech was lovely, and Molly—in addition to every other woman in the room—nearly swooned when he read a love letter from Robert Browning to Elizabeth Barrett Browning that included the phrase:
Words can never tell you, however—form them, transform them anyway—how perfectly dear you are to me—perfectly dear to my heart and soul.

“My, how he’s improved,” commented Jax, licking her lips.

“He’s taken,
cherie
,” Mad whispered to her sister. “Very taken. Very recent.”

“Our loss,” said Jax, air toasting her sister regretfully as she sipped from her Champagne flute.

As Stratton exited the stage, Molly sat up straighter, shifting in her chair a little so she faced the stage, not the table. It was Weston’s turn, and she meant to hang on every single word.

“Ah-ha,” said J.C., giving her a sly look. “Weston. Now I see,
mignon
.”

Molly grinned, pressing her index finger against her lips, and as he nodded, she turned her gaze to the stage.

***

Weston’s eyes scanned the audience for Molly as he made his way onto the stage. He’d casually asked Daisy where she was seated and with a knowing grin, Daisy had shared that Molly was at Table Eleven with the Winslow’s, Rousseau’s, and two of the Story sisters. Weston had to admit, his heart had fallen at this news. Not that he couldn’t hold his own, but Daisy had sat Molly at a table with five eligible men, and there was no possible chance they were going to somehow miss how sweet and beautiful she was.

Finally locating her, however, he was somewhat mollified to see that she was sitting next to Jax Rousseau, who was two years younger than Weston and someone he’d been friends with since childhood. Swinging his eyes to her other side, he clenched his jaw. J.C. Rousseau. After Alex, the Rousseau brothers were the most notorious flirts of Blueberry Lane. Damn.

Stratton patted Weston on the back as they passed each other, and Weston looked out at the crowd before letting his eyes fall on Molly again. He smiled at her, then watched, feeling a little breathless, as her lips tilted up in return. He knew how those lips tasted, how they felt moving under his. He intended to relive the experience again as soon as possible.

“Hi, everyone, and thanks for coming to my brother, Fitz’s, wedding today. I, uh, I had a speech prepared, but if it’s okay with all of you, I thought I’d wing it instead.

There are millions of people in the world, though not everyone finds the perfect someone. Not everyone is lucky enough to find what my brother has found with Daisy.

But sometimes…just when you least expect it, you might stumble across someone amazing. Someone who wasn’t even on your radar. Someone whom you hope…” He swallowed, still holding Molly’s eyes across the room, thinking of her piece of shit fiancé who’d dumped her instead of accompanying her tonight. “Someone who
gives
you hope when you’d just about run out of it. And you know…someday, it’ll happen for you.”

He redirected his glance to his brother and sister-in-law, raising his glass.

“Look at Fitz and Daisy.

It happened for them.

Happy wedding day.”

The crowd applauded as Weston took a sip from his glass, but he didn’t see them or hear them. He watched as Molly stood and quickly edged around her table to a side door and slipped out of the ballroom. And damn it, if he wasn’t mistaken, she’d swiped at her eyes before she left.