Fuck.
Holden and Chasin rounded the corner and came to a stop when they took him in. There was no hiding the crumpled clothes, no getting rid of the smell of bleach that permeated the room. Neither man missed it.
Holden smiled outright and Chasin looked like he was fighting one.
“Not a fucking word,” Weston warned, keeping his voice low so Silver wouldn’t hear.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Holden quipped.
Chasin made a production out of lifting his chin and sniffing loudly. “Late night kitchen cleaning?”
“I’ve smelled less bleach trying to clean up blood after a takedown,” Holden added.
Dicks. Weston stood silently in front of his friends and waited for more.
“Never been happier to live in my Airstream,” Holden started. “At least I know which surfaces to avoid.”
He was full of shit. Holden had never had a woman in his Airstream. Hell, when Holden lived in an apartment when he was restoring the old junker he’d purchased, he’d never had a woman there either. And it wasn’t because the man was celibate, Weston had seen him go home with plenty of women over the years. But always back to their place, and he never spent the night. Something the team had given him shit about. Holden Stanford took booty call to a whole new level of impersonal.
“Either of you got anything else?” Weston asked.
“Just point to the place I should avoid,” Chasin continued.
Weston didn’t rise to the bait and confirm what his teammates knew.
“No? So I’ll be on a treasure hunt for the—”
“I wouldn’t go there,” Weston growled and Chasin chuckled.
“Right. I’ll just eat out… I mean, get takeout for the next few weeks and use the table. That is, if it’s safe.”
Fucker.
Done with the conversation, Weston moved it along to something important.
“Did you get Silver’s shit from the boatyard?” Weston asked Holden.
“Her car was broken into. Thankfully it doesn’t look like her apartment, but someone was on a mission to find something. I have her bag and unless she just throws wrinkled clothes in there, someone’s been through that, too. Her wallet and other girly shit is still in her purse, but she’ll have to go through it to see if anything is missing.”
“Shit.”
What the hell were they looking for and who in the fuck were they? During one of the meetings with Homeland, Silver was very clear she hadn’t written anything down or taken any pictures. But the drug smugglers wouldn’t know that—neither would the inside man working with them.
“Did Matt or Rodger give you anything?”
“I told them I was Silver’s man and there to pick up her stuff,” Holden explained, and for some ridiculous and unexplainable reason, Weston hated that Holden had lied and said he was her man. She didn’t belong to his teammate and hearing it filled him with resentment. “They seemed more shocked she had someone in her life than they did hearing she was in the hospital with some unknown ailment. If either of them is worried she has something, neither showed it. They’d called in a man named Gary to take over Silver’s rotation and he seemed concerned about her illness, but his concern was if it was contagious because he has a newborn at home. Just so Silver knows, she has a kidney infection. A bad one, don’t know how long a hospital stay is for one of those or what the recovery time is, but the dude was relentless, wanted to call the hospital, scared to shit his kid would catch something.”
“Don’t know either, but Silver’s kidney infection just became a seriously bad one that will require a long recuperation time. And her apartment?” Weston glanced over to Chasin.
“Total loss.”
“Saw that, brother. Find anything?”
“Spent hours sifting through the rubble. The only thing I got from my efforts is to tell you, your woman has a seriously sexy underwear collection.”
A growl slipped out, giving away more than Weston had intended, and both men smiled at his outburst.
“Chill the hell out, it’s not like I pocketed a pair to—”
“Swear to Christ, I’m gonna beat the hell out of you if you finish that.”
“Too fuckin’ easy.” Chasin chuckled. “Nothing there, no prints on the doors, the cabinet doors, bathroom, nowhere. The place was clean other than all the broken shit. One thing I found interesting is, whoever was in there was thorough. Every cushion was cut open, mattress, cereal boxes emptied, even dumped the tampons.”
“Saw that,” Weston confirmed. “They knew what they were doing, and they knew they had the time to do it, which meant they knew Silver was on the Dora B so they put that time to good use.”
“We need to ask her if there’s something else someone could be looking for,” Holden said.
“Like what?”
“Anything. Maybe she stumbled onto something else. I know dealers will go to great lengths to protect their shipments, ‘specially ones as large as what they’re hauling through the canal, but it won’t hurt to ask if she’s noticed anything else going down.”
Weston was doubtful, but it never hurt to investigate all avenues. And on that note, Weston remembered he had a beautiful woman in his bed he’d like to get back to exploring—every sound, every curve, every taste. Weston wanted to learn everything he could and standing around talking, albeit about important shit, wasn’t cutting it.
“We’ll brief in the morning,” Weston offered.
“Right.” Holden laughed, but wisely kept the rest of his comments to himself.
“Weston,” Chasin called.
He stopped and turned to look at his friend.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Nope.”
“Shit’s complicated, brother, you really wanna go down that road?”
Weston thought about Chasin’s question mainly because he was trying to get his temper in check. He didn’t question where his teammate stuck his dick and didn’t appreciate him not returning the favor. But more importantly, Weston didn’t like the insinuation that Silver wasn’t worth the complication. Though Chasin did have reason to be concerned—after all it was just that morning Weston was bitching about the woman being annoying and stubborn.
What a difference a few hours and a smile make.
“Everything worth your time is always complicated.”
And with that, Weston headed for the stairs hoping like hell he wasn’t making a mistake. He’d like to believe he’d stopped thinking with his dick sometime in his twenties—at least hoping he thought with the right head most of the time—but the naked woman in his bed told a different story.
Even if Weston was feeling something out of the ordinary for Silver, the fact he’d finger-fucked her on the counter in the kitchen he shared with Chasin told him his dick had been in charge.
All he’d wanted to do was kiss her. Show her there was something between them. But all Weston had done was prove there was a crazy physical attraction between them. That, and she was the sexiest fucking thing he’d ever touched. So really, he’d demonstrated his dick was a hundred percent in command.
10
After Weston left the room, mortification set in.
I was a little in shock, I’d actually allowed that to get out of hand. Even more appalling, I’d fully participated and even begged for it.
On the counter. In the kitchen where anyone could’ve walked in and caught us and with a man I despised. Or at least I’d hated him right up until the point he pulled me into his arms and let me cry on his chest when I saw the wreckage that was my apartment.
Actually, if I was being truthful with myself, I stopped hating him when he gave me his sweatshirt to wear so I wouldn’t be cold while we drove in his Jeep. That small act of kindness was all it had taken. Which was totally sad, that I was that easily impressed by a man.
Now there I was, lying in Weston’s bed with one of his t-shirts on. Oh, I’d also rummaged through his dresser whe
n he left the room and my nudity hit me with a double smack in the face, further reminding me I’d behaved like a bitch in heat with a hound dog. Or maybe I was the hound dog mounting the bitch. Either way, I was the one who’d attacked Weston’s mouth like I hadn’t had a kiss in the last ten years. Which wasn’t the case, it’d been three years since I’d kissed a man. Three very long, very lonely, very dry, three years. Longer than that since I’d had an orgasm. Way longer.
Good God, I was pathetic.
So, I was in Weston’s bed, listening to hushed voices drift up the stairs but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then I could hear someone tromping up them. I pulled the sheet up to my neck and prayed to all things mighty and holy I wouldn’t burst into flames when Weston returned.
He stepped into the room, came to a stop, dropped my clothes on the floor, and chuckled.
Thankfully my prayer worked, I didn’t catch on fire. Which would’ve been a shame because Weston’s bed was totally soft and his sheets softer, but my face heated for a variety of reasons. One being, I didn’t have on panties and I was very aware of the fact when wetness started to gather.
Damn, damn, damn. I was a total slut.
There was no disputing Weston was good-looking. Tall, broad shoulders, lean but muscular body he obviously worked for and the results were out of this world. His unruly brown hair reminded me of why it was messy and that my fingers had been in it and I could now testify to the fact it was soft. I could also swear to the fact he was the best kiss I’d ever had. And he was also the only man who’d ever been able to get me to orgasm with very little effort.
But even with all of that, and considering he had indeed given me said orgasm with frightening speed, I shouldn’t have been getting wet at the sight of him. Yet there I was, drenched and most likely leaving a wet spot on his sheets.
I was also blushing because he was smiling at me. And it was not a friendly ‘hi, nice to see you again’ smile. It was a pleased smile from a man who knew I was easy.
“Babe,” he said with humor in his tone, and I wanted to yank the sheet over my head and pretend he wasn’t standing there laughing at me.
But I didn’t get the chance. He shut the door, turned the lock, and stalked to the bed.
Oh no!
“We need to talk,” I blurted out.
“We do,” he confirmed, and pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it on the floor, before he turned his back to me and sat on the edge of the bed.
Someone upstairs hated me. I couldn’t say it was God because I had a lot to be thankful for. Well, not a lot, but I had my health, and I’d heard that was something one should be tremendously grateful for, so I was—grateful that is. But whoever God’s right-hand man was, he certainly hated me. My mouth was nearly watering at the sight of Weston bare-chested, and once I’d gotten a look at his back, my mouth was no longer ‘nearly’ anything, it was simply watering.
Good Lord, I’d never seen a back look so strong. His shoulders might possibly be the sexiest part of a man’s body I’d ever seen. I wanted to reach out and touch him, run my hands over the muscle and sink my teeth into his flesh.
Where the hell did that come from? What was I, a vampire?
Weston stood, dropped his pants, exposing his boxer-brief-covered ass and I nearly choked. This had to stop.
“We…um…should talk now,” I suggested.
“Scoot over,” he returned.
“What? Why?”
“So I can get in. I sleep on the side closest to the door.”
“Why?” I semi-repeated, mostly to buy time, not because I actually cared what side of the bed the man slept in. I only cared he seemed to think he was sleeping in it with me.
“Because I’m the one with the gun, and if someone gets into the room they have to get through me before they get to you.”
There was so much to process for that one simple statement that wasn’t actually simple—it was huge. But I didn’t have time to think about why my belly got warm and my heart started to swell, that he wanted himself between me and an imaginary threat.
I didn’t want to think about why that felt so good, and how no one had ever considered my safety—save my dad. But no friend, male or female, had ever cared to protect me.
“You’re sleeping in here?”
“Yep. Scoot over, babe, I’m wiped.”
“You’re wiped?”
Could I sound anymore like an idiot?
“Babe. Seriously, move over.”
“You can’t sleep here.”
“Why’s that?” Weston’s lips twitched.
“Because I’m not that kind of girl.”
Okay, so I could sound more idiotic. Seriously? That was my reason? I wasn’t that kind of girl. Of course I was, and I showed him how big of a slut I was not even thirty minutes ago.
Weston was no longer smiling when he yanked the sheet down, scooped me up, put a knee to the bed, and moved me over a few feet.
His gaze left mine, went to the bottom sheet. Mine followed and there it was—soggy proof. My humiliation knew no bounds. Weston’s eyes came back to mine, and when they did, they weren’t full of mirth like I thought they’d be. Instead, they were gentle and soft.
Why me? That was all I could think about when he ignored the wet spot and climbed into bed. All thoughts about talking—gone. All the reasons why he couldn’t sleep in the same bed as me—gone. As a matter of fact, I never wanted to speak to or see Weston again.
And yes, I knew I was behaving like an immature idiot. I knew, and I was so embarrassed, I didn’t give a damn I was acting like I was two and not thirty-two.
“Not liking the deer-in-the-headlights look, sweetheart.”
“Stop calling me that,” I snapped, and Weston jerked in surprise.
“And we’re back there again,” he mumbled.
“We never left there,” I stupidly said.
Stupid because in the blink of an eye Weston’s big body was looming over me. One elbow planted near my head, the other on the bed by my hip. He wasn’t touching me but he didn’t have to be to scare the bejeezus out of me.
“Sure we did, and that wet spot under my ass is proof.”
“I knew you couldn’t wait to rub that in my face and embarrass me.”
If it was possible for every muscle in Weston’s body to simultaneously bunch, they did.
“Come again?”
“You heard me.”
“You’re right, I did. I was just hoping I heard you wrong. You serious with this shit?”
“Well, it didn’t take you long to bring it up.”
“I didn’t bring it up to embarrass you, I brought it up to remind you, we had most certainly checked your snarky attitude. The proof of that is when I put you in this bed you were dripping wet for me. So much so, your pussy leaked onto my sheets.”
“I can’t believe you said that.”
“You can’t?” He gave me a taste of his own snarky attitude. “Well, let me finish with this, since you’re already in a state of disbelief. Seeing that spot, knowing I was the reason your pussy was dripping, remembering that I was the one who made you so wild you fucked my fingers until you exploded, my name on your tongue, my fingers inside you, my mouth on your tits, made me so fucking hard I was getting lightheaded. I liked seeing that wet spot. Any man would, knowing he was the reason it was there. So do you remember now?”
I said nothing because I was speechless. No one had ever spoken to me the way Weston had. Not that I’d been in bed with that many men. Two to be exact. And three more fooling around on the couch, but none of them had been so crass. None had uttered the word pussy in my presence, let alone talked about what their fingers had done to it.
“You ready to check that attitude again?” he asked.
“No.”
“At least she’s honest,” he muttered. “What did you mean, when you told me you weren’t that type of girl?”
“I’m not easy,” I told him.
“You sure as fuc
k aren’t.”
“That’s not how I meant it and you know it. I’ve never done that before.”
“Done—”
“Seriously, you’re gonna make me spell it out?”
Not even Weston when he was acting like a jerk would be so obtuse.
“Which part have you never done?” he asked.
And the only reason I answered was because he’d lost the attitude and sounded concerned.
“None of it. In the past, I’ve chosen the men I’ve been with carefully. I’ve dated them before I allowed them to kiss me. I’ve never attacked a man like that. I’ve never spread my legs on command. I’ve never done any of that on a kitchen counter. So I’m not a slut.”
Oh no! Back was the stone-faced, pissed-off Weston.
“Babe, even if you had done all of that and did it regularly with a variety of men, it still wouldn’t make you a slut. You’re a beautiful, adult woman, with a healthy sex drive—”
“I don’t have a healthy sex drive. I haven’t even had sex in…”
And it happened again, I was running off at the mouth, sounding like a fool.
“All right, let me break this down for you. And I know you wanna have this conversation about as much as you want your fingernails ripped out, but it has to be had.” Well, thank God he understood my plight, though it didn’t sound like he was going to let me off the hook. “First, I had my fingers inside of you—I know it’s been a very long time since you’ve had sex.”
“Kill me now,” I grumbled. “I don’t even wanna know how you could know that.”
“Babe, you are tight as hell. Virgin-tight and there’s no way you’re getting sex on the regular when all it took was a few strokes of my thumb on your clit and you went off the way you did. And before you twist that up in your head, I loved it, all of it. Every sound you made, how you held nothing back. You feel good, you taste good, and, sweetheart, you looked gorgeous coming around my fingers. With that said, I wasn’t getting in bed with you to fuck you. I certainly didn’t think you were some foregone conclusion and I could come in here and expect you to spread for me. What happened downstairs got out of hand and that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Weston's Treasure Page 7
