Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Too distracting for who?” I laugh.
“Me. I’d be tempted to drag you into the janitor’s closet at lunchtime.” He tugs gently at the bottom of my braid. “Heck, I’ve already been tempted. How many detentions would that get me?”
He cuts into my laughter with another kiss, deeper this time. His hands roam my body, caressing and squeezing, showing me how much he likes my curves, and kindling heat low in my belly. I conduct my own explorations, excited to be so close to his body with no heavy coats in the way and no cameras or students around to see us.
He’s warm and hard and big enough to make me feel small when I’m wrapped in his arms. His chest is solid, his shoulders are impossibly broad, and he smells clean and citrusy—and like garlic.
My mouth is watering for him more than the food, and when I dig the pads of my fingers into his lower back, he makes a rough sound under his breath.
Then, the timer on the stove goes off.
He squeezes my hip and tastes my lips one more time before pulling away to silence it. “Dinner first,” he murmurs.
I’m left standing in the middle of the floor, nearly breathless and a little dizzy. “You’re very disciplined.”
“Not as disciplined as you’d think,” he says over his shoulder, as I admire the shape of his backside and think of all the dedication and hard work it must take to maintain a body like his. Becoming a SEAL takes a kind of self-control most people can’t come close to. I know enough about what they go through to understand how few men ever make it.
Weston is being modest, and it turns out he’s modest about his cooking, too. Dinner is delicious, and the pasta sauce has a depth of flavor that tastes like he spent all day making it.
Outside, dark has descended over the mountain, and a cold wind is picking up, gusting against the windows. Inside, the candles flicker between us, and my house feels warmer than it has in months.
I twirl perfectly-cooked spaghetti around my fork and look at Weston over the rim of my wineglass. “This is very unfair.”
His brows lift. “How?”
“You’re waiting at my house all handsome and competent, cooking for me in candlelight? You’re stacking the deck.”
He grins, looking devilish. “That’s a problem?”
“It is when I’ve been trying to maintain at least the illusion of good judgment.”
CHAPTER 24
ELENA
He laughs, but the humor fades into something more tender. “You still can.”
“Weston—”
“I mean it.” He leans back in his chair, one thick forearm braced on the table. “I want to be with you, but not if it leaves you feeling guilty. And I didn’t make dinner to get something from you. It’s the opposite, Elena.”
“I know. I didn’t mean to imply you had ulterior motives.” I set my glass down carefully as my heart pulses in my throat. “I’ve … been with Buck. I know you said I didn’t need to have everything figured out, but I have no idea how to navigate things with both of you.”
Heat prickles my cheeks as the silence stretches, and Weston sits there holding my gaze.
“I know that might not be what you want to hear before—”
He cuts in. “It’s okay.”
“It doesn’t bother you?”
His expression is calm as he gives me a small shrug. “Buck’s my brother in every way that matters, and it wouldn’t be the first time he and I have shared a woman. Calder, too.”
I stare hard at him, not sure what to think, and this time, it’s his skin that colors, but he doesn’t look away.
“It’s in the past,” he says, “and it didn’t mean what this means—what you mean. But the idea isn’t foreign to us.”
A shocked laugh escapes me. “That is not what I expected you to say.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
I cover my eyes briefly with one hand, and I’m laughing even as heat rushes through me and I try to decide what I think about this revelation.
When I look at him again, he gives me a smile that takes some of the sting out of my nerves. “I’m just being honest.”
“And I appreciate it, even if it’s hard to absorb.”
He reaches across the table and sets his hand on top of mine. “The main thing is you don’t have to be ashamed with me. Not about wanting what you want.”
I look down at the wavering candlelight, at my half-empty glass, and then at his hand. It’s large and scarred by the kind of work that leaves marks men don’t talk about. A hand that can break and build in equal measure. A hand that’s used weapons and fire hoses, carried my grocery bags, and assembled LEGO pieces with my son.
A hand that’s never once reached for me with anything but care.
My throat tightens as I decide to lean hard into honesty myself. “I’m attracted to all three of you.” Maybe Buck already told him, but I’d prefer him to hear it from me directly.