13. Chapter 13
Chapter 13
Caroline
Rainy wedding days
I type the words into the notes app on my phone, thinking back on the absolutely perfect afternoon that we just had.
Before Mom died, she asked for our input on the allocation of assets so that there would be a predetermined plan for everything once she was gone. I’m not sure what my siblings said, but I told her that I didn’t care about anything other than the lake house. I wanted to keep it between the three of us because my favorite childhood memories were made here, with them. And today, we got to make another—watching my brother re-marry the love of his life.
Once Parker and I wrapped up our conversation, we barely made it halfway up the slick limestone steps before the storm hit. Sheets of rain started pouring down as we sprinted the rest of the way to the house, soaking us to the bone by the time we reached the door. The ceremony was supposed to take place under the old oak tree on the lawn, but with the weather rolling in much quicker than anticipated, there was no way that would happen.
I suggested that we move the wedding back by a day since it’s not like we have plans tomorrow. But Cassidy waved me off—she was ready to (re)marry my brother, rain or shine. So we set up on the covered back deck, which, despite the weather, turned out beautifully.
My sister, Morgan, and I wore matching sage green dresses that somehow looked good on all of us. The guys—Wes included—looked handsome with their tuxedos and freshly shaven faces. And even baby Carter got in on the action. He wore an adorable tiny tuxedo and made it a few assisted steps down the aisle before nearly face-planting and needing to be carried the rest of the way.
I know we all joked that black tie was overkill for a simple ceremony at our house, but as soon as Cassidy came out, it all made sense. She looked absolutely perfect in the wedding dress that she bought with my mom, and I swear there wasn’t a dry eye in sight, my stoic brother included. I think we could all feel Mom with us here today, and I know without a doubt that she would be proud of how close we’ve become—even if sometimes we want to rip each other’s hair out.
I press the lock button on my phone and place it on the marble countertop, reaching for the bottle of Merlot because it’s time to relax. Everyone dispersed after dinner, so I’ve got a date with the hot tub and a very generous glass of wine.
Claire sighs as she emerges from the guest bathroom in her swimsuit.“I’m exhausted.”
I wag my brows at her playfully. “Maybe you should head to bed instead of taking a boat ride at nine in the evening.”
She adjusts the wild curls piled on top of her head and rolls her eyes. “Maybe you should mind your business. Parker’s room is right next to ours, and I’m not getting freaky with him in earshot, you psycho. Gross.”
“So you’re going to do it on the boat?” I laugh, surprised that she’s telling me this.
Claire was never open about her love life, or her sex life for that matter, until recently. But now that she’s with Beau, she’s much more confident in herself and what she likes.
“Duh,” she replies as she pulls a Diet Coke from the fridge. “I told Beau that we had to get creative because someone took the basement guest rooms, which happen to be the only place in the house where you can get a little privacy.”
She gives me a suspicious look, like I have something to do with the fact that Weston and Carter are staying down there while the rest of us are upstairs. I don’t want to sound like I’m defending him because she’s already been making weird comments all day, but I can’t help myself from pointing out that she’s wrong.
“You guys came up a day early. Why didn’t you just put your stuff in one of those rooms then?”
“Because,” she says, drawing out the word like I’m an idiot. “Cass made the room assignments. She said Wes needed the privacy, which is dumb because it’s not like he’s getting any right now.”
“Just have a baby, and you’ll get the basement too.”
“Ew, gross,” she whines. “I think I’m just bitter because I’m horny and not getting any either because of Beau’s stupid residency.”
I snort, trying and failing to keep a straight face. “Wow, Claire. Really going through it, huh?”
She cracks open the can and takes a long sip. “You have no idea.”
The creak of the screen door interrupts her next thought, followed by Beau’s unmistakable southern drawl.
“Hey, pretty girl,” he calls, making an incredibly inappropriate gesture with his hips. “Wanna go make some waves in a no-wake zone?”
I nearly choke on my wine because he’s completely lost his filter now that our brother has gone to bed.
“Sorry, big boy,” I tease, raising my glass. “I’ve got a date with the hot tub. Maybe next time.”
Claire elbows me in the ribs as she reaches for the boat keys on the counter.
“Be right there!” she calls back, sticking her tongue out at me on her way out of the door.
My grin doesn’t leave my face as I make my way outside. Being around the two of them makes me feel like a completely different person. Like someone carefree and fun. Someone who isn’t constantly chasing perfection and can just let loose. Someone I’ve never been but have always wanted to be.
I slide the door shut behind me and step onto the deck, pausing to take in the way that the moon’s reflection shines on the glassy surface of the lake. The sky is so clear now that the rain has stopped, and it reminds me of how I used to love sitting out here at night, staring at the stars and wondering if our dad was up there somewhere. Tonight, I know for a fact that he is—right next to our mom.
“Hey, princess,” Weston’s annoyingly sexy voice calls from the direction of the hot tub.“Finally decide to teach me the difference between a dad and a Daddy?”
I feel my jaw clench, the happiness instantly draining from my body. You would think that it would be easy to avoid someone in a house the size of ours. But he’s been ever-present all day, swarming around me like one of those fruit flies that you can’t quite smack.
“Were you not watching Forgetting Sarah Marshall in the basement with Morgan and Walker?” I ask sweetly, schooling my face into indifference as I pad across the rain-soaked wood.
“Keeping tabs on me?” He man-spreads his surprisingly toned arms across the edge.
His golden gaze dips to my chest, blatantly staring at my black triangle bikini top.
I ignore the thrill that races up my spine as I climb the steps.“I just figure someone should be watching your son. You know, like a responsible adult.”
I know I shouldn’t keep treating him like this—like he’s the same man that I remember from summers at the lake. But it’s just easier for me to bite back, to play the part of the skeptic than to admit that I’ve seen glimpses of change. Because that’s all they are—glimpses.
He’ll show me these moments of maturity, flashes of selflessness, like he did last night. But then, just as quickly, he snaps back to his default setting—the cocky and infuriating guy I’ve always known. It’s like I’m getting emotional whiplash. And honestly, it’s so much easier to stick with what I’ve always believed—that he’s an asshole.
An annoying, attractive asshole.
“Relax,” Weston drawls, his eyes flicking lazily back to my face. “He’s been out for over an hour.”
He nods his head toward the corner of the hot tub where the baby monitor shows his son fast asleep in his travel crib with a pacifier in his mouth.
I feel my cheeks heat as I sink into the water. “Oh . . . good.”
“I love your concern, though,” he teases, his smile widening like he’s enjoying every second of this. “It’s kind of hot.”
I scoff into my wine glass before taking a long swig.
“You’re thirty-three years old, and you still haven’t come up with a better pickup line than calling women hot? That can’t seriously work for you, can it?”
What am I saying? Obviously, it worked—the man has a son.
Weston snickers, pushing himself up a little so that the water splashes against the sides. “First of all, I didn’t say you were hot. I said your concern for my son was hot. Two different things.”
“Wow. Thanks—”
“Second of all,” he interrupts, wetting his lips before continuing. “I wasn’t trying to pick you up.”
His blatant rejection shouldn’t make my stomach twist, but it does. I force myself to look away, feeling him track me as I place my glass in the cup holder and drop into the seat at the corner of the hot tub.
I lean back against the cushioned headrest, letting out a long exhale as the jets pound against my back. This should be relaxing because the hot tub is secluded on the far edge of the deck, hidden behind the outdoor fireplace. It’s always been my favorite place to unwind over the years, but with every second of silence that passes, both my pulse and my temper begin to rise.
It’s absolutely ludicrous that he’s acting like he’s not interested in me. I saw the way his eyes undressed me last night in the hotel room. I felt his arm wrapped around me in my sleep last night. There’s no way that I’m going to let him play the alpha-male card, because if anyone isn’t interested here, it’s me.
My eyes snap to Weston’s smug face. “You know what I find funny?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
I laugh, though it’s not laced with any humor. “You didn’t seem to have a problem trying to pick me up when I was eighteen.”
Weston exhales sharply, dragging his fingers through his hair. His body stiffens, his shoulders squaring like he’s bracing for impact.
“What?” I prod, my voice cutting through the thick air. “Am I too old for you now? Or was it only fun when I had a boyfriend? I know you’ve never been one for honoring a relationship.”
It’s a low blow because I know that he and Cassidy worked things out, but I can’t help myself. It feels phenomenal to finally confront him about this.
Weston’s jaw tightens, and for once, he looks uncomfortable.
Good—he should be uncomfortable. What he did back then was fucked up, and he knows it.
The memory is still crystal clear after all this time.
It was the night of July Fourth, and we were sitting around the campfire. Parker had passed out after getting trashed on the boat that afternoon, leaving Weston, my sister, and our boyfriends to hang out.
I’m not sure who suggested the game, but we ended up playing truth or dare.
At the time, I was just as drawn into Weston’s orbit as everyone else was, and for some idiotic reason, I wanted him to like me. So, when it was my turn to pick, I chose dare, probably because I wanted to prove to my brother’s new friend that I wasn’t the stuck-up princess that he thought I was.
My sister happened to be much more tipsy than I was, and she seemed to think it would be hilarious to dare me to kiss Weston. I remember looking to my boyfriend for his approval, but he had run up to the house to grab a beer, or something. So I decided to go for it, figuring that a peck on the cheek wouldn’t be a big deal.
And it probably wouldn’t have been . . . if had been just a peck.
But Weston turned his head at the last second, and his lips brushed mine instead. I pulled away immediately—or at least I thought I did. But according to my boyfriend, who apparently saw the whole thing, I lingered. A little too long.
I wasn’t surprised when he ended things with me the next day.
Embarrassed? Absolutely. But not surprised.
Because the truth is that I wanted Weston to kiss me, just for a second. I fell for his ridiculously magnetic pull and ruined a two-year relationship for nothing more than his amusement. And that tiny, fleeting moment of recklessness has haunted me more than the breakup ever did.
My sister and I never spoke about it afterward, probably because she knew how humiliated I felt. But Weston? He never let it go. He made snide little comments when nobody was around—jabs that I would expect from an immature teenage boy, not a grown man who was ten years older than me. I bit back my responses, and after years of my refusal to engage with his teasing, he eventually moved on.
But I never did.
And judging from the tight line of his jaw and the way his hazel eyes flick away from mine, apparently he didn’t either.
“What’s wrong, Wes?” I ask, crossing my arms. “Don’t like reminiscing on the good ol’ days?”
“Caroline.”
His tone is almost regretful, but I don’t believe it for a second.
“That’s what I thought,” I taunt. “Same old bullshit. Well, don’t worry. I learned my lesson. You couldn’t pick me up if you were the last man on earth.”
Weston raises a dirty-blond brow, but he says nothing as he watches me.
“What?” I snap, unable to stop myself. “You really think you have the game to get in my pants?”
I’m sure he believes that just because he’s got a chiseled chest, strong jaw, and broad shoulders, he wouldn’t have to work for it. That he could just snap his fingers, and I’d bow down at his feet. But he would be wrong.
So wrong.
Because I’m not going to let him embarrass me again.
“Caroline,” he warns again.
His voice drops low, and it sends a frustrating flicker of arousal through me because it’s so different from his normally playful tone.
It’s sexy.
“Weston,” I answer, matching his tone.
His hazel eyes flash darker, erupting into an alluring burnt umber that makes it difficult to hold his gaze. But he doesn’t respond, almost like he’s holding himself back.
“I knew it,” I goad, amusing myself as I float my toes up to the surface of the bubbling water. “You always were so full of shit.”
I can practically see when Weston reaches his breaking point because a well-defined muscle ripples in his jaw like he’s clenching his teeth. I would smile at my success in getting under his incredibly patient skin, but he catches me off guard. His fingers wrap around my ankles, and he yanks me toward him so fast that I don’t even have time to scream before I sink beneath the water.
I resurface with a dramatic cough, sputtering as I push my wet hair out of my face. I blink to try to get my bearings, realizing that I’m now straddling Weston’s lap with my legs on either side of his hips. My brain barely registers the intimacy of the position before he circles one of his surprisingly strong arms around my waist, grips my wrists behind my back, and pulls my body flush against him.
I hear myself gasp as his sizable erection presses against me.
Weston chuckles like he knows what I’m thinking as his other hand reaches up and strokes my face. His tender touch makes a warm heat pool between my legs, and I find myself trying to squirm out of his grasp because it’s way more intimate than I expected. Unfortunately, those bicep muscles that I noticed earlier are real, and I don’t get anywhere.
I should be pissed. I want to be pissed. But there’s something about the way he’s holding me that’s soft and hard at the same time—something that makes it impossible to focus on anything except for the tension between us.
“Let’s set the record straight, princess,” Weston drawls, his tone low and controlled as his fingertips skate down my jaw. “That guy was a fucking scumbag. He was bragging to me about all the girls he was going to bag once you guys left for college. And it pissed me off. So I kissed you. And I’d do it again.”
My chest tightens because I wasn’t expecting that. “You . . . you barely knew me.”
“I’ve always known you.” His attention dips to my lips before returning to my eyes. “Just like I know you’re the one who’s full of shit when you say that I don’t have the game to get in your pants.”
He traces a line down my neck before sliding his fingers through my tangled hair. “The question is . . . when are you going to finally admit that you want it? Hmm? When are you going to beg for it?”
I scoff, ignoring how his touch feels like pure fire on my skin. “I don’t beg.”
His mouth kicks up into a grin. “We’ll see about that.”
Weston gives my hair a rough tug, yanking me back and tilting my head up so that my neck is exposed.
The quick sting of pain should make me whimper, but something similar to a moan comes out instead, echoing in the still summer air.
I can’t move, stuck in place by his grip on my wrists and hair. The position makes my breasts feel heavy, and I feel my breaths come faster as desire burns through me.
“Fucker,” I seethe through clenched teeth, trying to get some sort of response from him because I’m beginning to ache with need.
Weston tightens his hold on me. “What was that?”
The growl in his tone does something to my lower belly, making me feel like I’m empty and full at the same time. But that doesn’t stop me from snarling and repeating myself. “Fucker.”
He clicks his tongue. “And here I thought we were making progress,” he taunts, shifting beneath me. “Were we not?”
“No.” I shudder as the tip of his cock somehow finds my clit through our swimsuits, nearly making my eyes roll into the back of my head.
“No?” He laughs, unphased by my half-assed attempts to squirm out of his arms. “So then, why are your nipples hard as a rock, begging for my mouth? Hmm?”
I swallow as his grip on my head loosens, knowing exactly where he’s headed, but not wanting to stop him. I feel him tug at my bikini top, pulling on the bow around my neck before he traces the length of my spine and frees the bottom strings.
My swimsuit falls into the water and exposes my chest to him. I don’t dare meet Weston’s gaze, not wanting to see the smug expression on his face as I arch into him. But instead of taunting me like I’m expecting, I hear him inhale sharply.
“I knew it,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “The most perfect tits. God, I fucking knew it.”
My breath catches because I’m genuinely surprised that he’s thought about my body when he’s probably been with plenty of other women who have surgically perfect breasts. Mine aren’t anything to write home about, especially because my left is larger than my right.
I look down, almost in disbelief, as his gaze meets mine, silently asking for permission. I surprise myself by nodding because I don’t just want him to continue—I need him to continue.
His eyes simmer with desire as they drop to my chest. His hand slips around my back so he can push my tits together while his lips circle my nipple. He sucks it into his mouth, warming the hardened bud before gently flicking his tongue over it.
I melt into him, not thinking about the fact that someone could see us. Or that we shouldn’t be doing this. Or the million other thoughts that normally go through my mind at any moment. I simply lose myself in his touch.
He wraps his teeth around my nipple, pulling back with a delicious pinch.
I let out a moan of approval as he moves to the other breast, unable to help myself because I can feel my body climbing.
“Pinch the other one,” I whimper, desperate for more.
Weston’s hazel eyes flick up to mine, and I can’t tell if he’s proud or surprised by my command. I’m not sure either because this is the first time I’ve taken control in a situation like this before.
He pulls back, holding my gaze as his pointer finger and thumb knead my exposed nipple. “Like this?”
I roll my hips, pressing into him. “Harder.”
He plucks the sensitive tip more firmly, watching me for feedback.
I wince, but it feels so good, the sting shooting pleasure directly through my core. “Yes, fuck. Keep going.”
His expert mouth returns to my breast while he continues to torment my nipple. I take advantage of his distraction and start grinding my hips against his hard cock, feeling it jump beneath me as I increase my pace.
I’m not sure if wet humping is even a thing. But if it is, that’s what we’re doing right now.
I lose myself in the sensation and close my eyes, hearing the water slosh around us as Weston meets each one of my movements. He thrusts his length against me at the same pace, and the friction of his cock teasing my clit, combined with his torment of my nipples, is almost enough to push me over the edge.
We groan at the same time, like we’re both realizing that we both need more. But right as I’m about to give up, to beg for more, Weston pulls back. He releases my wrists and slides his hands to my hips to hold me in place.
“I’m not trying to be dramatic.” He winces, his breath heavy as his firm chest heaves beneath me. “But if you keep doing that, I’m going to come in my pants. And I’d really prefer not to embarrass myself in front of you.”
I smirk, suddenly feeling powerful as I drape my arms over his broad shoulders. “Sounds like you need to beg, then.”