Chapter 7
WILLOW
Thornwood looks a hell of a lot bigger than it did in the photos.
None of the images did it justice. Its east and west wings stretch across the estate with Art Nouveau archways and massive, stained-glass windows.
Most of the original elements were preserved and restored over the years, and I can only imagine what the gardens look like in the summer, bordered by the deep woods leading to Chappaqua.
Inside, the old and the new meet like a friendly handshake.
Vintage furniture, antique textiles, precious decorative items, and legacy paintings mingle with modern lines and upholstery, contemporary equipment, and state-of-the-art lighting and heating systems, which turn the cavernous estate into a warm and welcoming winter home.
“Right this way to the ballroom,” Ian says as he escorts me across the lobby and past the gigantic Christmas tree.
One look at this thing and my heart tingles as I imagine Cole, Asher, and Toby growing up here, spending their evenings gazing up at the twinkling lights, decorating the tree with their mother and father, hanging the baubles, getting tangled in the golden-specked garlands, maybe sneaking downstairs at night to catch Santa in the act.
“Oh, wow,” I gasp as Ian pushes through the ballroom’s glass doors. “It does look beautiful in this new light.”
“I agree, though I, personally, I still prefer the original fixtures,” Ian politely admits.
I give him a smile. “I only saw them in the photos, but they were beautiful.”
“Master Cole hopes they’ll go back up after the wedding. I believe he and his brothers are actively lobbying for that.”
“I’m not surprised,” I say and chuckle lightly. “They speak so fondly of Thornwood.”
“Their mother spent her final days here,” Ian says.
That hits me like a punch in the gut. No wonder Cole and his brothers are so hung up on this place, so eager to protect it from Sheila’s design quirks for an event as ephemeral as a wedding.
“The Morgans spent their Christmas holidays here, didn’t they?” I ask, my gaze wandering across the pristine white walls.
“Every Christmas from the moment they were born. Mrs. Morgan was adamant about it, even during the harshest of winters,” Ian replies. “The estate staff spent half the summer stockpiling wood for the fireplaces. Truth be told, this is the closest one might get to the fabled winter wonderland.”
He pauses and looks around. “I understand you’re here to take photos and measurements and prepare for the incoming decorators. Is there anything else I can assist you with?”
“Not at this time. Thank you, Ian.”
“Then I will get out of your hair. Ring the bell in the lobby, if you need me.”
I watch Ian leave, then turn around to take in the whole space.
It’s magnificent, enormous, a wedding planner’s dream.
It’s a massive oval with a tall ceiling painted the same white as the walls.
The decorator is supposed to bring the silver-brush molding to frame the ceiling, the wall sconces that mimic stylish icicles, the wall tapestries made of tulle and embroidered with silver threads and real Swarovski crystals, and everything else we ordered according to Sheila’s requests.
It will look stupendous; I know that for a fact, but it also breaks my heart, because an Art Nouveau–style wedding, respectful of the original ballroom’s design, would’ve been even better, even more in line with the Morgans’ historical aesthetic.
Alas, Sheila’s the one in charge, so I take out my measuring tape and notebook and get to work, ignoring several text messages from my group chat with the Morgan brothers.
I’ve been avoiding them since that night at Cole’s townhouse, mainly because of the threatening message.
I set the tape and notebook down at one point, itching with curiosity and concern.
I told you to stay away! The message reads.
I got it the moment I got out of the limo in front of Cole’s townhouse. It cast a shadow over my intimate evening with the brothers, and they felt me slowly pulling away by morning.
You’ll pay for this, a third message read at noon.
I saved all of them, just in case I might need them. I filed a complaint with the police department, too, but no one’s gotten back to me yet. Maybe they never will. Maybe Jamie is right, and I should tell Cole, Asher, and Toby about it. But the wedding needs my full and undivided attention.
Another message from Asher. What’s wrong? he asks. You’ve been distant over the past couple of days.
Just busy, I gather the nerve to text back. Sorry.
The ballroom door opens, and I expect to see Ian. But it’s Asher, giving me a curious glare. “Just busy?” he laughs, but I sense the tension in his voice. “I reckon we deserve a little bit more than that, Willow.”
I sigh and leave my phone on the floor next to my purse, measuring tape, and notebook, then turn to face Asher as he walks toward me.
A smile crosses his face, and I’m momentarily entranced by how good he looks in his custom-tailored navy blue suit, white shirt, and deep red tie, making his chest and shoulders look even broader. The man is large by default, and his sartorial choices often amplify that.
My stomach flutters.
“Where have you been?” Asher asks, closing the distance between us. “You’ve been pulling away from us.”
“It’s the wedding. I’m just trying to get as much done this week, so we don’t get jammed up next week. Christmas is in, what, fifteen days?”
“There’s something else, but I won’t force it out of you,” he replies. “Just know that we’re here. You can always talk to us.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” I sigh deeply. “What brings you here?”
“We stopped by to talk to our father about some family issues.”
“Ah, you mean the will amendments,” I reply. “I remember you guys mentioned something about that the other day.”
“Yes. It’s all very tedious stuff. You, however, look particularly hot in this getup,” Asher quips and comes closer, his hands eager to roam over my body.
“You’re not too bad looking yourself,” I reply, letting my hands rest on his shoulders. I feel his muscles through the layers of fabric. My fingertips tingle with the anticipation of touching his bare skin. “I like the suit, though I prefer the version of you that doesn’t wear clothes.”
“Listen to you, Miss Naughty.” Asher laughs lightly, then kisses me with the intensity of the sun.
His cologne fills my lungs, the taste of him turning me into a wet, hot mess, as I melt in his arms and surrender to him.
I forget about my stalker and the threatening messages as I find safety and comfort against his hard body.
I forget about the wedding and the work I’m supposed to do today, too, as Asher deepens the kiss and cements his claim on my body.
“Let’s leave the event planning stuff for later,” he says, taking a deep breath. “There’s something I want to show you.”
“What?” I manage, dazed by his kisses.
“You need to see for yourself, experience it for yourself.”
“Now I’m curious.”
He smiles and takes my hand, giving it a firm squeeze.
Quietly, I follow him out of the ballroom and across the lobby, then all the way through to the back of the mansion, somewhere on the north side, where beyond a double glass door, a greenhouse opens with a splendiferous view of the woods beyond.
“My brothers and I usually have this corner all to ourselves,” Asher says as he closes and locks the doors behind us.
Cole and Toby emerge from behind a massive potted shrub with long, blade-like leaves and thick flower stems. I remain still, genuinely surprised.
“Wait,” I gasp. “You’re all here?”
“We were waiting for you, Willow,” Cole says.
“You knew I’d be here, and you purposely set up your meeting with Mr. Morgan to coincide with my visit,” I say, a grin stretching across my face.
“Did you really think you’d get away from us that easily?” Toby asks, a black tee stretching shamelessly across his broad chest while the jeans hug his muscular legs in all the right places, adding pressure to my core.
“I guess I did,” I concede. “Clearly, I was wrong.”
Toby is the first to reach me. He grabs me by the back of the neck, his grip firm and unforgiving. A sharp edge is added to our dynamic, and it only makes me hotter for this man, more willing to abandon myself in his possession.
“You were wrong,” he growls. “You can’t get away from us, Willow.”
“Even if I wanted, I can’t,” I admit as he pulls me into a hungry, devastating kiss.
“Don’t run from us,” he tells me, and maybe it’s supposed to intimidate me, but all I can do is soften against his chiseled chest and purr like a kitten.
“What can I do to make it up to you?” I ask, leaning into my naughty side.
Cole moves behind me, his hands eagerly working to peel my jeans off, while Toby rids me of my sweater.
“You’re going to get on your knees, darling,” Toby commands me.
I am so eager to oblige, my mind bubbling with the opportunity ahead. They guide me to the seating area to our right, where large sofas unfurl over a plush green carpet. Potted plants and miniature trees keep us out of view of anyone, and the trees outside cast a long shadow over the greenhouse.
I let Asher take off my panties and bra before I sink down to my knees in front of them, watching as they take off their clothes.
“I’m on my knees,” I say, my hands slowly reaching up to my breasts as they get naked, gloriously hung and eager to fill me, to stretch me, to devour me. “What now?”
Cole, Asher, and Toby move closer, their thick thighs and massive cocks making my lips feel dry. I lick them as I squeeze my breasts, stunned by how turned on I am simply by being here with them.
“Open wide,” Toby says, cupping my chin.