Page 43 of Weston’s Treasure

Weston wanted to tell Nix it was too soon. Maybe deny he was feeling what he was feeling. Tell his friend to mind his own business and worry about his own woman marrying him and stay out of his personal business.

But he didn’t do any of those things. Weston had already denied it once, he figured it was a futile endeavor to do it twice.

So instead he told the truth.

“Yep.”

Nixon nodded and changed the subject. “Should we talk about Holden or continue to ignore what’s going on?”

Weston thought about the question and wasn’t sure which way the team should lean. Holden was obviously going through something. Had been for a long time. They all knew he was hung up on a woman who he’d deemed untouchable. A woman who Holden had avoided for years. That evasion started long before one of their teammates had died in combat, leaving Charleigh a widow and her daughter without a father.

It had started when Holden had fucked around too long, Charleigh got fed up, gave Holden a choice, Holden chose wrong, and Charleigh gave up the dream of a life with Holden. She married Paul and left Holden broken. The man hadn’t taken a full breath since.

The fuck of it was, Holden went to their wedding. He went to barbeques at their house. Get-togethers when the team came home from deployment. The type of man Holden was, he’d never poach another man’s woman. Especially a man who was a friend and teammate. He pushed what he felt for Charleigh aside and went through the motions of being happy for them.

But Paul was not stupid. He’d known before he started his thing with Charleigh that she’d loved Holden. Yet he still married her. Maybe he thought he could love her in a way she’d forget about Holden. And maybe he had. Paul and Charleigh had a daughter, they looked happy, they looked like they were in love, and Weston hoped for Paul’s sake he hadn’t lived under the cloud of Holden. Though Weston suspected he had.

Paul’s last words to Holden had been to look after Charleigh. Words that had fucked with Holden’s head and a promise Holden hadn’t kept. He’d spent years dodging Charleigh and Faith. But recently, that had changed.

“Give him his play.”

“But—”

“Seriously, Nix. We give him what he needs to sort his head. And what he needs is to go at this alone without any of us getting involved. We’ll know when we need to step up and take his back, but now’s not the time.”

“I wish he’d pull his head out of his ass when it comes to her.”

“Me, too. But right now, I need to focus on Silver.”

Nixon nodded and Weston got to work.

Ten minutes later Weston knew the players.

Fifteen minutes later he knew they were fucked.

Twenty minutes later he knew Silver was in more danger than they thought.

16

Three great days.

Three nights of torture.

Three days of getting to know Weston and the guys, save Holden who was still gone. Three days working with McKenna going over the different routes the drug runners could use and combing through background checks of the people I worked with.

Weston, Nixon, Jameson, and Chasin had kept me away from what they were working on. I knew they were investigating the names Alec had given them, but the men had refused my help. Which was fine because my time was better used going over maps.

My days were busy, but my nights were agony. This was because I’d climbed into Weston’s bed with Weston at the end of each day. He kissed me. He teased me. He gave me terrific orgasms. But he refused to allow me to touch him the way I wanted. I knew he liked my hands on his chest—he groaned and his muscles flexed and bunched under my palms. I knew he loved it when I kissed his neck and throat but wouldn’t allow me any lower.

Further, I knew he was supremely good with his mouth because last night, not only had he kissed me until I was dizzy but he’d used his mouth other places. Private places no one else’s mouth had ever been. And it was brilliant—everything he did was.

But I wanted more and was starting to get uneasy about why Weston was refusing.

This was where experience would’ve been a good thing. I thought all men wanted to move to the main event as soon as possible. And just like every time Weston’s hands were on me, I’d lost my mind and begged him to take me. All three nights I got “not yet” or “patience” and sometimes I got that combined or a variation, but the end was the same—no sex.

I’d slept in his arms, cuddled close, sated after terrific orgasms. I should’ve been happy. I’d never had orgasms three—actually four nights—in a row. But being the hussy Weston made me, I wanted more. I wanted everything. I wanted sex.

“Babe?” Weston called from the doorway.