Wild about Weston (The English Brothers Book 5) by Katy Regnery Read Free Book Online Page B

she said, her own broken feelings about Dusty crashing over her like a wave of sadness, a sudden tsunami of grief. Her voice was thready when she said, “I’m sorry.”
    “It’ll be okay,” he said, his face falling a little as he shrugged. “Maybe it was for the best. I don’t know. But I thought today was going to be horrible.” He reached forward to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Thanks for making it not-so-horrible, Molly Samaria McKenna.”
    She nodded, clenching her jaw, not trusting herself to speak, their sorrows so very similar.
    His fingers trailed down her cheek to rest under her chin as his blue eyes explored her face. His voice was soft, almost dream-like when he murmured, “My very own Good Samarian.”
    Her chest was tightening and a lump was gathering in her throat. Sadness for Weston or herself, she wasn’t sure, but she certainly wasn’t anxious to embarrass herself by crying.
    “At your service,” she said, and he grinned at her, dropping his fingers and turning to pick up his tie.
    Working quickly, Molly threw her dress over her head and reached back, struggling to zip it. Gentle hands suddenly rested on her shoulders, turning her around, and she felt his fingers slide down her back, searching for the zipper before pulling it up. Her head bowed, she stared at her bare feet while his hands still hovered near the base of her neck. She closed her eyes as he brushed her hair over her shoulder and dropped warm lips to her skin. The light touch made her breath catch and she trembled with longing, fisting her hands by her sides to keep herself from turning around and reaching for him. The only time today when she’d felt good, felt free of grief, was when she was making out with Weston. It took all of her self-control not to escape into his touch once again.
    “Sorry,” he whispered near her skin, his warm breath soothing and painful at once.
    He let go of her, stepping back as she leaned down to pick up her shoes. She sat on the edge of the bed and slipped them on, buckling them slowly. Finally dressed again, she stood and looked up at Weston, who finished tying his tie and cocked his head to the side, smiling at her. She forced herself to smile back, despite the force of her encroaching melancholy.
    “Do I look okay for pictures?” he asked.
    She nodded. “Am I okay?”
    “Run a hand through your hair,” he said gently. “You’ve got bed-head.”
    “You too.”
    He ran a hand through his blond hair before hooking a thumb at the door. “I guess I’ll just…”
    “Yeah,” she said, holding on to her plastic smile as the lump in her throat multiplied.
    Weston took a step forward and bent his head toward her, dropping his lips to hers and brushing them softly back and forth before pulling away.
    “I owe you one, Molly McKenna,” he murmured against her lips. Then, he chucked her chin gently before stepping away from her.
    “Good luck with the pictures,” she whispered, watching him turn and cross the room, smiling at her one last time before closing the door behind him.
    As soon as the door closed, Molly stopped trying not to cry and sat back down on the bed, letting the tears flow freely. So many confusing and conflicting feelings were battling for her attention.
    First, she still felt raw over Dusty, though she realized, with some relief, that she didn’t feel sad anymore. Anger had stepped up to the plate pretty quickly this morning after her shower, and grown steadily into her primary emotion as the day progressed.  She didn’t want to remain angry forever, and she wouldn’t, but right now, she was. Angry that he dumped her. Angry that he got someone else pregnant. Angry that she needed to get tested for diseases. Angry that she meant so little to him that he would have treated her like this.
    Second, she had to admit that she felt sorry for herself. She was supposed to come to this wedding with her fiancé, and here she was, sitting alone in Weston English’s