Page 23 of Weston’s Treasure

He had no idea why he was carrying her other than he wanted her in his arms. Something he’d never felt with any other woman he’d been with. Never had he desired to carry a woman anywhere. And the hell of it was, he wasn’t even carrying her to his bed to fuck her. He just wanted to feel her wrapped around him. He wanted to take care of her after the shit day she’d had.

Maybe he’d taken it too far in the kitchen, but Weston couldn’t summon up remorse. There was no guilt that he’d allowed things to go as far as they had. The only thing he felt was satisfaction.

“Um. We need to bleach the countertop.” It took a moment for her statement to register and when it did Weston’s body shook with humor. “I mean, that’s kinda gross.”

Weston lost the battle and silent hilarity turned into an audible chuckle.

“Nothing gross about you coming around my fingers, babe.”

“It is when you gave me that orgasm on the kitchen counter where people cook. Not sure there’s enough bleach in the world to disinfect the area. We may need to use Lysol, too.”

It was a good thing Weston had made it into his room and to the side of his bed before he busted a gut and dropped her from laughing so hard.

Silver bounced as she hit the bed and suddenly Weston didn’t find a damn thing funny. The only clothing Silver had left was her bra loosely hanging from her forearms. The scrap of lace resting across her stomach made all kinds of illicit memories flit through his mind.

“Weston?” she called out.

“Yeah?” His eyes didn’t move from the perfectly trimmed triangle of hair between her legs. Even though he’d felt it, knew her pussy lips were devoid of any hair, seeing the pink, glistening flesh had him enthralled. It was as gorgeous as the rest of her.

“You’re making me nervous staring at me like that.”

“Like what? Like I want to lick you clean, taste your excitement as it leaks from your pussy instead of off my fingers?”

“Yeah, like that,” she confirmed.

Weston’s gaze went to hers and he didn’t see nervousness or even embarrassment. He saw hunger that matched his own. “Goddamn, you’re sexy. Every part of you.”

Pink hit her cheeks and he really wished he could join her in bed, but she was right, he needed to get back downstairs and clean up the kitchen. The last thing he wanted was his teammates to come home and find her clothes on the floor. Not that he gave two shits what Holden or Chasin would think, but Silver would. And he’d never allow her to be embarrassed. His teammates wouldn’t judge, they’d never even bring it up to her if they found her discarded clothes, but she didn’t know that.

“Bathroom’s through there.” Weston pointed. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.” Silver’s brow raised in question and he continued. “Gonna grab your clothes, sweetheart.”

She smiled and nodded and Weston’s chest started to feel funny when she made no move to cover herself, no sign of trepidation, no shyness or regret. Silver simply laid in his bed smiling up at him, like she trusted him. Like she didn’t have a shit day, like she hadn’t been taken and chained up, like they hadn’t been at each other’s throats since the day they’d met.

He didn’t understand it but wasn’t going to question it. Without leaning over her to kiss her the way he wanted to, knowing if he started something he’d never make it back downstairs, he turned to leave and was at the top of the stairs when Silver yelled.

“Don’t forget the bleach!”

With a smile, Weston descended the steps. He was still smiling when he bleached the counter, and wiped the cabinet door below where she was sitting—just in case—the smile didn’t leave his face until he collected her clothes off the floor and heard the front door open.

Fuck.

Holden and Chasin rounded the corner and came to a stop when they took him in. There was no hiding the crumpled clothes, no getting rid of the smell of bleach that permeated the room. Neither man missed it.

Holden smiled outright and Chasin looked like he was fighting one.

“Not a fucking word,” Weston warned, keeping his voice low so Silver wouldn’t hear.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Holden quipped.

Chasin made a production out of lifting his chin and sniffing loudly. “Late night kitchen cleaning?”

“I’ve smelled less bleach trying to clean up blood after a takedown,” Holden added.

Dicks. Weston stood silently in front of his friends and waited for more.

“Never been happier to live in my Airstream,” Holden started. “At least I know which surfaces to avoid.”

He was full of shit. Holden had never had a woman in his Airstream. Hell, when Holden lived in an apartment when he was restoring the old junker he’d purchased, he’d never had a woman there either. And it wasn’t because the man was celibate, Weston had seen him go home with plenty of women over the years. But always back to their place, and he never spent the night. Something the team had given him shit about. Holden Stanford took booty call to a whole new level of impersonal.