Page 4 of Weston’s Treasure

I couldn’t believe he said that. Who says that? Started ‘that time of the month’? What, was he ten and couldn’t say menstrual cycle or period? Not that that would’ve been any better and really, it was a hell of a lot better than discussing diarrhea.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, are you crazy?”

“No, I’m not. But you sure as fuck are.”

“You think maybe we can take this into the house before the neighbors hear the two of you shouting?” Nixon asked.

I looked around, saw two pickups, an old Jeep Wrangler with the top off—vaguely thought that it was cool as hell—then to a sexy black Charger. What I couldn’t see because of the corn was if there were neighbors who could hear. I also thought about how I didn’t want to go into the house. No way, no how. Weston would continue to berate me and I’d had enough of him.

Hell, I’d had enough of him months ago when I’d met him in DC and his smug ass had recommended me being taken off the team to take down the drug traffickers. Further, I’d had enough of my body’s reaction to him. He was a dick, but somehow my girly parts hadn’t gotten the memo we hated him and they tingled with awareness every time he was around.

I’d convinced myself I’d been imagining the twinges in the time I hadn’t seen him. But when we’d been on the yacht and I heard gunshots, in a serious moment of weakness and fear I’d hidden behind his huge frame. My front was plastered to his muscled back and for some unknown reason, which I was going to blame on distress, my pussy clenched. It was insane but I’d heard in extreme situations your body went haywire and I was going with that theory.

So, no, I wasn’t going into the house. I wasn’t spending more time with Weston Beil and his pheromones that oozed like a signal pulling me in, yet warning me he was all man and I couldn’t handle his vitality. Hell to the no, I was going home.

I just didn’t know how I was getting there considering my car was back at the dock in the employee lot and I didn’t think Uber was available all the way out here in the middle of nowhere.

Yet I still announced, “I’m going home.”

“No, you’re not.”

I ignored Weston and turned to the men huddled close to tell them thank you for rescuing me, but stopped dead. Four overly large men stood with identical looks of amusement.

“What’s funny?” I snapped.

“Nothing.” Holden chuckled.

“Then why are you smiling?”

“No reason.”

“No reason? So you all normally just stand around looking badass with smiles on your faces?”

“We look like badasses, huh?” Chasin quipped, adding a wink for good measure.

Whatever, I didn’t have time to stand around embarrassed by my blunder. They all knew they were hot, and standing with their feet shoulder-width apart, their arms crossed over their chests displaying their biceps, made them hotter. All except Weston. His arms weren’t over his chest, they were on his hips, which not only made his biceps bulge but also drew my attention to his waist, which then drew my eyes to his stomach where I was sure a six-pack hid under his shirt.

It was a vicious cycle, my gaze not knowing where to land. There was no part of Weston that was safe to look at. His male beauty was overwhelming no matter where I looked.

Damn him for being so hot. Dickheads should not be allowed to be good-looking. This was why women were always getting themselves into trouble, picking the wrong men, overlooking an asshole’s attitude because he was big and had muscles. Weston was a prime example of sexy as all hell but off-limits.

“Before I go—” I started but Weston cut me off.

“You’re not goin’ anywhere.”

“I wanted to thank you all for saving me,” I told the group and ignored Weston.

“Once again, you’re not fucking listening.”

“I’m ignoring you, Weston, there’s a difference.”

“Christ,” he growled. “Get your sweet little ass in the house before I toss you over my shoulder and carry you in there.”

“You touch me, asshole, and we’ll have problems.”

“Problems? Sweetheart, you’ve already got problems.” His hands went from his hips and crossed over his chest and I was wrong—Weston, like the rest of the guys, could get hotter. Stupid, stupid, stupid girly parts not understanding the difference between hot and plain old jerk. “And how exactly are you gonna stop me, Silver? Throw some more bricks of coke at me?”

Asshole.