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“Did I?” He reached for his shirt. Of course he’d let his fantasies run wild while trying to get some kind of response from Kendall, whom he now considered queen of the tight, dry cunts.
“Yes.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, it’s always been a fantasy of mine.”
“A fantasy?” She blanched.
“Yep, doing all three Holland sisters.”
Her nose wrinkled in revulsion. “I don’t want to hear this.”
“Well, not all at the same time, of course—unless that’s the way they’d want it.”
“Weston, enough. God, how can you even think about that?”
His laugh was brittle. “Now, Kendall, what’s this sense of latent virtue all about? You don’t have much room to judge since you just fucked me so that you can pass off my kid as Harley’s.”
“Oh, God.” She buried her face in her hands.
But he didn’t stop. Who the hell did she think she was? “Just remember, Kendall, you’re balling me so that you can trick Harley into marrying you.”
“I know, but it’s because I love him.” She gave out a little sob and hiccup.
“Noble.”
“You hate me.”
“Of course I don’t.” Jeez, he hated it when females tried to pull the martyr bit on him. “Listen, just relax. Enjoy what we’re doing.” A cloud of smoke rolled up from his mouth. “It could be a lot more fun than you’re making it, and you might just learn some tricks for when you’re finally with my brother again.”
She actually gagged. Christ, what a mental case she was.
Buttoning his shirt, he took a long drag on his Marlboro. “Tomorrow? Same time, same place?”
She sagged into a chair and hung her head, looking for all the world like the sacrificial lamb being led to the slaughter. “Yes,” she said so softly he could barely hear her.
“I’ll be ready,” he promised as he opened the door and slunk into the night. The truth of the matter was, he wasn’t enjoying their trysts any more than she was. Weston had always prided himself on his ability to please a woman, to make her come with just the right words or touch. But Kendall wasn’t giving an inch. He’d tried everything short of rape to get her attention, and she was just going through the motions, lying on the bed, eyes closed, legs spread, nipples soft while he performed like a goddamned robot. It would serve her right if she didn’t get pregnant.
But then that would foul things up. The thought that his seed was planted in Kendall’s womb was comforting. Not only would Kendall get Harley to marry her, but the child would actually be Weston’s descendant. He could use his paternity as a bargaining chip in making sure Kendall always came to heel, and if the truth came out, he’d claim the kid and whatever parcel of the Taggert inheritance—Harley’s inheritance—the child would eventually end up with.
Yeah, screwing Kendall, though not physically charged, was worth the half hour of work.
He slid into his Porsche and tried not to notice the deep gash that ran from the front fender to the taillights—an ugly scar made by a coward. His jaw tightened in silent fury that anyone would have the nerve to maim the sleek machine. With an engine that hummed and paint that looked liquid in the right light, the Porsche was a classic. He felt the engine rumble to life as he switched on the ignition. This sleek baby was a woman you could count on.
He threw the racy machine into first and nosed out of the drive of Kendall’s parents’ beach house. He should have been sated; it had been a long hard day at the mill, starting with the fight. Jack Songbird had come in late, been stupid enough to try and alter his time card, and then mocked Weston, spitting at his feet. Weston had savored every minute of firing him while his coworkers looked on. Later they’d had it out and . . . poor Jack, a pathetic drunk, had fallen off the cliffs near Stone Illahee. Weston smiled to himself and felt the jackknife deep in his pants pocket—the knife with flecks of red paint on its ugly blade, a perfect match to the color of his car.
Yep, it had been a long emotionally charged day. Too bad that it had ended in Kendall’s cold bed. What should have been a hot, satisfying fuck had been a disappointment. Screwing Kendall was as passionless as jacking off—coming dry. He was still keyed up and restless.
He needed a real woman with hot blood and wild imagination. He thought of Tessa; she was always ready, but deep in his heart he knew that she wouldn’t cool the fire in his blood. Nope, the only woman guaranteed to satisfy him was her older sister. Miranda. Just you wait, honey, he thought with a low chuckle. Someday soon I’m going to show you what love is all about.
Sixteen
Kendall dialed the phone reluctantly. What could she tell Harley? That she’d just started her period? That after three thrilling days of being late, she’d finally felt cramps and begun to bleed?
Could she put up with another month of doing it with Weston just so that she could trap his younger brother into a marriage Harley didn’t want? A tear slid down her face and she wondered why she’d fallen in love with Harley. Why, when she could have dated anyone she wanted, had she set her sights on Harley? She couldn’t explain to herself why she’d fallen for him, but she had, and the thought that Claire Holland, a tomboy without any figure to speak of, had stolen him away was a double punch to her already bruised ego.
Her parents didn’t help. Her mother’s constant questions—“What happened between you and that cute Taggert boy? Why don’t you date someone else? Anna Prescott’s son has been asking about you, he’s awfully good-looking, and his family has money and—” It never ended.
“Taggert residence,” a cool voice intoned.
