Conflict (The Wellingtons Book 3)

by Tessa Teevan

  But after going to her office, seeing some other man already making dinner plans with her, I decided to back off, at least for a while.

  For the time being.

  Sure, she is smoking hot, with an ass to die for, and a pussy the great lord made for me, but I’ve never been a man who’s up for the chase. At least, that’s what I’d always thought…

  Turns out I lie, even to myself.

  Because here we are at the wedding rehearsal and I can’t take my goddamn eyes off her.

  All it takes is one glimpse of her walking down the aisle to change my mind. Sure, I saw her at the house before we all left for the rehearsal dinner, but sweet Jesus, I didn’t have time to truly appreciate her what was under her coat.

  Now?

  I’m riveted. I’m held hostage. I’m possessed. I’m longing, and before I met her, the only thing I ever longed for was a good scotch at the end of a long fucking day at work.

  What the fuck is happening to me?

  Instead of an elegant dress like her sister’s wearing, a form-fitting, black, strapless jumpsuit covers her skin from her ankles to just the tips of her breasts. The outfit showcases delicate cleavage just waiting to be caressed. Her hair, swept up in a sleek twist, leaves her neck bare. It beckons for my lips to cover every inch of exposed skin. When my gaze falls on the beauty mark in the curve of said neck, I nearly groan at the memory of my lips there. Not only is my dick now on high alert, but my heartbeat quickens. And that’s happened every single time she’s near.

  I have to fight to keep my hand at my side, even though I run it across my face, trying to get it together. Instead, I follow every step as she approaches, with the ridiculous notion that I want Alyssa to be walking down the aisle, not to her sister’s side, but to mine.

  The thought takes me back. My notorious claim of never-ending bachelorhood threatened from one girl, from one night inside her. It should scare the hell out of me. I should be running from this place, far from the infectious impending matrimonial bliss.

  But I’m not.

  It shocks me that I’m not petrified. I don’t want to run away. No, after months of wanting her, waiting for her to be back in my life, I don’t want to push her away. I want to explore these feelings, reignite the passion we created so explosively that night on the beach. God, I can still taste her on my tongue. Feel her in my hands. Smell the sweet scent of her desire.

  I sound like a horny bastard. And, well, I am one. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to get to know her. The girl. The woman. For the first time in my life, I don’t want just the physical. But physical is all we’ve had. If my reaction to it makes me a bastard, then so be it.

  Because the truth is, from the moment I laid eyes on Alyssa Covington, I wanted her. From the first thrust into her virgin pussy, I knew that meeting her would change my life. A fierce, intoxicating pull to her gripped me—and nearly a year later, that pull hasn’t lessened. As I held her close throughout the rest of the night, only one word resounded in my head: mine.

  One night was not enough.

  It would never be enough.

  And something tells me I only have twenty-four hours to convince her of just that.

  The rehearsal goes off without a hitch unless you count tears from Amelia, snickers from Knox and Cohen (though I’m not exactly sure why), and Branson throwing Ariana over his shoulder and marching down the aisle as soon as they’re unofficially pronounced husband and wife. Where to? I have no idea, and I have zero plans of following.

  “Mmm. Those Wellington men. They’re a bunch of beasts,” a feminine voice comments with appreciation next to me.

  I glance over to see Charlie Wellington, the wife of Branson’s younger brother, Knox. From what I’ve seen, the two are practically newlyweds who put Branson and Ari to shame in the PDA department.

  Not that I blame her. If Knox could be described with one word, it’d be brawny. A lifer in the Army with a muscular, well-built body that is impossible not to appreciate, he has a strong jawline and an equally prominent nose. His cheekbones could slice butter, and his eyes? Hot mama, the intensity will burn a hole in your skin if he so much as flicked a glance at you the way he watches his wife.

  Raising an eyebrow at Charlie, I ask, “Where do I find one of those?” without thinking.

  You know where, my pesky brain interrupts.

  Except Shane’s not quite like Knox. He’s built more like Branson: athletic with lean muscle, longer hair, and blue eyes that remind me of Caribbean waters. His smile is more carefree than Knox’s serious gaze, which only softened—very slightly—when I spotted him giving his wife a subtle wink from across the room.

  Charlie clears her throat, and her eyes light up with mischief. I follow her gaze when she lifts her chins to where her husband is standing right next to Shane. “Well, you can’t have mine. I’m pretty possessive. But from what I hear, that one’s available. And if he’s anything like Knox, let’s just say you won’t be disappointed with what you find underneath that suit,” she teases, wagging her eyebrows.

  I don’t even want to imagine what’s under Knox’s suit. I’ve heard the stories about Charlie and her kickboxing passion. Instead, my eyes are glued to Shane, because I know all too well what he’s hiding under that suit. And I’m all too desirous for another peek.

  Before I can respond, a snort sounds behind us. We both turn toward Grandma Kate, the matriarch of the Wellington clan, who raises an eyebrow at Charlie and shakes her head. “Charlie, do you really want to set her up with Shane? That boy puts too much product in his hair. Besides, don’t you want another sister-in-law?” She smiles at me with warmth. “Now, Cohen, my other grandson, is right over there. Let me introduce you.”

  A twinkle in her eyes lets me know she’s only kidding. Trying to get a rise out of Andi, Cohen’s significant other.

  The fiery redhead does not disappoint. “Grandma Kate, would you kindly please stop trying to pimp my boyfriend out? I have no desire to get into a fistfight with the bride’s maid-of-honor on the eve of her wedding, but I will if you take her even one step towards Cohen. God, it’s like you’re getting senile in your old age. You’re like a child. Better seen, not heard.”

  Charlie’s eyes widen at the same time mine do. There’s an uncomfortable silence until Grandma Kate’s laughter pierces through.

  “Ah, Andi, my girl, you’re so easy to rile. It’s why you’re so much fun to have around. You keep this old girl young.”

  “Fistfight?” I ask Charlie after Grandma Kate loops her arm through Andi’s and they walk toward Cohen.

  Charlie grins at me. “Don’t worry. Andi’s all bark and no bite. Grandma Kate knows it, so she messes with her. Aunt Amelia says it’s a rite of passage for the women who marry into the family, since Kate never had any girls of her own.” She frowns slightly. “She went easy on Ariana and me because, according to Amelia, she was just so grateful they found women she didn’t want to risk scaring them away. Which I suppose is a good thing, because if she’d tried to pimp Knox out, I’d probably have had the same reaction as Andi.”

  I smile, both grateful Ari’s marrying into such a tight-knit family and a bit jealous at the same time. “Ah, the Wellingtons. Love fiercely, fight anyone who attempts to get in the way.”

  “You know, I hear you Covingtons can be the same way,” she said.

  I frown. “What do you mean?”

  A gleam forms in her eye. “Did Ariana ever tell you about the time she bitch-slapped Branson’s ex-wife?”

  My mouth drops open in surprise. My sister—sweet, angelic Ariana—slapped someone? It’s unheard of. “No way.”

  She nods, delight apparent on her face. “And since Branson’s ex-wife was Knox’s high school sweetheart, it made Ariana and me friends for life.”

  I blink twice, at a complete loss for words. I know a little bit of the history with Branson’s ex, but more along the lines that all she cared about was how much Branson could pad her bank account. I had no idea the webs i
n the family were that intertwined. Ariana has definitely held out on me.

  It’s not my business, yet it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask for the whole juicy story. I’m saved, however, when Knox crosses the room, sweeps his wife up, and pretty much carries her out the same way Branson did with my sister.

  Wellington beasts, indeed.

  Now, where’s mine?

  As if he read my mind, he doesn’t wait long. Goosebumps tingle on the back of my neck as I feel him approach. I don’t turn to face him, though it’s difficult to fight the urge to do just that. My neck, however, slightly tilts on its own accord.

  “God, sunshine, you’re gorgeous. I’ve never seen you more stunning than you are right fucking now.”

  The hedonic, low whispered words send shivers down my spine. Shane’s breath, hot against my skin, shoots waves of pleasure across the expanse of my neck. As if he noticed my movement. As if he knows precisely what I want with one simple tilt of my neck.

  I close my eyes, allowing myself two seconds of bliss, long enough for his scent to wash over me. Soap and spice. Masculine with pheromones clearly made for me. Hell, I’d forgotten how good he smells. It takes me back to that night on the beach and I can’t get enough. No wonder I threw myself at him and practically ordered him to take me to bed. Hell, I have half a mind to do it again.

  Get a grip, girl, I tell myself.

  Hoping my bitch face is in place, I perform a stiff about-face. Bitch face melts away at the sight of deep blue eyes, heavy-lidded and mesmerizing, gazing into my own.

  Bitch face, bitch face, I remind myself.

  I swallow, doing what I’m sure is a miserable job of glaring.

  “Considering you’ve seen me all of four times, that’s not saying much. Especially since one of those times I was naked. I’m not sure whether I should be insulted or not,” I remind him, placing my hands on my hips even though they’re dying to sink into that dark hair.

  His eyes flare with the heat of remembrance. That heat shoots through my veins, sending desire pooling low between my thighs. Sigh. I didn’t count on wet panties tonight.

  Ariana once told me never bet against a Wellington. I should’ve listened.

  Shane must notice the way I’m staring. His lips curve up, and he steps forward. He reaches out, his fingertips just grazing my own. “It’s been so long, Alyssa. I think I need a refresher.” He leans closer, his breath tickling my lips. “Perhaps you’d like to give me another peek.”

  Thwack!

  And suddenly, just as I’m about to swoon and fall into his arms, I’m saved by Grandma Kate.

  Then again, I’m pretty sure I didn’t actually want rescuing.

  “Shane, you leave that poor girl alone and stop lollygagging. I’m famished and out of wine.” She peers over her glasses at me, and her expression becomes thoughtful. “Better yet, escort this one to dinner. The first course is about to begin.” Then a wicked smile crosses her lips. “Perhaps I was wrong earlier.”

  Without another word—or an explanation—the elegant woman turns on her heels and marches out the room, confident her grandson will obey her direct order.

  Shane’s roguish expression vanishes and he holds his arm out, acting ever the gentleman. “Who am I to disrespect my elders?” he asks, his other hand coming to his chest in mock jest.

  Heat sizzles the moment my fingertips loop around his bicep. He flexes, and I can’t help but laugh, even as I roll my eyes. When he grins down at me, I get all tingly inside. I don’t want to say I have butterflies…but yeah, I kinda do.

  “See, sunshine? I’m not so bad, am I?”

  “That’s yet to be determined, Wellington.”

  He chuckles but doesn’t say a word. We walk in silence as Shane leads me to my seat. He pulls it out, raises an eyebrow at me, and waits for me to sit. My eyes narrow when he takes the chair next to me.

  The grin that spreads across his face tells me he had everything to do with this particular seating arrangement.

  “How fortunate am I that your beautiful sister decided to seat us right next to each other?” he asks, his eyes twinkling with teasing delight. “I barely even had to ask before she admitted she’d been planning it all along.”

  I groan. Ugh. I completely forgot that, weeks ago, I told Ariana Shane was going to act as my date for the wedding. It was stupid. The night she asked me about Shane, I had let it slip, not thinking she’d actually remember. I’d figured with us both in the wedding parties it wouldn’t have mattered. And I hadn’t given it a second thought ever since.

  “Lucky, indeed,” I mutter before taking a sip of my champagne and using the moment to study him up close. “Your hair is darker,” I blurt, my face flushing because he caught me staring at him. I didn’t notice that night at dinner, but tonight? The dark brown of his hair accentuates the blue of his eyes.

  His answering grin sends heat straight between my legs. “Summer sun’s faded away, sunshine.”

  “Too many long hours spent in the office? I don’t believe that. It’s the middle of winter and you still have a nice tan.”

  He leans over, his lips just above my ear. “Let’s just say, last fall, I lost a bet with Branson and I had to go blond for a while. This is my natural color.”

  “I wouldn’t say you lost.” The words are out before I can stop them—a theme whenever I’m around him, apparently.

  His mouth curls up on one side. “So you’re saying I looked good blond?”

  “Well, I did sleep with you, didn’t I?”

  God, I can’t believe I’m so brazen, especially in public, where any one of our family members could overhear. Sure, we’re whispering, but I wouldn’t put it past Grandma Kate to have a hearing aid aimed in our direction. Though I doubt she actually needs one for anything but espionage purposes.

  “Wanna see how the brown hair works out for you? You know, all in the name of research.”

  YES!

  Instead, I roll my eyes.

  He laughs and squashes my hopes by dropping the subject. “So, Alyssa, since we’re here together, why don’t you tell me about you.”

  This is when I notice other people—mostly the females in the room—staring at us with far too much interest for my taste. Shane raised his voice to appropriate conversation level, so I play along, appreciative.

  “Born and raised in Atlanta. Undergrad at the University of Georgia, where I also received my MBA from the Terry College of Business. I started my internship at Wellsley-Callahan my sophomore year of college and haven’t looked back.”

  “Impressive. I run in the same circles with Callahan—the younger—and we try to get together every so often on the golf course. Nice guy. Ambitious. And with a smokin’-hot girlfriend.”

  I smile. “Sawyer—Mr. Callahan—and Cheyenne are great. So far, I’ve loved working for the company.”

  And that’s how dinner continues.

  For some reason, even with twenty other people around us, it feels like we’re the only two in the room.

  For that same reason, I’m thrilled beyond measure.

  Because, in a short amount of time, I’m reminded why I nearly fell for him so easily a year ago. And for the life of me, I can’t remember why I keep insisting on pushing him away.

  AFTER OUR initial interaction, dinner passes uneventfully. While Alyssa does her best to keep our conversation at small talk, discussing work, the wedding, and how Ariana was always the good girl growing up, she doesn’t flinch when my hand disappears beneath the table to rest on her thigh. A bold move, probably, but I consider it a victory when she doesn’t push me away. A small one, but a victory nonetheless.

  Through dessert, champagne, and approximately seventy-six kissing breaks for the happy couple, my hand stays firmly in place. And not once does Alyssa look at me. Eventually, a middle-aged woman in a neat suit invites the family to take a tour of the plantation, at our own leisure.

  Fortunately for me, everyone else is paired up and more than happy to peruse the massive esta
te in all of its holiday glory. Instead of getting lost in the halls by myself, I follow Alyssa out the front door.

  We linger on the porch of the plantation, taking in the twinkling Christmas lights. Well, she takes in the sight. My eyes are fixated on her. If only someone had had the forethought to place mistletoe here.

  “We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you,” she whispers. Her eyes meet mine and she frowns. Uh oh. That can’t be good. “How did you get my number anyway?”

  I chuckle at the memory. A couple of months ago, when Branson had his head up his ass, he’d sent Ariana packing over a miscommunication of epic proportions. Ariana, who’d recently left a man—a shitbag whom I have the misfortune of actually knowing—at the altar. She hadn’t told Branson, so when his ex-wife showed up with the ex-fiancé, chaos ensued.

  After days of not being able to get ahold of him, I’d texted Alyssa, asking her what the hell happened. She spilled, told me the truth about both Ariana’s broken engagement and current whereabouts, even though I’d known at least half the story. When I found Branson seven sheets to the wind, I corrected his assumptions and as soon as he sobered up, he went after her.

  And here we are now, on the eve of their wedding.

  I admit, I had my reservations about Ariana at first, but I know they’re the real deal.

  “I may have asked Ariana for it so we could talk about a joint bachelor/bachelorette party,” I admit.

  Her nose wrinkles. “But we didn’t have one?”

  “Oh, I know. They both said they had no desire to have a party, especially with Ariana still experiencing morning sickness in the evenings.”

  A perfectly manicured eyebrow arches. “And yet she gave you my number anyway?”

  I grin like the Cheshire Cat. “I can be quite charming when I want to be.”

  That earns me a snort and an eye roll before a warm smile crosses her lips. “Anyways, thank you, Shane. For reaching out, helping them get back together. “

  “Sunshine, I’m touched. I feel like we’re having a moment.”