“You on a case?” Keaton asks as we all pull on the charcoal-colored suits we were asked to wear to this thing.
He pulls me from my thoughts, and by the look in his eyes, I know he’s concerned. I’m not usually the twin everyone worries about, so it’s easy to let my issues slip through the cracks. Fletcher has always been the one to incite panic, but Keaton has always kept an eye on us. Especially since Dad’s death.
I look at him in the mirror, scowling because he’s giving off that parental vibe I don’t need, and focus on knotting my tie. “Yeah, but I can’t talk about it.”
“Weird, you usually completely ignore that rule.” Fletcher rolls his eyes.
Keaton snorts. “I can’t remember the last time you abstained from bragging about something illegal you’d done.”
“Remember when he broke through the state legislature’s firewall to see how they were going to vote on that deportation case?” Bowen walks into the room, looking marriage ready in his monkey suit.
God, I can’t believe another one of my brother’s is falling on the sword. “Those people had every right to stay in this country. I was just trying to give the defense attorney some information to formulate an attack.”
My brothers might think I stuck my nose where it didn’t belong, but they didn’t know the definition of white hat hacking. I pushed boundaries, sometimes illegal ones, for the good of others. I’d never outright say that though, or they’d call me a pussy or something.
“Well, when you can tell us, I’m sure you won’t stop.” Fletcher kicks his dress-shoe clad feet up on the coffee table in the makeshift dressing room we’re sharing.
“You all remember your order?” Bowen asks.
I snort. “Dude, we’ve remembered our order since birth, nothing has changed. Golden child, baseball star, forgotten one and the baby.”
My finger points to each one of us as I tick off our roles.
“You’re not the forgotten one. You talk too much for any of us to forget you’re really the smart one,” Keaton corrects me, that look of concern marring his features again.
“Whatever. Stop moping. Let’s go get you married.” Fletcher stands, slapping a hand on Bowen’s shoulder and then sending me a glare.
Resigning myself to this, I’m the last one out of the room. My twin puts a hand up to stop me before I can exit, though.
“I don’t know what’s up your ass, but you need to cut it out. This is Bowen’s day, not yours.”
“Since when are you the moral compass in this family?” I hurl back.
“Since your ego has really fallen out of line. You’ve been crankier than normal these days. What’s up?”
I couldn’t tell him that I had the hardest case the department has ever handed me on my books. There was no way I could reveal that I’d slept with Penelope twice over the past year, and I couldn’t get the damn woman out of my head. And I definitely didn’t want to admit that I completely offended her the other day and didn’t know how to apologize.
That wasn’t true … I knew how to apologize. I just had to say sorry. But admitting to Penelope that I’d been a jerk was the hardest part. Because I knew that not only wouldn’t she believe me, but she’d throw the apology back in my face.
God, I can’t stand her.
And yet, all I could think about right now was that in a few minutes, I’d watch that beautiful figure sway down the aisle, and I’d have to stare at that face composed of utter perfection all damn night.
“I’m fine. Let’s go,” I grit out, pushing him out the door.
One of those wedding line dance songs played out over the hardwood floor and a scattering of guests laughed and clapped as they badly, and drunkenly, made their way through the steps.
I was on my fifth beer of the night, one shy of a six-pack, and I had no plan on stopping anytime soon. If Bowen and Lily were going to stick me in the middle of nowhere and make me listen to their weepy vows, I was taking full advantage of the open bar.
Across the room, Keaton’s receptionist, Diedra, Georgia from the high school, and Presley’s friend Ryan were gushing over the gift Fletcher had made them. A hand-crafted bookcase, with their initials inscribed on the top shelf, and the dates of significant events in their lives. Their first date, prom, the day they’d gotten back together, and their wedding date. It was all so … sappy. But, I had to admit, I was proud that my twin had found something he was passionate about.
Something I I’m not? One bit jealous that Ryan is over there talking to him rather than me. The girl is hot, scorching really. And she’s a decent developer, but not better than me. Still, the one conversation we had tonight held no flirtation or even a promise of heat, which meant I wasn’t interested. Though my brother seemed to be, as much as he was trying to avoid it.
I knew what he was thinking without having to think about it. We are that connected.
A flash of a gauzy, wine-colored dress catches the corner of my eye, and I turn to see Penelope walking toward the barn door that leads to the hallway.
Fuck, she looks incredible. The color of the dress only makes her sun-kissed glow more prominent, and it conforms to her body in the best of places. The way she’s done her hair, she looks like Khaleesi from Game of Thrones and that only makes me want to throw her up against a wall and pop the zipper of her bridesmaid dress open again.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m following her out of the reception hall.
“Penelope, wait up.”
She turns at the sound of my voice and wobbles on her heels. I realize she’s drunk when she has to brace herself against the wall.
“Will you quit following me? It’s getting desperate.” My frenemy chuckles at her own diss.
All drinks and taunting aside, I do owe her an explanation. What she thought I meant the other day was taken out of context, even if I had been trying to get under her skin.
“Listen, last week in the park, I wasn’t trying to imply anything. You’re a knockout, no matter your age.”
Penelope’s features take on a shocked expression, and her green eyes seem to sparkle in the dim lighting of the hallway.
“Just not as pretty as the bimbos younger than me, right?” She scoffs and those emerald eyes flash with fury.
I love making her mad like this, even if my initial intention had been to semi-apologize if I’d offended her in the park the other day. And when that beautiful face fills with rage? Fuck, all I want to do is shut her up with my mouth.
We’re like oxygen and flames. Matches and gasoline. And when we mix for just long enough, we burn the whole place down.
Stalking toward her, my voice is a growl coming out of my throat. “You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. Don’t make me say it again, because we both know how sexy I think you are. You’re not pretty, you’re striking. Captivating. When you’re in a room, I can’t tear my eyes off you. No woman, no matter her age, compares. We throw barbs, you and me. It’s what we do. Doesn’t mean I still wouldn’t drive into you like the world was ending if I got another chance to.”
7
Forrest
“Oh, to hell with it,” Penelope murmurs as she strides toward me.
We meet in the middle, my hands searching for her scalp beneath all that golden hair and her’s going immediately for my belt buckle.
The glances between us all night have finally ignited, causing the powder keg to blow and a mushroom cloud of desire to fall down on our heads.
I can taste the champagne the minute her tongue invades my mouth, and my hands dive into all of those blond waves, maneuvering her chin to the angle I can best taste her at. We’re exposed, right here in the middle of the hallway, but I couldn’t care less. It’s Penelope who is worried about any of our friends or family finding out that we’ve fucked, but from the amount of alcohol I can taste in her mouth, it’s probably the furthest thing from her mind.
Backing her up, I cushion her back as it thuds against the wall directly next to the women’s bat
hroom. A low growl emits from her throat, but I swallow it, tasting her frustration.
Hate, lust, desire, annoyance, rage … it all tangles into a messy web between us. This rivalry both unites and incites us, and with each new touch, it burns hotter.
“Your. Room.” Penelope pants as I shove a leg between her thighs.
“Give me your hand.” I grab it, shoving her open palm to the tented crotch of my suit pants. “Feel this? This is what you do to me.”
Those clover eyes melt, going a molten shade of forest green. My tongue finds the sensitive spot of her neck, the one I discovered the first time she allowed me to have it. The bundle of nerves halfway between her earlobe and the curve of her collarbone makes Penelope shiver as I focus on it, and her knees quake the same way they did in my hotel room after Keaton’s wedding.
“We … need to … go.” She tries to push me off.
“What, don’t want everyone to see what I do to you?” I mock, half-serious.
I get so damn frustrated with the woman because she’s never given me a real shot. I don’t mean back then when we were kids, or when I’d pursued her even when she was married. She’s a widow now, one who has gone through grief, but I’d made one respectable advance that she’d laughed off as her first reaction.
It was about a year after Travis passed. Not that I celebrated the guy’s death or anything, but something in my chest loosened when I realized that Penelope was … technically on the market again. I’d always thought, deep down, even that when she was married, there was something in the universe that meant for us to be something. That sounded lame, and I had no evidence except a childhood crush to back it up, but there it was.
She’d been at the Goat & Barrister, Fawn Hill’s only bar, with some of her teacher friends from the high school. I’d been there by myself, grabbing a bite and a beer. None of her close friends were there, my brothers were nowhere to be found, and I knew this was it. I had to act, or the chance would be gone.
I’d gotten her alone as she paid her bill, after a bunch of the teachers had already headed out. She’d signed her name to the amount, and I’d slid in next to her barstool, and proposed that sometime, I could pay for her drinks. My exact words?
I’d love to take you out and sign the check sometime.
Penelope had turned, taken one look at my face, and burst out laughing. She’d thought I was hilarious, a fool … when I’d been dead serious. Could I have given her more flowery language? Quoted some poet or told her that I’d soothe her wounds? Maybe, but I wasn’t that guy.
She should have known, by my tone, how serious I was. I didn’t offer to take a woman out if I wasn’t serious … because I so rarely offered.
And now, all she wants me for is her dirty little sex secret.
Penelope moans in irritation. “Do you want to fuck or not?”
My fingers dig into the fabric at her hips, and she lets out an involuntary sigh. “Right, because you’re really going to walk away.”
“I would,” she challenges, a little bite to her voice.
But we both know she’s lying through her fucking teeth. Instead of delaying us any further with banter, I grab her hand and pull her out the doors, stalking across the grounds the short way to the on-premise B&B we’re all staying in. Penelope follows, keeping up with my brutal pace in her heels that clack against the pavement.
In what feels like seconds, we’re dashing up the old, rickety stairs, unlocking my door and then slamming it behind us.
“If you don’t take off that dress in the next five seconds, I’ll rip this one, too,” I warn her, pulling my belt from its loops.
I shrug out of my clothing, not bothering to help Penelope with hers. We aren’t lovers, this isn’t sentimental. She’s ensured that we’ll never have that, so I won’t put in the effort to slowly undress her. What she wants from me is a screaming orgasm which I can deliver.
My bitterness mixes with the alcohol I’ve consumed and combined with the raging arousal flowing through my veins, makes a dangerous cocktail.
“Looks like I did all your work for you.” Penelope grins smugly as I stand up from pulling my boxers past my feet.
While she might look self-assured, I can tell by the heave of her breasts and the tremble of her thighs that she’s anything but. Her naked form is, in one word, perfection. The natural sun-kissed glow to her skin spreads everywhere, into the most secret of crevices and over her perfectly round tits. Her budded nipples, bigger than your average, beg to sucked and toyed with.
But my eyes are drawn to that small, golden landing strip … a pathway to heaven, or hell depending on my mood, that I know will be slick with need.
Grabbing her, I pull her to my aching cock, her skin colliding with the rigid length of me. I let out a fraught groan because there hasn’t been a time in my life I’ve felt more desperate for my sexual appetite to be met than when I’m in this woman’s presence.
My hand dives between Penelope’s naked thighs. “I’d say the job isn’t done until you’re scratching at my back and crying my name.”
She’s about to give a bratty retort, but I cut her off by plunging two fingers inside her.
“Holy hell …” she mutters, her head dropping to my shoulder.
We stand in the middle of my hotel room, frantically engaging in foreplay. It’s fast but skilled, with my thumb pressing down hard on her clit while I jack two fingers into her pussy. Her shaking hand grips my cock, tugging it up and down. Each time she brushes my sensitive head with her fingers, I have to squeeze my ass cheeks just to keep from falling over.
Within what feels like seconds, Penelope has stopped fondling me and is tightly gripping my shoulders, her teeth working a groove into my neck. She’s going to come, I can feel her wetness begin to spread down my knuckles …
“God, yes, Forrest …” she cries, bucking against me as her nipples brush my chest.
A sly grin paints my lips as I watch her come around my fingers. I knew, from the moment we fucked in my car in the Goat & Barrister parking lot, that Penelope was sensitive. That it wouldn’t take much to get her off. And each time since I’ve made it my mission to see how many orgasms I can give her.
“Okay, my work is halfway done. Get on the bed,” I tell her, the notion that I get to thrust into her looming ever so presently at the front of my brain.
Penelope does as she’s told without talking, and it must be one of the only times she’s too physically exhausted to speak. She lies on her back, legs splaying wide, inviting me to worship at the altar between them.
The small trimming of hair above her pussy is glistening with her juices and the scent of her on my hand has my cock twitching with need.
“Lord, you’re ridiculously arrogant.” She sighs, but her eyes are nowhere near my face.
No, I see her gaze lingering on my dick, the one I’m pumping slowly in my hand. With one last cocky smirk, I crawl up the bed, position myself between her thighs, and drive home.
We’re frantic, anguished … we can’t get deep enough or close enough or …
There just simply isn’t enough.
Sex with her … there needs to be another word for it. My whole world transforms, I’m just one throbbing organ that can’t be ignored until she brings me relief.
It’s not gentle or studying, this is fucking. It’s passionate, frenzied, scratching and burning, and harsh. There is finesse, but there is also sloppiness due to the animalistic nature of it.
Penelope clamps down on my cock as I drive into her from above, and I know she’s coming when she tries to wriggle free of me. I pin her down, thrusting harder and faster, wanting to meet that exquisite tightness as it sucks the life out of me.
When I finally catch my release, the chase stealing all the breath from my lungs; I pour myself inside her, relishing the otherworldly sensations that wrack my body.
Penelope might be using me. But, I realize as the fog from my climax dissipates, I’m going to keep on letting her.
; Because I’ve never before felt the way I do when I’m with her.
8
Penelope
Shit, I fell asleep in his room.
I realize this when I wake, groggy from the one-too-many glasses of champagne I’d drunk last night. A solid arm, lightly dusted with dark hair, is wrapped around my waist, pulling me into a body that’s … fully nude. His hard cock is nestled right between my bare ass, and I blink, taking in my surroundings.
Both of us naked. Snuggled under the sheets. Warm sunlight pouring in through the crack in the curtains.
It has been exactly three and a half years since I’ve woken up to someone else in my bed. Well, I guess that wasn’t exactly true … I woke up to toddlers and little boys kicking me in the tailbone and face all the time. But a flesh and blood man? No, I hadn’t experienced cuddling since before Travis deployed for his fateful tour.
It’s … nice. Even if the body belongs to one irritating, self-obsessed Forrest Nash, I let myself lie in another’s embrace just a few seconds longer. My stomach does a backflip remembering the escapades from the night before, and I am sore and stretched down below. To say Forrest was the biggest I’d ever had would be an understatement. And the fact that he’d serviced me, twice, well, that was the necessary cherry on top.
Just as I’m about to let my brain venture into the emotions territory, where my heart is convincing itself that I have a little crush on a Nash twin, there is a husky chuckle from behind my right ear.
“The way I can hear you thinking, instead of springing from this bed, I’m about to ask if you want seconds.” That conceited voice taunts me.
Shoving off him, I screw my face up in disgust. “You’re an ass.”
“And you’ve got a great one. Get it back in bed so I can show you just how much I enjoy it.”
Nash Brothers Box Set Page 41