Conception (The Wellingtons, #4) Read online

  Because on second thought?

  The distraction of those vivid eyes, those full lips, and those large hands I didn’t have quite enough time to admire sounds like a pretty damn good way to spend my summer in Crystal Cove while trying to forget everything I’ve lost here before.

  Maybe next time, I won’t play so hard to get.

  THE CAR TAKES OFF SO abruptly that I have to jerk back so the girl doesn’t run over my shoes. Red taillights gleam across the wet pavement, and I stare after her, rain dripping down my face. Another crack of lightning shoots across the sky. I barely notice. I’m too focused on the girl. She seemed frazzled, her green eyes wide with terror when I knocked on her window. I want to follow, ensure she gets to where she’s going.

  Something, however, tells me she wouldn’t appreciate it.

  Still, with the crazy heat wave hitting Tennessee and much of the South, we’ve experienced stronger storms than usual lately. Even downed trees blocking roads across the county, according to the crackling radio.

  With a curse, I jog back to my car and hurry inside. A towel hits me across the face the moment I slam the door.

  “Thanks, jackass,” I say, wiping my face off and running the fabric through my hair in hopes of not soaking the driver’s seat. Probably a lost cause.

  “What was that about?” In the passenger’s seat, my younger brother, Clay, watches me curiously. I’m not even sure why he decided to come along for my summer break when he’s got a woman back home who’s usually attached at his hip.

  “No idea. She wouldn’t roll down the window. Not even an inch.” An image of those pouty, plump lips scowling at me replays in my mind. “A bunny in a bangin’ car like that? Hell, I just hope she gets where she’s going with both of ’em in one piece.”

  Just as I utter the words, I do what I’ve been telling myself not to: I follow her. When she turns right onto a small lane, I do the same.

  “What the hell are you doing, Knox?” Clay asks.

  I turn to glance at him. “What?”

  “I told you to go straight back there.”

  “Oh. Yeah, well, she seemed shaken. I just want to make sure she gets to wherever she’s going.”

  “Ah.”

  That one word has me side-eyeing him. “Ah, what?”

  “She must’ve been one hell of a ‘bangin’ bunny,’ as you so called her.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, you said she wouldn’t even talk to you, yet you’re following her home. That’s not creepy at all.”

  My hands grip the steering wheel, irritation setting in because he’s probably right. Not that I’ll admit it. “Fuck off. According to the sign, this is a dead end. Soon as she’s parked, I’ll turn around and head towards my place.”

  “Whatever you say, bro.”

  I’m not sure why I’m following her. There was something about the way she white-knuckled the steering wheel, practically banging her forehead on it, as if she were trying to beat some unwanted thought out of her mind. Or maybe it was the flash of terror and then annoyance in her animated eyes. More likely, it was the fact that she couldn’t be bothered by me, even though I could tell the last thing she wanted to do was drive away.

  So here I am, following a random stranger home, for no good fucking reason.

  She parks at the last house on the lane, and I wait for her to get out.

  “All right, she’s good,” Clay tells me, and I hold a hand up to silence him.

  I’m not gonna lie. I want a look at the girl. All of her. We wait for what feels like an eternity, but she doesn’t exit the car.

  “Be right back,” I mutter.

  Clay’s grumbling protest is lost when I get out of the car and shut the door, effectively silencing him.

  Raindrops pelt my skin all along the way to her sports car. Without thinking, I yank on the handle of the passenger’s door, thrilled when it opens. Making a mental note to scold her about leaving her door unlocked to strangers, I slip into the car. Her sudden shriek makes me realize that I’m said stranger and this probably isn’t the best introduction to a pretty girl I wouldn’t mind getting to know over the summer.

  The first pretty girl who’s stirred interest in me in a long damn time.

  Our ensuing exchange confirms that thought. This girl is one tough cookie. Still, I can tell that her outer shell won’t be that hard to crack, if given enough time. After her initial shock, the girl banters back and forth with me. She alternates between glaring at me and drawing her bottom lip in between her teeth.

  Nerves or attraction, I don’t care. It’s more than nothing.

  Yet she won’t tell me her name. For some reason, I gotta know. It’s driving me crazy that she won’t give me that one simple word. She thinks it’s going to scare me away?

  Nah. It just makes me want to pursue even more. Kinda like those cute little glares she keeps casting at me. I think she means for them to be unappealing, like she’s an ice queen or something. Too bad for her, I read right through her act. Each narrowing of her eyes, puckering of her lips, and hard swallow entices my cock to strain against my shorts.

  Maybe a summer in Crystal Cove isn’t going to be that bad after all.

  Even though I want to pursue her, I leave her be, curiosity etched on her expression as I exit the car.

  Clay’s watching me with rapt interest when I get back into the driver’s seat. “That took a while.”

  I grunt in response. The exchange with that girl—Sally, though that name totally doesn’t suit her—has me on edge. Not sure why. Since my breakup, I’ve done nothing but focus on school and work. Women haven’t been on my horizon, not for lack of them trying. But her? Something about those lustrous doe eyes and pouty little lips had me wanting to kiss her right then and there, whether I knew her name or not.

  I really need to get laid.

  Clay’s answering laughter echoes with a passing roll of thunder. “Holy shit, Knox. Did you just meet the first woman not to give in to the Wellington smile? It only took you coming to the middle of nowhere to do it. God, we’re gonna have to find her again. I have to meet this warrior queen.”

  He’s not wrong, even though I’d never give what some have called my grin killer a moniker of its own. Not that it matters. Women are the last thing on my mind this summer. Hell, for the foreseeable future.

  Okay, so that’s not exactly true, but one brushoff when I haven’t even made it into town isn’t going to put me off.

  As this is my last summer break of college, this is my final chance to get away and do whatever the hell I want. When I graduate next May, there will be no summer of fun, no taking time off to “get to know myself.” Not a chance. The Monday after graduation, I’ll be walking into Wellington Incorporated, ready to take my office next to Dad and elevate the company. I couldn’t be happier about it.

  After all, I’m a Wellington born and bred. I’ve been in and out of Dad’s office since I was just a kid, already learning the ropes at the same time I was learning my times tables. Clay’s the same way, and we have grand visions for the company. In fact, we’ve both been on Dad’s ass for a couple of years to expand his acquisitions firm beyond the Eastern Seaboard, but the stubborn old man tells us that’s our bit of legacy to create.

  The moment he uttered the words, Clay and I both saw the challenge for what it was. The subsequent result, one I’m sure Dad intended, was that we both dove headfirst into our schooling, started in the mailroom, and worked our way out of internships at the company. Now we’re ready to take the next step as soon as we have degrees to hang on the shelf.

  I’ve never been more ready for anything.

  Which is part of why I’m so annoyed I’m wasting my summer away at the lake when I could be back at the office, getting more experience under my belt.

  Though storms don’t particularly bother me, I’m grateful when we reach the lake house and park the car under the carport. Clay and I go our separate ways, showering off the road trip a
nd tossing our luggage into our rooms before meeting back up to drink away the evening.

  We’re sitting on the covered patio, enjoying a couple of brews and everything Mother Nature has to entertain us with, when I finally ask what’s been weighing on my mind.

  “Clay, why the hell are you here?”

  His head whips over to me to so quickly that I have to laugh. He tries to recover by merely shrugging with feigned nonchalance. “I know we’ve had this healthy rivalry thing going all our lives, Knox, but it’s your last summer of fun and you’re my only brother. I figured we’d do some male bonding or whatever.”

  He’s full of it. “You know, there’s a reason you’re always losing money to me when we play poker.”

  “Yeah, ’cause you’re a cheat.”

  “Or because you have a terrible poker face and can’t lie or bluff to save your ass.”

  He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. “It’s not that I don’t want to be here. I do.”

  “Even if it means a week without Maria?”

  Clay’s lips curve up into a sheepish grin. “I’ve got a couple of photos and she sent me along with a letter for every night I’m here.”

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “You do know there’s this new technology called a telephone, right? You can even call her all the way back in Nashville.”

  We’re only a couple of hours away, but to Clay, we might as well be on the other side of the world.

  “Look,” he says, “Mom wanted me to come up with you. Get you settled in. Make sure you’re…you’re good.”

  Of course. I should’ve guessed. Kate Wellington, our mother, is a force to be reckoned with, and when she wants something? She usually isn’t told no. If she is? She ignores it anyway.

  To put it simply, she’s the only reason I’m in Crystal Cove for the summer. Hell, if it were up to me, I’d be spending my summer shadowing Dad, not lounging at some lake a few hours away. Dad would’ve welcomed it. Mom? Not so much. The second she heard what my plans were, she put the kibosh on them. Nixed them.

  I got to listen outside Dad’s study as they argued over me. Something they didn’t do often, especially when it came to us boys, which made eavesdropping a bit uncomfortable. When the screeching of Dad’s chair scooting back reverberated through the door, I darted back to the kitchen to pour some iced tea, trying to be cool about it.

  Mom’s look of triumph had my shoulders slumping. Dad simply shrugged and gestured to Mom in a you know she’s really the boss kind of way.

  “Knox, your father and I have decided.” She glanced back at Dad, who was shaking his head at me. Then he became sheepish when she raised an arched eyebrow at him. “Since this is your last summer before graduation, you will take a hiatus from Wellington Incorporated.”

  I started to protest, but she held a hand up to stop me.

  “I’ve stood by while you’ve spent nearly every summer there since you were fifteen. When you should’ve been off swimming, going to concerts, spending nights at the drive-in, you instead were at work. You have one more summer before you grow up, Knox.”

  “What if I promise not to work nights or weekends? I won’t bring any work home.”

  “The answer is no.”

  “Mom, what the hell am I going to do in Belle Meade?”

  Her answering smile had a knot forming in my stomach. Nothing good could come from that smile. “You’re not going to spend your summer in Belle Meade.”

  I frowned, shaking my head slightly. “What do you mean?”

  “You know the lake house we used to take you boys to when you were little?”

  It was so long ago that I could barely remember, but since she brought it up, memories of rope swinging into the lake where I first learned to swim and where I went to my first drive-in movie—Bullitt, which lead to my obsession with Ford Mustang GTs—came back to me.

  Damn, had it really been twelve years since we’d gone there?

  “Yeah, I guess so. It’s just been so long, I’d forgotten. Why did we stop going?” I asked.

  It was Dad’s turn to chime in. “After that last summer is when things really took off with the business and I had a hard time getting away. We decided to give up our yearly weeklong rental the following summer, and well, it just so happened that we never went back.”

  Mom smiled at me. “Until now.”

  My brow furrowed. “We’re all going back there for the summer?”

  My first thought was about my brother and his proclaimed “love of his life.” I nearly smirked. At least I wouldn’t be sharing in the misery alone.

  “Not exactly,” Dad said, giving me pause. “Your mother has apparently had your summer in mind for a while now. It seems she made a few calls and found the house up for sale. She”—he gave the word emphasis while turning to her with a pointed look. Then, with a sigh, he continued—“decided it would be a sound investment.”

  “Okay.” He’s not being clear.

  “She purchased it in your name.”

  I reel back in shock, nearly spitting out the sip of tea I’d just taken. “Um, Mom, a house? Three hours away?” I asked, not trying to sound ungrateful, but what the hell was I supposed to do with a house hours from where my life is?

  Mom placed her hands on the counter. “Consider it an early birthday gift,” she said, her eyes full of mischief. “That being said, the realtor informed me that the house does need a bit of tender, loving care. We can’t get away for a while, so I thought the best way for you to spend your summer was going to the lake house, doing any cleaning or maintenance that might need done, then decorating and preparing for it to become a rental property. After all, if being married to your father has taught me anything, it’s that you’re never too young for a sound investment. You know, if you’re up for getting your elbows a little dirty.”

  My mother is a mad genius. She knew that the best way to get me out of the house for the summer would be to dangle not only an investment but also a challenge in front of my face.

  Arguing was futile. So here I am, sitting on the deck of my summer purgatory with my brother in tow, even though Mom claimed I’d be alone.

  A clap of thunder brings me back to the present, and I glance over and see Clay’s still waiting for me to respond to him.

  “Look, I’m fine. I’m over it. Ready to move the hell on with whatever summer honeys Crystal Cove has to offer this year.”

  I’m not lying, though everyone in my family thinks I am. Just the thought of tasting brand-new pussy has me half-cocked already. Not that I didn’t appreciate everything Gwen had to offer. It’s just…all I’ve ever had.

  Gwen Mattingly and I grew up next door to each other for our entire lives. Hers were the first pigtails I pulled, the first lips I kissed, and the first breasts I saw. The first girl I gave everything to. Everyone, including our parents, assumed we’d grow up, join our families, have little Wellington-Mattingly babies, and live happily ever after.

  Hell, I’d thought the same thing. We were inseparable through childhood and high school until she went off to Bryn Mawr College in northern Pennsylvania and I chose my father’s alma mater, Vanderbilt, right in the heart of Nashville. We saw each other every other month or so in the beginning, but the more we both got into our schooling, the harder it was to make the trip for either of us. Letters and phone calls became fewer and farther between. Even when we were both back home for the summer, our time together was limited since I spent most of my time at Wellington and she spent her time at her parents’ country club.

  Which was where she fell in love with John Thomas Crossley IV over endless summer days playing tennis and apparently endless summer nights playing tonsil hockey. She had the decency to be tearful when she admitted to me that she’d cheated.

  I shocked even myself when I realized I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t…anything. Any love I’d had for Gwen had evolved with distance. The truth was I loved her enough, in some kind of way, that made me happy for her. Another fact I couldn’t den
y was that I’d played a role in our breakup by neglecting her.

  The biggest truth? I was awash with relief when she told me she wanted to be with J.T. instead of me. There’d been a Gwen-named noose around my neck practically since I’d hit puberty and finally, finally, I was a bachelor for what felt like the first time in my life.

  No one bought my indifference.

  No one believed me that I was a-okay with the breakup.

  Not when I broke the news to my family with a smile on my face.

  Not when I took a pretty receptionist to the company Christmas party.

  Hell, Dad went to scold me but stopped himself because he knew I was “just trying to save face from Gwen’s betrayal” as he called it.

  Don’t even get me started on when, less than four months later, my mother received a wedding invitation for the future Mr. and Mrs. Crossley, which she promptly burned in an indignant huff.

  Then the wedding announcement for the same couple was in the Belle Meade paper. Hell, I even commented that Gwen made a fetching bride—but then I said J.T. was a lucky man and Mom’s pitying glance had me wanting to bite my fist.

  Through all of it? I felt nothing.

  Actually, that’s not entirely true.

  I felt liberation. I felt happy for her and J.T, who would treat her well. And I still do.

  Because Gwen was my first—all of my firsts. They were good firsts, remarkable experiences. Now, with nothing to focus on but having a good time? I’m so damn ready to experience more. So much more.

  And even though my very presence seemed to irritate her, I know exactly who I want to experience more with.

  “Hey, what’dya say we take this party over to that bar? The one Dad used to give us dimes to put into the jukebox. After the drive, I feel like a burger, brews, and maybe to scope out the lady situation.”

  Clay gives me a skeptical look.

  “Dude, I feel like I’m beating a dead horse at this point. I was serious when I said I was over Gwen. Sure, she’s been a huge part of my life, but that’s behind me. It’s time for me to…sample the other goods I’ve been missin’ out on.”