At the mention of his brothers, West’s face got even stormier, and I could tell he wanted to grab me up by the shirt and shake me.
Yes please.
“Nico. May I please have a word in private?” he said through clenched teeth.
I studied him, wondering how much I should push it. The memory of his arms around me warred with the knowledge that he didn’t want me even long enough to stay for a quick fuck the night before. And everyone standing at that bonfire knew full well that I would never be good enough for Dr. Weston Wilde—vaunted member of the famously historic Wilde family who may as well have fought at the Alamo for all I knew.
“Nope,” I said breezily, turning my back on him to pretend to pay attention to Stevie again.
Little hairs rose on the back of my neck, informing me West had stepped in close behind me. I tried not to close my eyes and feel for his heat.
The voice was a breath carried in the night air straight into my ear. It was no longer angry, but filled with promise. “Come with me now voluntarily, or I will throw your sexy ass over my shoulder and take you by force. Is that what you want, Nico?”
I did close my eyes then and prayed to the god of wood to tell my goddamned dick to stand down. My heart rate was pounding in my cock, and my balls were on their knees begging for more of that sexy voice in my ear.
The most secret part of me imagined what it would be like if I said no again—just refused him and forced him to manhandle me back to his cave where he would make me submit to his every pleasure. That secret part was not helping soften my cock. Not one single bit.
“Stevie,” I croaked before clearing my throat and trying again. The guy’s eyes went wide in front of me, and I saw them glance at the alpha male spraying his pheromones all over my back. “Stevie, sorry to leave you so soon. Another time?” I tried to play it cool, but surely no one was buying my bullshit.
I felt a strong hand land on my hip, fingers digging in to push me toward where the cars were parked. Maybe I could let him have his way with me just this once. For sex reasons.
For filthy, bossy, play-doctor-with-me, sex reasons.
“Give me your keys,” West demanded as we walked in the direction of my rental car. I didn’t see his truck anywhere, and before I knew what the hell I was doing, the key to my car was in West’s large hands.
Oh, who the fuck was I kidding? Before the night was out, that wasn’t the only thing of mine that was going to be in those strong, capable hands.
We didn’t say a word until he pulled the car around back of a huge Victorian home I’d seen in town. I vaguely remembered having been there as a child but couldn’t remember why.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“My house. Wilde Family Medicine.”
He got out of the car and slammed the door closed behind him. As I glared after him out the window on the driver’s side, I felt the door on my side open behind me. West leaned across me to unbuckle my seat belt, and I bit back a groan at his nearness. The fabric of his coat brushed against the side of my throat, and I wondered if that was precome I was feeling in my pants.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath.
His eyes met mine, and I could tell he’d heard the word as a request rather than a curse. His eyes were like lust lasers pointed straight into my libido, and my cock hammered even louder in my jeans. When the hell had these things gotten so tight?
The man smelled like bonfire smoke and whiskey, and I wondered why no fragrance company had bottled the combination before. It was the very essence of this man from Texas, and I wanted to drink it down one small sip at a time.
I opened my mouth to say something. I wasn’t sure what, but it was surely something ridiculous and embarrassing. By the time I got a sound out, West had yanked me out of the car and thrown me over his shoulder just like he’d threatened to do at Walnut Farm.
Unfortunately, I squeaked like a baby bird and grabbed on to his back in fear during the brief moment it took me to regain my senses and fight him.
“Let me go, goddammit. I’m not a child.” I grunted.
“Aren’t you though?” he spat back.
Fucking asshole.
“No! I’m not. I’m a grown-ass man. Put me the fuck down.”
“No.”
“What?” That may have come out as another squeak. I hadn’t taken him for someone who’d deny a request to remove his hands from my person. He was Mister Polite after all.