The Lawson Boys: Marty Page 6
“They’ll know that I’m…” She paused before adding in a hushed whisper he wouldn’t have heard over the music if he hadn’t bent down to listen closely. “The Other Woman.”
“Another first?”
Tipsy she might be, but her head jerked back and she looked right up at him. He’d expected anger. What he hadn’t expected were the tears sparkling in her eyes. “Yes.” Her voice was small.
Ah man. That just shot straight through him, that little heart-wrenching confession and the tears in those big green eyes. He couldn’t help but press a kiss to her forehead. “It’s all right, honey.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“New girlfriend, Lawson?” someone yelled.
Marty glanced up to see Tyrell Baker, part-time photographer and part-time pain in the arse. He was holding a mobile phone and snapping pictures of different people.
Well, shit.
“Just a friend,” Marty replied easily, steering Belle through the throng and closer to the door. “Alan’s friend, actually.”
“Oh.” Baker was disappointed but not for long. Spying someone else, he took off in another direction. Obviously Marty’s unsophisticated companion didn’t cut the grade for photos. That was a good thing. Baker usually prowled around top-end restaurants, not the pub, so he must have been on a night off. But as usual, the dickhead was taking photos of anyone and everything just in case he spotted something or someone he could make money off from the newspapers and glossy gossip magazines.
Time to leave.
Steering her though the crush of people near the door, he led her outside and through the car park to his car, taking the key from his pocket and unlocking the car remotely. Opening the passenger side door, he settled Belle into the seat and leaned over her to clip in the seatbelt.
The movement brought his arm into direct contact with her breasts and he felt the generous mounds push against his arm as she shifted. That contact was a little warmer than he expected and he turned his head to look at her.
Nope, her eyes were anything but aware. In fact, they held a wealth of sadness and tears.
Belle was a sad drunk.
And he was a sad case to find anything about her pitiful state attractive. Not that he didn’t find her attractive, he obviously did going by the inconvenient boner that had started back inside the pub at the thought of doing naughty things to her and going all caveman - and where the hell had that come from? - but he should have been thinking of comforting her rather than lingering on the sensation of her breasts against his arm.
Clipping the seatbelt closed securely, he quickly backed out of the car and shut the door, straightening and drawing in a deep breath of air. Someone in the pub must have been smoking grass because he sure wasn’t thinking clearly, and considering that he’d only drunk one light bear and had been nursing Cokes for the rest of the evening while watching Belle get sozzled, it was the only excuse with which he could come up.
Sad. Very sad.
Speaking of sad, he had one sad woman in his car whom he had to get home and up to her room without his parents noticing her state. His mother would be full of sympathy for Belle and furious with Marty.
Mum furious with him he didn’t want. He grinned a little as he swung open his door and got inside. A grown man afraid of his mother’s displeasure, what was the world coming to?
Glancing sideways as he started the engine, he saw that Belle had her elbow on the windowsill and her chin propped mournfully on her palm as she gazed through the window. A tear spilled over to trickle down her cheek.
Nope, Belle definitely wasn’t a happy drunk. Or a noisy one. He was a little sorry about the first and glad for the second. Still, after the way Trevor had treated her, who could blame her for getting tipsy and having a pity session? It would only be later that she would see what a narrow escape she’d had.
Trevor deserved a kick up the arse. He had a good mind to just give it to him next time he saw him.
Deeming it prudent to remain silent, Marty switched on the radio and turned it low before pulling out of the car park and into the traffic.
They were partway to his parent’s house when Belle suddenly straightened and said loudly, “No!”
Startled, Marty glanced at her. “No?”
“You can’t take me back to your parent’s house.”
“It’s where you’re staying,” he pointed out reasonably.
“I’m drunk.”
“Well, yes. Yes, you are.”
“I can’t have your parents seeing me like this.” She started to chew her nails.
“Honey, they won’t be home yet.” Reaching across, he took her hand and drew it from her mouth. “Keep chomping like that and you’ll not only not have any nails left, but your fingers will be down to stubs.” Placing her hand in her lap, he gave it a propriety pat.
“But if they see me - no! No, the only answer is to put me on the bus.”
“Bus?”
“Back home. I’ll be sober by then.”
A little grin quirked his mouth. “I’m pretty confident that my parents will notice you missing.”
“Then you’ll have to take me someplace until I sober up.” She turned to face him. “Your place.”
“My place?”
“Yes. No one will think to look for me there.”
Oh boy. “Belle, that’s not going to happen.”
“I know. No one will suspect.”
“Actually, if you don’t turn up at home, my place is the first place my parents will suspect.”
Flopping back into the seat, she chewed those lush lips and folded her arms. Those lush lips started to tremble and a sob burst forth.
Uh-oh. “Now, Belle, everything is all right. It-”
“N - no it’s n-not all right!” she wailed, and burst into tears.
Oh great. Not just a sad drunk, but a watery one as well. Marty rolled his eyes. Trevor was so going to get a boot up the arse.
The choice was to either pull up on the side of the road and try to placate Belle, or just keep driving until he got to his parent’s place and get her up to her room and dry-eyed. He had no doubt that his parents were still out, their visit to an unwell friend undoubtedly leading to dinner and a movie. Best he get Belle back to the house and up to bed before they did get home.
Decision made, he kept driving while making soothing sounds, but Belle wasn’t of a mind to be soothed and her sobs continued right up until he drew the BMW to a halt before the steps leading up to the front door of the mansion.
Opening the passenger door, he leaned across Belle - her heaving bosoms brushing his arm and, God help him, the side of his chest, talk about sweet torture - and unclipped her seatbelt. “Now, honey, come on. No one is home, it’s just us.” Straightening, he took firm hold of her arm and gently tugged. “Out.”
She came willingly, and when she straightened she stumbled into him.
Now those big bosoms were crushed against his chest and her arms were around his neck. One of her soft thighs slid between his and as she moved it rubbed against him. Right against his family jewels, and hello, his shaft was starting to stir. No denying it, he was having some amorous thoughts, but Belle was just intent on keeping her footing. He had to remember that. One of his rules was to never come on to a drunken woman. You could never trust the outcome when she was sober.
Manfully ignoring the stirring in his trousers, he wrapped one arm around her waist and manoeuvred them both slowly up the stairs, unable to help enjoying the sensation of her soft, generous curves close against his body. He assured himself enjoying the sensation and actually groping the source of that sensation were two wholly different stories.
Still, to be truthful, he was one sad bastard if he could take enjoyment from her while her heart was breaking. It wasn’t the first tipsy woman he’d had in his arms, yet somehow Belle was different. Go figure.
Unlocking the front door, he entered with Belle dragging her feet reluctantly.
She looked around before finally looking back up at him and nodding slowly. “Okay.”
“So let’s get you upstairs.”
“And then,” she said sadly, “You’ll leave me.”
“I’ll see you safely to your room,” he promised.
“That’s what they all say.”
Not quite certain how to take that comment in her intoxicated state, he proceeded to lead her upstairs with one arm around her waist and her leaning against him. At least, he thought she was leaning against him until he felt her lean away from him, nearly toppling them both over.
Stopping on the staircase, he readjusted his hold.
“Better if you don’t,” she whispered.
“There’s no one here,” he replied. “Speak up, honey.”
“Better if you don’t,” she repeated a little louder.
“Better if I don’t what?”
“Better if you don’t have me leaning against you.”
“If I don’t, you’ll fall arse over tit down the staircase.”
She giggled a little, the sound making him smile, but then sadness crept back into her eyes. “I’m too heavy.”
“Nonsense.”
“I am.” She leaned back a little more, her heel slipping on the step.
It nearly sent them both toppling backwards and he grabbed the banister just in time.
“See?” she said, waterworks threatening again.
“Belle, even if you were as skinny as a rake, leaning backwards and slipping would still send us both plummeting to certain injury. Now lean against me.”
She shook her head and tried to walk upstairs by herself.
If he hadn’t been right behind her, her bottom snugged into his groin as she swayed and almost toppled backwards, she certainly would have gone arse over tit down the staircase.
“See?” Manfully ignoring the much-too-delicious sensation of those soft, rounded buttocks snugging his groin, Marty placed one arm around her waist and gripping the banister with his other hand he marched up the stairs with her before him, nudging her along so that she was forced to stagger up the staircase with him pressed hard up against her back.
Once at the top he didn’t slow down but kept nudging her along to the door of the guestroom she was using. Right before they entered the doorway, the two kittens burst out of the room with a generous sized pair of purple silk panties in their wake. They disappeared down the staircase with the silk panties flowing behind them like a miniature parachute.
Belle burst into tears.
Jesus. Luckily, Marty managed to bite back his burst of laughter at the sight of the mischievous kittens and the hapless panties. Instead, he rubbed her back comfortingly with one hand while crowding her through the doorway and into the bedroom.
When he flicked the light on, it was to see Mister surveying them with a grumpy face before jumping off the bed and stalking from the room.
“There now.” Marty stopped in the bedroom and moved to stand in front of her. “Home safe and unseen.”
“Luckily for you.” She sobbed.
“Huh?”
“No one will have to see you with me.”
“Honey, they’ve already seen you with me.”
“And now you got me home fast and out of the way.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You were - are - drunk.”
“And fat.”
“That didn’t actually enter the equation.”
“I’m fat. No one wants to be seen with me!” A big tear overflowed her eye to slip down her cheek.
“That’s not true.” He wiped the tear away with his thumb when it trembled on the tip of her stubborn little chin.
“No man in my home town wants me,” she continued. “I’m thirty and single and fat.”
“Stop calling yourself fat. You’re n-”
“The only decent men are already married, or engaged, or living with someone, and those left I wouldn’t touch with a barge pole.”
“Okay. Fair call. Now-”
“Blokes in my town want to be my friend, not my lover!”
Oh man. “Morons,” he assured her. “They have no idea what they’re missing. How about some coffee?”
“So then Trevor came along and he sweet-talked me and I gave him my virginity!”
Oh boy. This was a little awkward. “Honey-”
“He said he loved my figure.” She flung her arms out to the sides and almost fell over. “This figure!”
Marty’s gaze fell to her generous bosoms that she thrust out as she angled backwards. “Uh-huh.” His eyes glazed over a little. Personally, he thought she had a nice set of breasts, all soft and big and, well, bosomy. He’d always been a sucker for a big pair of breasts. He’d like to see this particular pair with no material to cover them. See and feel and touch.
“But he popped my cherry and married another woman!” Belle burst into tears again.
“Now, honey.” Moving in, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close to him, rubbing her back soothingly with one hand while palming the back of her head. “It’s all right.”
“No, it isn’t.” She cried into his shirt-front. “It’s never going to be all right.”
“Shush now. Of course it is.”
“N-no one wants a f-fatty.” Burrowing into his chest, she cried harder.
Okay, seeing a drunken woman wasn’t exactly anything new. Comforting a crying woman had also happened a couple times in his life, mainly when he’d broken up with a girlfriend and she’d bawled and begged and tried to cling to him. Gentleman that he was, he’d comforted them and then cut them loose.
Somehow he couldn’t quite bring himself to cut Belle loose. Probably because she wasn’t like the other women he dated and bedded and had a good time with before leaving.
Belle was just…well, different.
Drunk, yes, but different.
The Other Woman, true, but different.
Different because she wasn’t a mercenary, an experienced gold-digger, or a woman of the world.
Belle was innocent.
And very soft and warm in his arms, with a pretty floral scent that was drifting up to wrap around his senses.
She also had a pair of impressive breasts pressed against his chest.
He had a boner in the making. Not good. Not in his parent’s house, with the cause of his growing boner being drunk, blubbering in his arms, and all vulnerable and unhappy.
Taking hold of Belle’s upper arms, he pushed her at arms length and surveyed her face. Her eyes were tear-drenched green pools of unhappiness, her lush lips trembled, and her sweet apple cheeks were wet from tears.
Nope, now was not the time for a boner.
Mentally chastising himself, he said gently but firmly, “Now, Belle. You’re drunk and not thinking clearly. You-”
“I’m fat and drunk! I’m a fat drunk!” Her mouth opened in the beginnings of a new set of wailing.
Not happening. Not on his watch. Marty pointed one finger at her. “No!”
Her mouth stayed open as she blinked in surprise. “No?”
“No. You, Belle Broune, are going to bed to sleep off this drunken pity fest you’re wallowing in.” Changing tact from sympathy to firmness, Marty walked her backwards across the carpet towards the bed. “No more tears.”
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
“Already done it.” He stopped when the bed hit her behind the knees and she fell back onto it. In one efficient move, he placed one arm beneath her knees and swung her around.
Eyes wide, she watched as he plucked the black pumps from her feet and tossed them down beside the bed.
“Now,” he ordered, “Close your eyes and go to sleep.”
Her face crumpled.
Oh shit. Maybe he’d been too stern.
Leaning over her, Marty placed one hand on the pillow beside her head and laid his other hand on her cheek. Lowering his vo
ice, he began, “Now, honey, just close your eyes-”
She started to laugh.
Surprised, he could only stare at her.
“You’re so sweet.” Reaching up, she placed her own hand against his cheek. “So sweet and gentle and nice.”
Never, ever, had a woman called him nice. Still surprised, he could only stare down at her.
“You’re very handsome.” Belle smiled, her eyes warming, and her hand slipped behind his neck to tug gently.
Without thought he bent his elbows, allowing himself to be drawn towards her, and only when her gaze dropped to his lips did he suddenly realise that she was going to kiss him.
Okay, she was going to kiss him and buggered if he was going to stop her. He should, he knew that, she was pickled with potent drink and had no real idea what she was doing or saying, and he’d be a total arse to take advantage of her uninhibited state. But God help him, he wasn’t going to stop her, not when she looked up at him so sweetly, her lips so lush, her eyes so brilliant and sparkling with recent tears, those apple cheeks so softly blushed.
For some reason all sanity was leaving him on galloping legs.
He wanted Belle to kiss him. Hell, he wanted to kiss her. Just one kiss, he assured himself. Just one.
She lifted up towards him, he came down, their lips almost met…and she sighed and fell back onto the bed, her hand slipping from his neck to flop at her side.
For several stunned seconds, Marty stared down at her face. The drink had finally taken its toll.
Goddamn it. What lousy bloody timing!
Thrusting upright, Marty shoved one hand through his hair and blew out a breath.
No, it was thank God. He’d never in his life taken advantage of a drunken woman, not even to kiss her, no matter how pretty or tempting she’d been, it was the one thing he never did and he prided himself on that fact.
Turning away, he placed his hands on his hips and strode across the room. Stopping in the doorway, he took another deep breath and turned around to look at the slumbering woman on the bed.
Belle was different. That was all there was to it. He didn’t understand how he could forget propriety when with her, but it was there as plain as the nose on his face. Something had made him forget his own rules.
Well, crap.