“Champagne for everyone!” Brant shouted while Charles chuckled and kissed her on the cheek.
“You guys all knew?” she said accusingly.
“I wrote his speech,” Bentley claimed, stealing the champagne from Brant.
“He lies,” Brant yawned. “Also, the cock died.”
All talking ceased in the limo.
“Because it crossed the road.” Brant burst out laughing. “Yeah, I may be drunk already.”
Well, that explained things. Somewhat.
No matter what the twins did, they were always still getting into trouble, though Bentley had been worse lately, and constantly in the papers for sleeping with married women.
His last conquest had been a senator’s wife.
Something was going on with Bentley, but every time she asked Brock about it, it just seemed to make him sad, like his brother had finally lost it. And Brock and Bentley were doing anything they could to get Brant out of the house and smiling again.
Which was another problem.
Brant had stopped smiling.
So while one twin was trying to cheer the other up and was most likely in the process of gaining a free first class ticket to the fires of hell—the other shut everyone out.
Jane focused on both of the twins and said softly, “You two should really stop day drinking.”
“Fuck that,” Bentley slurred. His eyes were cold when he glanced at Jane, and it sent a chill down her spine. This wasn’t the Bentley she knew. The Bentley she knew didn’t have a dark or menacing bone in his body. “Sometimes a man just needs to forget, right, Brant?”
Brant clenched his jaw and clinked glasses with his twin while Charles sent Brock a worried look.
“Boys,” Charles said in serious voice. “Don’t be jackasses. Why, look what happened to Brock. You don’t want to force my hand—or Nadine’s.”
“Brock’s the happiest he’s ever been,” Bentley pointed out. “If I thought that my date would end up half as good I’d get my ass out of bed and actually do something worthwhile.”
“Here, here.” Brant laughed and leaned against the door like he needed it to help hold him up.
“Besides, nothing wrong with a little ass!” Bentley shouted. “Damn, I miss that donkey.”
Jane couldn’t hold back her laugh. “You know your family’s insane, right?”
“You love them.”
“I do.”
“And I love you.” He kissed her cheek. “So much.”
*
Brock walked around the grounds at the ranch, his thoughts scattered as he welcomed the memories of his parents. For so long he’d refused to deal with them. The ghosts terrified him, haunted him, and rather than deal with his memories, he’d allowed the fear of them to define his life.
But pain demanded to be discussed, memories demanded to be remembered.
Jane, a few feet ahead of him, was smiling up at the sky as she looked over her shoulder and gave him a wink.
God, she was perfect.
So perfect.
His father would have loved her.
His mother as well.
He’d grown up with so much laughter, so much emotion that, until now, he had no idea he’d forsaken.
“Brock!” Jane jogged toward him. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
He stared into her chocolate brown eyes as the wind around them picked up. Chills ran down his arms as he continued to stare, and on that wind, a whisper called. “Welcome Home.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I’m the best I’ve ever been.”
“Even with the twins at the ranch? And your grandfather having an affair with Nadine?”
“Shh, don’t ruin the moment,” he scolded, molding his mouth around hers. “Let’s just kiss and forget about the chaos of my family.”
“Right.” She kissed him back. “Because that’s an easy task.”
Just then a loud voice shouted, “No sex in the pasture!”
“Bentley,” Brock said his name like a curse. “We really need to get him married off.”
She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Have I told you I adore you?”
“I have a better idea,” he smiled wickedly. “Show me.”
Please keep reading for a preview of the next book in the series
The Playboy Bachelor!
Chapter One
Present Day
Bentley groaned as the woman, whose name he’d already forgotten a few hours ago, spread her toned thighs over his body and rode him. The scent of her vanilla lotion clung to the air as he slid his hands up and down her hips.
She was just another nameless face.
Another willing female in a long list of women who wanted to have a piece of the notorious playboy Bentley Wellington.
Because that’s all he was to her—all he was to anyone. And most of the time? He was completely okay with it—he had to be. A familiar tightening threatened to choke him and completely ruin his morning. He feigned boredom.
And covered his yawn with his hand as she started to increase her speed, her breath coming out in small fake pants that had him sporting a bored grin, as if to say is that the best you can do? She woke him up? For this?
Her seething glare said it all.