The Lawson Boys: Marty (8 page)

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.

“See?” He
smiled down at her. “No one is home but you and me. Okay?”

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 voice, 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.