Free Love Me by Cheryl Holt Page A

with misfits.  Among the guests, there had been a general consensus that Faith and Amy were the primo catches, the Merriweather brothers not so much.  They had been fortunate in latching on to Amy and Faith while the latching on was good.
    It was enough to make a man start believing in matrimony. 
    Brittney leapt up from her chair, and she grabbed his bad arm.  He winced, but she was tipsy and silly and didn’t notice.  She snuggled herself to him, her breasts pressed to his chest.  She was swaying back and forth, as if they were on a dance floor and moving to the music.
    “You didn’t dance with me all night,” she said.
    “No, I didn’t.”
    “I asked you six times!”
    She was in a fine state, rowdy and talkative, her inhibitions completely shattered.  If he wasn’t careful, she was going to end up precisely where he wanted her to be, which was flat on her back on the mattress.
    He wasn’t the type of guy to take advantage of a drunken woman, though.  With his hard body and macho attitude, females were always willing to hop into his bed, and he didn’t have to get them intoxicated to lure them there.
    Brittney wouldn’t find it funny to wake up naked beside him in the morning.  Somehow, he couldn’t envision her laughing about it when she was sober.
    “Are you a lousy dancer?”  She smiled up at him.  “Is that the problem?  Because I’m great at it, and I could have shown you what to do.”
    “I like to dance.  It’s just difficult for me.  My arm’s wrecked, so I can’t hold it in certain positions.”
    “What’s wrong with your arm?  Did you hurt it?”
    “Yes.”
    “How.”
    “In Iraq.”
    “In the country …Iraq?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why were you in Iraq?”
    “I was in the army, you goof.  Why would you suppose I was there?”
    “You were a soldier?”
    “Yes,” he said again.
    “That is very, very sexy.”  She raised a brow and nestled herself even closer.  “Do you have any pictures of yourself in your uniform?”
    “I could probably dig one up.”
    “I want to see what you looked like.”
    She grabbed his ass, pulling his groin into hers. 
    He knew he should draw away, that he should put some space between them, but he wasn’t that noble.
    “Were you wounded?” she asked.
    “Yes.”
    “How.”
    “Blown up in an explosion.”
    “An explosion!”
    “It wasn’t bad,” he fibbed.  “I messed up a couple of bones, had to have some surgeries and stuff.”
    She scowled.  “I don’t like it that you were hurt.”
    “Came with the territory.”
    He never discussed what had happened.  The tale was too depressing, and there wasn’t any point in dissecting the details.
    She’d had too many drinks, and he didn’t want her maudlin, didn’t want her feeling sorry for him.  The entire evening had been a grand success, and he only wanted smiles and laughter for the rest of the night.
    “Dustin told me I was welcome to visit them anytime.”  She beamed like a kid on Christmas morning.
    “I heard.”
    “When they get back from their honeymoon”—Dustin and Amy were headed to the Caribbean for a month—“he asked me to stay with them in the mansion.”
    “I heard that too.”
    “You’ll come with me, right?”
    “Right,” he falsely agreed, wondering if he’d ever see her again after next week.
    It was sad to consider that he might not.  She was growing on him; he liked her much more than was wise.
    “Can you imagine us snooping around in that old place?” she inquired.
    “I definitely can.”
    “Everything started there for my family.”
    The ostentatious mansion had been the first one her ancestor, George Merriweather, had constructed with his new gold fortune.  It was an infamous residence, built for his mistress—not his wife.  Due to Merriweather neglect, it had fallen into terrible disrepair.
    Amy and Dustin were planning to restore it.  They were planning to restore the whole darn town.  Matt thought they were crazy, that it