Free The Lawson Boys: Marty by Angela Verdenius

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