Page 135 of The Christmas Wife

I turn, walk toward the exit.

"Amelie," Liam’s voice stops me.

I turn to find him striding toward me. "Are you leaving?" He frowns. Those features, so like Weston’s, tighten. A lump forms in my throat. Shit, this is not good. Just because he reminds me of the alphahole, who I must try to forget, doesn’t mean I need to get all teary.

"Yes," I straighten my spine, "I must go."

"Have you spoken to Weston?" He tilts his head. His dark gaze, so like Weston’s yet not, sweeps over my features. No, he’s not Weston. He’s colder, darker, unfeeling. Weston has that sly hint of humor in his eyes, that hint of wickedness which tempers that mean edge—not that he couldn’t be horrible, but always, always there was that playfulness that peeked out, that sentiment that compelled me to tug on it and unravel the man inside… The one I love. "Bloody hell." I bring my hand to my mouth.

"What’s wrong?" he asks.

"Nothing."Everything.

A shiver runs down my spine.What have I done? How could I have fallen in love with that…that grumpy ass?A hollow sensation permeates my legs. I stumble. He grips my shoulder and rights me. "Are you okay?" he asks.

"No, I am not," I whisper.

Weston’s voice slices through the air. "Get away from her."

I stiffen.Don’t turn; don’t face him, until you have gotten ahold of yourself.

He sounds so close to me that I draw in a breath.

The hair on the back of my neck rises, and heat invades my back, a sure indication that he’s standing not far from me.

I pull away from Liam, who doesn’t let go. The hell? I frown up at him, and his gaze widens. His lips quirk. Huh? Is he toying with Weston? I tilt my head; he subtly shakes his. "About time you decided to make an appearance," he drawls.

"Take your hands off of her," Weston snaps. My nerve endings crackle and I shuffle back, but Liam’s hold stops me.

"Or what?" He raises his gaze to meet Weston’s. "What are you going to do, little brother?"

"I am going to kill you." Weston’s voice is even—no emotion, no sentiment. The hard edge to it ripples over my skin.Shit, he isn’t joking.

"Let me go," I hiss at Liam, who steps back.

He tilts his head, not breaking eye contact with Weston. "What’s got your knickers in a twist, huh?"

"Step aside, Amelie," Weston growls. My heart begins to race. I take in his features, the messed-up hair, those grey eyes, almost colorless, a clear indication that he’s in the grip of emotions. When he’s like this, he tends to lose control. He doesn’t care how much his actions could hurt him, or those around him. He’s like a wounded animal, ready to hit out at whoever, whatever seems to be a threat.

"Wes," I whisper.

He raises his fist…his left fist… Shit. If he wounds that…it will take him even longer to heal. What if he wrecks any of the fingers of his intact hand? Already, he’s going to be laid up longer than anticipated with his unhealed injury.

"Wes," I grip at his sleeve.

His gaze on Liam, he lowers his chin. "I am going to take you down, motherfucker," he growls.

"Not sure I’d use that adjective considering we are brothers," Liam chuckles.

"How dare you put your hand on her."

"What’s it to you? Thought you weren’t interested in her."

Weston’s features harden.

"None of your business," he snarls. A vein throbs at his forehead. "Come within an inch of her and I’ll deck you."

"Oh, I’ll do better than that." Liam leans in closer, "In fact, I might make a play for her. After all, you’ve relinquished your claim on?—"

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