Page 30 of Whispers

“I’m not.”

“Claire Holland has you wound around her finger so tight it’s turning red and threatening to fall off.”

“Bull.”

“Get smart, Harley. It doesn’t help any of us if you look like a lovesick, pussy-whipped fool.”

“What about you and Crystal?”

Crystal Songbird? The Indian girl who worked for the Hollands? Weston was dating her?

“Crystal’s safe.”

“Why?”

“She knows all I want is a good lay. Nothing more. She’s willing to give it to me.”

“And what does she get out of it?”

“Besides the best sex she’ll ever experience? Trinkets.”

“Trinkets?”

“You remember, like the beads that were used to buy Manhattan? I buy her earrings and clothes and whatever she wants.”

“She’s your whore.” Harley’s voice was filled with disgust.

“Don’t let her hear you say that. She’s part of a very proud people, you know.” Weston’s laugh was nasty.

“Proud enough that her old man would probably cut off your balls before he scalped you. You’re sick, Weston.”

“No, Harley. Just smart. Crystal’s a good choice. Not because she’s a descendant of the local chief, but because she’s poor. You’ll find that women without money are willing to do whatever you want just for a few nice words and a gift or two. Poor women are simple.”

“Christ, Wes, that’s pathetic.”

“It’s the way the world works.”

“As I said before, you’re sick.”

“Not all of us can be monogamous, Harley. In fact only a damned few of us feel the need to be that noble. You, apparently, are . . . right?” There was enough guileless innocence stamped over Weston’s face to suggest that he was tormenting his younger brother in his own unique way. “You’re true to Kendall, I mean Claire.”

Paige tensed.

Harley seemed to have had enough of his brother’s advice—bad or good. Red-faced, he turned, but not before Weston caught his arm. “Hold on a minute. I didn’t mean to insult you, not really. I even understand about the Holland girls being fascinating in the forbidden fruit kind of way, and once the old man changes his will and I know my inheritance is secure, I might just want me a piece of Holland ass myself.”

Harley yanked his arm from his brother’s grip. “Stay away from Claire.”

Weston rubbed his chin and his eyes narrowed. “How about a wager?”

Harley’s expression was incredulous. “You want to bet?”

“Mmm. That I can get one of the Holland girls to bed before the end of summer.”

“Leave them alone.”

“All of them?” One of Weston’s eyebrows rose a fraction. He loved a challenge. “Don’t tell me you’re banging all the sisters,” he accused. “Wouldn’t that get old Dutch’s goat if all of his precious daughters were fucking a Taggert?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

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