Chapter 12

LAYLA

“What are Briggs’s moms like?” I asked as I helped Sonya make the bed in one of the guest rooms.

“They’re very outspoken,” she replied. “But not in a mean way. They just tell it like it is. You’ll always know exactly where you stand with them. Scottish people are known for that.”

“I didn’t know they were Scottish.”

“They came to Canada in their twenties, I believe. Before the kids were born. So their accents aren’t as strong as they would be if they lived there, but sometimes you have to listen closely. Especially when they’re excited.”

“And what about the twin sisters?”

“They’re nice girls. Very outspoken, just like their mothers.”

I followed Sonya into the next bedroom and put some towels in the bathroom, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My clothes were cheap and faded, and my two bras were long overdue for replacement. I didn’t own anything sexy.

I had some money in the bank. It isn’t hard to save when you don’t have any bills. But I had no way to get to the mall. I didn’t even know if they had a shopping center in Huntsville.

And since when could I afford to shop at a mall? Walmart and Giant Tiger were my stores.

I must’ve looked dowdy at the pool party. The WAGS were all dressed in designer clothes. Their bikinis probably cost more than I made in a week at the diner.

Why would a rich and famous hockey player be interested in ~me~? According to that horrible woman, Peg ~what’s her face~, I was a gutter rat.

And as the sister of the whore who drugged Briggs, I was not worthy of being in his home, let alone his bed.

~I haven’t stopped thinking about you from the moment I laid my eyes on you.~

Briggs’s words had been playing in a loop in my head since that night in his bedroom. The night he kissed me. The kiss was of the kind I had read about in my romance novels; soft and gentle, exactly what a first kiss should be.

I’d only been kissed once before. I was fourteen and on my very first date. The guy was sixteen. I attracted a lot of attention from older boys because of my big boobs. But I was young and naive. I thought they actually liked me.

His name was Matt. He took me out for dinner at McDonald’s. Then he drove to an empty parking lot.

Before I realized what was happening, he grabbed the back of my head and kissed me, forcing his whole tongue into my mouth.

When he grabbed my breast, I screamed and kneed him in the balls. I still have no idea how I managed that in a car, but I did.

I decided I wanted nothing to do with boys after that. They were all assholes and creeps anyway. I fully intended to die a virgin; until I met Briggs. He was different from any other man I’d ever met.

The first time I met him at the hospital, he too had gawked at my tits. I wrote him off as just another pig with a dick. But when he saved me from being raped, I realized he was different. Would Briggs kiss me again?

He left early the next morning to go fishing with his friends. As soon as he got back, he had to head to Toronto for a couple of days for some restaurant business.

And now his family was coming to visit. He was picking them up at the airport that afternoon. Any plans for another visit to his bedroom would be on hold until they left.

Sonya appeared in the doorway of the bathroom. “There you are!” she said. “They just pulled into the driveway.”

***

I bounced George on my shoulder, rubbing the tot’s back while he let out a series of powerful belches. We were hiding out in the kitchen when the Westinghouse family burst through the front door.

Fine. ~I~ was hiding out. George had no say in the matter.

“Where’s Layla?” Briggs asked.

“I think she’s in the kitchen with George,” Mary said.

I listened to them fuss over Jerome and Harris. The mothers were loud, their Scottish accents echoing through the main floor of the house.

The sisters were equally loud while they talked to the babies in silly voices.

“Why are you hiding?”

I turned at the sound of a deep, sexy voice behind me.

Briggs was standing on the other side of the large kitchen island, his hands shoved into the pockets of his cargo shorts while his eyes roamed hungrily over my breasts.

~What is it with men and breasts?~

I guess you have to own a penis to share that secret.

“I’m not hiding,” I said.

“That’s good. You have no reason to.”

“How was your trip?”

He shrugged. “Boring. I missed my boys.”

“Aww! That’s sweet. I bet they missed you too.”

“I doubt they even noticed,” he chuckled.

“I beg to differ.”

“Did ~you~ miss me, Layla?”

I chewed my lower lip, heat spreading through my belly and down between my legs as he undressed me with his eyes.

George let out a whimper, squirming in my arms. “Looks like somebody wants their daddy,” I said, handing the baby over to him.

“You never answered my question, Layla,” he said as he put George on his shoulder.

“You might need this,” I suggested, handing him a receiving blanket. “He likes to spit up.”

“I’d like to talk about the other night,” he whispered.

“There’s another baby in here!” A tiny woman appeared in the kitchen doorway, heading straight for Briggs. “Give me that baby.”

“Relax, Mom,” Briggs laughed, handing George over to her. “You’re here for two weeks. You have lots of time to hold all three of them.”

I studied Briggs’s ~mom~. There was no way that four-foot-something woman could have given birth to the giant standing next to me. That had to be the ~other~ mother.

And what the heck was on her head? Her shiny red hair was pulled up into one of those beehive buns, popular in the sixties.

She was wearing a ~Metallica~ T-shirt and skinny jeans, and a boatload of makeup.

Speaking of the giant, Briggs moved around the island, standing way too close to me to be considered appropriate for a boss and his employee.

“I’m Sophia,” the little woman announced, eyeing me curiously. “And you must be Layla.”

“Yes,” I replied quietly.

“I see you found the other baby.” Another mother appeared in the doorway, her eyes lit on me as her bright red lips twisted in a devilish smirk.

She was about the same height as her wife, with the exact same beehive hairdo. The only difference was the shade—a very artificial blonde, the color of a ripe banana.

“Mother, please tell me you didn’t wear that T-shirt on the plane.”

My jaw dropped when I noticed the woman’s pink shirt. A ring of fruit surrounded cursive handwriting, spelling out ~Eating out is a Privilege. ~The ~o ~was a sliced peach.

“The stewardess made Iona put on a sweater,” Sophia said.

“My shirt isn’t inappropriate,” Iona scoffed. “It’s open to interpretation.”

“Well, the stewardess interpreted it as you announcing you eat pussy.”

The latter stared down at her shirt. “There’s a banana. How does that resemble a pussy?”

“You’re off your head,” Sophia sighed.

“People are too uptight,” Iona muttered, waving her hand dismissively.

“Mother, this is Layla.”

“Nice to meet you, Layla,” Iona said, her eyes darting back and forth between her son and me. “I’m Iona. This big brute came out of my vagina. But he calls us both ~Mom~.”

Briggs shook his head in exasperation. “My mother has no filter,” he explained.

“Girls!” Sophia hollered. “Get in here and say hello to Layla!”

Briggs’s twin sisters marched into the kitchen, each cradling a baby. Mary hovered in the background, her face pinched in a disapproving scowl. I had a feeling Briggs’s family was going to be a bit much for her reserved taste.

The two women bore a striking resemblance to Briggs. Tall, with dark hair and eyes, they were the female versions of the man standing next to me.

They both wore their hair in short pixie cuts and dressed in similar clothing. Skimpy tank tops barely contained their large breasts, over denim shorts. ~Short~ shorts.

“Layla, meet my older sisters, Bonnie and Blaire.”

“Watch it, Briggs,” one of them warned. “We’re only three hours older than you.”

I dropped my eyes to the counter, running my finger over the smooth granite while four sets of eyes studied me unapologetically.

Briggs rested his hand on my lower back, gently caressing me through my thin T-shirt.

What was he thinking? Why was he touching me in front of his family? Why was he touching me, period? It was wrong. So wrong. But I liked it. And I liked him. A lot.

One of the twins let out a barking laugh. “Briggs has the hots for the nanny!” she blurted out.

“Bonnie!” he warned. “Let it go.”

“No way, little brother. You wanna do the lust and thrust with that little girl.”

“Oh, Bonnie!” Sophia chastised. “Rephrase that sentence.”

“Sorry,” Bonnie chuckled. “That didn’t come out right. I wasn’t calling you a pedophile. Layla is obviously a woman. Look at those knockers. What I meant was, she’s a young girl compared to you, little brother.”

If there was ever a time when I wished for the floor to open up and swallow me whole, this was it. What was wrong with that woman? Who makes comments about someone’s body, especially their breasts, a minute after meeting them?

I glanced over at Mary. She was leaning against the fridge, looking a little pale. Maybe she would pass out or something. Then I could sneak away while the attention was on her.

“There’s nothing wrong with an age-gap romance,” Blaire pouted. “They’re quite popular with my readers.”

“Blaire writes romance novels,” Iona explained, “under a pen name. Blaire Robertson. That’s Sophia’s last name. When the kids were born, we decided we wanted them to have the same surname. I won the coin toss.”

“You’re Blaire Robertson?” I gasped. “I’ve read all your books.” Scorching heat raced up my chest to my cheeks. ~I had just admitted to reading smut, in front of Briggs.~

“Interesting,” he murmured, his fingers doing an erotic dance against the flesh of my lower back.

“Which book is your favorite?” Blaire asked.

“I don’t know,” I said quietly.

“Sure you do,” Bonnie chuckled. “Don’t be shy.”

“Leave her alone, Bonnie,” Blaire said. “You’re embarrassing her.”

“There’s no place for embarrassment in the Westinghouse family, Layla,” Sophia informed me. “We talk openly about everything. That’s probably how I ended up with daughters who own a chain of sex shops.”

Mary gasped, audibly, following up with a weak murmur. “I’m going up to my room for a nap, Mr. Westinghouse, so that you can have some private time with your family.”

“I’ll go with you,” I said. “Do you want us to take the babies up to the nursery, Briggs?”

“They’re fine down here,” he said. “Stay.”

“You need time alone with your family.”

“You’re staying,” Iona ordered. “Sophia and I are cooking dinner tonight, and you’re going to join us.”