Seduced by Stratton (The English Brothers Book 4)
Read Seduced by Stratton (The English Brothers Book 4) Online
Authors: Katy Regnery
SEDUCED BY STRATTON
The English Brothers, Book #4
Katy Regnery
SEDUCED BY STRATTON
Copyright
© 2014 by Katharine Gilliam Regnery
Sale of the electronic edition of this book is wholly unauthorized. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part, by any means, is forbidden without written permission from the author/publisher.
Katharine Gilliam Regnery, publisher
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Please visit my website at www.katyregnery.com
First Edition: November 2014
Katy Regnery
Seduced by Stratton : a novel / by Katy Regnery – 1st ed.
ISBN: 978-0-9912045-6-4
For
Strat
George, of course.
Grazie a bella Cristina.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 5
A Little Quarreling Can Be Good
CHAPTER 6
Say No Once In A While
CHAPTER 7
Build the Sexual Tension
CHAPTER 10
Channel Your Inner Romantic
CHAPTER 11
Have an Intimate Conversation
Sneak Peek at
Wild about Weston
CHAPTER 1
Stratton English knew what his brothers said about him.
“I don’t think he’s ever had a girlfriend.”
(Barrett)
“I don’t think he’s ever had sex.”
(Alex)
“He always friend-zones himself.”
(Fitz)
“He’s just not smooth around women.”
(Weston)
It often occurred to Stratton to set them straight—tell Barrett he’d had a couple of girlfriends in college, though they didn’t last very long. While he was at it, he’d tell reformed lothario Alex that, while he’d had sex, he wasn’t in the habit of sleeping around. Smiling affectionately as he thought of his favorite brother, Fitz, he’d have to agree that he had a problem with being friend-zoned, and while Weston was right in general, being incredibly awkward around women wasn’t the primary reason Stratton was single.
The simple fact was this:
His heart was already taken.
Hearing a sound from the hallway, he peeked out the peephole of his apartment door again, but the corridor was empty. Tamping down his disappointment, he straightened his glasses and walked back into the living room. He sat in the easy chair by the fireplace, picked up his Kindle, and took a sip of Merlot before settling into his latest self-help book.
“Latest” because he’d read them all.
How To Seduce The Girl Of Your Dreams.
Seduction for Dummies.
1-2-3 Seduce Me!
The Blueprint for Seduction.
Deduce to Seduce.
This evening’s choice was called
Ten Steps to Seduction,
and Stratton didn’t feel especially hopeful about the advice. Then again, as he waited for the elevator to ding, followed by the sound of Amy fumbling with her keys two doors down, he might as well keep busy.
Amy Colson. Amy. He took a deep breath, picturing her face.
Stratton had moved into his apartment almost two years ago on a chilly March day, annoyed that his movers had to share the service elevator with those of another tenant moving in. All day his things had arrived in spurts while his movers alternated elevator runs, and by six o’clock he was irritated that it was taking so long.
That is, until
she
knocked on his door.
Dressed in sweat pants and an old UPenn T-shirt that had seen better days, Stratton had stood in the doorway of his new apartment, staring at the young woman who’d suddenly appeared on his doorstep.
“Mr. English?” she asked.
Her blonde hair was straight, just touching her shoulders, and her blue eyes were bright. She was small and fit, and he knew she would be considered conventionally pretty, but good looks were mostly lost on Stratton. Unlike every other man in the world, he almost always became attracted to a woman’s personality first, her looks second. His mother called him “immune to women’s wiles.”
“Yes?”
The metal bracelets she wore clinked together not unpleasantly as she gestured down the hall to the left, and then held out her hand in greeting. “I’m Amy Colson. From next door.”
“Next door is Mrs. Dorchester.”
“Oh.” Amy Colson gave him a look, as if trying to figure out if he was teasing. Then she chuckled, her hand still dangling awkwardly between them. “Right. You’re very precise! I’m actually
two
doors down.”
“You’re the other new tenant,” said Stratton, finally noticing her hand. He rushed to shake it, grasping it too hard in his haste, and she winced, pulling away.
“Yeah.” Glancing down, she rubbed her hands together before looking up at his shirt. “Did you go? To Penn?”
“No,” he answered.
“Oh. Do you work there?”
“No.”
“Huh.” She raised her eyebrows and grinned. “Are you pulling my leg?”
“No,” he answered, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Just found that shirt lying around and put it on, huh?”
“No. It was a gift.”
“Oh.” She shrugged. “Okay.”
Amy Colson looked away, her smile fading as her cheeks grew pink, and Stratton knew he’d just done it again. He felt nervous, giving her monosyllabic answers and making things awkward.
Her little pink tongue darted out to lick her lips as she pushed her hair back, and Stratton found himself distracted by the perfect shell of her ear. It looked delicate, yet soft, architecturally perfect like the inner curve of a conch, and he stared at it for an extra second before looking back at her face.
“Are you an ear-guy?” she asked with a little grin.
“I don’t know what that is.”
“You know, some guys love the eyes, some love the . . . the . . .” She took a deep breath and pushed her chest out a little, cocking her head to the side.
“Lungs?”
Amy Colson stared back at him, her brows knitting together. “N-No. Not the lungs, the um …”
She bent her head meaningfully toward him and searched his eyes like they were engaging in telepathy.
“I can’t hear your thoughts,” he blurted out, knowing as soon as he said it how ridiculous it sounded.
Her eyebrows had merged into one V-shaped unibrow and two little wrinkles appeared at the top of her nose—almost like a scowl, but more confused. She quirked her head to the side, rubbing her bottom lip with her finger.
“Can you hear
other people’s
thoughts?”
“Absolutely not. That was a stupid thing to say, I just . . .”
I don’t know how to talk to girls, and you’re making me nervous.
Her eyebrows relaxed, and she nodded thoughtfully.
“Hey, I know!” She gave him a sweet smile. “Can we start over?”
This was interesting to Stratton. He’d realized several minutes ago he and Amy Colson were in the midst of a very awkward conversation, but he didn’t know what to do about it. A “do-over” seemed like an excellent idea, and the suggestion made him relax . . . and warm toward her considerably.
“Okay,” he agreed softly.
She turned around, walked four steps away, then pivoted and walked back to Stratton with a big grin. When she stopped at his door and held out her hand, Stratton shook it lightly right away, and noticed it was small and warm, her skin soft against his.
“Hi. I’m Amy Colson,” she said, her teeth white and straight and very perfect. “I just moved in two doors down.”
“I’m Stratton English,” he answered, realizing, for the first time, what an unusual and striking shade of blue her eyes were. “I moved in today too.”
“You’re one of the English brothers. From Haverford.”
“Yes. Have we met?”
“Aside from five minutes ago? No,” she said, withdrawing her hand gently from his, and Stratton was surprised by how sorry he was to feel it go. “But I know your brother Weston a little from the Hunt Club. And I’ve met Alex.”
“Everyone’s met Alex.”
She chuckled lightly, and her cheeks flushed pink. “I haven’t
met
Alex . . . like
that
.”
He liked the sound of her laugh. It wasn’t high and grating, it was low and breathy. It made his heart beat a little faster.
“So, we’re neighbors now,” she said. “And you didn’t go to UPenn, and you don’t read minds.”
He smiled, grateful for how she’d salvaged their first introduction. His heart fluttered a little as he realized he liked her. He took a step forward, leaning against the door jam. Channeling Alex’s suaveness as best he could, he gathered his courage to ask, “Amy Colson, want to share a pizza?”
As a rule, Stratton’s dating life wasn’t very robust. Although set up by his brothers now and then, he’d had few girlfriends of his own, likely owing to the fact that he had what Barrett called “no filter.” Especially when he was nervous, Stratton said the first thing that popped into his head, which wasn’t always the most popular or appropriate thing to share. He’d mostly learned to keep his thoughts to himself, except around his brothers. But girls were still a mystery to him for whom he longed and by whom he was terrified. Still, Amy Colson, with humor and gentleness, had given him a second chance, and if he believed in love at first sight, Stratton would have acknowledged he’d just fallen victim to it.
The elevator behind them dinged and before she answered, Amy turned to look as the doors opened. A tall, dark-haired, good-looking man craned his neck, looking back and forth down the hallway before glimpsing Amy and flashing her a perfect smile. Stratton’s heart dropped like it was tethered to stone. It was Étienne Rousseau.
With his eyes glued to Amy, Étienne sauntered over, grabbed her around the waist, hauled her against his body, and kissed her passionately. Instead of looking away, Stratton stared, fascinated, as Amy moaned, wrapping her soft, warm hands around Étienne’s neck. Stratton’s own body tightened with arousal and jealousy, and he took a step back into his apartment, jerking his head down, surprised by the strength of his feelings.
“Oh! Ten. Ten, stop,” Amy said in a breathy voice, giggling as she pulled away from him. “You have to meet Stratton, my new neighbor.”
Étienne kissed Amy’s nose, then looked at Stratton, offering a pretentious smirk. “English.”
“Rousseau.”
“Wait! You know each other?” asked Amy.
Know each other? We sure do
, thought Stratton derisively.
Not only did Étienne Rousseau deflower Stratton’s cousin, Kate English, a few weeks after her fifteenth birthday, when she was visiting Haverford Park with her parents over Spring Break, but he’d bragged about it all over St. Michael’s Academy. And yes, Alex, who was a senior at the time, had eventually kicked sophomore Étienne’s ass in the front courtyard after morning mass one sunny April day, but it hadn’t been enough as far as Stratton was concerned. Étienne had hurt Kate. He had disappointed and disrespected her. Further, he was a self-absorbed egomaniac and didn’t care about anyone but himself. Stratton would go so far to say that he hated Étienne Rousseau.
The object of his disdain still had his arm possessively around Amy’s waist. He pulled her against his side, kissing her temple while holding Stratton’s eyes with that mocking, supercilious expression. “Your
new
neighbor is my
old
neighbor,
chérie
.”
