Seduced by Stratton (The English Brothers Book 4) (10 page)

“My dancing skills are rusty, and my brother’s wedding is a few weeks away, and I was wondering if you could tutor me a little bit. You know, so I’m up to scratch by the big day?”

Her lips parted softly, and she tilted her head to the side, her brows furrowing as she stared at him. “You want dancing lessons? That’s the favor?”

“If you have time to help me brush up, yes.”

“But you looked just fine on the dance floor today.”

“I could be better.”

“Oh. Well, okay. Of course I’ll give you some lessons. It’s the least I can do. After all, you saved Zia
Angelina’s business. We can start tomorrow if you want. I have a class at three and you’re welcome to join.”

He nodded, feeling sad and relieved and terrible and excited all at once. “Great.”

“But Stratton?” Her voice was low and grave, her eyes dark and luminous, reflecting the setting sun.

“What?”

“I need to say this . . .” She took a deep breath before continuing. “What happened tonight? Don’t let it happen again. I may look tough, but my skin’s as thin as any other girl’s.”

A wave of shame and confusion washed over him, and he winced inside, feeling terrible. “I understand.”

“This girl that’s—that you love . . .”

He waited for her to finish, staring at the last remnants of an orange sun between the black tree branches before it left them in darkness.

“I hate her a little bit,” she finally finished.

When he looked over at Val, she stared miserably out at the small park for a few seconds before standing up.

He stood beside her, shaking his head when she bent her neck back to gaze at him with glassy eyes. “Don’t, Val. Don’t hate her. Her life has sadness in it that yours doesn’t. You have your studies and dancing and good friends and sisters—”

“But she has you.”

Her voice broke on the word “you” and Stratton winced. Her eyes were bright and broken, staring up at him, and he forcibly retrained himself from reaching for her and wrapping his arms around her.

She took a deep, slightly shaky breath before turning to offer him a very small smile. “See you tomorrow at three. You shouldn’t need more than a lesson or two.”

Then she turned without a word, walking back through the wrought iron gates of the park. Stratton stood still as a light snow started to fall, his hands fisted by his sides as he watched her walk away.

It was harder than usual to trudge into her apartment that night. She heard the TV on from the hallway, which meant Stratton’s brother, Barrett, was probably hanging out with Emily, since they were un-freaking-separable, and though she liked Barrett very much, he was pretty much the second-to-last person on earth she wanted to see right now.

“Hey, Val!” called Emily as Val entered the warm apartment and locked the door behind her.

“Hey, Em,” she said, hanging up her coat on one of the hooks in the front hallway and kicking off her boots before turning the corner into the living room.

Emily waved cheerfully from where she sat on the floor beside Barrett in front of the coffee table, where several open Chinese containers were spread out.

“Hungry?” asked Barrett. “There’s plenty.”

Valeria shook her head, the similarities between Barrett and Stratton—hair color, eye color, jaw line—so blaring she could barely hold his eyes. “No thanks.”

“Hey,” said Emily, cocking her head to the side and looking carefully at Valeria. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She forced a smile. “Long day on my feet. And I need to start studying tonight. I can’t believe classes start on Monday.”

“I know,” said Emily, still looking unconvinced that her roommate was okay. “Come join us for dinner.”

Valeria shook her head, heading to the kitchen to grab a Diet Coke from the fridge. “Really, I’m good.”

“Okay. Oh, hey. Do you mind if Barrett stays until Monday? His apartment building’s being fumigated.”

Barrett rolled his eyes. “One flea on one dog and the condo board goes crazy.”

“Yeah, of course,” she said. “I’ll catch you guys later.”

She walked behind the couch to the small back hallway that led to two tiny bedrooms and a bathroom. Opening her bedroom door, she flicked on the light and closed the door behind her, flopping down ungracefully on the bed.

What the hell had happened tonight? What the hell was happening between her and Stratton English? And what—if anything—did she want from him?

She rolled onto her back, narrowing her eyes at cracks on her ceiling. Like all scholars, Valeria’s brain worked best when assimilating facts. As she would in any case study, she decided to carefully review the facts before coming to any conclusions.

In regard to his mystery woman, Stratton had said, “She’s in my heart.” Valeria mulled these words, picking them apart and looking at them carefully. Was she—aka the “Subject”—dead? A dead lover would remain in someone’s heart and make it difficult to move on, she thought. But no, this woman had texted him. Not dead.

Not dead, and yet the Subject had to know Stratton was interested in her, but she wasn’t snagging him like the perfect bit of beach sand on a sunny day. Why? Why hadn’t the Subject already closed the deal? Yes, he blurted out awkward comments sometimes, which meant that no, he wasn’t smooth. But he was smart, sweet, successful, rich, sex-on-a-stick good looking, and he was an English brother, from one of the oldest and most respected families in Philadelphia. A little social awkwardness could surely be overlooked. Frankly, to turn down Stratton English, this chick would need to be dating the Prince of Wales or a movie star or—

“Wait!” Valeria breathed, sitting up. “That’s it. Dating. She’s dating someone else.”

Valeria bit her bottom lip in thought. But come on. Dating someone else that blinded her to Stratton? She thought hard. What could this someone else have that Stratton didn’t?

Okay. He could be smoother. He could be more obvious about his sexuality, more Alpha male in his dealings with women, more self-assured, less uncertain. He could be the sort of guy who attracted a woman, who got under her skin and stayed there, who blinded her to other, better men in the Subject’s world. He could even be cruel, because some women, especially broken ones, were attracted to assholes, and Stratton had indicated that the Subject had sadness in her life. She’d be vulnerable to the attentions of the wrong man, and susceptible to genuine, irreversible attachment to him. In such cases, the man could even be violent or controlling. He could threaten to hurt her, or
actually
hurt her, but the Subject would refuse to leave him because in her damaged mind, he represented love.

Along comes Stratton English, whom Daisy Edwards had nicknamed “the Fixer.” Such a Subject would trigger a fiercely protective instinct in a “fixer” mentality, like Stratton’s, thought Valeria. Stratton would want to save her. He’d do just about anything to rescue her.

“Oh, God,” she said aloud, as another idea occurred to her. “Or she could be
married
.”

Married?
wondered Valeria, frowning as she flopped back down on the bed. Would Stratton pursue a married woman? She couldn’t picture it, but she couldn’t rule it out either. She pictured a beautiful woman, deeply unhappy in her marriage, maybe with a man such that Valeria had already created in her mind. A good woman trapped, wishing for a way out. Maybe even a friend of his mother’s. They meet at a ball or benefit, the Married Subject somehow weasels her way into Stratton’s naïve heart, and voila! He’s a goner.

So, possibility one? Stratton was in love with a woman who was in love with someone else.

Or, possibility two? Stratton was in love with an unhappily married woman.

She sighed deeply. Both scenarios were messy.

But either way, Stratton, whether he realized it or not, would never actually win the woman. If the Subject was a broken woman who believed herself in love with someone else, Stratton had no chance of saving her. Nine times out of ten, she would return to her abuser. If she was married, it was likely that after extricating from the marriage with his help, she’d be anxious to enjoy her freedom.

Add to this . . . Stratton’s eyes burned for Valeria. His lips had kissed hers tonight. If it told her nothing else, it told her this: Some portion of Stratton’s relationship with this woman was a fantasy. Because when you’re really and truly in love with someone, you don’t kiss other women, you don’t respond as though some part of you is available, you don’t look tortured and sorry when you employ the word “friends.”

Of course all of this was speculation, and Valeria needed to find out more, but what her deductions told her was that, while Stratton was infatuated with—or even had deep feelings for—the Subject, he
wasn’t
actually in love with her. What he really wanted was to
rescue
her. And if one of Valeria’s two scenarios was accurate, she was also sure—beyond a reasonable doubt—that the Subject wasn’t in love with Stratton, or she’d have already left her boyfriend or her marriage.

Somewhere along the way Stratton had confused helping someone with loving them. All boiled down? It meant that Stratton English, who was attracted to Valeria, despite his best intentions, and who seemed to genuinely like her despite his fight to remain indifferent to her, wasn’t actually unavailable. He
was
available. He just didn’t know it.

“I’m not giving up,” she said softly, remembering the firm pressure of his lips on hers, the softness of his tongue as it danced with hers, the delicious jealousy in his eyes as he grabbed her wrist and exclaimed that she deserved better than Danny Morello. “When you realize you were free all along, I’ll be waiting.”

***

About a hundred times between waking up and heading across the river in a cab to
Danse Allégre
, Stratton considered backing out of the dance lessons. His dance skills were proficient, if not polished, and he had no business spending any more time with Val. But he was male and weak and ridiculous, and even if he couldn’t be with her, he wanted to see her. Especially because it would be the last time.

He had resolved to say no to any further overtures. No more financial advice. No more movies. No more owed favors. No more dance lessons after today. Sometime this morning, he’d realized it was Sunday, and that he’d seen Val every day since Thursday. Well, no more. He might be attracted to her, but he was committed to Amy, and until Amy’s situation with Étienne was resolved, he was finished with Val.

After today.

As the cab wove its way from Rittenhouse Square to the Italian Market, it passed a theater marquee advertising the latest rom-com, and Stratton realized with a start that he’d never responded to Amy’s texts from last night. Feeling guilty, he took out his phone and opened the text app.

Mean Girls
, he typed into the text box.
Hope you’re enjoying Tokyo
. He paused for a second, then impulsively added
, I miss you.

He pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, and his heart raced as he pressed send. Was it too forward? No. If anything, it was time to let Amy know how he felt, right? Hell, he’d shared more feelings with Val over the past two days than he’d ever shared with Amy, which made him feel bad. He needed to get his priorities straight. Pronto.

Not expecting a reply right away, he slipped his phone back into his pocket, so his breath caught with excitement when it buzzed. But it wasn’t a text back from Amy, as he’d immediately assumed. It was a phone call from his cousin, Kate, who was a lawyer in New York City.

“Kate!” he exclaimed.

“Hey, Stratton,” she said, the warmth of her personality seeping into her voice.

“It’s good to hear from you,” he said as the cab stopped at a red light. “I was just thinking about you the other day.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Nothing. Just . . .”

“Spill it, Strat.”

He grinned. He and Kate, who was the daughter and only child of his father’s brother, were only one year apart and had always been close. While the rest of his siblings had attended universities in Philadelphia, Stratton had opted for Columbia in New York, where he’d spent a lot of time with his aunt, uncle, and Kate, who was attending NYU at the same time.

“Girls. I’m no good at it.”

“I’m happy to listen,” she answered.

He bit his lip, grimacing. He’d never told Kate about Amy, because he was worried that mentioning Étienne would stir up bad memories for her. But he really needed her advice on Amy and Val, and he literally had nowhere else to turn.

“You remember Étienne Rousseau?”

Silence. More silence. Stratton took a deep breath. He was about to tell her to forget it and that he was sorry when she responded.

“I haven’t heard that name in a long time.” She sighed. “Yeah. I remember him.”

“Does it upset you to remember him?”

He saw her shrug in his mind. “Not really. That week was just really intense, and I thought I was in love, you know? Obviously I wasn’t. Or maybe I was, but he certainly wasn’t. I don’t know if you knew, but we, uh, we slept together.”