Seduced by Stratton (The English Brothers Book 4) (2 page)

“We grew up on the same street,” Stratton explained, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing Étienne with distaste.

“How’s your cousin?” asked Étienne, licking his lips slowly.

Stratton sneered and took a step forward, but Amy’s happy voice stopped him.

“How great!” exclaimed Amy. “We’re all friends, and Stratton just invited us for pizza.”

Us?
No way he’d have invited Étienne.

“N-No, I—”

“My guess is that he asked
you
for pizza,
petite
,” said Étienne with a cocky smirk. “Thanks for the invite, but Amy doesn’t like pizza. I’m taking her out for a
real
dinner.”

For a moment, Stratton’s thoughts lingered on how unimaginable it was that Amy didn’t like pizza. But he was soon distracted by Étienne leaning down to kiss her again, pulling her body flush against his, and kneading his fingers into her ass as he pillaged her mouth. Étienne executed all of this right in front of Stratton in a way that was meant to establish possession, with zero regard or respect for Amy, and Stratton’s fists curled at his sides as he watched.

When Amy drew back she was flushed and breathless, and Stratton’s fingers unfurled, helplessly undone by the softness of her face. All he could think was he wished it was him who’d made her look that way. And damn it, he wished he’d known she was dating Étienne
Slimeball
Rousseau
before
he met her. He clenched his teeth when she looked at him with her beautiful, cerulean-blue eyes.

“Rain check?” she asked him with an impish grin, taking Étienne’s hand.

“Sure,” mumbled Stratton, watching as they walked down the hall, stopping by the elevator to kiss again. It made him ache to have met such an amazing girl, only to find out she was taken by a douchebag. They stepped onto the elevator, but at the last minute Amy darted out, caught his eyes and given him a quick wave. It was that little wave that secured his fate. Whatever it took . . . whatever he had to do . . . he would fix this. He would find a way to pry Amy away from Étienne. He would save her, as he hadn’t been able to save Kate so long ago.

For years, people had compared Stratton’s brother, Alex, to Étienne Rousseau—they were part of the same social set. Both boys had grown up on the same street, they’d attended the same Catholic school, and had a penchant for the ladies, but while Alex had a reputation for being a good-natured playboy, Stratton knew that Étienne’s dealings were far darker. As a teen, he seduced nice girls like Kate for sport, smearing mud on their names with a misogynistic glee. As an adult, he didn’t just date women and discard them, he played mind games, he cheated, he hurt them before he was finished with them. What the hell was Amy doing with Étienne anyway?

Over the past two years, he’d pieced together their history. Amy was an only child whose elderly parents had passed away several years ago while she was an undergrad at Swarthmore, which is where she’d met Étienne. She’d bonded very closely to him, because he was “there for her” when her parents died. They’d been dating for about four years, but when Stratton asked around, he was assured that Étienne played the field. Everyone seemed to agree that Amy Colson had a slightly more significant place in his life than the others, but he was—by no means—faithful to her. This information made Stratton see red, but despite the number of times he’d tried to muster his courage to tell Amy about Étienne’s dark dealings, when he looked into her bright blue eyes, he always lost the nerve.

Stratton’s ears perked again as his thoughts were distracted by a
ding!
This time he was certain. It was the elevator.

He bolted out of the chair and raced to the door, peeking through the peephole. He reached down, fumbling for the drawstring on a bag of garbage hanging from the doorknob as he stared out at the corridor. The elevator doors opened, and he saw Amy’s blonde head as she stepped into the hallway. Counting to three, he waited to see if Étienne followed behind, but he didn’t. His adrenaline pumping, Stratton took a deep breath, grabbed the garbage, and stepped into the hallway.

Be cool. Be cool. Be cool.

As he passed her apartment en route to the incinerator, she was just putting her key into the lock.

“Oh. Hey, Amy,” he said, attempting a casual tone.

She turned at the sound of his voice, looking at him with red eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. “Oh. H-Hi, Stratton.”

“Hey,” he said gently, stopping in his tracks, his stomach flipping over to see her so sad. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Amy sniffled loudly, leaning her back against her apartment door. “I had a f-fight with Ten. I accused him of ch-cheating on me, but he swears that he’s n-not.”

“Of course he is,” said Stratton bluntly, biting his tongue as she gasped in dismay. “
Not
. Of course he is
not
cheating on you.”

It was the sixth or seventh time Amy and Étienne had had this particular fight this year, and for whatever reason, Amy always went back to her asshole of a boyfriend, which made Stratton hate Étienne all the more.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, more tears running down her cheeks. “You had me w-worried there for a m-minute.”

“Who would be stupid enough to cheat on you?” he asked, channeling step one from
Ten Steps to Seduction
, “Make a Connection.” Deciding he had nothing to lose by moving on to step two, “Get Close to Her,” Stratton lifted his hands and put them on her shoulders.

Unfortunately, the garbage bag, which had been hanging in wait for three long hours, was pungent as it knocked awkwardly into her hip.

She wrinkled her nose and drew back, chuckling lightly through tears. “Do you want to take care of that?”

“Uh, yeah.” Nodding, he released her shoulders and stepped back, casting a glance at the incinerator, but hating to leave.

Amy gave him the small, uncertain smile that he loved so much, and she reached out, running her hand down his arm. Stratton’s breath hitched as her fingers gently squeezed his elbow.

“You always make me feel better, Stratton, you know that?”

No, he didn’t know that, and his heart surged from her words and the simple sweetness of her touch. He swallowed, reaching up to adjust his glasses. “N-No, I didn’t, um—”

“Got any ice cream?” she asked, pulling her hand away and cocking her head to the side.

Stratton always kept three or four pints of Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia waiting in his freezer because he knew it was her favorite. “Always.”

“I’ll get my jammies on and come over, okay? Maybe a rom-com, too?”

Stratton nodded, his heart leaping hopefully. “Okay.”

After sharing a pint of ice cream and half-heartedly watching Jennifer Garner pose as a thirteen-year-old trapped in a thirty-year-old’s body for an hour, Amy started talking about how much she loved and hated Étienne while Stratton listened patiently. As the credits rolled on the movie, Amy’s tears were finally drying, and she snuggled on Stratton’s couch, yawning and closing her eyes. Gazing at her sweet face, Stratton’s heart thundered with love for her. He grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and spread it over her gently.

“Strat?” she said in a breathy, tired voice, on the brink of sleep.

“Yeah, Amy?” he whispered, squatting down beside her, so close he could smell the dark chocolate on her breath, so close that if he leaned forward, his lips would fall flush on hers.

“You’re wonderful,” she said softly before falling into a deep sleep.

Stratton sighed, clenching his eyes shut for a moment in a mixture of bliss and frustration before opening them again. He leaned back on his haunches, watching her sleep for a little while longer before heading to his lonesome bed, more determined than ever to wrestle Amy’s heart from Étienne’s unworthy embrace.

***

As always, Amy was gone when Stratton woke up the next morning, and he knew he wouldn’t see her for a while. She’d mentioned last night she was headed out of town for a three-week business trip to Tokyo, which was both bad and good news for Stratton.

Bad, because he would miss her. Superficially, she only offered him bright smiles and the occasional impromptu ice cream and movie date, but when she touched his arm or told him he was “wonderful,” it made hope swell in his heart. He lived for the moments he spent alone with her, and he would long for them until she returned.

Good, because it meant that Amy would be free of Étienne for three long weeks, and it would also give Stratton time to figure out a new approach to winning her. He promised himself when she returned, he’d be ready.

He showered and dressed in a dark gray suit, crisp white shirt, and light blue tie covered with tiny tennis rackets. Noting off-handedly that his eyes were the exact color of the tie, he straightened the knot as he looked in the mirror. Then he grabbed his briefcase and overcoat, and headed out the door of his apartment just as his cell phone buzzed in his pocket.

“Hello?” he said, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear as he shrugged into his black cashmere overcoat and tugged on his black leather gloves.

“Strat? It’s Al.”

“Alex!” he exclaimed as his face broke into a smile. “What time is it there?”

“Uh, one o’clock? Just after lunch. Did I catch you leaving for work?”

“Yeah. How’s England? How’s Jess?”

“England’s fine. Jess is . . . everything.”

Stratton grinned at his reflection in the shiny brass wall of the elevator. His brother, Alex, was whipped and then some, but after years of sleeping around with every girl in Philly, it still surprised Stratton to hear the deep well of commitment and love in his older brother’s voice when he mentioned his fiancée.

“Tell her I said hi.”

“Will do. How’s the job?”

As of January first, Stratton had taken over as acting CFO of his family’s investment banking company, English & Sons, so that Alex could become the VP of New Projects. In fact, Alex was in England working on a new deal right now.

“It’s good. No problems yet. I’ll let you know if I run into anything dicey.”

“Cool,” said Alex. “Glad to hear it. So, listen, an appointment just popped up on my phone, and I totally forgot about it. Hoping you can take lead.”

“Yeah, of course.” Stratton strode out of his apartment building, turning left and gasping as a cold January wind smacked him in the face. “Who’s the meeting with?”

“Valeria Campanile.”

He stopped abruptly on the sidewalk. “Wait. What? Who?”

“Valeria. You know her. Emily’s roommate.” Emily was their brother Barrett’s fiancée, and yes, Stratton
vividly
remembered meeting Valeria once a few months ago at Mulligan’s, where his future sisters-in-law, Emily and Daisy, regularly met for Girls’ Nights.

“I can’t,” he blurted out.

“What?” asked Alex. “What do you mean you
can’t
? She needs help, and I promised we would give her a hand.”

The part of Stratton—and it was a very big part—that was committed to saving Amy from her disastrous relationship with Étienne rose up in warning.

“It’s just . . . I can’t do it, Alex. Sorry.” He started walking again at a clip.

“Stratton,” said Alex, his voiced laced with incredulity. “She’s the roommate of our future sister-in-law. And Valeria didn’t ask. Emily did. We don’t let down family.
You
don’t let down family.”

Damn it. Alex was right.

“Fine,” he said, feeling trapped and exasperated. “I’ll make time to meet with her.”

“You know, sometimes I don’t get you, Strat. She’s a nice girl. Who knows? Maybe you two could even—”

“I said I’d meet with her,” said Stratton. He knew what Alex was going to say, and he didn’t want to hear the words. Looking for Amy’s blue eyes in his head, he pushed thoughts of Valeria’s deep brown ones aside. “What time?”

“Five. I scheduled it for the end of the day.” Alex sighed. “So I guess I’ll see you in about four weeks? At Fitz’s wedding?”

“Yeah. Oh, hey! When are you and Jess getting into town? I thought maybe you could give me a hand with the bachelor—”

“No way. I’ll be there for Fitz, but you’re the best man, Strat. The bachelor party is your job. Anyway, Jess would have my head if I started calling strippers and nightclubs. She’s still getting used to the new and improved Alex. Sorry, bro. You’re on your own unless Romper Room will give you a hand.”

Stratton’s lips twitched at Alex’s use of their youngest brother Weston’s very, very hated nickname.

“Better not let Wes hear you call him that.”

Alex chuckled. “He’s hotheaded, but as long as you don’t back him up, I can still take him.”

“You think Fitz really wants strippers and nightclubs? He’s having a baby soon. And, I mean, his only groomsmen are the four of us. Maybe just an English brothers’ night on the town?” Because, honestly, Stratton wouldn’t know the first thing about tracking down a woman who would come to his apartment and take her clothes off. Not to mention, the idea skeeved him out so much, he couldn’t imagine it would appeal to Fitz.