Seduced by Stratton (The English Brothers Book 4) (24 page)

Arching against the wall, she pushed her hips into his, and his hands abandoned her face so that his arms could encircle her waist, frantically pulling her closer as their kiss deepened. His fingers slipped under her blouse, tentative at first, then boldly explored the warm, soft planes of her back. He dragged his lips recklessly over her jaw, skimming down her throat, pressing against her hot skin as she threw her head back, panting.

“Stratton,” she moaned, still arched into him, his erection pushing into her and making her lose her mind with want. But she knew they should slow down, talk, understand each other’s minds, make sure their eyes were wide open and their hearts were safe before sharing their bodies.

It’s not that Val hadn’t engaged in sex for sex’s sake before. She had. But she’d never been in love before, and her feelings for Stratton made it impossible for her to treat tonight casually. It was a very new love growing inside of her heart—so new and so young that she felt fiercely protective of it. As though the seed of love had been planted in the warm earth of her heart several weeks ago, just now it was starting to sprout roots she knew would climb deep into her soul, with tiny green tendrils that would one day burst through her to entangle with his. Too little warmth or water or sun could make the seed wither, and with all of her heart and all of her soul, she wanted this love to grow deep and tall and strong, because somewhere deep and certain inside of her, she knew what was happening between her and Stratton could be the love of a lifetime.

“Val, Val, Val,” he whispered against her skin, his lips kissing her throat in the shape of her name.

“We need . . . to slow . . . down,” she managed between breaths, pulling back from him a little until she was flush against the wall, not pressed against him.

He drew away, sliding his hands down her sides and placing them lightly on her hips. She saw the worry in his eyes as he searched her face, and her heart swelled because she loved that about him. Unlike Alex, Stratton wasn’t blessed with an inherent understanding of women, but that didn’t stop him from trying to tune into her emotions, hungrily seeking them, constantly trying to understand her, to know her better, and to right his course when he injured or upset her. It made her tenderness multiply exponentially to see this pass over his face as he gazed at her, and she rushed to reassure him, cradling his cheeks lovingly in her hands.

“I want to be with you,” she said softly. A fact. A certainty. Her lips tilted up as she skimmed her eyes over his lips and nose, his glasses and his blue eyes. “But we have all night, and I have some letters to read, and you have dinner to make.”

He pressed his lips gently to hers before leaning away and capturing her eyes. “The best thing that ever happened to me was the bank foreclosing on your aunt’s dance studio.”

A million girls might not recognize the romance in such a statement, but Val’s breath caught, and her toes curled inside her chic black boots, because she understood him. In his own way, he was telling her that the day she walked into English & Sons was the best day of his life.

Flattening her palms against his hard chest, she brushed her lips against his. “Me too.”

He took a deep breath and made a face as he released her, stepping back so she could lean away from the wall.

“I’m making us pizza,” he said, his beautiful lips tilting up in a teasing grin. “One with anything, and one with everything. Come on.”

***

Val followed him into the kitchen, where he gestured to the counter and told her where to sit so she’d be right next to him as he rolled the dough, spread the sauce, and sprinkled the cheese and toppings.

“Do you want wine?” he asked, taking the bottle and two glasses off the set table.

She nodded from her perch, drawing a small tan book out of her bag, simply entitled “Love Letters,” as he uncorked the wine.

“As opposed to the bottle in your desk,” she noted, nodding at the wine label and raising her eyebrows appreciatively, “that’s a very good bottle.”

“Do you like Brunello?” he asked.

“My father keeps several excellent bottles on hand at the restaurant, but they’re hardly ever ordered. And yes, I do.”

“Let it breathe?” he suggested.

She nodded, fingering the book in her hands, and he wondered if she was feeling shy about reading. Last time he’d closed his eyes so she wouldn’t feel on the spot. The least he could do this time was busy himself with dinner preparation so he didn’t stare at her lips the whole time.

“Did you know,” he asked her, as he took ingredients out of the refrigerator and piled them on the counter, “that Williams-Sonoma makes an at-home wood fire pizza maker?”

“Yes. Did you know that it’s seven thousand dollars?”

He looked at her, grinned, and shrugged.

“Oh,” she said, shaking her head. “Of course. That’s probably just pennies to you.”

“Does that bother you?”

“That you’re rich?”

He nodded, putting his hands on his hips and waiting for her response. He didn’t know what her answer would be, and it bothered him a little that his family’s fortune could ever be a wedge between them.

“Stratton, this apartment is beautiful. And the car you barely ever use is a BMW. You’re the youngest and most brilliant CFO in Philadelphia, and I suspect if you wanted a reservation at any restaurant in town not only would they make space, but whatever credit card you used to pay would have no limit on it.” She reached for his sweater and fisted her hand in the soft cashmere, pulling him between her legs. “But you chose to
make
me pizza tonight. And do you know what that tells me?”

He skimmed his palms up her thighs, splaying his fingers on her hips and dropping his glance to her lips before locking his eyes with hers again.

Damn, this woman made him hot.

“No.”

“It tells me that when it comes to impressing a woman your heart calls the shots, not your wallet.” She leaned forward, letting her breasts rub against his chest as she held his eyes. Pulling her even closer, Stratton’s breath hitched when he felt her legs slide up to his waist and lock behind his back. “And that’s something I love about you.”

“You love about me?” he murmured, his heart galloping as he searched her eyes. For as much as he had shared his feelings with her over and over again since last night, she’d been more reserved with hers.

“Mm-hmm,” she breathed, placing her hands on his face and tugging his face to hers. She kissed him gently, nipping at his lips lightly, licking them until he laughed softly and opened them, groaning into her mouth as her arms curled around his neck.

From the moment she’d opened the door of her apartment tonight, it had been like this between them: as though a floodgate had opened and they were free to reach for each other, to touch, to finally requite the longing that had tormented them both for three long weeks.

When he told Emily not to expect Val back until Thursday, he’d been serious. Now that he had her in his life, in his arms, on his kitchen counter with her body wound around his, all he wanted was time with her. Minutes and hours and days of precious time to explore her and discover her and commit every piece of her to his memory, so that during the hours he spent away from her at work he could live on his memories until he held her once again.

She captured his lower lip between her teeth and tugged gently before letting it go, looking at him with dilated, satisfied eyes. Lowering her legs, she let her hands fall from his neck.

It vaguely occurred to him that she hadn’t answered his question, but it didn’t bother him. He had no interest into forcing her into some premature declaration. He’d told her he loved her because he did, and God, he hoped she returned the feelings someday. But until then, he was just content to have her here, now, with him.

He stepped away from her, taking a deep breath and reaching for the wine bottle. Pouring two glasses, he offered one to her, clinking lightly before sipping.

“And now,” he said, putting his glass on the counter beside his cutting board. “You promised to read me some letters.”

***

Trying to hide the raggedness of her breath, she took a big gulp of wine before opening the book. They’d be lucky if they made it through dinner at this point. It was almost impossible to keep their hands off each other.

She glanced at his bowed blond head as he lined up an onion and a pepper and started cutting them carefully. Weeks ago, she’d learned from Jessica that all of the English brothers had taken cooking lessons with their housekeeper as children. But it was one thing to hear the information and another to see it in action. Food is its own language of love to Italians, and that Stratton English was making her dinner was so incredibly sexy, the sight took her breath away. She mewled softly, opening her book.

“Okay.” She sighed. “Here goes . . . this one is from Katherine Mansfield to John Middleton Murray, written in 1915. Ready?”

“Absolutely,” he said softly without looking up.

“Jack, I shan’t hide what I feel today. I woke up with you in my breast and on my lips. Jack, I love you terribly today. The whole world is gone. There is only you. I walk about, dress, eat, write—but all the time I am
breathing
you.”

As she read, he’d stopped chopping and when she looked up he was staring with an expression of such profound tenderness, it made it hard for her to hold his gaze.

“I’m
breathing
you,” he repeated. “I love that.”

She nodded. “Me too.”

He adjusted his glasses with the back of his hand before turning back to the cutting board. “Read another?”

“Okay. This one was written by Gustave Flaubert in 1846.

“You have awakened all that was slumbering, or perhaps decaying, within me! I have been loved before, and intensely, though I’m one of those who are quickly forgotten and more apt to kindle emotion than keep it alive. The love I arouse is always that felt for something a little strange. Love, after all, is only a superior kind of curiosity, an appetite for the unknown that makes you bare your breast and plunge headlong into the storm.

“As I said, I have been loved before, but
never the way you love me
; nor has there ever been between a woman and myself the bond that exists between us two. I have never felt for any woman so deep a devotion, so irresistible an attraction; never has there been such complete communion.”

Val sighed, reaching for her wineglass, and took a sip.

“Can I ask you something?” said Stratton, spreading tomato sauce on the flattened circles of dough.

“Sure.”

“Did you break up with Joe?”

“No. Joe and I are solid,” she said sarcastically, closing her book and giving him a look. “Stratton, do you really think I’d be here with you if I was still with Joe?”

Stratton’s eyes searched hers, serious and stark. “When you say ‘
with
Joe,’ does that mean you slept with him?”

“Does it matter?” she asked.

“Forget it,” he said, clenching his jaw as he took a handful of peppers and onions and sprinkled them over the red sauce, tiny dots of red splashing up on the counter.

“Stratton,” she said gently, “you and I weren’t together yet.”

He didn’t say anything, but his jaw relaxed, and she heard him take a quick breath before reaching for the cheese and covering the first pizza.

She didn’t necessarily want for them to share their sexual history with each other. She wasn’t ready for that right now. But, at the same time, she reminded herself she’d asked the same question about Amy, and he’d answered it honestly.

“I didn’t sleep with him.”

She watched his lips turn up as he reached for pepperoni slices and dealt them onto the second pizza like playing cards.

“Hmm. That makes you smile,” she commented, taking a sip from her wineglass.

“That you didn’t sleep with him? I admit it, I’m relieved. It’s bad enough I have the memory of him kissing you last night,” he said, glancing up at her. “But that’s not why I’m smiling.”

“Out with it,” she said.

He wiped his hands on his jeans and took a step to stand in front of her, smiling into her eyes, his adorable dimples on full, panty-sopping display.

“The reason I’m smiling is because you just said that we’re together.”

She laughed softly. “I guess I did.”

“Do you have a date to Fitz’s wedding?”

“Not anymore,” she said.

“Go with me?”

Unexpected tears pricked her eyes as she nodded. “Yes.”

He nudged her legs open to stand closer to her, but he didn’t kiss her this time.

He put his hands on her hips and pulled her to the edge of the counter, drawing her to his body like something precious. Then he laid his cheek against her hair and held her like that for a long, long time.

After dinner, Stratton suggested that they watch a movie, and as he cleared the table and whisked dishes into the dishwasher, Val took her wine into the living room and stared at the same couch where she’d fallen asleep beside him three weeks ago. What a long way they’d come since then, letting their feelings for each other solidify while apart and somehow finding their way back together again.