Seduced by Stratton (The English Brothers Book 4) (3 page)

“Bor-ing. Remind me to have Wes plan mine.”

“Daisy’ll thank me if I keep it tame,” said Stratton.

“You’re a kiss-ass,” said Alex, chuckling. “Listen, I have to go.”

“Okay. See you in a few weeks.”

“Yeah. Take care, Strat. Thanks for the Valeria thing.”

The line went dead, and Stratton grimaced. He may not be the smoothest guy in the world, but he had gut feelings about things just like everyone else, and his gut told him that “the Valeria thing” was a bad idea. Trudging through the cold streets of Philly, his mind turned to the night he’d met her.

Emily and Daisy Edwards met for a Girls’ Night Out every Thursday that his older brothers regularly crashed, and a few weeks ago Barrett and Fitz had invited Stratton to join them. Usually suspicious of being set-up on a date, and prone to decline such offers, Stratton had surprised his brothers by accepting the invitation—only because he was comforted by the notion that he was just going to renew old acquaintances with the Edwards cousins. When he arrived, Valeria’s presence had been an unexpected and unpleasant surprise, and initially, Stratton had considered leaving. He suspected he’d been tricked into another blind date, and he resented it. Even though they didn’t know about Amy, he was, after all, in love with her, right? He had no business having drinks with another woman.

Turning a corner to be greeted with another blast of Arctic air, Stratton grinned in spite of himself as he remembered Valeria inviting him to sit down. With her wild, dark, curly hair and big breasts, she didn’t look anything like Amy, Emily, and Daisy, who were all blue-eyed, fair-haired, and petite. But Stratton was drawn to her eyes, which were dark brown and open—friendly, direct and honest—and he’d accepted her invitation before taking more than a moment to think it over. She’d dominated the conversation entirely, much to his relief, without raising an eyebrow over a few of his awkward comments and responses. The truth is, he’d barely had a chance to feel self-conscious around her because she was in constant motion, talking, listening, pouring beer and making the sorts of blunt observations that Stratton also made but tried so hard to conceal. She was one of the few people he’d ever met with whom he felt instantly comfortable, and even after Fitz and Daisy had left in a hurry, he’d stayed for another hour, hanging out with Valeria, Barrett, and Emily.

Adjusting his grip on his briefcase, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other to keep warm at a crosswalk. A light snow had started to fall, but he was so immersed in his thoughts, he barely noticed.

At the end of the night, Barrett had decided to walk Emily and Valeria home, planning to stay overnight at their place. As they turned to leave, Valeria looked up into Stratton’s eyes with a big grin.

“This was fun,” she said.

“Yeah, it was,” he answered honestly.

“We should do it again.”

Amy’s face flashed through his mind. “I can’t.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, and she took her bottom lip between her teeth. “Can’t, or won’t?”

“Both.”

“Taken?”

He shrugged instead of answering her directly, and her eyes flattened a little. Stratton felt instantly sorry for being the reason Valeria Campanile’s lively expression dulled.

“It’s not you,” he added quickly.

“Oh, I know that. I’m a catch.”

He couldn’t tell if she was kidding of serious, but her pluck surprised him, and his lips tilted up at her audacity.

She leaned forward then, laughing softly as she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. Stratton stood frozen on the cold sidewalk as her breasts brushed against his chest, making him feel hot and light-headed. Her soft, full lips he’d been staring at all night touched down on his cheek, and it was like throwing a match on ice. The fissures and cracks raced like tendrils to warm his whole body, making him pliant and wistful, making him lean in toward her.

“See you soon, Stratton,” she whispered in his ear, her warm breath against his skin almost making his knees buckle.

Drawing back, she winked at him and whirled in a rush to catch up with Barrett and Emily.

When he finally moved from where he was rooted, he felt more confused than he could ever remember. For all intents and purposes, he’d just been out on a blind date with a girl he wished he didn’t like and was grudgingly, but wildly, attracted to, and damn, she’d just kissed him goodnight!

Wasn’t he deeply in love with Amy?

Wasn’t he committed to saving Amy from Étienne?

Was he really that fickle?

Still standing in front of Mulligan’s, watching Val’s retreating form, his buzzing phone distracted him from further thoughts. When he took it out of his pocket, he found a message from Amy.

I had a terrible night. Wishing you were here for ice cream and a movie.

His heart clenched painfully with worry and guilt, and he rushed to reply.

I’ll be there in ten minutes. Wait for me.

He hailed a cab and shoved his phone in his pocket. As the cab rushed through the streets of Philly, he boiled down the situation pretty quickly. If he was serious about Amy, he needed to stay away from Valeria Campanile. So he had. And would have indefinitely . . . until Alex’s call this morning.

As he approached his office building, he caught his reflection in the glass of the front door. Set jaw. Serious eyes behind black-framed glasses. A no-nonsense expression in his eyes as he committed to a course of action.

Yes, he would honor Alex’s promise to Emily and meet with Valeria this afternoon, but he wouldn’t allow himself to be drawn to her. Absolutely not. He would not allow himself be attracted to Valeria. Amy Colson owned his heart, which meant there was no room in it for anyone else.

“Thanks so much, Val,” said Mrs. Henderson, giving her a kiss on the cheek and pressing twenty dollars into her hand.

“Too much, Mrs. H!”

“You’re going to put a price on our
fiftieth anniversary dance?”

Valeria grinned at the white-haired lady, cocking her head to the side. “How many people are coming again?”

“A hundred friends and family. Can you believe it?” She turned around and shouted in the direction of the restroom. “I’m getting old here, Howard!”

Valeria chuckled softly, sitting down on a nearby stool to take off her ballroom dancing heels. Mr. and Mrs. Henderson had signed up for a ten-lesson private ballroom dance package, and they were about halfway through their Thursday afternoon lessons at
Danse Allégre
, where Valeria moonlighted as an instructor for extra money while she earned her doctoral degree at nearby Penn.

“You got a boyfriend yet, Val?”

Valeria sighed. She’d hoped she wouldn’t have to answer the dreaded question this week. “Not since last Thursday, Mrs. H.”

“I don’t get it. You’re such a nice girl.”

Valeria looked down, rolling her eyes as she heard Mr. Henderson shuffle out of the bathroom.

“Ready, Rosemary?”

“Been ready for half an hour already.”

“See you next week, Val,” said Mr. Henderson, holding the door for his wife.

“See ya, Mr. H.”

Valeria looked up and waved as they slipped out the door.

“‘You’re such a
nice
girl,’” she whispered scornfully under her breath, unstrapping the second shoe and placing it beside its mate. Standing up in front of the floor to ceiling mirrored wall, she looked at herself. “Not . . . such a
beautiful
girl, with your bushy hair and fat lips. Not … such a
slim
girl with your child-bearing hips, big boobs, and tricked out trunk.” She popped it for good measure.

While Valeria knew she came across as a pretty confident person—and really, she was—like most women, her looks were a source of insecurity for her. It probably didn’t help that her best friend and roommate, Emily Edwards, was blonde, thin, and marrying Barrett English, the oldest and second hottest of the English brothers, while Valeria had trouble getting a date.

She took a deep breath, turning right and then left before huffing, “Oh, just forget it!” loudly at her figure and sitting back down on the stool to pull heavy socks and boots over her pink tights. Once on, she stood and looked in the mirror again.

Her hair wouldn’t cooperate by staying in the bun she’d made before the Hendersons’ lesson an hour ago, and escaped tendrils of curly frizz framed her face. Her eyes were brown, with dark lashes that never needed mascara a day in her life, but her gaze dropped to her full lips and she pursed them, wishing they looked more delicate and less pillowy. Her breasts practically spilled out of a clingy, black, long-sleeved leotard that showed every curve in her hourglass figure. She wore a filmy pink skirt around her waist and pink tights disappeared into her furry black Uggs.
Ugh is right.

Turning away, she walked across the studio, stopping to stare at the vintage pictures of a young Sophia Loren, her aunt’s favorite actress, hung up in a massive collage near the exit door. In the middle of the collage, written on a white index card, were the numbers 38”—24”—38”. As a child, Valeria hadn’t known what those numbers meant, but as a woman with the same measurements, now she did. She just wished that the 1950s-style, voluptuous Sophia Loren was still the yardstick for beauty.

On any other day, she probably wouldn’t be giving herself such a hard time, but in one hour she had a meeting with the fourth oldest and first hottest of the English brothers, Stratton. And though she was very proud of her Italian roots, she wished she looked a little less, well,
ethnic
today.

“Hey, hey, hey, Val! Looking good.”

Valeria looked up to see Danny Morello, her aunt’s fix-it man, entering the studio. She’d known Danny all her life—he was from her neighborhood and their parents were good friends.

“Thanks, Danny.”

“When you goin’ out with me?” he asked, raking his eyes down her body before waggling his eyebrows at her.

“Mmmm. Tempting. Like dating my brother.”

Danny thought about this for several seconds. “You don’t have a brother, do you?”

“You’ve known me since I was born, Danny! No, I don’t have a brother.”

“How do you know dating me would be like dating your brother if you don’t got one?”

She stared at him for a moment, about a dozen snappy retorts jockeying for her attention. In the end she shook her head and smiled back at him. “Forget it.”

He grinned at her. “I’m serious, Val. We could get some dinner. Go dancing. You’re a good dancer, right? You could teach me some moves.”

He set his workbox on the floor and put his hands up in dancing position. Valeria chuckled, pushing him on the chest good-naturedly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He put his hands on his hips. “But I guess that’s a no, huh?”

“That’s a no,” she said.

“Well, when you’re ready to say yes, I’m ready to say yes too.”

“Good to know,” she said distractedly, reaching for the door.

His hand on her shoulder stopped her, and she turned around to face him. Dark brown eyes searched her face, resting on her lips before returning to her eyes and holding them.

“I know we sort of joke about it, Val, but I mean it. Sometimes I lie in bed at night thinking about you, wondering what it would take to get a girl like you to go out with a regular guy like me. Whatever it is, I’ll figure it out at some point. You’re so beautiful I can’t get the words right when I’m around you, but I . . . well, I’d take care of you, I’d treat you right, Val. And it don’t bother me that you’re so smart, neither. So, uh, just think about it, okay?”

Halfway through his speech her spirits had started lifting from the sweet sincerity of his words, only to be slapped down by his final comment. She patted his hand with a grim smile. “Okay. Thanks, Danny.”

She pulled the studio door shut behind her, sighing as she found her coat in the bank of hooks, wrapped a scarf around her neck, and wiggled her fingers into puffy pink mittens.

In one sentence, Danny had just illustrated the conundrum of Valeria’s existence with men. A doctoral student at UPenn, she was considered “too smart” by the boys in her neighborhood, but with her gregarious Italian family and Mediterranean looks, she believed she was “too ethnic” to be considered by the men she was attracted to—preppy, soft spoken, smart and devastatingly handsome men.

Like Stratton English.

Throwing her bag over her shoulder, she walked down the steps from the studio and out onto the bustling sidewalk. From the Italian Market—the neighborhood in South Philadelphia where Valeria had grown up—to the offices of English & Sons across from the 30
th
Street Station was about a forty-five minute walk. So Valeria snuggled into her coat and scarf and took off at a clip toward the Schuylkill River, thinking about Stratton.

A few months ago, he’d shown up—out of the blue—at her weekly Girls’ Night Out with Emily and Daisy at Mulligan’s. It was the first time she’d ever met him, and when she looked up at him standing at the foot of the table, she’d felt like one of the characters in a Looney Toons’ cartoon that has pinwheels for eyes and a tongue that drops to the tabletop, rolling to the source of its devotion like pink taffy.