Seduced by Stratton (The English Brothers Book 4) (7 page)

The aqua names of Jack Nicholson and Shelley Duvall scrolled up the screen, followed by the words “The Shining.” The music had become higher-pitched—creepier and more gratingly sinister now—then the tubas returned, heavy and foreboding, just as Stephen King’s name scrolled up. The snowy, austere peaks of the Rockies filled the screen, and she jumped when she caught the silhouette of Stratton’s tall, dark body suddenly looming beside her, his glasses reflecting the light of the movie screen, and his arms laden with popcorn and sodas.

“Here,” she whispered, reaching up, and he handed her the two sodas, which she put on the floor. She loved the old-style feel of the Ritz, but modern movie theaters with their roomy, rocking seats and cup holders certainly had their charms.

He sat down beside her, handing her the popcorn. In the semi-darkness, he leaned down and whispered close to her ear. “I’m sorry, Val. I’m an ass.”

His breath was warm against her skin, and his voice was deep enough that she felt a slight vibration from hearing it so close to her. Combined with the fact that he’d never called her “Val” before, butterflies filled her tummy, but she forced herself not to look at him.

“Yes,” she whispered back, staring at the Overlook Hotel, “you are.” But she couldn’t help it that her lips twitched with a small smile, and she settled back more comfortably, accepting his apology and feeling better.

He struggled out of his coat, then folded it on his lap, and without asking she reached over and took it from him, placing it on top of her scarf and mittens. She offered him the bag of popcorn, and he took a handful.

“Sorry, again.”

“It’s okay,” she answered. “It’s not a requirement that you think I’m a knock-out.”

“What?”

She looked at him in exasperation and leaned a little closer to whisper. “It’s okay that you don’t find me attractive. I don’t care. Now just watch the movie.”

She stared at the screen for a moment before hazarding a glance at him. He stared at her, his jaw tight and his lips pressed firmly together.

“I lied,” he whispered.

“What?”

“I lied,” he said a little louder and someone behind them said, “Shhhh,” in an annoyed hiss.

She leaned toward him and murmured, “About what?”

“About not finding you attractive.”

“So you . . . do? Find me attractive?” she asked, staring up at his glasses.

His eyebrows were deeply furrowed as he nodded once, very slightly, then twisted his head forward to stare up at the screen.

***

Jack Nicholson was getting a tour of the hotel, and Stratton was stuck in a run-away internal dialogue that sounded not unlike Danny Torrance talking to his imaginary friend, Tony.

He felt like he was slipping down some perilous emotional slope that he didn’t understand, but somehow still perceived as dangerous. He didn’t mean to hurt Valeria’s feelings with his clumsy unkindness, and an apology was necessary. Yet by the end of the conversation, he felt like he had given away too much. Not only had he apologized, he’d admitted—straight up and unambiguously—that he was attracted to her.

Well, you
are
attracted to her. You know and it, and she knows it. There’s no point in denying it anymore.

Except, it felt wrong to feel it and even worse to admit it. He thought about her words from last night:
You’ll stop being attracted to me now because your heart requires it.
But he
was still attracted to her. What did that say about his heart? He grimaced. Why hadn’t his heart shut down his attraction in deference to Amy, whom he loved?

I love Amy,
he thought, defensively,
and I am committed to saving her, and that goal isn’t altered just because I think Val’s pretty. I can admit she’s attractive, but I still belong to Amy. One doesn’t negate the other. Besides, admitting that Val’s attractive might ease the tension between us. Now it’s out in the open. She’s attractive. Big whoop. I didn’t ask her to marry me.

Stratton shifted in his seat, stealing a quick glimpse at Val. Her fingers lingered against her lips while she chewed slowly, so absorbed in the movie she’d forgotten to lower them.

He reached into the popcorn bag on her lap and took a handful, wishing he wasn’t feeling so distracted. Somehow able to watch eye-rolling rom-coms with Amy without missing a single line, he wasn’t able to sit next to Val and concentrate on
The Shining
, which was one of his favorite movies.

Well, maybe it would help if you stopped looking at her and actually
watched
the movie
, offered his snarky subconscious.

He sat back, paying attention as Danny ate his ice cream in the hotel kitchen while Mr. Halloran explained that the Overlook Hotel “shined.” Reaching into the popcorn bag again, he was surprised to touch down on something other than popcorn, and realized Val was reaching for a handful at the same time.

His palm fell flush over the back of her hand, and he heard her gasp quietly, turning her head. He met her eyes in the near-darkness, holding them while his hand stayed put, covering hers, his fingers curling around her hand. She didn’t move at all, except for her mouth, which parted, and her eyes, which darted to his lips. He pulled the bottom one between his teeth, holding it until she looked back up at his eyes.

“Sorry,” he whispered, pulling his hand away.

“It’s okay.”

Stratton fisted his hand until it ached then released it slowly. Staring at her for several more seconds, he finally dragged his eyes back up to the screen in time to see Wendy and Danny racing around a maze with elated confusion.

***

Hyper-aware of Stratton beside her, her senses had gone on high alert after his hand found hers in the popcorn. The heat of his palm against her skin, the folding of his fingers, his eyes staring back at her, the intimate darkness of the theater . . . it had combined to create a small vacuum where only
they
existed, and for a brief moment she’d considered leaning forward to kiss him. She probably would have, too, if he hadn’t apologized and pulled away.

It had surprised her earlier when he quietly admitted he’d lied about not being attracted to her. The conflicting signals he was sending were starting to make her head hurt. He found her attractive, but he was taken . . . or not exactly taken, but not available either? It was enough to make a girl go crazy. Resolving to watch the movie without obsessing about Stratton’s hot-cold game, she shoved the popcorn bag on his lap, turned to the screen, and ignored the fact that he was sitting beside her.

It took a while for her breathing to return to normal and her heart to stop racing, but gradually, the movie won her attention, and two hours later they were getting to the scariest parts. She watched, cringing, as Wendy sent Danny out the bathroom window, and when Jack drew back his ax and slammed it into the bathroom door, she screamed right along with Shelley Duvall and the female half of the theater. And even though she knew it was coming, when Jack Nicholson finally busted through the door and yelled, “Heeeeere’s Johnny!” she jumped a foot and buried her face in the closest possible place—Stratton’s shoulder.

At some point he’d taken off his suit jacket, so her nose ploughed headlong into the crisp light blue cotton of his dress shirt. Her eyes fluttered closed, and the sounds of the movie were nothing but background noise as she inhaled the smell of spice and starch and warm skin and hot man. Her forehead rested on the curve of his shoulder, but her cheek felt the steel-like muscle as his bicep flexed lightly beneath her.

When he cleared his throat, Valeria realized how inappropriately she was behaving and straightened, looking up at his face, which was turned to her.

“Sorry,” she said. “Friends can do that.”

“It’s okay,” he whispered in his rumbly voice, his lips twitching at the corners, and both dimples on full display. “I thought you said you’d seen this before.”

“I have, but that’s a scary part.”

“Mmm,” he murmured, then chuckled lightly and looked at the screen.

The rest of the movie was ruined and lost for Valeria, and though her eyes stayed forward, she barely heard a word. The man sitting next to her? He was full of contradictions, but she liked him. Even with his lack of filter—or maybe because of it—she was becoming deeply infatuated. Yesterday he’d figured out a way to save her aunt’s dance studio. Today he joined her at the movies. Where was this going? And what did he want to talk to her about?

When the lights came up, he turned to her and grinned. “Well, that’s over.”

“Yeah,” she said, searching his face before cutting to the chase. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

His smile faded. “Do you want to get a cup of coffee? I have a favor to ask.”

“Yes, of course. After yesterday, I owe you big time, and I’d like to—” She was interrupted by her phone buzzing in her bag beside her. She reached for it and realized she had missed six calls from her sister during the movie. She held up a finger to Stratton and quickly pressed “Talk.”

“Carolina? Va tutto bene?
Is everything okay?”

“
Grazie a Dio, Valeria
! I got called in for a late shift at the hospital, and I can’t find anyone to watch the kids. Can you come? Now?”

Valeria turned to Stratton, who looked at her expectantly, a worried expression shading his eyes. She smiled at him for reassurance and his face relaxed.

“Now, Caro? I mean I . . .” She twisted her wrist. It was 10:15. “What time’s your shift start?”

“Ten-thirty. I
need
you, Valeria!
Per favore
!”

“Angie can’t do it?”

“Waitressing.”

“Toni?”

“She’s away at that—”

“Conference,” finished Valeria. “Gina?”

“Val. Get real. I actually care about my kids.”

“Right. I’ll get in a cab. I’ll be there in a few.”

“
Grazie, grazie, grazie, mia dolce sorellina!
Ciao!
”

“Ciao.”

Valeria ended the call and turned to Stratton, handing him his coat as she stood and gathered her belongings quickly. He stood too, looking at her quizzically.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “My sister’s recently divorced and has two kids. She works as a nurse over at Mercy and they’ve called her in for a night shift. I have to go babysit.”

“Oh,” he said. “Right now?”

“Yes, right this minute, I’m afraid. I’m so sorry.”

He stepped into the aisle, and Valeria slid past him, walking quickly to the exit.

“Is there another time we can talk?” asked Stratton, falling into step beside her. He held the door to the theater open, and she wrapped her scarf around her neck as a blast of cold January air smacked her in the face.

“Of course. Tomorrow? I work all day at my aunt’s studio, but I get off at four. Meet me at
Danse Allégre
?”

He stood at the edge of the sidewalk, his body large and long as he hailed a cab for her. His gaze darted to her lips before sliding to her eyes. “Okay. Four.”

He shifted to open the door of the cab, and Valeria stepped off the curb, her shoulder brushing against his chest, and she wondered what he’d do if she leaned forward and kissed his cheek goodbye. Just before she sat down in the backseat, she looked up at him, and his eyes locked with hers. His hand on the small of her back burned a hole through her coat. Thank God common sense took over, and she reminded herself their evening hadn’t been a date. “Well, thanks. For the movie and the snacks. See you tomorrow?”

His expression was inscrutable, but if she had to pinpoint an emotion, the best she could come up with would be . . . longing.

“Tomorrow,” he said softly, closing the cab door behind her and waving goodbye.

Stratton generally woke up early on Saturday mornings and spent several hours at the gym in his building. Free weights had always been his preferred method of exercise, the burn and the self-challenge combining to make him feel deeply satisfied after a workout. As the once-smallest of five brothers, before a latent growth-spurt in his mid-teens, he had always longed to be big and strong. And now he was.

His alarm beeped at six o’clock, but he silenced it and rolled back over. He’d been staring at the ceiling last night until after two, and he was tired. A very scheduled person, Stratton didn’t like it that his routine was being impacted by Valeria Campanile’s sudden presence in his life. He didn’t like thinking about her so much, wondering about her, fighting his attraction to her—it was not only exhausting, but it made him feel bad. Always having prided himself on being the sort of person who would commit wholeheartedly to the woman he loved, it savaged his understanding of himself to feel things for Valeria that should only be reserved for Amy.

And yet . . .

His body hardened in response as he thought about Val burying her face against his shoulder last night—the coconut scent of her hair, the way it felt for her cheek to be pressed against his arm. His breathing quickened as he remembered the swell of her breasts in her leotard, the way he’d spent most of the movie flicking glances at the cleft in her warm, tanned skin that led to untold softness.