Breaking Up with Barrett: The English Brothers #1 (The Blueberry Lane Series - The English Brothers) (8 page)

He leaned his head down, his nose in the curve of her neck as his hair flopped over his forehead, pressing his lips to her throbbing pulse, sucking and kissing as his hot breath fanned out across her neck. Shivers raised hairs on Emily’s arms as she closed her eyes, memorizing the feel of his lips against her skin and wishing this moment with him never needed to end. She wished they could forget about rent and deals, about fake engagements… and just be together, start something real with each other tonight.

Barrett shifted, brushing his lips from her throat to her ear, bracing on his elbows and sliding up her body. Her nipples beaded from the light friction, and she hooked one leg over his ass as he thrust forward against her, simulating sex. Emily arched her back again, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling his lips to hers roughly and moaning into his mouth as he threaded his hands through her hair and kissed her.

And
kissed
her.

Oh, my God, how he kissed her.

His teeth grazed hers as he sought out her tongue and sucked it into his mouth, fiercely claiming her, branding her, maybe even punishing her a little because they both knew it would feel like years until they could kiss each other again. He rolled his body to her side, propping himself up with one elbow, but letting his other hand rest, flat and heavy in the V of exposed skin at the base of her throat. He kept kissing her as that hand slid lower, working the buttons of her shirt nimbly, unfastening them as Emily’s tongue explored his mouth, leisurely dipping into its crevasses, finding the hidden parts of Barrett. So much of Barrett was new to her, and yet so much was still familiar, Emily was overwhelmed by the dueling sensations of comfort and risk, which made her feel scared and safe, set adrift while firmly anchored. It made her breathless. It made her brave.

She bowed her back and Barrett reached under her to unclasp her bra, then opened her shirt, the cool air touching her hot skin like a blessing. He skimmed his mouth over her chin, tracing the lines of her throat with his lips. His hands reached for her breasts, molding them gently through the loosened fabric of her bra and she whimpered, wanting more of him, wanting the skin of his hands on the skin of her breasts, with nothing else between them. She leaned her head back into the cushion, biting her lower lip, her fingers twisting into the coarse fabric by her sides in anticipation as he pushed her bra up and over her breasts, baring them to the night.

“Emily,” he whispered, his breath hot on her chest, the stubble from his beard rasping against her skin as he dipped his head lower.

She heard the reverence in his voice, and the question. She knew what he was asking, and she knew that they’d need to stop soon. But not yet. God, please not yet. She moved her hands to the back of his head, gently pushing his head lower until she felt the heat of his mouth hover over one throbbing nipple.

And then his lips came down, hot and teasing, over her puckered flesh as he sucked the hardened bead into the hot, wet heaven of his mouth. The sensation was so sharp, such torture and such relief that she bucked up against him. His hand steadied her, closing around the flesh of her breast to hold her in his mouth while he licked and kissed, sucking firmly, then blowing softly as Emily flinched and moaned, her head thrashing lightly as he moved to her other breast. His hand stayed on the breast he’d just loved, softly rolling the erect nipple within his thumb and forefinger, as he took its twin into his mouth. The wet heat combined with the tug of his lips on the tightened bud, and darts of pleasure shot straight to the muscles hidden deep between her thighs which flexed and contracted, every nerve ending firing from the intense sensation of Barrett loving her body.

She could barely catch her breath, and her heart beat the primitive rhythm shared by every woman to whom the man of her dreams makes love …

More, more, more
.

His hand slid down her stomach, under the waistband of her jeans, resting tentatively over the white cotton of her panties as his mouth continued torturing her with pleasure, flicking his tongue over the hard tip of her nipple, making her flinch and shudder beneath him. She knew it was time to turn back, to tell Barrett they needed to stop here and save the rest for the night they returned from the Hamptons, but two fingers slipped into the waistband of her panties, and she lost the ability to make a coherent decision.

He shifted back to her other nipple, groaning against her skin, “You’re so wet for me, Emily. So hot and wet.” Emily bit her lip, arching up against his fingers as they parted her hidden flesh and found their mark—the throbbing nub of firm flesh that wanted, that demanded, his touch.

She gasped as one of his long fingers stroked her, the rhythm somehow matching the way his tongue caressed her breasts. The hot, insistent pooling in her stomach spread like wildfire through her veins, flushing her body, which glowed with sweat and teemed with goose bumps, as Barrett abandoned her breasts for her lips. Her fingers curled aggressively into his hair, pulling and scraping as he cupped her face with his free palm and whispered against her lips, “I want you to come for me, Emily. Now.”

He’d invited her to go stargazing.

Emily saw stars.

The command, delivered in Barrett’s taut, low voice, was all it took for her to let go completely, her muscles convulsing as she bucked up against his hand, and he swallowed her cries. He gently stroked the turgid flesh under his fingers until the pulsing slowed and her shudders softly subsided. Then he pulled her shirt loosely over her breasts to shield her skin from the cool night air and lay his head on her chest, listening to the wild pounding of her heart.

“Fix it, Stratton. I can’t do everything, damn it!”

“Jesus, you’ve been a prick this week,” exclaimed Barrett’s younger brother. “And just as a reminder? You may be the Chief Operating Officer, Barrett, but Dad’s still the President even if he
is
in Zurich for two weeks. You’re not the top asshole yet.”

“I may as well be,” he grumbled. “I do everything around here.”

Stratton stood from the chair in front of Barrett’s desk and straightened his glasses. Stratton was, and had always been, the most bookish and serious of the brothers. He was in charge of researching future acquisitions, and his projected numbers looked accurate. Barrett just didn’t like them.

“May as well be
top asshole
? Yeah. You’re definitely acting like it, anyway.”

Stratton slammed Barrett’s office door behind him, leaving Barrett and Fitz alone.

Fitz, who’d been listening from the couch where he was reviewing the final Harrison Shipbuilding documents before drawing up tentative contracts for the acquisition, didn’t look up. “He’s right, you know. You’re being an asshole. I mean, more than usual.”

“Screw you, Fitz,” said Barrett, swiveling in his chair to look out at the Philadelphia skyline.

He wondered where Emily was, who she was with, if she was smiling or studying or taking a nap. He couldn’t stop thinking about her and while it hadn’t affected his work yet, it was definitely messing with his familial relationships.

“Yeah. Screw me. Okay. But, I’m the last brother standing.” Fitz cleared his throat, and though Barrett didn’t turn back around, he knew his brother had moved to one of the chairs in front of Barrett’s desk because his voice was closer when he spoke again. “Alex won’t come back in here after your tantrum on Tuesday morning. Weston, who was working
for free
, refuses to do anymore paralegal moonlighting until you take back what you said about him being the “idiot savant” of the family, and I think you just managed the impossible: you pissed off Stratton.”

Barrett took a deep breath and sighed, turning around. Fitz and Stratton, sandwiched between the first, middle, and last English brothers had always been a little quieter than the other three, a little more serious, a little closer to each other. It was unusual to see Fitz angry, but pissing off Stratton would generally do the trick.

“What the hell, Barrett? You nervous for the meeting this weekend or something?”

Nervous? No.

Frustrated? Deprived? Lost in a loop of the memory of Emily climaxing against his hand on the tennis courts? Yes.

They had laid quietly with one another for a long time in the darkness before Emily sat up and fastened her bra, buttoned her shirt, and then stood to tuck it back into her jeans. He had looked up at her, at her blonde hair framing her face in the moonlight.

“I don’t know what to say,” she’d whispered.

He sat up. “How about… your rule is ridiculous?”

Her eyes had narrowed, but he kept talking like a total moron. “I
like
you, Emily. I
really
like you. It doesn’t matter if you work for me. It doesn’t matter if you call yourself my fake fiancée or my girlfr—”

She’d gasped, looking down at him with her hands on her hips. “Don’t.”

“Why not? That’s what I want you to be.”

She’d shaken her head, turning and walking quickly off the tennis courts. Barrett had sprinted after her, grabbing her elbow when he caught up to her.

“Stop! What?”

“I’m not your girlfriend. I can’t be… yet. You need me to do a job for you this weekend, and I’m going to take money for it. That’s real.”

“Frankly, it doesn’t get any more real than what just happened between us.”

“That was just physical.”

He’d winced. Because for him? What they’d just experienced together was
far
more than physical.

“Got it,” he’d said, dropping her arm.

They walked the rest of the way back to the gatehouse in silence. When they got there, Emily turned to him under the oak tree, reaching for him. “I didn’t mean it, Barrett.”

“Which part?”

“It
wasn’t
just physical.”

He clenched his jaw, searching her eyes in the moonlight, then opened his arms to her, grateful when she stepped into them, laying her head on his shoulder.

“And that’s what scares me,” she continued. “I’m feeling things for you that need to wait at least another week. This is all happening really fast and the timing’s bad and—” She swallowed, pulling away from him.

“My landlord raised my rent,” she blurted out. “And we don’t have that kind of money. I need to make some extra and this trip is the perfect way. It’ll cover our rent for four or five months while we look for a new place.”

“New place?” he asked.

“We can’t stay there. It’s too expensive.” He had pulled her closer so she couldn’t see his eyes and she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, finally wrapping her arms around his waist. “I guess I sound pretty pathetic to someone like you.”

His heart. Literally. Clutched.

He had never felt like such a crappy human being in his entire life. He’d done this to her. He’d made her feel this way. He’d forced her to think about moving. For a deal. For a goddamned deal. Was a deal more important than Emily? Was it worth risking her?

For ten years, his life had been all about being “The Shark,” the dealmaker, the kingmaker. And now he stood in the moonlight with a beautiful woman in his arms, and he had to question what he wanted. He was perilously close to answering: Emily. Above all else.

Instead he took a deep breath and stroked her back. He’d change his ways after this deal. He’d never risk her again. “It doesn’t sound pathetic. You’ll come with me this weekend. I’ll do the deal, you’ll get your money, and then…”

She rotated her neck so that her lips faced his throat and sighed, her warm breath fanning his skin and making him hard again in an instant. “We’ll see.”

We’ll see you in my bed, and I promise I will never, ever use you or deceive you like this ever again, Emily Edwards. I promise.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, nodding. “We’ll see.”

Snapping out of his reverie, Barrett scowled at the Philadelphia skyline, feeling deprived and guilty. That was the last conversation they’d had before he kissed her good-night and five days later, he still felt like a total dirtbag for worrying her and making her think she needed to find a new apartment. He just wanted to get the weekend over with, and Sunday couldn’t come fast enough. Barrett wouldn’t rest easy until the Harrison deal was done, and Emily was his official girlfriend, and there were too many variables that could shake up his endgame between now and then.

So, to answer Fitz’s question: Was he nervous about the weekend?

“No. Not a bit.”

Fitz rolled his eyes and clenched his jaw. He knew Barrett was lying, and Fitz never lied. He also never cheated, and he certainly wouldn’t consider deceiving the woman he was falling in love with just to make a deal happen.

“Great. Then stop being an asshole.” Fitz snapped the binder closed in his hands and headed out of Barrett’s office without another word.

Barrett sighed. He’d see Emily tomorrow and in three short days, this entire fiasco would be over and they could be together for real
. Stick with the plan
.
It will be okay.

“It will all be okay,” he reassured himself, as though saying the words aloud would make them come true.

***

“I still can’t believe you haven’t seen him since Saturday night,” said Valeria on Friday afternoon, sitting on Emily’s bed in tights and a leotard as Emily packed for the Hamptons. “Because it sounds like your little rendezvous was pretty hot.”

Valeria added the last part in a singsong voice that included her picking up Emily’s thong undies and zinging them at her like a slingshot. Emily took them off her head, giving her roommate a look. “Very mature, Val.”

“I am
dying
for details, and you won’t give them up!”

“You know all you need to know. We made out a few times. I think we have real feelings for each other, but we’re putting all of that on hold until we get back from the Hamptons.”

“Because you’re not a prostitute.”

“Pretty much.” Emily sighed. “Though I’ve had a weak moment a time or two this week.”

“I can only imagine what’ll happen when you’re within touching distance.”

Emily winced, then took a deep breath, folding her only sexy nightgown and tucking it into the suitcase.

“I mean, you
are
sharing a room, right?”

Emily nodded. “Presumably.”

“Which means sharing a bed, right?” asked Valeria meaningfully. “Which means—”

“Which means maybe we’ll bundle,” said Emily quickly, watching Valeria’s attention syphon to her favorite subject matter in an instant. Phew. Emily was hot and bothered enough about Barrett without discussing it further with her roommate. Not to mention, she wasn’t entirely sure she was ready to think about sleeping with Barrett English. Sex wasn’t something that had ever ranked very high on Emily’s to-do list. Now faced with the opportunity to sleep with Barrett, she felt a little out of her depth.

“That’s sort of a cool idea, Em. You know, it was a really important courting gesture in colonial America. It was the only way you could be intimate without being…”

“Intimate,” Emily supplied. Early-American courting rituals were Valeria’s department, but Emily had to admit, she found the material fascinating. Luckily, Valeria did too, because she laid off of Barrett and her quest for sordid details.

“Is
everything
off limits between you two? Because even though bundling precluded below-the-neck contact, and even though the two young people were supposed to talk all night—
yeah right
,” she muttered disdainfully, “it’s popular belief that most couples spent at least a portion of the night, you know, kissing.”

“I know kissing,” Emily muttered. “And I know what it leads to. I don’t think it’s a good idea, Val.”

“Too bad.” She sighed. “He’s
so
hot and you’re long overdue to see some action.”

Emily gave her roommate an exasperated look. When Val wanted details, she was relentless. “Don’t you have a class to teach? A mango or something?”

Val tapped her lips. “You either mean a mambo, which
Tia
Angelina does not teach, or a tango, which she does. Speaking of mambos, there’s a horizontal version I bet Barrett wouldn’t mind doing with you. You know, when you’re ready.”

“Gah! Do you think we could stop talking about it?” asked Emily, slipping into the bathroom for her toiletries and coming back out with a small fabric bag. “It’s just making it harder.”

“That’s what he said,” said Valeria, giggling. She sat up on the bed, cocking her head to the side when Emily didn’t crack a smile. “Okay. I’ll stop. Hey…in other news, I’m making headway on the new landlord, but it’s really convoluted.”

“How so?” asked Emily, distracted by which outfits to pack as Valeria rattled on behind her. Should she bring her blue suit and black dress? Probably for the evenings. But what would she wear during the day? She took out some ironed khaki pants and a navy blue cotton blouse. It wasn’t fancy but the lines were clean. She found her dark, skinny leg jeans at the bottom of her drawer and packed them with an Irish cableknit sweater her mother made for her on her eighteenth birthday. It had classic lines, and it was warm.

“…so all I’ve been able to find out is that the building is now owned by a company called Giverny Holdings.”

Emily’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Giverny Holdings. Why? Does that mean anything to you?”

Emily shook her head. “Not really. My parents met in Giverny. That’s all.”

“Huh. So that’s where your story begins, huh?”

“More or less, I guess.” She shrugged. “That’s the only reason it stood out to me.”

“Well,” said Valeria, “I’m going to find out where Giverny Holdings is registered and then I’m going to figure out who’s behind it so I get the name of the person who owns this damned building… and
then
, I’m going to give them a piece of my mind.”

“Don’t burn bridges,” warned Emily, zipping up her suitcase. “We can now afford to stay here until after New Year’s with the money I’ll be bringing home on Sunday.”

“I have to get going.” Valeria sighed, standing up to hug her friend. “Should I wish you luck?”

Emily sighed right back, pulling up the handle of her suitcase and rolling it to the door. “Wish me strength.”

“Strength,” said Valeria cheerfully as the apartment buzzer sounded to tell them Barrett had arrived.

***

It wasn’t that she was dressed to the nines (she had on those soft jeans with a simple black sweater and her black slip-on shoes), or that she looked especially coiffed (her hair was back in a simple ponytail), or even that she’d flashed him a special smile (she didn’t.) She kept her eyes downcast. But he had thirsted for a glimpse of her since Saturday and seeing her walk out the front door of her apartment building made his heart throb with yearning. Every part of his body longed for every part of hers, and it took every bit of his tattered self-control not to reach for her.