Seduced by Stratton (The English Brothers Book 4) (14 page)

“I know you didn’t,” she said softly. Though she believed he hadn’t intentionally hurt her, it didn’t really matter at this point. She was aching with humiliation.

She stood, then turned back around and squatted next to the couch, pulling the power cord out of her laptop and tucking the notebook into her bag.

“Are you leaving?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Then, with more conviction she added, “Yeah. This, um . . . this whole thing? Was a massive mistake.”

He must have noted the way her voice broke because she saw him cringe as he sat up, looking at her. “Can we talk for a second?”

“About what, Stratton?” She sat down on the coffee table, facing him, gathering her bag to her chest like armor. “About how you just called me Amy? About how you wish she was here, not me? No, thanks. I get it. You told me over and over again that you weren’t available, and you know what? I
finally
get it. But, here’s what else I know: Amy’s dating someone else, and every intuitive bone in my body tells me that’s not going to change. So, you know what really sucks, Stratton? There’s another woman sitting in front of you . . . and you can’t see her and she”—her voice broke and she shrugged, looking down at the bag she clasped in her arms—“she
really
likes you.”

“I
do
see her,” said Stratton softly. “And I like her too.”

Valeria looked at him and swallowed, willing the hot tears in her eyes not to fall. “Just not enough.”

He winced, but he didn’t contradict her.

She nodded, swiping at her runny nose with the back of her hand and sniffling. Whether she had a right to anger or not, she felt it rise within her. “You know what else? I’m too good for this. You were right . . . I deserve better.”

“I’m sorry,” Stratton murmured, reaching out a hand and covering her knee.

She nodded, standing quickly and stepping back to break contact with him. “I just need to get my cord.”

He stood, pulling the couch away from the wall, then reached down for it. When he handed it to her, she was careful not to touch him.

When she whipped her eyes to face him a final time, her voice was grave. “Don’t come looking for me again.”

“Val—”

“I mean it.”

“Okay,” he whispered, gazing back at her.

She took a ragged breath. Her tears were going to fall any second, and she couldn’t bear the humiliation of crying in front of him after such a scorching rejection. Turning away, she bee-lined for the front hallway, slid her feet into her black furry boots, and then opened the front closet and took out her coat. She didn’t bother taking her bag off, just threw the parka on over it as fast as she could.

When she turned, Stratton stood against the hallway wall a few feet away, watching her with such sadness her heart twisted.

“Val . . .” he murmured, tilting his head to the side and resting it on the wall.

“Good luck, Stratton,” she said in a broken voice as the first tear fell. “I hope I’m wrong. I hope she ends up loving you back.”

With more tears suddenly tumbling down her cheeks, she turned the doorknob and walked into the hallway, out of Stratton English’s life.

***

Stratton heard the elevator ding and listened for the doors to shut, as he had many other times for a totally different girl. He pounded his fist into the wall so hard, it dented the drywall.

To say he was turned around would be an understatement.

He didn’t exactly remember how he’d ended up sleeping next to Val, but he did remember her stretching out on the couch after she’d fallen asleep. Her feet had snuggled against his thigh, and he’d pulled them onto his lap, resting his hands on her tights-covered legs, distracted and turned-on and comfortable all at the same time. He remembered finishing another glass of wine, and then another, but he didn’t remember watching the end of the movie. Likely, he’d fallen asleep and slid down the back of the leather couch to rest his head beside hers. Their bodies must have figured out the rest as they slept, tangling up in each other while they dreamed.

Something he did remember? Amy had been all over his dreams last night—her face, her smile, her sad eyes when Étienne made her cry. He’d watched Amy in his dreams—longed for her, hurt for her, wished he could help her from an ethereal distance. Suddenly remembering Amy’s text from last night, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, swiping the screen. No new texts. Amy had never written back to his request “to talk.” He felt awkward about it, and nervous and, frankly, a little annoyed.

Taking a deep breath, he walked back into the living room, picking up the two Merlot glasses and taking them to the kitchen.

As he paused at the sink, he felt like he was forgetting something. Rubbing his slightly hung-over temples with his fingers, he realized that Amy wasn’t the only girl who’d been present in his dreams last night. Val had figured prominently in them too.

“Oh, my God,” he murmured aloud, bracing his hands on the kitchen counter as images and sounds flooded his brain in vivid detail.

Val in her dancing clothes, reading love letters and eating pizza.

Val’s breasts pressing against his chest as they danced the tango, while Jack Nicholson muttered, “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” to a superimposed techno beat behind the music.

Val wearing the lavender sugar-rose from the cupcake behind her ear and leaning forward to whisper,
I'm looking . . . for auspicious beginnings . . .

Val smelling of talc and coconut, smiling at him as he kicked a toolbox out of the way to kiss her in front of a park bench. Over and over and over again.

Shaking his head to clear it, he frowned, running cold water into the purple stained glasses and rubbing them distractedly with dish soap. His dreams of Val were so vibrant and electric, it’s no wonder he’d woken up hard as a rock, kissing her senseless on his couch.

Turning off the water and putting the glasses upside down on a clean paper towel, he plodded back through the living room en route to his room, passing the couch, which seemed to eye him accusingly. So why had his brain insisted that it was Amy, not Val, pressed against him? He knew the answer—because Amy was still in danger, and he wouldn’t let go of her until she was safe, even if that meant offering himself as an alternative to Étienne.

Still, he cringed with genuine pain and remorse as he remembered the shocked, hurt look on Valeria’s face.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he stripped and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water assault his body as he rested his forehead against the tile.

Comparisons were inevitable. His dreams of Amy had been soft and muted, visions of her melancholy face and watery eyes, while his dreams of Val had been vibrant and intense, fully interactive and fiercely real.

As he turned off the water and wrapped a towel around his waist, he had a sharp, sinking feeling that fanned out from his heart until his chest was tight and clenched. With two fingers he rubbed a circle in the glass over the vanity and stared at himself in the mirror as Kate’s words ricocheted around his head like a bullet in a tin room:
Don’t let a good thing slip through your fingers
. As steam filled the circle and obscured his face, he had a terrible feeling that might be exactly what he’d just done.

***

Valeria hadn’t heard from Stratton by Thursday, and as she walked through the frozen piles of slush en route to Mulligan’s from UPenn, she couldn’t decide whether or not she was planning to tell Emily and Daisy about everything that had happened between them.

With Barrett’s apartment once again habitable, Emily and Barrett had spent Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday nights at his place, and Valeria had come home to an empty apartment. She’d barely seen Emily except for once, when they passed in the hallway of the history building yesterday. Emily was running to make it on time to her class, but she’d reconfirmed Thursday’s Girls’ Night Out with a wave and smile.

On the one hand, Val was relieved not to have an audience as she shed some tears and felt depressed, the dreaded name “Amy” circling in her head, taunting her. On the other hand, her apartment felt very lonesome, and she would have liked to talk to her friend, to know the comfort of crying on someone’s shoulder instead weeping alone.

She thought about calling her sister, Angie, who was the best listener of the four, but Angie worked long hours waitressing in an almost perfect flip-flop of Val’s schedule. Plus, if Val was honest, she knew her sisters, even Angie, wouldn’t be much comfort. They would likely take a “What did you expect?” stance at Val’s attempt to seek love outside of their neighborhood, and encourage her to give Danny Morello a chance and stop “putting on airs” with college boys.

For as long as she could remember, Val had been the oddball of her family. She and Toni were the only ones who went to college, and Val was the only one to pursue a higher degree. Not to mention all of her sisters still lived with her parents or within a four-block radius of the neighborhood where they grew up, while Val had moved in with a student friend across the river. And while her parents were proud of her for getting into UPenn, her mother had lamented more than once that she didn’t understand Val’s “obsession with education,” suggesting she find a nice Italian boy and settle down.

Speaking of nice Italian boys, Val had finally found an opportunity to talk to Danny last night. His blush was deep and dark when he’d walked into the studio with a new buffing machine and saw her.

“Sorry for Saturday,” she said softly. “For kissing you like that.”

“Didn’t mind the kiss, Val. Buuuut, I’m thinking was for show, not for me.”

She grimaced, nodding sheepishly.

“You like that guy?”

She nodded again. “Yeah.”

“You like him a lot?”

“I guess.”

“He don’t like you?”

“He’s got it bad for someone else.”

Danny chuckled ruefully. “Well, that’s funny, huh? I got it for you . . . you got it for him . . . he’s got it for someone else. Everybody wants what they can’t have. Nobody’s gettin’ nothing.”

“Danny, you’re a good man. You are. But remember when you said you liked me even though I’m smart?”

“Yeah. I
do
like you even though you’re smart.”

“I don’t want someone who likes me
even though
. I want someone to like me
because
.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t think we’re a match,” she said gently.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. When he looked at her, she had to admit, his smile was pretty damn sexy, and for a minute she wished that
even though
was enough for her. “I don’t understand half the stuff you’re talking about.”

She chuckled softly. “You ever checked out my sister, Angie?”

“Angelina,” he said, and Val watched in astonishment as his eyes went soft. “She’s named after your aunt, right? Yeah. Maybe I took a peek. Once or twice. When she wasn’t looking.”

“Her boyfriend’s a dirtbag.” She grinned at him, cocking her head to the side. “I could put in a good word for you.”

“Yeah?” he said, grinning back at her and waggling his eyebrows. “Angie’s a few years older than me. You think she’d give me a chance?”

“Well,” she said, all saucy, giving him a wink, “I can vouch for those lips. Let me see what I can do, huh?”

“Yeah. You’re okay, Val. Maybe I got someone in mind for you, too. You know Joey Conchetta?”

“Joey, your cousin?”

“Yeah. He’s all sorts of smart, like you. You know he’s an accountant now?”

“Didn’t know that,” she said.

“Just broke it off with his girlfriend. Might be I could put a good word in for you too.”

There’s someone in my heart
, she thought. Then,
But you’re not in his.
Despite her feelings for Stratton, which didn’t seem to be going anywhere, she was determined not to pine after a lost cause.

“Sure, Danny,” she said, leaning forward to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Give him my number.”

It had surprised her—in a good way—when Joey called her this morning. He was polite and funny, taking the edge off of being set up by Danny, and she agreed to see him tomorrow night for dinner. Her hopes weren’t high, but if nothing else, maybe she and Joey could be friends. Maybe he could take her to Daisy and Fitz’s wedding next month. And who knows? Maybe he’d be the very person she was looking for. Maybe they’d fall madly in love and she’d leave all thoughts of Stratton English in the dust.
Maybe, maybe, maybe . . .

“Hey, daydreamer!” said Daisy Edwards, appearing out of nowhere to hold open the door to Mulligan’s.

“Hey, sexy mama,” said Val, smiling at her friend before flicking her eyes to Daisy’s tummy. In the last week or so, Daisy had just started to show, wearing looser tops over a light swell. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fabulous! We’re at fifteen weeks, if you can believe it. Only five more and I get to find out if we’re having a Caroline or a Thomas.”

“Carrie or Tommy,” said Val approvingly. “You finally decided.”