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

He was well over six feet tall with a crazy cut body, muscular and toned behind his still-crisp blue dress shirt. Her eyes slid to his forearms where his cuffs were rolled up to reveal springy dark blond hairs and a thick, corded arm. His dark blond hair was slightly wavy and he had light blue eyes. Real light blue, like Ian Somerhalder or Matt Bomer, with to-die-for lashes, a little darker than his hair and so long she wondered if falling snowflakes ever got caught in them. She dropped her glance to his lips and almost sighed. They were so perfect—firm, but soft-looking. But it wasn’t his body, hair, eyes or lips that most arrested her that first night. No. It was the way his cheeks caved in with two of the most adorable, playful, sexy dimples she’d ever seen on a man.

Her heart had vaulted from starting line idling to first bend sprinting in the course of ten seconds, and it was a miracle she managed to say anything coherent. Luckily her loud mouth had kicked into autopilot, and when she invited him to sit down and join them, he looked surprised for a minute before saying yes.

The thing is? It was an
amazing
night. He was funny and kind and interesting. Quiet at first, answering her with one-word answers, but as the beer flowed and the time flew, he loosened up and she relaxed. They had a surprising amount in common—they were both the fourth child of five, they both loved reading historical non-fiction, watching old movies, and playing tennis. They’d moved seamlessly from one topic to another, and as one hour became two, Valeria found herself deeply infatuated. So much so that by the time they said their goodbyes, her very buzzed brain was wondering how to get a goodnight kiss or another date on the calendar.

When she suggested they get together again, he demurred, saying he couldn’t, but after the two hours of non-stop conversation they’d shared, Val didn’t believe him. She wondered if he was just being coy. So, leaning up on her tiptoes, she kissed his warm cheek, letting her lips rest against his skin for longer than necessary and whispering, “See you soon,” in his ear because he was frozen in place, and she couldn’t think of anything else more appropriate to say.

For the following few days, she was walking on air, indulging this lovely fantasy that, regardless of him saying they couldn’t go out, perhaps he’d suddenly call or text her—something brief and sexy, telling her he’d had such a good time, he’d gotten her number by asking Barrett to ask Emily—and her heart would melt and she’d start writing Mrs. Stratton English all over her notebook of early-American courting rituals.

Alas.

She hadn’t heard a word from Stratton. Not directly and not via Emily. It was almost as if that night had never even happened. Or that she’d been wildly off-base with her perception of the evening, because she thought he’d enjoyed her, when maybe he was just politely tolerating her. When she asked if he was taken, he hadn’t answered affirmatively, but shrugged, and later, when she asked Emily, Emily assured her that Stratton wasn’t dating anyone. But maybe he was. And in retrospect, it embarrassed her that she’d been so forward as to kiss him. He was probably frozen in embarrassment and stayed still so that she wouldn’t be encouraged.

Walking briskly, she shook her head as her cheeks flushed with heat, remembering that he hadn’t put his arms around her probably in shock that she was kissing his face without an invitation. Suddenly mortified by the memory, she wished she was still meeting with Alex today instead of Stratton. She slowed her pace and considered canceling. After all, surely Stratton would feel as awkward as she to be reunited.

But the reality was she needed his help. She needed this appointment, and she’d just have to endure the embarrassment if it ended up helping her aunt. Her Zia
Angelina, who was a fabulous dance teacher, was a
terrible
accountant, and if Valeria couldn’t help her figure out a way to streamline the finances of her dance studio, her aunt would lose the business. Student teaching didn’t make as much as teaching dance lessons. Valeria really couldn’t afford to lose the income.

Well, she would just be cool and aloof with Stratton. She’d keep her mouth shut, listen to what he had to say and stay focused on the business at hand. With her polite and demure actions, she’d show Stratton that kissing him on the cheek was more about drinking too much beer than making a pass at him.

As she approached the Schuylkill, she checked her watch. She had ten minutes until her appointment and only five minutes more to walk, so she stopped to linger on the bridge over the frozen river. Looking to her left, she saw the buildings of UPenn rise up on the opposite side of the river. The new semester started next week, and between student teaching, helping her Zia,
and studying, she wouldn’t have time for much else.

Not that she wouldn’t make time if the right guy came along, she thought, self-pity cutting through the cold and making her shiver.

What a good joke. A woman who studies courting rituals can’t seem to find herself courted.

Her laugh was brittle as her hands clutched the railing. Maybe it was seeing Emily, Daisy, and Jessica so recently settled and so very happy. Valeria didn’t begrudge her friends their happiness—she celebrated it wholeheartedly. But in all honesty, it amplified her own loneliness. At twenty-seven, she was older than all of them, and starting to feel worried. She wanted someone special in her life too. She wanted it so badly that, like Danny, it kept her awake at night.

“So? Next time say yes to Danny, you dope!”

The words tumbled out of her mouth and at first she scoffed and grimaced, like it was a joke, but then she let the idea roll around in her head. Would it be so bad to go home to someone like Danny every night? It had to be better than going home alone, hearing Emily and Barrett making out like rabbits on the other side of her bedroom wall. It had to be better than seeing her friends couple-up one by one, leaving her behind. Giving Danny a chance had to be better than being alone, right?

She bit her bottom lip as she looked down at the jagged white and blue ice, reflecting the yellows and oranges of the setting sun, and quickly made up her mind. If she had no other options by Fitz and Daisy’s Valentine’s Day wedding, she would invite Danny to be her date. He was very good-looking, with dark hair, brown eyes, and a warm, Mediterranean complexion. She knew he probably spent hours at the gym because he was very muscular. For years, the girls in her old neighborhood had chattered about how cute Danny Morello was, and her parents would be thrilled if she gave him a chance. Not to mention, he was nice to her. Heck, he was willing to overlook the fact that she was smart, right?

Turning away from the river, her footsteps as heavy as her heart, she wondered if it was simply time to surrender to the truth. Valeria Campanile was a nice girl from southie, and her best bet for happiness was probably a nice boy from southie, too.

***

Stratton had finished most of his work for the day, and instead of starting a new project at four-thirty he took out his Kindle and spent a little time reviewing the ten rules for seduction in his latest book:

Make a Connection

Get Close to Her

A Little Quarrelling Can Be Good

Say No Once in a While

Build the Sexual Tension

Be Direct

Channel Your Inner Romantic

Have an Intimate Conversation

Ask Her Out

Make Your Move

Stratton sighed heavily, taking out a sheet of paper and writing them down. In college, at Columbia University in Manhattan, he’d found this an excellent technique for storing knowledge. But as he wrote the words, he reviewed the actions, and his heart felt progressively heavier and more defeated.

He’d already bombed out on rules one and two last night by hitting her in the hip with a smelly garbage bag. What about the rest?

A Little Quarrelling Can Be Good.
Really? That made no sense to Stratton. Was the advice that he should pick a fight with her? Why? How could fighting with someone lead to anything good? Sheer nonsense.

Say No Once in a While
. Why would he say no to the woman he loved? What if she called feeling sad, needing him, and he said no to her? It would hurt her feelings. Maybe she’d even turn to someone else. That sounded like terrible advice.

Build the Sexual Tension
. He couldn’t count the times he’d thought about putting his arm around Amy as she sat beside him on the couch eating ice cream, but since she was always in such a fragile state over Étienne, it seemed underhanded. They didn’t get together when she was feeling flirty and receptive. They got together when she was red-nosed and weepy. It simply wasn’t the optimal time to build sexual tension—if Stratton had the first idea of how to do so in the first place.

Be Direct
. No problem. He grinned. Finally one that he could handle.

But then he stopped grinning, because while his
modus operandi
was being direct, around Amy, he wasn’t. Last night when she told him she suspected that Étienne was cheating on her, he tried to be direct, but she’d looked so hurt, he’d changed tactics immediately and lied. Being direct was a lot harder than it seemed.

Channel Your Inner Romantic
. This one actually had quite a lot of appeal to Stratton. He’d had a lot of time to figure out the ways he’d romance Amy once she was free of Étienne. He moved on to the next rule.

Have an Intimate Conversation
. What the—?
Intimate
? Like about deep and important things? Or with dirty words? His mind short-circuited. He didn’t know how to “talk dirty” to a woman. Did that mean to say the sorts of things they said in porn movies? Like, maybe he should rent some porn movies and memorize some dirty sentences? He wished the author had defined “intimate” to mean “deep thoughts,” because he felt very annoyed and uncertain about the advice.

He wrote down the words
Ask Her Out
and
Make Your Move
, but he was feeling so deflated he stared at the list like a fat alpaca would stare at Everest. If this is what it took, than seducing Amy away from Étienne would be impossible. Unless . . .

Unless he had a coach. Like Alex, but
not
Alex, because Stratton couldn’t stand the teasing. Plus Alex was too far away and wouldn’t take it seriously. Hmm. Barrett? No. Barrett wasn’t especially smooth himself, and while Fitz seemed pretty smooth, he was about to get married. He couldn’t be Stratton’s wingman. That left Weston, who was studying furiously for the bar exam, which he’d be taking the week after Fitz’s wedding. As far as brothers went, Stratton was shit out of luck.

Not to mention he wasn’t sure that, aside from Alex, his brothers were all that adept at seduction. He wondered if their success actually had more to do with luck and fate than skill. He suspected that it did. Hell, they’d all ended up with women who’d been important to them in their childhoods or adolescence. Stratton was breaking new ground altogether. What he needed was a professional. A master of seduction. Someone well-versed on courting rituals, with heaps of knowledge. Étienne was a formidable rival, and since Amy hadn’t shown any concrete interest in Stratton on a romantic level, it was going to take a full-scale attack to get her to see him in a new light and leave her piece-of-shit boyfriend.

He looked back at the book, skimming the chapter after “Make Your Move” entitled “Seeking Help,” and his eyes latched onto the sentence “Practice with a female friend.” Huh. Not a coach to guide him, but a friend on whom to test and perfect his moves, and maybe get some feedback about his technique. He nodded at his Kindle, appreciating the simple logic of the advice, but then he grimaced. While it was a good idea that had merit, Stratton didn’t have any female friends aside from Emily, Daisy, and Jessica, and he couldn’t imagine Barrett, Fitz, or Alex taking kindly to him practicing his seduction techniques on their women. He could call his cousin Kate, but she lived in New York, and anyway, she was his
cousin
. He sat back in his chair, tenting his fingers under his chin in thought and frustration when his phone buzzed.

“Yes, Jodie?”

“Miss Campanile is here for you, Mr. English.”

“I’ll be right there.”

He slapped his Kindle shut, surprised his stomach fluttered as he stood. Was he excited to see Valeria again? No. Unacceptable. He’d already decided
not
to be attracted to Valeria and had, in fact, just spent the past half hour strategizing how to win Amy. But his hands were clammy when he opened his office door and made his way down the hallway. As he approached the glass lobby, he peeked in, spying her in a guest chair.

For just a moment, he watched her.

She had her hair in a messy bun again, strands flying haphazardly around her heart-shaped face. Heart-shaped. He’d forgotten that. As she flipped through a magazine, her tongue darted out to lick her full, red lips, and Stratton’s breath hitched. Damn it. He
was
still attracted to her, despite telling himself not to be.
Best keep this meeting as business-like as possible.

He strode through the glass doors, using a very loud and imperious tone to say, “Miss Campanile?”

Her head jerked up instantly in surprise, and the magazine slid from her lap onto the floor.