Anyone but Alex (The English Brothers Book 3) (7 page)

Someone who makes me laugh.

He closed his eyes, relaxing, his own lips tilting up as he thought of her laughing over his awful pick-up lines. Though making someone
come
was what he did best, making Jessie laugh had felt just as good in its own way, and the realization surprised him.

Someone smart and interesting.

Alex was smart. He knew it, and everyone else knew it. He was the acting-CFO of English & Sons at twenty-nine, an almost unheard-of confidence for someone so young. And interesting? Well, she had certainly
seemed
interested, he thought, the memory of her eyes, engaged and seeking, bolstering his confidence. That was something, wasn’t it?

A little daring, maybe. Someone who surprises me in good ways.

He smiled, thinking of all the ways he’d like to surprise her, how much he’d like to see her eyes darken with pleasure or brighten with wonder because he’d thought of something special to do just for her.

Someone who lets me put my cold toes against his warm legs.

The thought of Jessica naked beside him in bed, entwining her legs through his was enough to make him groan as his body responded to the fantasy, growing harder and longer under the sheets.

Someone who makes my toes curl when he kisses me
.

His breathing became ragged as he reached down to touch himself,
rubbing his hand over his straining flesh as he closed his eyes, throwing his head back against his pillow, hearing the sweetness of her voice in his head.

Someone who can’t take his eyes off me.

When she’d turned around in the lobby, when she’d entered the ballroom last night, when she found him at the bar, when he found her on the balcony… every time, he’d been powerless to look away. His only aim was to drink in the beauty of Jessica Winslow, unable to see anyone else but her, unable to—to—

He cried out softly in his bed, flexing to the point of pain before his body released the tension within, pulsing rhythmically
on his stomach in wet, blissful waves. His hand fell limply to his side as he shuddered and trembled. His heart thumped wildly as he realized that his orgasm had been fueled almost entirely by a woman he’d barely touched, a woman he barely knew, a woman who was already so far under his skin, he woke up thinking about her, his body demanding release at the very thought of her.

Someone who chooses me. Only me.

Without thinking, he picked up his phone and canceled tonight’s date with Rebecca Everhardt. He sent her a quick text, without explanation and without a plan to reschedule. Then whipped the covers off his body and stalked to the shower, letting the hot water pelt him as he rested his head against the glistening white tile. Maybe he’d go into the office today and try to get some work done—Barrett was all over him about a possible merger with an international shipbuilding company, and he had yet to run the numbers.

His eyes widened as he realized he was actually c
onsidering going to the office.

On a S
unday.

What was happening to him?

Alex didn’t work on weekends—weekends were for fun. For parties and picking up random, beautiful women and lots of sex. And Alex didn’t cancel dates. Not with Rebecca, anyway. She was a wildcat in bed, a filthy talker, adventurous to the point of extreme, suggesting things that porn stars might object to. Before last night, hers was the one date he’d actually been looking forward to, hopeful that a little bit of Reckless Rebecca would leave him too exhausted to feel empty.

He leaned his head against the shiny white shower tiles and closed his eyes as hot water beat against his back.
I know exactly who you are.

She didn’t, of course—regardless of her Facebook research and internet searches. She didn’t know him at all.

He had sex with a minimum of five different women every week. He went out on “dates” mostly for the short thrill of the hunt and the endgame of getting laid. He didn’t commit to any of the women he banged, though he knew this hurt their feelings. He enjoyed what they offered, yet remained unattached and put the onus of their disappointed expectations back on them. He’d learned with Johanna not to get emotionally involved, and he’d never made that mistake again.

Jessie Winslow didn’t know the first damn thing about who he was. He was a womanizing cad. A “country club
manwhore,” as Margaret had so bluntly pointed out last night. He was someone who used women for his own pleasure without a care for their reputations or feelings.

What shocked Alex the most
, as he rinsed off and wrapped a plush, white towel around his waist, was that when he thought of Jessica, he wondered what it would be like to be the man she was looking for. Last night when she’d told him she knew who he was, she’d looked at him with trust and warmth—like maybe he wasn’t just the millionaire playboy that the rest of the world saw. He kept rolling around her words in his head, wondering what it would feel like to be the person who warmed her feet, curled her toes, and never looked away.

Reaching up to rub his chest reflexively, he realized—with no shortage of wonder—that the expected ache wasn’t there. He was thinking about a woman
in terms that went beyond a casual fuck, and he didn’t feel terrified. In fact, he felt… good.

It all boiled down to one striking, unexpected truth:

Jessica Winslow made Alex English want to be a better man.

***

Alex’s office door swung open with a crash, and he looked up to see his older brother, Barrett, standing in the doorway, holding a golf club and ready to attack.

“
What the hell, Barrett
?” Alex demanded, leaping from his chair.

Barrett’s face went from fierce to shocked to incredulous in a matter of seconds. “What the hell,
Alex
? What are you doing here? I thought you were a prowler!”

Alex
plopped back down in his seat, looking at his desk, which was littered with spreadsheet printouts. “Um…working?”

“It’s
Sunday
,” said Barrett, placing the golf club against the wall by the door and sitting down in one of the two guest chairs in front of Alex’s desk.

“Yeah. I know.”

“I’ve never seen you here on a weekend. Never.”

“
Well, now you have.”

“Aren’t you usually out to brunch with last night’s bedfellows right about now?” Barrett raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“Yeah.” Alex took a deep breath and sighed, throwing a pencil on his desk in frustration. “Hey, can I talk to you?”

“What about? The Harrison-Lowry merger?” Barrett flicked his eyes to the spr
eadsheets on his brother’s desk. “I
knew
there could be a potential snag going British with this one. I said as much when we—”

“Barrett.”

“What?” Barrett’s blue eyes finally connected with Alex. “Huh?”

“Nothing’s wrong with the Harrison-Lowry merger.
Lowry is being one hundred percent cooperative. Can you just be my brother for a minute?”

Barrett sighed deeply
, looking disappointed. “What’s her name and how much do you need?”

Alex rubbed his jaw and shook his head. “Nothing like that.”

“Oh. So… no one’s faking a pregnancy, stalking you, looking for compensation after buying a wedding dress, blackmailing you with compromising pictures, or sending their ex-military boyfriend to kill you over an unauthorized bedroom video?”

As much as Alex hated to admit it, these were all valid concerns on Barrett’s part.
Every scenario had played out at least once in Alex’s life, and some more than once.

“Nothing like any of that.
Different situation.”

“
Different how?” said Barrett, looking skeptical.

Alex bit his lip. “I need advice.”

“About…?”

Alex swallowed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “A girl.”

Barrett leaned back, looking utterly confused. “
You
want
my
—”

“
Advice about a girl.” Alex repeated, holding his older brother’s eyes. “And please stop being an asshole about it.”

“I have to admit
… I’m a little fascinated. You’re—you’re the
Professor
, Alex. If anyone knows women, it’s you. I mean, you could teach a master class on banging—”

“Forget it.” Alex pursed his lips, looking back down at his desk and taking a new pencil from the cup beside his computer screen.

“Alex.” Barrett’s voice was firm and gentle. “Talk. I’m listening. What do you need?”

Alex took a deep breath
and looked back up. “Have you ever been friends with a girl? Like, not slept with her, or, um, even
tried
to sleep with her? Just been friends?”

“Can I ask who we’re talking about?”

“Not yet. I need your answer first.”

“Okay. Um, yeah. At Penn I was friends with a few girls who I didn’t sleep with. And I’d consider myself friends with Daisy. And frankly, even though I sleep with Emily, I’d consider her my
best
friend.”

“Take Emily and Daisy out of the equation. They’re practically family.”

“I
could
… but you know? When you’re friends with a woman? Really
good
friends? She can almost feel like an extension of your family.”

Alex mulled this over for a second. In his mind, he separated the women of his life into two places. His mother, Emily
, and Daisy lived in a place reserved for the women he loved and respected. And it occurred to him that although Jessica wasn’t his family, it felt more organic to group her with them than with the dozens of other women with whom he spent time.

“Alex, I’ve never seen you like this. Who is this girl? Hope Atwell?”

“You’re joking, right?”

“Margaret
Story?”

“No. I never
even sealed the deal with Margaret.”

“
Really
?” Barrett’s surprise was justified. Alex
always
sealed the deal. “Then who?”

“Jessica Winslow.”

Barrett’s mouth dropped open, his eyes wide. After a beat, he shook his head, as if disgusted or disbelieving. “I know that you are
not
talking about Jessica Winslow, the baby sister of Brooks, Preston, Chris, and Cameron Winslow.”

“She’s in town for a few weeks. Just for the holidays.”

“And you have a death wish by New Year’s?”

Alex winced.

“Have you lost your mind?”

Alex squirmed in his seat.

“
Clearly
, you have.” Barrett rubbed his chin, then scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “If you even
look
at her, they will
kill
you. They will.
Literally
. Kill you.”

“
Thanks,” muttered Alex.

“Shall we take a walking tour of the hallway?” Barrett hooked his thumb toward Alex’s office door.

Just outside of Alex’s door, in the corridor of English & Sons, framed pictures of local regattas, polo matches, and cricket games covered the cream-colored walls. One of the largest and most impressive pictures was a photograph of the four Winslow brothers, shoulder-to-shoulder, holding a massive silver cup at the 2012 Philadelphia Polo Championship.

Perennial
victors at every conceivable gentleman’s sport, Brooks had actually been on the U.S.A. Olympic sailing team and placed third at the 2000 Olympics in Sydney. And Preston, who was an old rival of Fitz’s when they were at college together, had crewed on the national rowing team in 2008 until he tore his rotator cuff and was no longer able to compete. As for Christopher and Cameron, both were top-notch polo players like their brothers, and formidable squash opponents. But in lieu of the sportsman life as a profession, both had opted for business, and English & Sons regularly engaged in ventures and partnerships with C & C Winslow Ltd.

Alex didn’t need to go
on a corridor-tour to know that the Winslow’s were fit and fierce. He’d stared at the photo for at least twenty minutes this morning. All of the brothers had the same coal black hair as Jessie, and all had different shades of green eyes, though none shared the crystal-clear emerald green of their little sister.

“T
he Winslow’s are professional athletes, Alex. They are
made
of muscle. Muscle, muscle, and more muscle. That’s it. And they will pummel you to a pulp if they find out you’re going near their sister.”

“I know.”

“And we do business with Chris and Cam. Regularly. They’re getting into bed with us for this Harrison-Lowry shipbuilding deal in England. The Winslow’s have dual-citizenship which will expedite all of our red tape. I was even thinking about asking Chris to head up the merger over there.”