Breaking Up with Barrett: The English Brothers #1 (The Blueberry Lane Series - The English Brothers) (5 page)

***

When Emily began her night, she certainly didn’t have the slightest intention of ending it tucked against the expensive cotton of Barrett’s shirt, ruining it with tears as she sobbed uncontrollably. He didn’t complain or say a word. He was speechless and still for a moment, probably processing the fact that she’d hurled herself at him, before pulling her into his arms and resting his chin on top of her head. After several minutes of sobs, she took a ragged breath and sniffled. That was when she realized how deeply inappropriate it was that she was practically sitting on top of Barrett, ensconced in his arms. And she knew she should pull away, but to save her life, she couldn’t make herself move.

“I’m s-sorry, Barrett,” she said softly, sniffling again and clearing her throat. “I’m just so w-worried.”

His hand stroked her back lightly, his strong arms comforting as they held her tightly against him. “Victoria Lawson says Dr. Knightly is the best neurologist in Philly. I’m sure he’ll get there before us. Try not to worry until you know what’s going on.”

“She’s not young anymore,” said Emily, thinking of her sixty-three-year-old mother’s white temples and wrinkled cheek.

“Susannah?” He scoffed. “She’ll always be young.”

Emily leaned back, looking up at Barrett, who offered her a rare, genuine smile, small though it was.

“Who are you?” she murmured.

“Barrett English,” he whispered.

“No.” She shook her head slowly, searching his eyes in the dim light, aware that with every breath her breasts heaved into the hardness of his chest. “Barrett English is a shark.”

“He’s also a man.”

Emily straightened a little in his arms, reaching up to trace the line of his cheekbone with her cold fingers. He flinched and his eyes closed for a brief moment as he clenched his jaw, otherwise remaining totally and completely still.

“I’m so worried,” said Emily, palming his cheek and lifting her eyes to his. “Distract me, Barrett. Please.”

His eyes widened for just a moment before he dropped his forehead to hers. His breath was hot on her lips and she barely had a moment to react before he reached for her hips and transferred her completely onto his lap so that she straddled him, her knees digging into the soft leather seat on either side of his thighs, which were gripped tightly between hers since her skirt was so narrow. She took a deep, gasping breath as he pulled her closer. Her breasts were flush against his chest, and she felt the fierce pounding of his heart between the layers of shirt and tweed, silk, and cotton.

“You sure you want this?” he groaned against her lips, his nose nuzzling hers.

“Right now, I
need
this,” she answered.

He held her face, sinking his fingers into her hair as his eyes closed. He leaned forward to seal his soft, warm lips firmly over hers in the semi-darkness. His other hand slid over her hip to the side of her thigh, which he held in place, keeping her tightly nestled against the hardness of his sex. He kissed her upper lip lightly, nipping and teasing as she adjusted to the feel of him, the nearness of him. Grabbing her lower lip with his teeth, he gently nibbled on it too, his tongue lightly swiping across it, making her frustrated and needy. She wanted more. Oh my God, in her whole life she’d never wanted anything more.

Emily whimpered softly, the sound coming from the very back of her throat, as his mouth widened and his tongue parted the seam of her lips. He tasted like scotch and warmth, his tongue satiny smooth against hers as he tasted her for the first time too. He readjusted his head, tilting it in the other direction, then sucked her tongue into his mouth, eliciting a surprised moan from her. Heat shot from her mouth to her stomach, spreading there, making her panties damp as she clenched muscles deep inside that had almost forgotten what it felt like for a kiss to rock her world.

Barrett pulled her hair from its tidy chignon, running his hands through it, before fisting it firmly, but gently, to tilt her head back. He kissed a path from her lips down her neck, stopping at the pounding pulse in her neck which he licked and sucked gently, just short of leaving a mark.

“Emily, Emily, Emily,” he murmured, nuzzling her flushed skin. As his fingers unbuttoned her jacket he bent his head and his hot mouth sought more of her flesh. He reached up to cup her breasts through the silk of her camisole, finding her mouth again, molding the soft flesh in his hands as her nipples beaded greedily into his palms.

She laced her hands around his neck and wedged her knees into the back of the seat to push as close to Barrett as possible, arching her back so that her breasts filled his hands as she rolled her hips over his erection. He groaned against her lips, his teeth grazing her bottom lip as he nipped at her in surprise. She tilted her head back again, and he nuzzled her neck, drunkenly, murmuring her name like a prayer, like he’d never—

“Uh, Kindred Hospital, Mr. Barrett?” Smith’s voice over the intercom jolted them both back to reality, and Emily was shocked to realize the town car had stopped. How long had they been parked? And oh, God, did Smith know what they’d been up to in the back, even with the privacy window closed? With their heaving breathing, Emily’s moans and whimpers, Barrett’s groans, there would be no mistaking what was going on and her cheeks flared with embarrassment as she froze in place, leaning back from Barrett.

Barrett hit a button on console beside him. “Give us two minutes, Smith.”

“Roger that.”

Barrett’s eyes slammed into Emily’s, searching and uncertain.

She scrambled off his lap, adjusting her camisole and buttoning her jacket. Her chignon was ruined, but she smoothed her hair with her fingers, before reaching up to touch her lips gingerly. They’d be red and swollen after a make-out session like that, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

“I’m not sorry, Emily.” His voice was soft and level, and when she looked up, his eyes were tender.

“Barrett, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have asked you—I had no right to ask you to—”

“Do I look like a person easily coerced into doing something he doesn’t want to do?”

She ran her fingers through her hair again as Barrett straightened his tie and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth slowly. Even that slight movement made her breath hitch, made her latent panting slightly more pronounced.

She looked down at the glistening ring on her finger, the way the crystal caught the light. It looked so much like a real diamond, for a moment she wondered if it was. She’d gotten so distracted, she’d almost forgotten her mission for tonight, but now she remembered. Emily had been determined to return the ring because she was sure he didn’t care for her. And though she wasn’t as certain about his indifference to her anymore, after a kiss like that, Emily couldn’t possibly accept money from Barrett anymore. Whatever happened next, working for him as his fake fiancée simply wasn’t possible.

Emily wiggled the ring over her knuckles and held it out to Barrett, her fingers lightly shaking as it plopped into his hand.

“I’m sorry, I—I can’t be your fake fiancée anymore,” she whispered. Then she opened her door and hurried out of the car before he could say a word.

Her perfume lingered in the air around him, as Barrett looked down at the ring in his hand.

What the hell just happened?

He held the ring up to the light from the hospital building. Unbeknownst to Emily, it was a princess cut diamond that had cost him over thirty thousand dollars. He couldn’t stomach the idea of Emily wearing some gaudy fake, so he’d purchased the real deal, convincing himself he could always sell the diamond back for fair market value later.

It was still warm from her skin, and he slipped it over his pinkie finger, watching the facets sparkle. Speaking of different facets, Barrett was starting to get whiplash.

He sat back in his seat, waiting until his body calmed down before following her inside, and took an overview approach to the evening so far.

They’d started out the evening with familiar, businesslike formality.

She’d decided to veer from their agreed-upon roles, creating an engagement fantasy for the amusement of Hélène Harrison. (He grudgingly gave her credit for establishing a more stable social rapport with the Harrisons that would certainly grease his deal.)

She got up from the table visibly upset by the course of the engagement fantasy that she herself had concocted and perpetuated.

Upon her return she made hasty farewells, due to upsetting news about the state of her mother’s health.

At her request, she ended up on his lap, setting his whole body on fire as she kissed him like the world was ending. (In fairness, he’d given as good as he got.)

She broke up with him. (As much as one can break off an engagement that was fake in the first place.)

The overview approach, which was generally so effective for figuring out where a business deal had gone south, was of no use to him, he thought, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He didn’t know why she’d decided to create an engagement fantasy, what about it had upset her, why she wanted him to kiss her so badly when she’d never been interested in him before tonight, and—most baffling of all—why she had just truncated their arrangement without cause.

“Damn it!” he bellowed, disliking the unfamiliarity of being out of his depth and in the dark. Especially with Emily, with whom he’d just shared the most sexually meaningful event of his entire life. And they hadn’t even come close to having sex.

His body, which had been cooperating with the plan to “calm down” hardened appreciably at that thought, and Barrett drummed his fingers on the windowsill with annoyance, trying to push the image of naked Emily out of his head.

He was grateful for the distraction when his phone buzzed.

The first message was from Emily:

Dr. Knightly is here. We cannot thank you enough for your kindness in calling him. My mother is sleeping soundly, but we are concerned about the reason for her blackout. Please don’t wait for me. I will go home with my father. –E

Barrett narrowed his eyes, irritated at being dismissed and further annoyed that he was irrelevant to the situation now. Mostly because he wanted to help more. He wanted to be a part of whatever was going on in Emily’s life, especially if it pertained to her mother’s health.

He grumbled as he pulled up the second message:

Hélène and I pray that your future mother-in-law recovers quickly from her accident. Emily was a pure delight. We are having a house party at our place in the Hamptons this weekend and Hélène wonders if you two might be free to join us? We’ll carve out time to finalize our business. –J.J. Harrison

Great. Fantastic. Just perfect.

In order to solidify the deal Emily’s antics had helped to move along, he was going to have to somehow convince her to go to the Hamptons with him next weekend, which would be a feat, since she’d just broken off their fake engagement.

A small part of him was pissed off. They’d just shared the most amazing kiss of his entire life, and she’d chosen that moment to return his ring and run. It didn’t just piss him off—if he was honest, he’d admit that it hurt his feelings.

And now, despite her wish to cease and desist playing his fiancée, he needed her more than ever.

He thought of the crappy little apartment that she lived in with her roommate, Valeria Campanile. He knew that they had trouble occasionally meeting their rent because the check had been late more than once, and at least twice it had been drawn from an account owned by Fredo Campanile, Valeria’s father. Barrett knew this because when he found out where she lived, he’d purchased the building for twice its value from the owner. Emily didn’t know that he was actually her landlord. She didn’t need to. It gave Barrett peace of mind to know that she’d never be evicted, and he’d had a top of the line security system added to the walk-up as his first order of business.

His father was fond of saying that necessity was the mother of invention. Barrett needed Emily to come with him to the Hamptons for business, yes, but Barrett also wanted time with her. He needed time to explore what had happened between them tonight.

He grimaced as a simple plan laid itself out before him. He didn’t like it, but it was certainly a means to an end.

He pressed the button on the console. “Smith, take me to Haverford Park for tonight.”

As the car started moving he opened a new text box and started typing his instructions.

***

Emily woke up the next morning in her childhood bedroom on the second floor of the small gatehouse at Haverford Park. Morning light filtered through the dormer windows that had been decorated with white eyelet curtains for as long as Emily could remember. The red, orange, and brown leafed branches of an oak tree bobbed peacefully just outside her window.

Rolling over, she took her iPhone off the bedside table and checked it for messages. Huh. Two from Valeria and both seemed urgent:

Where are you? Is everything okay?

---

Pls call & let me know u r ok. Assuming everything went better than expected w/Barrett, u slut. BTW, we need to tlk about $$. New asshole landlord raised rent.

Emily groaned, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. She’d returned the fake engagement ring to Barrett last night, effectively breaking up with him. Damn it, but that had been a hasty decision. She hadn’t even considered what would happen if they needed extra money.

She shivered under the covers, stretching languorously then reaching under her shirt to rest her hands flat on her belly. Without thinking, she slid them up to her bare breasts, which she cupped in her palms, her body turning on, instantly hot and wet as she remembered Barrett touching her through the flimsy material of her cami and bra. Her nipples tightened, throbbing for his touch as she slipped another hand into her pajamas bottoms, touching herself in the hidden folds behind a trim triangle of fuzz. She remembered the way his tongue felt in her mouth, how his erection had pressed against her belly as he explored her lips and seduced her tongue, touching her, feeling her, branding her. She came to a quick climax with her head full of Barrett, panting softly. Who knew that underneath his cold-blooded, shark exterior, Barrett burned as hot as a bonfire?

Her phone dinged again to alert her to a new message, and she slipped her hands away from her body, an optimistic part of her hoping it was Barrett.

No luck. Valeria again:

Seriously. Need to know u r ok. Combed the lease. Looks like this is lawful, but I’m pissed. I’m going to track down the landlord and give him a piece of my mind!

Emily grinned, typing back:

If anyone can get to the bottom of this, it’s you, tiger.

I’m fine. My mother had an accident last night and Barrett drove me out to Haverford. Also, I quit/broke up with him.

How bad is the rent? Do I need to grovel for my job back?

She lay back on the pillow, her thoughts turning to her mother.

Thankfully, Dr. Knightly had been very encouraging the night before, and finally sent Emily and her father home around midnight, insisting that Susannah was stable and they should get some sleep. He said he would call as soon as Susannah’s test results came back, but all around, his attitude was reassuring and he told them not to worry, just to come back and visit tomorrow afternoon.

And of course thoughts of Dr. Knightly led directly to thoughts of Barrett again—how he’d called his friend, Victoria, and arranged for the best neurologist in the city to attend to Susannah. It made her heart swell. She sighed, wondering if her feelings for him were welcome. He’d surprised her so much last night, she couldn’t discount the possibility that something real had finally flared up between them.

The way he’d played along with the fake engagement story, embellishing it, making her blush, the way he’d said, “
Emily sometimes forgets the romantic hidden deep inside of me.”
She bit her lip, feeling weak as she pictured his perfect smile, intense blue eyes and thick blond hair. Was there any truth to that line?
Was
there a romantic hidden deep inside of Barrett and did he have any genuine feelings for her?

The kiss they’d shared had blown her mind, making her hungry—starving, even—for more of him. She’d never experienced chemistry like that with anyone, not in her entire life. Just thinking about it made her feel feverish and exhausted, desperate and longing.

“Barrett,” she whispered, flipping over, remembering the way his eyes had softened during their engagement ruse, and her realization that he’d looked at her that way once before.

Her vanity was still covered with photos from her childhood and adolescence, tucked in between the frame and glass of the mirror and her eyes lazily sailed over them, pulled effortlessly to the one on the bottom left, which was mostly obscured by others. Emily got out of bed and sat down at the vanity, plucking it carefully away from the glass and staring at it with new eyes: It was a black and white picture of a little boy holding a baby, and Emily knew from countless retellings that it was Barrett holding her a few days after she was born. She could see how the little boy who’d held her so many years ago had grown into the man he was today in his sandy blond hair and the shape of his face, in the strong curve of his jaw, even as a child. She traced the lines of his face with her fingers, almost expecting the photo to animate and for him to look up at her with his bright blue eyes.

She sighed, flipping the picture over to read in her mother’s familiar cursive:
Barrett and Emily, when she was new.

Her shoulders slumped and she wished she understood what was happening between them. As she gazed back at the photo, she wondered again if there could actually be something real growing between her and Barrett, and for the first time, she wondered if maybe it was the sort of thing she’d been looking for, for as long as she could remember.

***

After two short knocks, the door to Barrett’s room swung open and he felt her weight on his bed before he even turned to look at her.

“Good morning.”

“I’m asleep,” he mumbled.

“Like hell.”

“You kiss your father with that mouth?” he asked, a smile pulling at the corners of his.

“I kissed
your
father with that mouth,” she retorted. “At least five times.”

“Ugh! Mom! Gross!”

He turned over to see his mother, fifty-five-year-old Eleanora Watters English perched on the edge of his bed, dressed sharply in tennis whites. Good genes and excellent self-care had ensured that his mother looked about fifteen years younger than her true age. She worked hard to keep herself in top-notch condition, playing tennis several times a week, walking the extensive grounds of Haverford Park, and volunteering for myriad charities.

“Hello, first-born,” she crooned, chucking him under the chin. “To what do I owe this unexpected delight?”

“Long story.”

“One that Fitz has already previewed for me, which leads me to enquire: Does that story have anything to do with a certain gardener’s daughter?”

Barrett sighed, rubbing his eyes. “And if it does?”

“Take care, eldest,” his mother warned, her eyes wary. “These sorts of things can get dicey quick. Felix is very important to your father.”

It was interesting to Barrett that his mother always excused herself from a personal relationship with the Edwards, but he understood why. His father, Tom, had grown up with Felix, who had been an early playmate to Barrett’s father, an only child. And although Tom English and Felix Edwards rarely socialized formally, it wasn’t unusual to see Tom stop by the greenhouse for a quick chat or walk the gardens with Felix in conversation for an hour or more. Barrett’s father had even paid for Emily’s undergraduate course of study at U Penn as a favor to the Edwards, and though “friends” would be an awkward definition for their relationship, they were certainly very fond of each other.

There was an implicit awkwardness in the situation—her gardener was also her husband’s oldest childhood friend and more of a constant in his life than she could rival. The dynamic had created a natural distance between his mother and the Edwards, whom she’d always treated with a mixture of businesslike crispness sprinkled with a bit of familial fondness.