Breaking Up with Barrett: The English Brothers #1 (The Blueberry Lane Series - The English Brothers) (9 page)

“Thank you for agreeing to do this,” he said, opening her door as Smith put her suitcase in the trunk of the town car.

“Of course,” she answered in that well-modulated tone she’d cultivated by living at Haverford Park for most of her life. “Thank you for inviting me, Barrett.”

Once she was seated, he reached into his pocket and took out the engagement ring. “Ready for this?”

Instead of letting him put it on his finger, she held her palm flat and he dropped it onto her skin, neatly avoiding all contact. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Barrett started to raise the privacy window between the front and back seats, but Emily sidled closer to the window to say hello to Smith, so he lowered it again.

“How’s tricks, Smith?”

“There’s no such thing as a free lunch, Miss Emmy.”

“Misery loves company.”

“Count your blessings, child.”

“Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today.”

“All’s well that ends well,” he replied, chuckling softly. “You win.”

“I always win,” said Emily, cheeks pink and eyes bright when she turned back around to face Barrett.

“Let’s go, Smith,” said Barrett, raising the window. Emily scooted back to sit beside Barrett, leaving a foot of distance between them which he hated. He glanced at the glass behind which Smith was driving. “What on earth was that?”

“Me and Smith? We go way back. He used to let me help wash the cars on Sundays. It was a pretty fun time, let me tell you.”

“Do you always speak to him like that? In clichés?”

“Know what’s cliché, Barrett? The tone you’re using right now.” Her lips tightened and her eyes looked disappointed. “Smith is quick and smart. While you’re at business meetings and when your flights are delayed, he’s doing crosswords and other word games while he waits for you. We’ve been playing “Cliché” since I was little. It made me feel smart… and important. I’d never let him down by refusing a round. It’s how we say hello.”

“I’m not judging you.”

She shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest and looking out her window. “Feels like it a little.”

“I’m not. I promise, Emily, I’m not. I think you’re amazing.”

“The amazing gardener’s daughter.”

“That’s right,” he answered evenly, refusing to rise to her bait, refusing to even acknowledge that she was anything except his equal in every way. He changed the subject. “I hated being away from you this week. I’m not fit for company.”

“Well, you better get fit,” she said. “We’ve got a long weekend ahead.”

He clenched his jaw, looking out his window as he asked her quietly, “Did you miss me?”

She was silent for a long time and when he finally looked over at her, she was still staring out her window like the highway from downtown Philly to the airport was the most fascinating strip of space she’d ever seen.

“Yes,” she finally whispered without moving, without looking at him, without giving anything else away.

He turned back to his window. It would have to be enough. For now.

***

The moment she saw him standing by the car door, blond hair burnished in the afternoon light, she knew staying away from his this weekend was going to be the battle of her life, which was precisely why she picked a quarrel with him. He hadn’t done anything wrong, though his tone had adopted that haughty quality she’d always disliked when he asked about “Cliché.” He did realize she was a child of the help, right? And that her parents and other English family employees, like Smith, were her equals, right?

She bit her bottom lip. She had worried about this from the very beginning. Would it be a problem for them?

She didn’t need to think about the question for long before the answer came to her: No. No it wouldn’t. For all of Barrett’s privilege, and despite her previous worries, he really wasn’t much of a snob.

Emily glanced at him as surreptitiously as possible; at his sharp suit and crisp tie. His long lashes reflected in the glass of the window. She thought about him dicing onion in her parent’s kitchen and drinking Edwards’ Select out of the bottle. The way he’d called a doctor to care for her mother and laughed good-naturedly during dinner with her father. The way he looked in jeans and a T-shirt, or the way he’d just asked if she missed him. Barrett could certainly act superior at times, but mostly in matters of business. For as far back as Emily could remember, regardless of the boundary that should have existed between them, Barrett had treated her as an equal. His feelings for her were genuine. Emily was sure of it.

Smith drove them to the hangars where the smaller, private planes took off, helping with their luggage and agreeing to meet them at 4:00 pm on Sunday in the same spot.

“Happy trails, Miss Em,” he said, giving her a worried grin.

“Until we meet again,” she crooned in response.

Without actually touching her, Barrett gestured to the waiting prop plane and Emily preceded him up the little stairs and into the tiny Robin 160A. There were two seats in the front for the pilot and co-pilot and two in the back for passengers.

“Hey, Jimmy,” said Barrett, pulling the airplane door shut behind him and latching it. “Kip.”

The two men looked up and smiled.

“This is Emily Edwards. She’s my plus-one today to Easthampton.”

Kip offered his hand. “Good to know you, Emily.”

Emily smiled back politely and shook hands before taking the seat behind Kip. Jimmy already had his headphones on and gave her a slight wave from his seat, kitty corner to hers. Instead of a proper ceiling, there was a bubble of greyish-brown glass over Emily’s head which probably led to great views, but did nothing to assuage her fear of heights. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her pounding heart.

Barrett sat down beside her, clicking his seatbelt together. “Hey. You okay?”

“I’ve only flown a couple of times and never in a plane this small.”

“Oh. Well, don’t worry. Jimmy and Kip are pros. They’ve been flying me all over the country for years now.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat as the propellers whirred louder. Barrett picked up some headphones hanging over the armrest of his seat and pointed to hers, then to her ears.

Emily nodded, putting the headphones on over her ears, but her fingers were trembling violently as she lowered them to the arm rests of her seat. Her nails dug into the soft beige leather as they turned toward the runway, picking up speed. Just before the plane lifted off, she turned to Barrett with wide eyes and before she could process what he was doing, he leaned over the seat, and she felt his lips pressing against hers, his hands cradling her face, his fingers threaded into her hair. Utterly shocked by his actions, she leaned toward him, her own hands rising from the seat to cover his, to press them more firmly against her face, as she laced her fingers through his.

She shifted in her seat, leaning sideways to be closer to him, her stomach dropping as they gained altitude—or was it butterflies in her stomach from the touch of his tongue against hers? Whatever it was, it felt more comforting and more dangerous and distracting than the tiny plane that was almost in the clouds now.

Finally, Barrett pulled away from her, lips glistening, and mouthed, “Are you okay?”

She lowered her hands from his, nodding.

Reluctantly, he let his hands slip from her face, his smoky eyes holding hers as he returned them to his lap.

“Sorry,” he mouthed, giving her a sheepish shrug.

“It’s okay,” she mouthed back, feeling grateful for the way he’d distracted her. It was as though he knew exactly what she’d needed and then offered it to her. More and more, that’s who Barrett was in her life—the person who gave her what she needed. The person who called doctors in the middle of the night and helped her make extra money for her rent. The person she wanted beside her when tiny planes shook and rattled on takeoff.

And suddenly Sunday seemed a million years away.

Oh, Lord
, she thought, her racing heart calming as she looked out the window at the little towns and villages that rushed past below,
please let this weekend fly by as fast as this little plane.

“Emily!” exclaimed Hélène, holding out her hands as Emily stepped into the foyer of the grandest home she’d ever seen, next to Haverford Park. The Harrison’s Hamptons “cottage,” Trade Winds, was a rambling grey-shingled mansion set at the end of a private lane with sweeping 180 degree views of the ocean. “You’re finally here!”

Emily took Hélène’s hands and allowed herself to be folded against the older woman’s chest. “Your mother?”

“Much better, Mrs. Harrison.”

“
C’est bon
! And you
must
call me Hélène! We’re good friends now.” She beamed at Emily, wrapping an arm around her waist and ushering her to the staircase. “But, you’ve also arrived at the worst possible moment! We’re all headed out for an impromptu sail, though I know that you, and your adorable fiancé”—she leaned to the right to kiss Barrett’s cheek—“can find
something
to do for the hour we’re gone?
Oui
?”

“Oh, I…” Emily flushed, taking a deep breath and chuckling awkwardly at Hélène’s innuendo.

“Josephina! Please take Mr. English and
Mademoiselle
Edwards up to their room! Cocktails on the dock in an hour!”

In a flurry of silk scarf and perfume, Hélène click-clacked through the house to catch up with the rest of the sailors.

Barrett looked at Emily, barely suppressing a grin, and Emily’s shoulders shook lightly as she turned and followed Josephina-the-maid up the stairs. Hélène Harrison was certainly larger than life in her own digs.

They turned right at the landing, and then followed Josephina down to the end of the hall where she opened the last door on the left. She gestured for them to enter. “Your bags will be up in a moment.”

“Thank you so much, Josephina,” said Emily, smiling at the young woman. “You’re very kind.”

Taken aback, the maid beamed at Emily and nodded as she closed the door behind them.

“You’re nice to everyone,” said Barrett softly from where he stood between two of four French doors that looked out onto the water. Through white gauze curtains Emily could see the green lawn that led down to the water, the waves and blue sky, sailboats bobbing in the breeze. Frankly, she was happy to look anywhere that didn’t include the Queen-sized bed that dominated the small, but charming, guest bedroom.

“My mother always had favorites. You know, of your houseguests. The ones who were nicest to her.”

Barrett grinned, crossing the room and sitting down in an easy chair situated by a fireplace. Emily suspected he’d chosen to sit there, and not on the bed, to make her more comfortable, and she was grateful for it.

She was achingly aware of him in such close quarters, replaying their kiss in the limo, on her father’s kitchen counter, in the plane, and—
oh, God
—on the tennis courts.

“It’s so warm in here,” she said, leaning away from the door and heading to the windows. She separated the curtains and opened a set of French doors that led to a balcony with two chairs. “Come sit outside with me?”

He’d been watching her from his seat by the fire and sighed, a little disappointed maybe to leave the intimacy of the small room. He stood, shrugging out of his suit jacket, which made the muscles on his back ripple. Emily stared with unabashed admiration, whipping her glance away when he turned around, but damn it, he caught her and grinned.

“Want to see anything else?” he asked in a low voice, loosening his tie. Emily watched as he took it off, then unbuttoned the two top buttons of his dress shirt.

Her mouth went dry. Completely gorgeous Barrett English, who had given her an
al fresco
orgasm on Saturday night was standing in front of a bed, in a bedroom they were sharing, undressing. She pressed cool hands to hot cheeks and turned back to the balcony. “N-no, thanks.”

How in the hell was she going to make it through tonight if she couldn’t even watch him take his tie off?

She plunked down in one of the two chairs miserably, looking out at the spectacular view, which was all but lost on her.

“I was just teasing,” he said, sitting down in the chair beside her.

“Don’t,” she said, biting her lip, staring out at the water. “Please don’t tease me. It’s hard enough.”

Her life felt stupid and silly and out-of-control suddenly. She was in a beautiful place with the man she’d always wanted, but she couldn’t touch him, couldn’t tell him how she felt, couldn’t do anything but fist her fingers and practice every bit of self-control she’d ever mastered in her life.

“Hey,” he said softly, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “It’s going to be a miserable weekend if we can’t, you know…”

She turned to face him.

“Well, we can’t,
you know
,” she said using air quotes. “It’s off-limits.”

He scoffed softly, looking out at the water before shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant. If we can’t, you know—talk, laugh, tease… be around each other.”

“Oh.” She felt her face soften. “I’m just nervous, I guess.”

“Want to hear something crazy?” he asked, flicking his glance to her, and she nodded. “Me too.”

“Barrett, ‘the Shark,’ English? Nervous about being alone with a girl? I don’t believe it.”

***

Well, at least my confession lightened the moment
, he thought.

The tension in the room from the moment they’d arrived had been almost unbearable. A big, plush-looking bed… and an hour. He groaned inwardly, pushing aside fantasies of how he’d like to spend that hour and turned to her.

“Then you obviously haven’t met this girl.”

“I guess not. Tell me about her,” she said, re-crossing her legs so they pointed at him.

“I’m not sure I should.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I’m not allowed to like her this weekend. Not as much as I do, anyway.”

“Is that right?”

He nodded, doing his best to look pathetic. “Liking her is ‘off-limits.’” He used air quotes just as she had a few minutes ago.

“Hmm,” she hummed. “But if you
were
allowed, what would you say captivated you about her? In the beginning?”

“In the
very
beginning? Her eyes.”

Emily’s lips twitched as her cheeks bloomed pink.

“I held her on my lap, and she stared up at me from her little pink blanket with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen, and…” His voice trailed off as he stared into those same blue eyes now.

“And?” she whispered.

He took a deep breath, letting his thoughts segue easily from images of the baby he’d held in his arms to memories of her as a little girl.

“When she was little she wore blonde braids everywhere she went. They trailed down her back and her mother would tie ribbons in them, the same color as whatever shirt or dress she was wearing.”

“What else?” she asked, her eyes wide and surprised.

He shrugged, unfastening a silver cufflink and setting it on a small table between their chairs. Emily picked it up and twirled it between her fingers. He watched as his cufflink caught the light and for a second he was jealous of it—of a stupid piece of silver—because she’d reached for it so effortlessly.

“When she was about ten, my mother told me that she broke her arm falling out of an oak tree.” He rolled his cuff up slowly, concentrating on the task, not daring to meet her eyes. If they were soft, or worse, languid, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from pulling her into his arms. “I was a freshman in college when it happened, and I had planned to come home that weekend anyway, but something made me pick up a stuffed bear from the campus book store. I left it by her back door with a note that said—”

“
No more breaking anything
,” she whispered. “I didn’t know it was you.”

He still didn’t look up. He took a deep breath through his nose, savoring the bracing smell of brackish air on the cool breeze.

“What else?” she whispered.

He unfastened his other cufflink and set it carefully on the table, not waiting to see if she’d pick it up, because if she did he’d reach for her fingers so that she’d touch him instead of the metal which had pressed against his pulse all day.

“The summer I finished my MBA program, she was sixteen.” She started to interrupt him so he continued quickly. “I was home for the summer party and she looked so grown up, I swear to God, I had to remind myself she was still a kid.”

“You barely said hello to me.”

Barrett started rolling his other cuff carefully, deliberately, chuckling softly. “I didn’t trust myself. You looked twenty, but you weren’t…and I admit I kind of hated Wes for following you around all afternoon and making you smile.”

Her blue eyes were soft and warm as she looked back at him. “Will you hate me if I ask… what else?”

“I don’t know how to hate you,” he murmured.

Her breath caught, and he watched her wet her lips, her eyes beseeching. “Barrett. Please.”

Watching her mouth made blood shoot to his groin in a rush. She was begging him to stop and yet begging him to go, and as much as he wanted to reach for her, he knew he shouldn’t. He cleared his throat, returning his attention to his sleeve.

“When she was eighteen she went away to Paris—to Giverny—for the summer to stay with her aunt. At first I didn’t know where she’d gone, but I summoned the courage to casually ask her mother where she was. When I learned she wouldn’t be back until late-August, I considered buying a ticket and going to Paris for the weekend… just for a glimpse of her.” He flicked a glance up to see the mesmerized look in her eyes, before looking back down again to push his sleeves to his elbows before sitting back in his chair and staring out at the sea. He shrugged. “But I had just made Vice President at English & Sons, so I couldn’t pick up and go. I woke up every day thinking about it, though. I talked myself in and out of it a hundred separate times.”

Emily was quiet beside him, her fingers still rolling the monogrammed cufflink as she breathed just loud enough for him to hear, for him to know how much his words were affecting her.

“What else?” she asked in a soft, hitched voice.

“When she was nineteen, I almost got engaged.”

She gasped beside him and the cufflink fell from her fingers, clattering to the floor and skittering to the edge of the small balcony. She leaned down to pick it up, then placed it on the table beside its mate with trembling fingers.

When she looked at him, his breath caught from the confusion in her eyes. Possessive, furious, longing, uncertain, surprised. For him. Over him. He clenched his jaw because her face was telling him so much he wanted and needed to know about how she felt, even if she wasn’t sure herself. It gave him hope—real hope that when Sunday rolled around they’d be together at last.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered.

“No one knew,” he said. “I never asked her.”

“What happened? You were twenty-seven…” She looked away from him, and he could almost see the cogs in her mind working to remember who he was dating when she was nineteen years old. “B-Bree…”

“Bree Ambler.”

“Yes.” Emily nodded, her brows furrowing. “She came for Boxing Day.”

“My mother never approved of non-family for Christmas Day, but I wanted to re-introduce her to everyone before I popped the question, so I invited her for the day after.” He clenched his jaw, unable to look at Emily anymore without reaching for her, touching her, tasting her. His nostrils flared and he stood, pressing his palms against the railing.

“What happened?” she asked from behind him, a tremor in her voice.

Barrett turned his eyes to her lovely, upturned face and said simply, “You were there.”

***

You were there.

The words slammed through her like cyclone blast, knocking the wind from her chest and watering her eyes.

He shrugged, turning his back to the ocean so he faced her. “When I walked in with Bree, there you were. Long legs, blue eyes, blonde hair. I hadn’t seen you in about a year, and you’d grown into an adult in that time. I couldn’t take my eyes off you, and I knew it wouldn’t be fair to go any further with Bree. I broke up with her that evening on the way back to the city.” He swallowed, searching her eyes.

She felt her face contort in disbelief, and hope, and quiet agony for the situation they were in. Though she’d always loved Barrett in her own quiet way, Emily had been in the dark about the feelings he’d harbored for her for most of her life. To learn that he’d watched her, studied her, admired her for so many years? That he’d walked away from a possible wife because of her? It was almost too much to process all at once.

Emily stood up without saying a word and walked into the quiet of the bedroom, wanting to escape him, wanting to make love to him, having no idea how to handle the primitive beating of her heart that drummed for him and in fear of him. Her blood coursed through her veins with lust and warning, and her cheeks were so hot and flushed, it felt like July instead of October.