Kiss Me Kate (The English Brothers Book 6) (15 page)

Yes. I’d like that.

She exhaled raggedly, closing her eyes for a moment in relief. Her phone buzzed again in her palm.

As long as you don’t wear that blue dress, or I won’t be able to make coherent sentences.

A surprised giggle escaped from her lips and her tummy fluttered.

No promises :) See you tomorrow?
she typed.

See you tomorrow, Kate,
he answered.

She knew Stratton’s intention in calling her this morning had been to warn her away from Étienne, but the opposite had happened. News of Étienne’s expulsion and banishment hurt Kate’s heart and made her question the truth of everything she’d believed for twelve years.

For so many years, she’d longed for an explanation for his behavior: why she’d never heard from him, why he’d let go. She finally felt like her questions might be answered, and her relief was palatable, even hopeful.

Aside from finally understanding the past, however, Kate didn’t actually know what could come of their conversation. Settling the past was one thing, but a future together—after so much mistrust and misunderstanding—seemed unlikely. And yet, Kate felt her heart opening as she considered the possibility of belonging to Étienne again, the giddy burst of hope, the barely restrained longing.

“I have no expectations,” she said aloud, but she took her simple white cotton underwear out of the suitcase and replaced it with black lace.

By midweek, Kate and Étienne had developed a routine.

After breakfast, Kate would leave Haverford Park, and Étienne would be waiting for her on the other side of the hedge, in the backyard of Westerly. The Winslows’ old groundskeeper, Friar, didn’t seem to mind two teenagers canoodling in the rose garden or talking for hours on the swing. Étienne had known Friar since childhood, and he’d shared with Étienne that it was nice for
someone
to be enjoying the gardens that he kept carefully pruned for Mrs. Winslow, despite her absence. As long as Étienne and Kate were quiet and respectful of the gardens, he left them alone, which meant that as long as the sun was shining, Westerly belonged to them.

Kate woke up bright and early on Wednesday morning, but it seemed that her family had started to notice her long absences from Haverford Park.

Her Aunt Eleanora stopped by her room to speak with her, launching into a sermon about how Kate’s parents had entrusted her care to her aunt and uncle, how little they were seeing of Kate (she had missed dinner on Monday and Tuesday nights while she was with Étienne) and asking how Kate was spending her days. Kate had hastily explained that she was spending time with the Story sisters and though her aunt had looked slightly dubious, when Kate mentioned that she was friends with Betsy from summer camp, Eleanora had finally relaxed. As she left Kate’s bedroom to play in a tennis tournament, she turned back and told Kate she expected to see her at dinner for the rest of the week.

On the way downstairs Kate passed Weston who changed direction to chase after her, begging her to go riding with him again.

“Later, Wes?” she asked, looking at her watch and cringing to find it was already after eight. She was losing time with Étienne and couldn’t help feeling impatient.

“
When
later?” he whined.

“Um…four?”

“Four o’clock? You promise, Kate? You’ll be here?”

“I’ll try,” she said, tousling his hair with one hand and crossing the fingers of the other behind her back.

In the vestibule, Alex caught up with her.

“Barely seen you since Sunday,” he said. “Let’s catch up. How about lunch in town today?”

“I’m, um, I’m seeing Betsy for lunch,” she lied, looking away from him.

“Tomorrow?”

“Um, sure, okay,” said Kate, thinking she’d have to come up with an excuse to get out of riding with Weston today and lunch with Alex tomorrow. She hated that she was going to let down her cousins, but she couldn’t imagine spending time with her family when she only had a few days left with Étienne. She wanted to spend every possible moment with him.

“Great. Tomorrow it is. Noon?”

“Terrific,” she said, hurrying to the kitchen to grab a muffin on her way out.

“Hey Kate,” said Stratton, sitting in the same place he’d been on Monday, except with a different book.

“Hey,” she said, grabbing a travel coffee mug from the cabinet over the coffee maker.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, flicking his blue eyes to her cup.

“Um, yeah. Thought I’d go hang out with Betsy.”

“Huh. That’ll be tough…since Betsy and her sisters are in New York until Saturday.”

She whipped around to face him. “Wh… How…?”

“How do I know?” Stratton shrugged, giving Kate a disapproving look. “Because I was getting the mail when they drove by yesterday. Betsy rolled down the window and told me to tell you she’d see you at summer camp, and that she was sorry you two didn’t get to spend more time together this week…which was weird since everyone in this family thinks you’ve been with her every waking minute.”

Kate poured coffee into her cup, swallowing slowly before turning to her cousin. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

He looked worried and annoyed, and Kate suspected that Stratton knew exactly what she’d been doing and with whom. “Are you going to tell?”

“That you’ve been spending all day, every day, at Westerly with Étienne Rousseau?”

Rushing to the counter where Stratton sat, Kate placed her hands flat on the cold metal, seizing his eyes. “I’m begging you—”

“I
should
tell. The Rousseaus are trouble! My God, Kate, your parents would have a fit.”

Her eyes watered and her words came out in a rush. “You have no idea what they’re like, Strat! No idea. I can’t go anywhere, I can’t do anything…this is my only chance to be
normal
!”

He stared back at her, his expression torn.

“Please? I’m begging you, Stratton. Please.”

His face was grave as he mumbled, “Yeah, fine. I won’t tell.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, taking a deep breath and swiping at her eyes.

Turning around, she opened the refrigerator and took out some cream, adding a drop to her coffee before replacing it.

Last night, Étienne had thrown pebbles at her window a little while after she’d gone to bed. She’d leaned over the sill to find him standing below, knee deep in her Aunt Eleanora’s rose garden.

“Hey,” he’d whispered, looking up at her, the white of his teeth bright in the moonlight as he smiled.

“What are you doing here?” she’d squeaked, her breath hitching with surprise.

“Shhh. If your cousins find me here, we’ll both be in trouble.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked again in a whisper, drinking in the sight of him, her chest fluttering with excitement and surprise.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, then murmured, “I wanted to see you.”

She leaned her cheek on her hand, smiling down at him, overwhelmed by the deep romance of the moment and the strong yearning of her heart.

“Meet me in the morning?” he asked.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Friar told me about a hidden spot at Westerly…a hammock behind some shrubs in the back copse on the other side of the bridle trail. Want to look for it?”

“Yeah,” she said, chuckling softly and nodding. “A secret place. I love that.”

“
Our
secret place,” he said, staring at her intently before snapping off a rosebud and throwing it up to her. “
Bon nuit,
Kate.”

“Goodnight.”

She’d pressed the soft, tight petals near her nose as she watched him pick his way through the thorny roses and walk the long way back to the border hedge.

“Strat,” Kate whispered, stirring her coffee distractedly. “I think I love him.”

“That’s categorically impossible,” Stratton answered perfunctorily, straightening his glasses. “You only met him sixty hours ago.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she insisted.

“Well,” observed Stratton, “you’re going home in three days. It’ll be the world’s shortest love affair.”

She winced and her eyes prickled with tears, even though she knew Stratton hadn’t meant to hurt her. She was grateful that he had already looked back down at his book so she didn’t embarrass them both by bursting into tears. Instead she took a deep breath and blinked her tears away. The sun was shining and Étienne was already waiting for her. Nothing could ruin today.

Picking up her coffee cup, she started toward the back door when Stratton spoke again. “For the record, I don’t have a good feeling about this, Kate.”

“For the record,” she answered softly, “it’s too late for warnings, Strat.”

He glanced at her briefly and nodded, but not before she noted the concern that darkened his eyes.

Leaving her conversation with Stratton behind, she ran out the door into the sunshine, sprinting as fast she could across the damp, dewy grass, almost slipping twice in her grass-stained white Keds, but not slowing down until she had reached the hedge and pushed her way through it.

And there, like heaven had delivered him, was Étienne, facing the hedge in distressed jeans and a gray T-shirt. His stormy eyes softened and relaxed instantly with her arrival, and his arms, that had been tightly crossed over his chest, loosened and fell to his sides. His whole face lit up as she approached him, his beautiful lips tilting up as the sun reflected off his mop of glossy, jet black hair.

The sound of her coffee cup hitting the ground was soft in her ears as her hands reached for his face, her palms pressing urgently against the warmth of his skin. They hadn’t kissed yet, but the interruptions that had stalled her race to him this morning, in addition to her confession to Stratton, had added a longing—a fierce need—to her heart. This boy who’d seemed so cool and smooth when they met, was deep and delightful, riveting and hilarious. He made her heart sing and her body tingle and in only sixty hours, he had become like water to her, like air, like anything that Kate felt sure she would die without, and all she wanted—all she wanted
in the whole wide world
—was to be wrapped in his arms and feel his lips touching hers.

“Kate,” he whispered, his eyes both lost and seeking as he stared at her. “I got worried. I didn’t know if you were—”

“I will
always
come to you,” she murmured, her fingers flexing on his cheeks as she tilted her head back and leaned up on tiptoes to press her lips to his. They were warm and soft, pliant with surprise.

But then…like the act of kissing him had flipped a switch and awoken something fierce and vital inside of him, his arms came around her swiftly, desperately, pulling her against his body as his head tilted to seal his mouth over hers with a deep, guttural groan. His tongue pushed between her lips, seeking hers, and she moaned into his mouth, meeting him stroke for stroke, clumsily at first, then establishing a rhythm that made heat spread from the epicenter of their lips, unfurling like tendrils all over her body. His fingers curled into the small of her back, the strength of his muscular arms gripping her like iron bands, the hardness of his desire pushing into the softness of her belly, and she welcomed it, answered it, and equaled it with a lust and longing of her own, arching her pelvis into his and shivering from the delicious flood of heat she felt deep inside her body. Her skin flushed as her blood rushed through her throbbing heart, and in that moment, Kate knew that she would never be the same again. She had fallen in love for the first time in her life, and no matter what happened from now until the end of time, Étienne Rousseau would own a piece of her heart.

He touched her lips gently with his—tiny kisses like the brush of angel wings—and then he drew away, his chest heaving with pants as his eyes searched hers uncertainly.

“Étienne,” she said breathlessly, staring at his mouth as she rubbed the pad of her thumb over his kiss-swollen lips. “Can we do that all day long?”

His head fell back suddenly and the sound of his laughter was so unexpected and welcome, Kate joined him with one of her own as he picked her up and swung her around. When her feet touched back down to earth, he released her waist, raising his hands to palm her cheeks as he smiled into her eyes with tenderness and wonder.

“Until our lips bleed,” he promised.

“Until we can’t feel them anymore,” she suggested.

“Until it’s dark.”

“Until we starve.”

“Until forever,” Étienne whispered, tracing the outline of her lips with one fingertip, before pulling her back into his arms and claiming them with his once again.

Kate hadn’t seen Étienne in the boarding area, so she was surprised to find him already sitting in the first-class seat next to hers on the plane. Even with his head bent, she could still make out the angles of his face as he looked down at his lap. His thick, black hair was glossy and slicked back, giving her a good view of his face: dark eyebrows, pale skin, a hint of midnight stubble accenting his jawline. Through any lens, any eyes, he was male-model gorgeous, and it momentarily stunned Kate that once upon a time, he had belonged to her.

“Good morning,” she said, unable to keep her face from brightening into a smile as his green eyes looked up at her. He looked freshly showered and completely delicious, which made her so nervous, she babbled, “You must have gotten super special boarding.”

Holding a white coffee mug to his lips, he took a sip then lowered it, grinning at her. “Platinum elite status. I started racking up miles on American when I was a teenager going back and forth to…” His voice tapered off and he dropped her eyes. He placed his coffee cup on the tray in front of him, and when he looked back at Kate, his face was hard. “Doesn’t matter.”

“I’ll just…” she said, lifting her small rolling suitcase into the overhead compartment and hating the shift from warm hellos to awkward curtness. What had he been about to say? Military school? Had he started earning miles going back and forth to military school after her cousin got him expelled?

Kate swallowed uncomfortably, then sat down beside him, putting her purse on the floor in front of her seat and holding her briefcase on her lap. Darting a glance at Étienne, she found him shifted slightly away from her, looking out the window.

“I thought I’d review the possible buyer profiles on the way down,” she said.

Étienne didn’t say anything.

“From what I can tell, Hubbard Oil looks to be our best bet,” she said, feeling guilty about something she’d had no part in, and wishing there was an easy way to talk to him about everything. “They have the capital to—”

“Can I ask you something?” he said, turning back toward her, his eyes direct and searing.

She shrugged, trying to look casual, but every muscle inside her body clenched with anticipation of unpleasantness. “I guess.”

His face remained expressionless but for his eyes which churned as he stared back at her before finally asking in an unexpectedly congenial voice, “How’s your friend, Libitz?”

She blinked at him before shaking her head in surprise and laughing softly.

“Not what you were expecting?” he asked, his gorgeous lips slanting up in a tempting smile. She knew that look—he was teasing her, and it made her belly flip-flop.

“Not at all,” she said. “How in the world do you remember her name?”

“I remember everything,” he said softly, holding her eyes.

And something deep inside of Kate woke up, stretching and unfurling, as though she were a flower and he, the sun. It felt warm and intimate. So tender. And so familiar.

“Me too,” she whispered.

His face lightened again. “So? How’s Libitz?”

“She’s good,” said Kate, closing her briefcase and relaxing into her seat. “She owns an art gallery in SoHo. She calls herself prickly, but I think Lib’s just an acquired taste…and she still calls me on all of my crap.”

“So, she’s still your best friend?”

Kate nodded. “Oh, yeah. I can’t imagine not knowing Lib.”

“Based on what you told me, I always thought she might be a good match for J.C.,” said Étienne, his eyes twinkling.

“Lib with a W.A.S.P.? Fat chance.”

“Hey, now…
we’re
not W.A.S.P.s. First of all, we’re neither Anglo, nor Saxon. We’re French. And second of all, we’re Catholic.”

Kate chuckled, conceding his point. “Still…debonair player J.C. with prickly little Lib? I don’t see it.”

“She’d call him out on all of his shit,” said Étienne, cocking an eyebrow and daring Kate to disagree.

“That she would,” agreed Kate, smiling and shaking her head because she couldn’t imagine it ever happening. With nil threshold for bullshit, Lib would likely deck J.C. before he could even make a pass at her.

Étienne took a deep breath, changing gears. “Bet she wasn’t thrilled to hear about this deal with me.”

“She had some choice words.”

Étienne chuckled lightly. “Yeah. It’s weird.”

“It
is
weird,” agreed Kate, laughing with him, remembering another time when they laughed together, staring up at puffy clouds in a spring sky, and it surprised her a little that the unexpected memory of his head on her belly didn’t make her sad. For the first time in a long time, it felt like a good memory, not a part of something bad.

“So what crap does Lib call you out on?”

“The cats. The cousins. Tony. The—”

“Wait, wait, wait. The cats?”

The flight attendant brought Kate a cup of steaming coffee which she accepted gratefully before turning to Étienne with a grimace. “I have three.”

“
Three cats
? I didn’t even know you
liked
cats.”

“How would you?”

“We covered a lot of territory that week.”

Another quick memory of blue skies and sunshine blasted through her head. She’d told him everything about herself that week. How much did he remember? And why had he held onto the information? And why did her heart leap with hopefulness at the thought that memories of her had lived, vibrant and alive, in his head for all of these years?

“I’d never had one back then. My parents disapproved of pets. In fact, my first cat wasn’t even mine. Shelby was my roommate’s cat in law school. One day, Thalia—my roommate—decided she didn’t want to be a lawyer, packed her bags and moved to Malibu to be a surfer, leaving most of her stuff, including Shelby, behind. She was…a special cat. Sweet and loving, like a little human on the inside.”

“Hold on. We’ll get back to the cats in a sec. Your roommate quit law school and moved to Malibu on a whim?”

Kate giggled. “Yeah. Thalia was interesting. Her plan was to study Human Rights Law, then move to the third world and
liberate
. She always said, “We need to liberate the people, Kate! Get down with the plan!” She had blonde dreadlocks. I guess she was raised on a commune and was like this odd transplant from 1968 or something. I admit, her whole philosophy sort of went over my head.”

Étienne chuckled before asking, “So…Did Thalia get busted for narcotics more than once?”

“Now that you mention it…” joked Kate in a singsong voice before shaking her head. “No. Not that I know of. But she smoked a lot of weed.”

“I’ll bet.” He grinned at her. “So, Thalia heads to Malibu and Kate is left with Shelby.”

“Yes,” said Kate, sipping her coffee. “And we loved each other.”

He flinched.

It was slight, almost imperceptible, but as she said the words about loving Shelby, he visibly flinched, and a huge lump suddenly rose up in Kate’s throat. She took another sip of coffee, looking up as the flight attendant came back to ask what they wanted for breakfast. Kate was grateful for the interruption, and by the time they’d placed their breakfast orders, Étienne was composed again.

“So, Shelby was the first…how many have there been since?”

Was it crazy that her mind immediately reinterpreted his question to: “So, I was the first…how many have there been since?” She stared at him, wondering if he was also somehow aware of the double entendre. She almost answered,
A few, but none who ever owned my heart like you.
Her cheeks grew hot as she stared at him, grappling to reset her brain and answer his question appropriately.

“Um, cats?”

He looked curiously at her, raising one eyebrow.

“A few,” she said meekly.

His eyes flashed. “But you never forget your first, huh?”

Her stomach quivered and she lifted her hands, pressing her cool fingers to her cheeks. “She was a…special cat.”

Étienne nodded, holding her eyes, his breathing suddenly ragged and audible. Kate’s own chest heaved up and down with panted breaths, and without warning her mind flashed back to Stratton’s words from yesterday:
He never loved you. He disrespected you.
And as she stared back at Étienne, a sudden anger rose up within her.

“
Her
love was true. Not fickle,” she said sharply.

“We’re not talking about your cat,” said Étienne. “And here I thought we’d agreed to leave our personal history at the door until after the deal went through.”

“I’m not the one who asked about Libitz!”

“Fuck,” he muttered, clenching his jaw and shaking his head. “I’m going to be straight with you, Kate…within five seconds of you sitting down, the tension between us couldn’t be cut with an ax.
Forgive me
for trying to alleviate some of it by asking you an innocent question about your best friend.”

Innocent. Right. Kate narrowed her eyes. “If you’re so eager to chat, why don’t I ask you a question about someone in
your
personal life.”

“Fine, Kate,” he shot back. “Have at it.”

“Amy Colson.”

Étienne’s nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, staring at Kate with a sudden and intense irritation. Finally, he shrugged. “You know what? Fine. Believe it or not, I have nothing to hide. You want to talk about Amy? Let’s talk about Amy.”

***

Étienne was trying to control his temper, but having difficulty, and he sensed Kate was in the same boat. Her eyes were wide and furious as her hands moved to her lap and reached under the briefcase to buckle her seatbelt.

He took a deep, frustrated breath, glancing out the window for a minute as the plane moved forward on the runway and he wondered if this—this, this, this…
knowing
Kate, and
being around
Kate, and trying to figure out what the hell
happened
with Kate, and giving a
fuck
about Kate, all of it—could possibly be any more goddamned difficult and if it was even fucking worth it to try to sort it all out?

There was a veritable sea of shit to wade through…their history with each other, why they lost touch with each other and let go, her cousins and the part they played, her father, her understanding of his relationship with Amy, his suspicions about Stratton. All of it stood between them like a moat of misunderstanding, hurt and recrimination, and yet they didn’t walk away from it. They kept circling it, walking up to the edge of it, just short of leaping in. It stunk and rolled his stomach, and yet all he could think about was grabbing her hand, jumping in, and holding on tight until they found their way to the other side.

Why?

Why would he ever consider jumping into a steaming, stinking, complicated, painful pool of shit?

WHY?

He took another deep breath as the answer came to him. Because all of it—Stratton, Amy, how and why they lost each other, the fight with Alex, his expulsion, her indifference—
all of it
paled in comparison to what they’d felt for each other for one unforgettable week. Because the years that had passed, and the lovers they’d enjoyed, and the lives they’d lived couldn’t diminish or destroy what they’d experienced that week. Because wading through the messy, mucky shit of anger and recrimination was worth it if they could recapture a once-in-a-lifetime love. Because if wading through the shit was their second chance to claim it, then Étienne was just about ready to strap on some waders and jump.

He turned to her. “I’ll give you the entire history of my relationship with Amy. Can you be open-minded? Because it may or may not mesh with fu… with
your cousin’s
version of events.”

Her pinched expression relaxed just a bit, though her lips were still pursed when she said softly, “I’ll try.”

“Tell me what you heard,” he said, bracing himself for ugliness.

“That you cheated on her. Regularly. That you played mind games, letting her believe you were faithful and then denying it when she found out you weren’t. Make ups and break ups. Pain. Suffering.”

“Not all of that is incorrect.”

Her face fell and she gasped softly. “Oh.”

“But the same circumstances can look very different when seen through a different lens.”

“You’re saying I got the wrong spin on the same events?”

“Something like that.”

“But I trust my source. He doesn’t spin things. I doubt he even knows
how
to spin something.”

“Your source. Stratton.”

She nodded sadly. “Stratton.”

Étienne reached for his coffee and took another sip before asking, “Have you ever met Amy?”

“No. Not in person.”

“Never spoken to her?”

“No.”

“So you only know what Stratton told you.”