Marrying Mr. English:The English Brothers #7(38)

And yet …

His reserved manners didn't bother Emily; Barrett spoke with economy and  precision, which meant every word was well placed and reliably exact in  meaning. He was so smart, it made her head spin, and so well-informed  she wondered how he found the time to read so much. He was strong and  powerful, and Emily marveled that he'd achieved so much and was so  respected in his field by thirty-two years old. The way Barrett  commanded a table made her feel safe with him-like nothing would dare  bother her with Barrett's strong presence beside her-and she liked the  way his business associates looked at her, like she must be something  special to have wrangled the heart of Mr. English. Lately, in her more  romantic daydreams, Emily imagined Barrett a modern-day Mr. Darcy to her  bookish Elizabeth, wondering how deep his still waters ran and having a  notion that needling him a little might rattle him from his austerity  and cast more light on his character.                       
       
           



       

And the way he made her feel …

When Emily met Barrett for their "dates," his eyes would flash with  something indefinable but sharp, almost like pain or disapproval or  hunger, which made her breath catch, because it meant that-on some  level-she affected him. When he introduced her to his associates as his  fiancée, it made her tremble, and she often had to steady her hand  before offering it to his guests. At times she'd feel his glance linger  on her profile as she sat beside him, and it made her skin flush and her  heart race to feel his eyes focused so intently on her. Occasionally  he'd place his hand on her lower back as he guided her to a table, or  their fingers would touch as they reached for their wineglasses, and  butterflies would mass and throng in her tummy. The way her name rumbled  off his tongue … Emily … was so decadent and low and intimate in her ears,  she had to work to keep her eyes from fluttering closed in pleasure as  the muscles deep inside her body clenched with urgency.

 … isn't there anything you like about him?

How could she tell the truth? Even as a little girl, eight years his  junior, she'd always liked Barrett the best, awed by his innate power  and strength. But playing his fiancée with regularity over the past few  months had ensured that her attraction to Barrett knew no bounds. It sat  quietly in wait for Barrett to make a move-any move-that would allow  her to hope that his heart could be moved by hers.

That was the biggest problem of all: even with her education and  perfectly respectable upbringing, Emily was the help, the gardener's  daughter, the housekeeper's little girl. She was ridiculous for  thinking-for hoping, for wishing, even for a moment-she could ever be a  fit match for the heart of Barrett English.

She flinched, discomfort and a rush of panic making her feel slightly  breathless, as she forced herself to face the fact that what had always  been a slow-burning infatuation had heated to a boiling point over the  past few months. Indeed, if Emily was honest with herself, she knew  she'd fallen in love with Barrett, a circumstance which was entirely  unacceptable and needed correction. Soon.

"Emily?" prompted Val. "Anything?"

Emily forced a deep breath, her heart heavy as she promised to examine  her feelings more thoroughly later and decide, once and for all, what  action they warranted.

"Well … ," said Emily, trying to come up with something trite to appease  Valeria's curiosity without betraying her true struggles. "He always  remembers to order me a glass of Riesling."

"That's something, I guess," said Emily's roommate. She walked along in  silence beside her for a few minutes as fall leaves swirled around their  feet. "But wait. You only drink beer at home. Do you even like  Riesling?"

"Not really."

Valeria glanced at Emily incredulously before her shoulders started  trembling with laughter. "So the thing you like best about Barrett  English is that he orders you the same drink every time, even though it  happens to be a drink you don't even like?"

"I guess so," said Emily, giggling along with her friend, the silliness a reprieve from the hopelessness of her heart.

"That's pathetic, Emily," said Valeria, unlocking the outside door to  their walk-up. "But on the bright side, at least you'll make three to  four hundred dollars for your time tomorrow. How about we splurge on  Chinese tonight?"

"Chinese on Barrett English," said Emily, following her roommate up the  stairs. "I like it. And let's eat it straight out of the containers. I  bet Barrett's never done that in his whole master-of-the-universe life."

***

At that very moment Barrett English, so-called Master of the Universe,  was a force to be reckoned with. He stared at two of his four younger  brothers with one eyebrow raised and his hands tented under his chin.

"You can't do it," insisted Fitz, chief compliance officer of English & Sons, looking to Alex for help.

"Fitz is right, Barrett. Harrison's going to dig in his heels."

When Barrett sat at his massive cherry desk on the nineteenth floor of  the newest, trendiest, most expensive office building in Philadelphia,  he didn't often take no for an answer. Frankly, Barrett rarely took no  for an answer regardless of where he was sitting.

"You're going to need his cooperation," said Fitz, who had always been  more of a rule follower than Barrett, which Barrett both envied and  considered a weakness. "You can't just bulldoze your way into the  situation, threatening an acquisition of the largest shipbuilding  company on the East Coast. J. J. Harrison still owns thirty percent of  the company, not to mention the employees love him like a father. You  force him out, you risk the employees walking, and you'll be left with  nothing but a shell of a company. You're going to have to win him over."                       
       
           



       

Alex looked at Barrett, then quirked his lips up, suppressing a grin at  Fitz's impassioned plea. Alex was the most easygoing of the five  brothers. Both in and out of the office he had a perpetual smirk on his  face, which made him the target of all women everywhere. Again, a  quality Barrett was grudgingly envious of, even as he turned his nose up  at Alex's shenanigans, which frequently caused uncomfortable romantic  tangles for his middle brother. Barrett wasn't interested in any of  that. He was Barrett English. He didn't have time for that sort of  nonsense.

When he felt frustrated for female company, he called Felicity Atwell  and they scratched each other's mutual itch in the suite of an expensive  hotel before going their separate ways. He didn't require or desire  more of an attachment than that.

Mostly.

He flicked his eyes down at his desk, where he'd written a reminder to  himself to call the sommelier at The union     League Club to ensure they  had the Egon Müller Riesling icy cold and uncorked promptly at  seven-o-five tomorrow night. There were twenty-four hours between now  and then-they could have a bottle imported from Germany in that time, if  needed. If Emily insisted on drinking that sweet slop, at least she  should be drinking the best.

"I'm just saying, more bees with honey," said Fitz, looking a little desperately at Alex. "Maybe Alex or I should … "

Barrett saw the silent message pass between his younger brothers. They  didn't think he could swing this deal because he wasn't charming enough?  He suppressed a snort. Charm didn't get deals done. Strength and focus  did.

"I'll handle it," replied Barrett tersely, sitting straight in his chair  and picking up the receiver of his desk phone. "Anything else?"

Fitz shifted in the guest chair in front of Barrett's desk, glancing at  Alex again. "Do you have a … a date for tomorrow? It would help keep  things friendly."

"Not that it's any of your business, Fitz, but I do."

Alex leaned forward. "But it's not Emily Edwards, is it?"

Barrett bristled, settling the phone slowly back into its cradle and  staring at Alex with cold eyes. "Say what you want to say, Alex. I've  got more important things to do."

Alex put his hands up. "Emily's a great girl. We all like Emily."

Fitz nodded carefully, his eyes direct and cool. "And we're all quite fond of Felix and Susannah, of course."

"Of course," agreed Alex.

"Of course," said Barrett, drily. He raised an eyebrow. "So … ?"

"You could bring Felicity Atwell or any of the other girls you met at Penn."

"Not interested. They'd read into it on a personal level. Could get messy."