Kiss Me Kate (The English Brothers Book 6) (4 page)

“Little Jessie Winslow, huh? My condolences. I bet Christopher’s a wreck.”

“I don’t know. Winslows and Englishes seem pretty cozy, actually.”

“Yeah. They always
were
tight. So, Jessie and Alex, huh? Break your leg and you miss a year’s worth of gossip.” He narrowed his eyes at Jax. “And you’re telling me that awkward-as-hell, Stratton-fucking-English is off the market too?”

“Seems that way. He’s screwing some dancer chick named Valeria who has a sizeable ass,” she said, making a lewd hand gesture as she sat down in a guest chair in front of her brother’s desk.

Étienne chuckled. An ass-man himself, he respected Stratton’s choice even though he despised Stratton English with the heat of a thousand fires for getting involved in his on-again, off-again situation with Amy.

“I totally understand why you hate Alex…but, I don’t think you have cause to hate Stratton,” said Jax with a knowing look. “Come on. Do you seriously think he ever banged Amy? I mean, I think it’s more likely—because she was certi-fucking-fiable—that they were just friends and Crazy Amy just made it
sound
like there was more going on.”

“I know she slept over at his place, Jax. A lot. Every time we broke up, she ended up there, because she loved calling me from the landline. What the hell do you think they were doing? Watching chick flicks? Eating ice cream? Playing tiddly winks?”

Jax scoffed. “I grant you, tiddly winks would’ve been a great waste of Stratton English’s godlike body, but I’m telling you…he’s hardcore into this Italian chick. I don’t think he and Amy were ever a thing, no matter how she made it look. I don’t think he’s the type that could downshift that fast.”

“Fucking Amy,” muttered Étienne, sitting down heavily in his desk chair and leaning his cane against the desk. “Psycho.”

“You can say that again,” agreed Jax.

“I still don’t like him.”

“That’s your prerogative.”

“As long as we’re talking about my favorite family from the old neighborhood,” he said acidly, “are you saying that Weston English and Connie Atwell are a done deal? Because last I heard, she went to Italy without him.”

“Nope. He and Connie went their separate ways, and he met a cutie pie named Molly at Fitz’s wedding. Tiny tits, too many freckles, sorta had this Midwestern ‘aw, shucks’ thing going for her.”

Étienne rolled his eyes. “Perfect.”

“Pretty much.”

“So, all of the English are finally off the market,” said Étienne, taking a deep breath and refusing to explore the slight squeeze of his heart as he said these words, and wishing he’d specified “brothers.”

“Not
all
of the Englishes,” said Jax, giving him a sly grin.

Étienne stared at her with hard eyes, daring her to go there, his lips narrowed to an unamused line. “Leave it alone, Jax.”

“I know you still think about her,” said his sister softly, lowering her lashes. While Étienne and Jax spoke freely about every other aspect of their lives, Jax knew that Kate English was not a comfortable or welcome conversation topic for her brother.

Refusing to rise to her bait, Étienne opted for silence, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth and biting it hard, as he tried to banish the image of Kate’s soft, blonde hair and trusting, blue eyes from his mind.

“Okay, fine,” said Jax, realizing they were at a stalemate. Her usual dry, witty demeanor took on a more serious edge. “But, I think you need to have a conversation with Jean Christian
tout de suite
about this new deal.”

Étienne looked up at his sister, wrinkling his forehead, thoughts of Kate English scattering. “Why?”

Jax got up from her seat and pushed the chair back under the lip of her brother’s desk. “Just trust me. You’re going to want to have a conversation ASAP.”

“Why can’t
you
tell me what’s going on?”

“Because I’m not a partner,” she said evenly. “I’m staying out of it. Plus,” she said, glancing at her diamond-encrusted Cartier watch, “I’m going to be late for class. Catch you later?”

“Friday?” asked Étienne distractedly, staring at the back of his hand, which lay flat on his desk.

“See you at J.C.’s,” she said, sailing out of his office door.

As soon as she was gone, Étienne turned his gaze away from the small white scars on the backs of his knuckles, fisting his hand as he turned in his chair. His view from the fourth floor wasn’t spectacular—all he could really see was the office building across the street, but he sat back in his chair for a moment, annoyed that the English family was stealing so much of his peace of mind this morning. What the hell? Was there no escape from that fucking family?

He didn’t want to think about Kate. He’d learned from experience that rehashing those memories did nothing but put him in a nasty, bitter funk for hours. And yet, even as he fought himself, he could feel thoughts of their week together—as warm, lush, and golden as Kate’s hair—pooling in his head, on the brink of flooding his mind with overwhelming and unwelcome feelings.

In an attempt to escape them, he stood up, grabbed his cane, and hobbled from his office to J.C.’s, opening the door without knocking.

“Tell me about the new deal.”

J.C. looked up from his desk in surprise. “Settled in already?”

Étienne dropped his body to the red leather sofa across from J.C.’s desk. “Cut the shit. Jax was being all weird about it. What do I need to know?

J.C. leaned back in his chair, cocking his head to the side. “We agreed when we started this business that we’d leave our personal crap at the door, right?”

Étienne nodded stiffly.

“Okay. So, that established, I made a good deal that you might not like.”

“In ink?”

J.C. shook his head back and forth slowly. “Not yet.”

Étienne relaxed into the couch. “Good. Now tell me the deal isn’t with the English brothers…” As J.C. started to respond, Étienne held up his hand to stop him. “…because you are
my
brother and you know my history with that family and ‘personal crap at the door’ or not, I know you wouldn’t force me into a position in which I was required to work with them.”

“Ten…” started J.C.

“Just tell me it’s not the English brothers.”

“It is.”

“
Fuck
!” exclaimed Étienne, lurching forward, then wincing when his recently-injured knee banged into the coffee table in front of him. He rubbed it, huffing with anger as he looked back at his brother. “Are you kidding me?
Merde!
What were you thinking?”

“God, you got into a little scrape with Alex over ten years ago—”

“
A little scrape
? Are you crazy? He got me
expelled
from St. Michael’s, Jean Christi—”

“You were kids.”

“He broke my fucking nose!”

“The surgeon did a great job fixing it,” said J.C. amicably.

“And Stratton-fucking-Eng—”

“Give me a break. I’d be surprised if he actually knew what to
do
with his dick, and you think he boned Amy? No way. I’m with Jax. You gotta let that one go.”

“Nice to know you and Jax have been gossiping about my private life. And just for your information, Amy spent a lot of time at his place.”

“On the couch, I’m betting. No wait. I bet
he
slept on the couch and gave
her
the bed. You were just too close to all of it to see she was playing you both like fiddles.” J.C. grimaced. “Bitch. You are so well rid of her.”

It was gratifying that Étienne didn’t feel like punching his brother for insulting Amy. All he felt was silent agreement which confirmed that he was well and truly finished with her, and gave him the perspective to say, “This isn’t about Amy. It isn’t even about Alex and Stratton. It’s about you entering into a deal with people I fucking hate. Thank God you didn’t ink it.”

“I lied,” said J.C.

“What about?”

“I inked it.”

“What the
fuck
, J.C.?” His knee clobbered the table again and he let out another loud “fuck” as he leaned forward and rubbed it again.

“We can get out of it, but there’ll be a penalty. A big one.”

Étienne raked his hands through his hair, bending his neck and staring at the floor. “I can’t believe you did this.”

“Sorry. But I can promise you this, little brother. You won’t have to work with Alex. He’s in London. And I’ll handle Stratton. You’ll just be on point with their legal counsel.”

Étienne looked up at J.C., giving him a sour look. “Well, that’s just great. Weston English is about as hot-headed as they come. He’s going to be as difficult as possible.”

“Then be glad you won’t be working with Weston. He took a job at the D.A.’s office at the end of February.”

“Huh.” Étienne wrinkled his nose in thought. “Fitz?”

At least Fitz, who was also a lawyer, was even-tempered and level-headed. Plus, he had the added benefit of being one of the few English brothers with whom Étienne didn’t have a mired personal history.

“Nope. Not Fitz.”

Étienne shook his head, trying to figure out where J.C. was going with this. “Well, I find it really hard to believe that English & Sons has hired non-family counsel for this—”

“Kate.”

Étienne’s head snapped back like he’d been smacked. “What?”

“Kate. Kate English. She lives in Philly now. She’s been lead counsel for English & Company since March.”

Kate English. Fuck.

Étienne stared at J.C. long and hard before looking back down at his hand, which he flexed and fisted reflexively.

Staring daggers at J.C., he finally said quietly, “I can’t work with her. Jax’ll have to do it.”

“Impossible. The deal’s in New Orleans, and you’re schooled in Napoleonic code. She isn’t.”

His eyes must have been like pinwheels, zeroing in on his brother’s slightly sheepish, slightly amused face.

“Shit!”
yelled Étienne, picking up his cane and throwing it across the room.

Kate. KateKateKateKateKate.

Her name reverberated in his head, making it ache, making it long for something he hadn’t seen or touched or reached for in twelve years, making it yearn for something he could never have again, something he should never have had in the first place, something that had changed the whole trajectory of his life, catastrophically, at the time.

Étienne looked up at J.C. “You’re
not
my brother.”

“Yeah, I am,” he answered, his eyes compassionate.

“What’s the penalty if we back out?” Étienne asked softly.

“Four million.”

Étienne’s eyes flashed with despair. Was avoiding his personal history with the English family worth four million dollars? The answer arrived, grim and quick: It was not.

“No other way out?”

“If it helps, we stand to make a lot in the sale, Ten. We’re unloading that shipbuilding company that’s always been the oddball in our portfolio.”

“Fuck,” muttered Étienne, before looking up at J.C. in anger and surrender. “It better be a
fantastic
goddamned deal.”

Fifteen-year-old Étienne Rousseau leaned down so his mother could kiss his cheek then looked up and gave his father a confident grin.

His father winked at him before turning to Jean Christian, who stood beside Étienne. “You’re in charge while we’re away, son. Look after Étienne and the girls.”

“Of course, father,” answered recently twenty-one-year-old Jean Christian, who hadn’t been very happy about “babysitting” his siblings during spring break. When his parents had sweetened the deal by offering J.C. a thousand dollars for his time, he’d—unsurprisingly—capitulated and agreed to live at Chateau Nouvelle while their parents spent the week in Hong Kong for business.

Lilliane Rousseau beamed at Jacqueline and Madeline, who had recently insisted they be called Jax and Mad in an episode of ridiculous teenage folly that would almost certainly blow over by next week.

“Be good for your brother,” their mother said gently, kissing each of her daughters on the cheek. “Make good choices.”

The four siblings followed their parents to the front walkway, waving goodbye as the hired car crunched over the gravel of their driveway, bearing their parents swiftly to the airport.

“See ya, suckers!” exclaimed Jean Christian as soon as the car was out of sight. He turned to his younger brother and sisters. “Well, it’s only six o’clock. If I hustle, I can be back on campus for the first spring break fiesta!”

Étienne looked up at J.C. with wide eyes. “But Papa said—”

“Princeton’s only an hour away, butt plug. Besides, I’ll stop by tomorrow,” said J.C.. He chucked Mad under the chin. “And I’ll take you two out for ice cream, too.”

“Are you going to be staying overnight on campus all week?”

“That’s the plan.” J.C. flashed a grin at his siblings as he strode over to his car with keys jangling. “Julien and Marie will be here if you need anything,” he said, referring to their gardener and housekeeper. “Don’t miss me too much…and don’t burn the place down!”

Étienne stood beside his sisters as J.C. zoomed down the driveway in his shiny red Saab, heading north toward New Jersey, leaving them alone without proper adult supervision.

Julien and Marie lived in an apartment over the garage and would be around a lot, of course, but that wasn’t the same as having their parents or J.C. in residence, as evidenced when Jax turned to Mad with a giggle. “Let’s go out!”

“Hey, I don’t know…” said Étienne, but his words were wasted as Jax grabbed Mad’s hand and they slipped back inside.

Étienne stood stunned and alone on the front walkway for a moment before following his sisters inside. With his brother gone and his sisters entertaining each other, it was going to be a long week for him. He wondered who else was around…the Winslows were still living in London and Étienne was steering clear of the Story sisters for now. For solid reasons of his own, he couldn’t stand the English brothers, but maybe he’d head over to Dash Ambler’s in a bit and see if he was around, or maybe he’d just relish having the remote all to himself for once and spend some quiet time at home alone.

Although Étienne was popular, he was also somewhat of a loner by nature. Or by nurture. When his parents had moved their family to the United States eight years ago, seven-year-old Étienne didn’t speak a word of English. His sisters were enrolled in a nursery school program and J.C., who was several years older, had had the benefit of four years of English back in France.

Étienne, enrolled in the second grade program at a private Catholic school, had been an odd-man-out for months as he struggled to learn English and fit in with the American kids who didn’t have much use for his bumbling speech and clumsy grammar. It hadn’t been an especially easy transition, but his parents, who often employed tough-love strategies with their four children, had thought it best for Étienne to assimilate immediately without coddling. The experience had made him quiet and careful with his words. He spoke sparingly when he wasn’t with his family, and while this might be adorable to teenage girls, who fancied him brooding, the truth was that his confidence had taken a hit at a young age. Silence was simply safer unless he trusted the person with whom he was speaking.

While he was trying to decide between company or quiet, the twins bounded down the stairs, changed from their school uniforms into jeans and tank tops.

“We’re going over to Betsy Story’s house,” said Mad, pulling on tennis shoes.

“And we’re taking beer,” said Jax, racing ahead to the kitchen.

Étienne turned to Mad. “That’s not a good idea, and you know it.”

“
Ferme la bouche, Étienne
,” said Mad with a giggle. “Don’t spoil our fun.
You
drink beer.”

“I’m fifteen.”
“Two years older. Big deal.”

“Be back by ten,” he called as she disappeared into the kitchen to find Jax.

A few hours later, Étienne checked his watch, surprised he’d been watching TV and dozing on and off for almost three hours. He briefly considered swinging over to Dash’s house, but checking his watch again, he decided against it. It was almost ten and he hadn’t heard the girls come in yet. Remembering his father’s parting words
to J.C.
about looking after the twins, he decided to go find them.

Heading out the side door of the recreation room where he’d been watching T.V., he didn’t realize he’d forgotten to put shoes on until his toes sank into the freezing, wet grass beyond the heated flagstone patio. Looking up at the night sky dotted with stars, he realized he didn’t mind. Though the spring night was chilly and the grass was an odd mixture of soft and prickly between his toes, he kind of liked the strangeness of it.

The distant sound of giggling, coming from the English estate, Haverford Park, made him head in that direction.

Trekking quietly across the grounds of the dark, empty Winslow estate, Westerly, the laughter grew louder until he parted the bushes and stepped into the well-lit backyard of Haverford Park. And there, about ten yards in front of him, was a trampoline, with four girls sitting in a circle.

Mad noticed him first. “Ten!”

“It’s late,” he whispered back loudly, striding across the lawn.

He scanned the trampoline quickly, catching sight of Betsy Story sitting beside another girl, who glanced at him briefly before turning back around. For a second he was distracted by her thick blonde hair tumbling in waves over the collar of her denim jacket, and he wondered who she was.

Betsy cleared her throat loudly.

“Hey, Bets,” he offered.

“Hi,” said Betsy coolly, looking away from him.

He’d kissed her a few months ago and she’d let him touch her tits, for which he was grateful. But later he’d heard through the grapevine that her feelings were hurt when he didn’t follow up afterwards and ask her out. She’d called him a “user jerk” and her older sister, Alice, who went to Princeton with J.C., told him that “your little brother’s a prick for dissing my sister.”

Girls were so stupid like that. Did Betsy expect a marriage proposal just because they’d fooled around? Whatever. Kissing and touching? He lived for it, he
loved
it, but it was all for fun. She offered, he took. The contract was as simple as that and didn’t include dinner. It didn’t
mean
anything. In fact, Étienne had yet to meet a girl who’d make him feel something other than his dick hardening with anticipation.

“Étienne,” said Jax, drawing his attention to the girl with the blonde hair with a wave of her hand, “this is Kate. Kate English.”

Étienne looked at her as she turned around slowly. As she moved, a cloud slid away from the moon, illuminating the trampoline, creating a moonlight halo out of her hair.

“Hi,” she said, offering him a shy smile as she pushed a lock of gold behind her ear.

Étienne felt like he’d been sucker punched, because suddenly his lungs were depleted, frozen and still as he stared at her. His fingers twitched by his sides, wanting to touch that lock of soft blonde hair, wanting to gently brush his fingertips against the perfect shell of her ear. His lungs burned as he stared back at her, unsmiling, shocked by his reaction to this unknown girl.

He opened his mouth to say hello, but he couldn’t seem to form the word, so he closed his lips, watching her eyes trail down his face and rest on his mouth for several moments before skating back to his eyes.

“I’m Kate,” she said, her smile widening just a touch, even though he hadn’t offered her any encouragement.

His hand moved of its own volition, reaching out to her, and she answered his invitation, raising her own hand and enveloping his with her cool, soft skin.

Maybe it was the moonlight…or the soft, wet grass…or the clean, crisp air.

Maybe it was the way the world had tilted and the moon had backlit Kate like an angel.

Maybe it was her smile—so open and warm, so pure and unspoiled—or her blue eyes, the color of which he could just make out by moonlight.

He couldn’t account for it, but in clasping Kate’s hand he found everything that had been missing with every other girl he’d kissed and groped. He
felt
something. It slammed into him like a freight train—like destiny, like grace—and even at fifteen-stupid-years old, Étienne knew it mattered.

Kate’s hand warmed against his the longer they touched, and his body reacted violently, his blood sluicing through his veins, hot and dirty, sweet and good. He settled and resettled his fingers against her skin, fighting hard against the impulse to entwine his fingers with hers.

Feeling off-balance and undone, he searched her face frantically, lingering on her lips, which made him lick his own with involuntary yearning.

“He’s such a weirdo,” said Jax, shaking her head.

“I guess it’s time to go,” agreed Mad with an embarrassed sigh.

The twins shimmied to the edge of the trampoline, making it ripple and breaking his connection to Kate as she unclasped his hand.

His fingers idled, limp and abandoned, before he snatched them away, shoving his hand into the back of his jeans. He ran his free hand through his hair, trying to figure out what had just happened.

Who the hell was she? A long-lost English sister? A cousin? He grimaced. Of all the families on Blueberry Lane, she had to be a part of that one, right? Well, that was fucking inconvenient, he thought as he tried to steady his ragged breathing. Why did touching her hand make him feel so much, want so much? And God, why did it suck so much to think of walking away from her now?

He flicked his glance back to Kate, but she wasn’t looking at him anymore—why should she? He hadn’t even managed to utter a word to her. She was hugging his sisters goodbye. Étienne clenched his jaw and turned around, stalking back in the direction from whence he’d come, the soft footfalls of his little sisters following behind a moment later.

At the wide border of daffodils in front of the hedge that separated Westerly from Haverford Park, he turned back around to see Kate English thoughtfully watching his retreat. She raised her hand in farewell, but he turned and stepped forward quickly, disappearing into the hedge before she could claim anymore territory in his throbbing, yearning, ridiculous heart.