Breaking Up With Barrett, The English Brothers #1

Chapter 3 (1/2)

CHAPTER 3

"Oh, my dear!" exclaimed Hélène Harrison. "What a charming beginning! Simply charmant!"

Emily had just told Hélène that she and Barrett had grown up on the same road, a stone's throw away from each other, and yet they'd never dated until this past year when they ran into one another at Penn. Emily smiled politely, sipping her Riesling, feeling pleased with herself, then hiding a cringe at the sticky sweetness of the wine.

Why hadn't she told him she preferred a good microbrew beer over wine? The only time she'd ever drunk Riesling was the summer her cousin Daisy had visited. Fitz English, in a gesture totally and completely out of character, had stolen three bottles from his father's wine cellar in an effort to impress Daisy. Along with Alex and Weston, the five of them had gotten drunk as skunks on the trampoline near the pool, much to the disapproval of Barrett who came out around midnight and told them to keep it down or they were going to wake up the whole neighborhood. Emily barely recalled the walk back to the gatehouse at two o'clock in the morning, and had nursed a killer hangover the next morning. No doubt Barrett remembered as well, forcing her to drink the sweet, syrupy stuff as a reminder of the night she got soused, and a precautionary measure against further untoward behavior.

She glanced over at him, deeply engaged in conversation with J.J. Harrison who had his arms crossed over his chest, looking at Barrett with something that strongly resembled distaste. Despite the care she'd taken getting ready tonight, Barrett had grimaced when she took off her raincoat, and it had hurt her feelings. They'd headed over to the bar and sat in veritable silence side-by-side until the Harrisons had arrived, and after introducing Emily as his fiancée, he'd barely glanced her way again.

Her hurt feelings coupled with the fact that Emily was breaking off their fake engagement at the end of the night, made her uncharacteristically reckless. She vaguely considered her Darcy-Elizabeth theory and wondered what reaction a little needling of Barrett would produce. Warming to the idea quickly and ignoring the warning bells going off in her head, she formulated a quick plan: Operation Poke the Shark.

Downing her entire glass of wine in one gulp and flashing her most brilliant smile, Emily gestured for the older woman to lean closer in confidence. "Hélène, that's only how we met. There's so much more to the story."

Emily swallowed nervously, hiding it by keeping her smile plastered to her face. She looked over at Barrett, who continued to talk business, and although she knew it wasn't professional and she knew Operation Poke the Shark could (and likely would) backfire, leaving her humiliated, a lifetime's worth of longing wouldn't be denied. She'd never be this close to Barrett again after tonight, never have this sort of access to him. It was her last chance to figure out who Barrett was and if her hunches about him were founded in anything besides a lifelong infatuation, and completely one-sided. Despite the potential for awkwardness between them, she simply couldn't let this one-time opportunity slip through her fingers.

Taking a deep breath, she summoned her courage and stared at Barrett's hand for a long moment before reaching for it with trembling fingers and raising it to her lips.

Distracted by the scent of soap and starch, she lingered over the warm skin on the back of his hand, letting her lips drag softly together to meet in a soft kiss. Barrett's low baritone ceased abruptly and when Emily looked up, he'd turned his attention completely to her. His eyes were wide, deep and dark, anchored somewhere between shocked and furious.

Almost void of bravery, she mustered her last bit of spirit and gave him the sexiest grin she could manage, while keeping her voice from wavering. "Shall I tell it, darling, or will you?"

"W-what? Tell wh—Emily, what are you talking about?"

"Our story, Barrett," she insisted, brushing his skin with her lips again as her stomach flip-flopped not only from her reckless daring, but from the contact—from the heat rising from his hand, warming her lips.