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.
His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. "I'm sure our guests—"
"Want to hear every word!" exclaimed Hélène, finishing off her second gin and tonic and leaning forward excitedly. "Two such attractive people so obviously in love."
"Hear that, darling?" asked Emily, amazed that she hadn't backed down from his scowl yet. She laced her fingers through his before setting their joined hands on the table.
He stared at her in disbelief, his breathing noticeably shallow. "I, um, I—"
Feeling marginally more confident at the doorstep of a flummoxed Barrett, Emily grinned at Hélène. "Barrett's a tiger in the boardroom, but a lamb in the..."
Hélène's eyes widened, and for a moment Emily wondered if Barrett would break her fingers, he gripped them so tightly. She looked down at his white knuckles and concealed a pained grimace with her brightest possible smile.
"...jewelry store."
"Oh!" said Hélène, her eyes flicking to the large, high-quality fake diamond on Emily's finger. "You're wicked, Emily!"
"I'd like to hear more about the softer side of Barrett English," said J.J. Harrison, relaxing for the first time all evening as he put his arm around Hélène and beckoned the waiter over to serve another round of drinks.
"J.J.," said Barrett in a strangled voice, "we could let the ladies chitchat and retire to the bar to finalize—"
"Nonsense," said J.J., finishing the rest of his scotch. "Tell us all about Barrett, Emily. How the shark won the fair maiden's heart."
"Well, Barrett a—and, um..." started Emily, then sputtered, distracted by an unexpected, new development. Barrett's fingers loosened as his thumb started idly stroking the skin of Emily's hand. She glanced down, caught totally off-guard by the small movement, even a little bewildered. It was so slight, so subtle, but it felt so...intimate that her breath hitched. She flicked her gaze up to Barrett's face. His eyes were as dark as a stormy sea, focused on hers with searing intensity. Oh, Lord, he was furious with her. Furious? Or something else altogether? She wondered with a growing awareness that spread through her gut like molten lava—
"Emily?" he prompted, his voice softer and lower than she could ever remember hearing it. "Our story?"
"I..." she started, but her voice faltered, and he raised an eyebrow as the tables turned, seeming to enjoy her sudden discomfiture. Glancing down at their hands, his lips tilted up in a knowing smirk, and his eyes, which told her he had finally surrendered to her little game, took on the steely glint of challenge.
"Tell them, Emily. Tell them how I asked you. Tell them what I said when I asked you to be my wife."
His thumb still stroked softly, and his fingers flexed to grip hers closer, making her heart race painfully. His eyes were dark and intense, focused completely on her like a predator sizing up its prey for dinner. She swallowed the growing lump in her throat; she'd never had Barrett's focused attention quite like this. She felt the heat of his gaze in every fiber of her being.
"Emily?" prompted Hélène.
Emily plastered a smile on her face and turned to the older woman.
"It was a Sunday," said Emily softly.
"A Sunday morning, darling," added Barrett.
Emily's breath caught. She was deeply aroused by Barrett's touch, by the low, provocative tone in his voice when he called her "darling." She'd never, ever seen this side of him. The moment she'd pressed her lips to his hand, a flip had switched, charging the very air between them, changing the rules they'd been following for the past few months. Operation Poke the Shark was up and running it seemed, and Emily knew enough of his fiercely competitive business nature to know that if she was going to bait him, he'd not only take the bait, he'd devour her too. If she was honest, it's exactly what she'd wanted—to force her Mr. Darcy to show her some emotion.
The Harrisons stared at her, eagerly awaiting her story. She swallowed, desperately trying to ignore the way Barrett's thumb was making her so hot she could barely focus.
Think, think, think. An engagement story. Think, Emily!
"Um. Well. We'd decided to visit the Japanese House and Garden, b-because Barrett had never seen it."
"You're skipping so much, Emily," he scolded, lifting their hands and letting his lips linger on the back of her hand just as she'd done to him a few minutes ago. She concealed a gasp by reaching for her full wineglass, the muscles inside her body rousing themselves, flexing from the erotic sensation of his lips on her skin. She perceived the low rumble of a chuckle against her hand before he continued in a low, taut voice. "It was one of those lazy mornings when you wake up late because you have nowhere to be. Nowhere else you want to be."
His tone was so smooth, so suggestive, for a moment she almost felt like she could search her brain to actually find the memory of waking up beside him, his naked chest pressed up against her back as the light filtered in through his bedroom. She'd never been in Barrett's bedroom, but she imagined it was impersonal and perfectly appointed with a massive bed and crisp white sheets.
Something about envisioning his cold, austere bedroom gave her a jolt of spirit, and after a healthy gulp, she placed her glass back down on the table, turning to him to lick her lower lip before biting down on it slowly.
"You made me brunch, Bee," she purred, letting the fantasy embolden her.
His eyes widened slightly at the nickname before he turned to the Harrisons who were wide-eyed, focused on every word. In a theatrical whisper that made Emily's lips quirk up at the same time her toes curled, Barrett confided, "She is insatiable in the morning."
"Oh!" sighed Hélène, fanning herself. "Oh my!"
"Now who's wicked?" asked Emily, her eyes widening at his unexpected innuendo. She uncrossed her legs under the table and shifted just slightly to press her thigh up against Barrett's. She watched his nostrils flair and she grinned at him with satisfaction. "After brunch—"
"What does an English make for brunch?" interrupted J.J., a curious smile playing on his face.
"Blueberry pancakes," blurted out Barrett, and Emily chuckled softly looking up at him with surprised eyes.
Blueberry pancakes were her favorite.