Read Anyone but Alex (The English Brothers Book 3) Online
Authors: Katy Regnery
Anyone but Alex (The English Brothers Book 3)
ANYONE BUT ALEX
The English Brothers, Book #3
Katy Regnery
ANYONE BUT ALEX
Copyright
© 2014
by Katharine Gilliam Regnery
Sale of the electronic edition of this book is
wholly unauthorized. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part, by any means, is forbidden without written permission from the author/publisher.
Katharine Gilliam Regnery, publisher
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Please visit my website at www.katyregnery.com
First Edition:
September 2014
Katy Regnery
Anyone but Alex : a novel / by Katy Regnery – 1st ed.
ISBN:
978-0-9912045-5-7
For
Henry and Callie who love it when
Mommy dedicates one of her books to them.
Henry, don’t ever be an Alex.
And Callie, don’t ever fall for one.
Table of Contents
Sneak Peek of
Seduced by Stratton
There was something wrong with Alex English.
During his standing date with Hope Atwell in a deluxe suite at the Four Seasons Hotel last Thursday, he had to force himself to concentrate on the task at hand. While he grasped Hope’s bare hips and thrust into her from behind over and over again, his thoughts drifted to work, to friends, to his family, to the Eagles, to the room décor…for God’s sake. Bored by her predictable moans and vulgar compliments, he closed his eyes and finished the deed, but the entire act left him feeling unsatisfied. Annoyed by Hope’s banal post-coital conversation, Alex used a non-existent work meeting as an excuse to leave her, and returned to the office.
At a birthday party
last Friday night, Alex renewed his acquaintance with Juliette Dunne, with whom he had brokered two big deals last year and enjoyed memorable sex on top of the board room table at English & Sons to celebrate. After flirting with her for most of the night, he’d followed her home, only to find himself distracted again. As Juliette whimpered, “Oh, God. Oh, God.
OhGodOhGodOhGod
,” taking a million years to climax, Alex wondered if it would be rude for him to go ahead and finish without her, because aside from the reliable physical rush he got from screwing someone, he wasn’t feeling much else. After she’d finally yowled her way through an orgasm, Alex quickly climaxed, but again, he was left feeling empty.
Feeling a woman shudder and tremble around him, calling his name and clawing her way down his back usually made Alex feel like the king of the world. Sated and limp, he’d contently stroke a woman’s naked back for hours while she prattled on about her life, about her horses or kids or boss or backhand, waiting
for an appropriate amount of time to pass before flipping her over and having her again. He had fun, she had fun, and after brunch the next morning and a long, sloppy, lingering kiss goodbye, he’d head for home with a bounce in his step, his mind already turning to his next rendezvous.
But his chest literally ached as he lay beside Juliette, who started talking about her latest deal. Num
bers-while-naked should have been enough to make Alex instantly hard again, but all he felt was desperate to leave. Making the excuse of walking a dog he didn’t actually have, Alex skipped out of Juliette’s apartment at midnight and headed home alone.
Hoping to remedy the problem, Alex had ramped up his frequency and varied his partners the following week, adding—in addition to Hope—a tennis pro from the club, a hot cocktail waitress from his favorite hotel, a Junior League fundraiser type whose husband was in Paris, and a Manhattan fashion model doing a
photo shoot at the LOVE sculpture. All were beautiful. All were enthusiastic, compliant and willing, and as an added bonus, the fashion model was surprisingly flexible.
The
“something wrong” with Alex English?
Each and every time, after the deed was done, Alex didn’t feel satisfaction or contentment or peace. He felt so hollow, it was painful, and it was genuinely starting to worry him.
At twenty-nine years old, Alex had enjoyed a solid fourteen years of getting whatever piece of ass he wanted whenever he wanted it. And Alex had wanted it all the time. Young women, older women, married, unmarried, beautiful, plain, brunette, blonde, filthy, virginal, rough, and meek; he’d enjoyed them all ten different ways from Saturday and once more on Sunday morning before taking them to brunch. His reputation was infamous, and he’d heard every variation on his character: Casanova, Don Juan, manwhore, womanizer, heartbreaker, and among his friends? “The Professor.” Casual sex was Alex’s forte, his living room, his favorite. He had no trouble procuring it, performed like a god, and it always left him feeling awesome.
Until now.
After yet another lackluster date with Hope at the Four Seasons, Alex gave the matter some serious thought as he walked back to the office. He had hurt Hope’s feelings this week—he could see the confused disappointment in her eyes when he left, after climaxing before
and
without her, then rolling quickly away. He’d made an excuse about work and kissed her farewell, but he couldn’t get away from her fast enough—the emptiness turning to panic as he realized that this problem wasn’t just going to go away by bedding more women. If anything, it was only getting worse.
As Alex walked the dozen blocks back to his office, he was shocked to realize that he could actually pinpoint the moment his troubles had started.
When his older brothers, Barrett and Fitz, had gotten engaged a month ago, as he watched Barrett with Emily, Fitz with Daisy, and something had happened inside of Alex. His chest had started to ache. The pain was so sharp and unexpected, in fact, that as his father had uncorked a bottle of champagne to celebrate the engagements, Alex had slipped unnoticed from the living room to collect his thoughts outside. As he stood on the west terrace in the moonlight, palm pressed against his chest, sucking down gulps of cold, fresh air, he’d managed to convince himself that the ache was nothing more than some indigestion from the raw cheese his mother liked to serve with cocktails. It had nothing to do with Barrett and Fitz falling in love. He had rubbed his chest until the ache dulled to bearable, pasted a smile on his face and returned in time for toasts.
But in the morning, the ache hadn’t gone away, and its source was elusive and just out of reach.
As the weeks went by, he realized it was a constant longing in the pit of his stomach, an emptiness that no amount of sex could fill, made fathomless by his efforts. He didn’t have a name for it, but he hated the way it made him feel. Worse, he hated the way it was starting to affect his sex life. For the first time Alex could remember, sex on its own wasn’t enough. He wanted—no, he
needed
—something more.
This frustrated him mightily because all he
wanted
was to get his life back to the way it was: regular,
satisfying
, casual sex with an oyster-full of gorgeous women. That’s what he knew. That’s who he was. Because, hell, what was the alternative? Finding someone special? Making a commitment to someone? Monogamy, for God’s sake? He shuddered. Alex didn’t
do
commitment. Absolutely not. Not after what had happened in high school.
Alex rolled down the window of his silver
Maserati
Granturismo
, trying to enjoy the crisp air of the Fall evening, mingling with the smells of the city. His thoughts invariably turned to his date for tonight, and he wondered, without much excitement and a fair amount of anxiety, if date number three meant he’d be getting into Margaret’s thong. On one hand, he was looking for someone—
anyone
—to pull him out of his slump. On the other hand, he wasn’t anxious to end the night feeling empty and depressed either.
He cut his engine in front of Margaret’s apartment building and checked his reflection in the rearview mirror. The crisp white of his tux shirt was stark against the tan of his neck, and his deep blue, heavy-lidded, “bedroom eyes” were fringed with long lashes that women had oohed and
ahhed over for as long as Alex could remember. He rolled his eyes at his reflection before walking into the apartment building with his head down, wishing he didn’t feel so uncertain of himself, wishing he could figure out what would assuage the ache and make him feel like “Alex English” again.
Heading for the ancient elevator,
Alex pressed the call button, and turned to look at the opulent lobby of Margaret’s building as he waited. Gold-gilded mirrors made the space look even larger and grander as objects multiplied into eternity. Objects like an ornate lamp sconce, a silk brocaded loveseat, or the delectable curve of a woman’s bare back in a black satin evening gown. Delighted by such an appealing distraction, Alex turned around slowly, his eyes sweeping past the sconce and loveseat to the woman on the far side of the room. She was tall and slim, and the very simple, sleek lines of her dress showed every curve: her breasts, her waist, her hips, her tight, round ass. The low V of the draped back cut-out stopped at the base of her spine, and he followed the line up to her neck, which was swan-like: long and elegant. Her jet-black hair, the same color as the dress, was long enough to be worn over one shoulder, the thick, shiny strands waving uniformly, void of any decoration.
From behind, she was a goddess, and as the elevator rang to announce its arrival, Alex ignored it, staring at the back of the stunning creature
that held a black coat over one arm, looking out the floor-to-ceiling glass window onto the rain-soaked sidewalk, as though waiting for someone to find her.
“Alex? Alex English?”
Alex whipped his head to the voice coming out of the elevator and was surprised to see his good friend, Cameron Winslow, step toward him wearing a tux and a cheerful smile.
“Hell, I thought that was you!”
“Cam. Good to see you.” Alex cleared his throat, darting a quick look at the woman across the lobby by the window who hadn’t turned around, before looking back at his old friend. “What are you doing here?”
Cam took Alex’s
hand in a hearty shake. “Didn’t you know? I moved here. I bought a condo upstairs.”
“I had no idea.”
Cam grinned, nodding. “Closer to the action, eh,
Professor
?”
“It’s a great neighborhood,” said Alex
, holding back a cringe at his college nickname. “I’m just around the corner.”
“The old make-out pad, eh?”
“You know me,” said Alex, by rote, knowing the words were expected.
“Yes, I do, and I thank God I wasn’t born a woman.”
“Not that I’d bang your ugly mug if you were.”
“I don’t know how you do it.”
Lately, I don’t. Not like I used to.
He forced
a trademark Alex English smirk. “I love the ladies, Cam. Have to keep them happy.”
Cam chuckled.
“Hey, did you get my message about squash the Thursday after next?”
“After Thanksgiving? No. Are we still on?”
“As long as you’re up for an ass-whipping. Chris wants to play too, so I suggested doubles. Can you get Fitz or Stratton on board?”
“I’ll work on it.”
“Great.” Cam looked around the lobby for a moment, then, after catching sight of the girl in black by the window, returned his glance to Alex. The change in his face was unmistakable, shifting from congenial to wary on a dime. “Well, I guess I better be going.”
Alex
raised an eyebrow flicking his chin toward the goddess. “Is she with you?”