Kiss Me Kate (The English Brothers Book 6) (2 page)

Suddenly she had a sharp sense of foreboding as she turned back to the conversation. “You’re making me nervous, Strat.”

“I don’t know how this happened, but…Barrett just got into bed with the Rousseau Trust,” he blurted out. “The
fucking
Rousseaus.”

The Rousseau Trust. Étienne’s family trust.

“Oh,” she murmured, a fluttering hand pressing against her heart.

Whatever news she’d expected to hear, the possibility of a business deal between English & Company and the Rousseau Trust hadn’t cracked the list. Just hearing his name threatened to knock the wind out of her, not because it was so outlandish that the English brothers would work with the Rousseau’s, but because a deal meant she might have to actually see him. Étienne. In the flesh. It was one thing to sneak onto Facebook and indulge an unhealthy, but harmless, fantasy. It was quite another to sit across a board room table from the object of that fantasy and be expected to deliver coherent sentences.

To cover up the fierce and sudden hammering of her heart, Kate scrambled to remember the last thing Stratton said…
into bed with the Rousseau Trust
…and quipped, “Is Emily okay with that?”

“Kate,” said Stratton gently, no stranger to Kate’s method of using humor to lighten uncomfortable situations, “I’m serious.”

She groaned, picking up her wine glass and walking through the kitchen and dining room to the bright-white painted French doors that led to Kate’s favorite room in the condo: a sunroom furnished with a white wicker sofa and rocker, complete with comfy cushions as plump as Kate’s backside. “Okay. I’m sitting down. Catch me up.”

“Are you still drinking?”

“I think it’s best,” she said weakly, taking a big gulp.

“So Barrett, Emily, Val, and I were hanging out at the bar. Suddenly J.C. Rousseau sidles up, all oily with his stupid toothy smile, and starts talking to Barrett about some piece of property that he and his siblings own in New Orleans, and how they want to unload it.”

Only Stratton would call J.C. Rousseau—a man so darkly handsome women literally swooned when he smiled—oily and toothy. She grinned, then refocused.

“Property?” she asked.

“Shipbuilding.”

“Oh.” Kate’s lips dropped open. This was interesting. For months Barrett had been seeking a third shipbuilding company to add to the two he’d already merged in England and New York. A presence in Louisiana would be the perfect complement. “Wow, that’s actually…amazing. If the specs pan out, it could be perfect.”

Stratton huffed with annoyance. “You aren’t seeing the big picture, Kate.”

“Which is?”

“We’d be working with the Rousseaus.
You’d
be working with the Rousseaus.”

Kate took a deep breath, leaning back in the rocker and resting her bare feet on a glass coffee table.
Working with Étienne. Shaking hands with Étienne. Staring at Étienne’s beautiful green eyes across a mahogany conference room table. Wondering if Étienne still made that noise in the back of his throat when he—

Her toes curled against the cold surface even as her cheeks—and other parts of Kate’s anatomy—flooded with heat. 

“Kate? You still there? There’s more.”

She swallowed another big sip of wine. “Yeah, um…”

“I didn’t know this, but the legal structure of Louisiana is still based on—”

“The Napoleonic code,” murmured Kate.

“Yeah. Which means that you’d be working directly with the Rousseau’s legal counsel to hammer out the deal. You’d be
on point
with their in-house lawyer…do you know who that is?”

Of course she did. She’d been cyber-stalking him by proxy for weeks.

“Étienne.” She sighed, hating the way her stomach buzzed and her breathing hitched, as though her brain hadn’t yet shared the message with her body that Étienne Rousseau was absolutely, positively,
eternally
off-limits.

“So
now
do you get it?” asked Stratton.

“Étienne and I would be working together on the deal,” she said softly, examining the words in her mind as she said them and trying to ignore the fierce fluttering of her heart.

“Side-by-side,” said Stratton. “It’s terrible. I already ripped Barrett and new one and said that he’d have to figure out a way to get out of it, so I don’t want you to wor—”

“Wait,” said Kate, eyebrows crinkling together as she snapped out of her swoony state and focused on the business angle of Stratton’s news. “It’s a good opportunity, right? For English & Company?”

“Theoretically, yes, it
could
be…but we wouldn’t dream of—”

She uncurled her toes and placed them squarely on the floor. “Stratton. Take Étienne out of the equation and give it to me straight.”

He paused before answering. “Fine. Yes. Adding the Rousseau’s company to the Harrison-Lowry merger would make our tri-headquartered company the ninth largest shipbuilder in the world.”

History with Étienne was one thing…but Kate’s last name was just as English as Barrett’s: business was business.

Kate took a deep breath and gulped the last of her wine. Maybe she was crazy, because she knew if she said the word, her cousins, Fitz, Alex, and Stratton would pressure Barrett to drop the deal, and out of loyalty to Kate, Barrett would walk away. But with a swift and sudden certainty, Kate knew that wasn’t what she wanted for two reasons.

One, she truly wanted what was best for English & Company, even at the price of her own comfort, and,

Two, some strange, masochistic part of her didn’t want to pass up this opportunity to be in the same room as Étienne. He lived—gorgeous, smoldering and larger-than-life—in her mind, glamorized over their years apart and her recent flirtation with social media. Yes, Kate had been drawn to him long ago, but the boy she’d fallen for had broken her heart too, a fact she frequently ignored while ogling months-old pictures of him on Jax’s timeline.

How better to banish him from her head and her heart than to remind herself—in an up close and personal way—of what a self-centered, brooding bore he could be? One look into his eyes should also reconfirm that he had zero interest in her and kill any ridiculous fantasies she still harbored about him. Yes, of course. She wanted to get rid of thoughts of Étienne and clear the runway for Tony, right? Well then, she needed to spend some time with Étienne and remember what a jerk he could be. Thanks to Barrett, such an opportunity had just been served up to Kate on a silver platter.

“Stratton,” Kate said, her voice calm, but firm, “business is business. You can’t turn down deals every time an ex-boyfriend of mine shows up.”

“Étienne’s a bastard,” spat her cousin. “Damn the Rousseaus anyway.”

Kate drew her bottom lip into her mouth and dropped her eyes guiltily, even though Stratton wasn’t standing right in front of her. Étienne had slept with her then disappeared, and Kate had never heard from him again. That had hurt her, but he’d never promised her anything either. A part of Kate—a very small part of Kate—couldn’t completely get on board with hating Étienne. Despite the fact that he’d hurt her so terribly, a corner of her heart had always hoped that someday she’d understand the reason for his actions and be in a position to forgive him.

“That may be true, and I appreciate your concern, but I insist that you all take me and Étienne out of the equation. If English & Company can profit by acquiring a property held by the Rousseau Trust, I won’t be responsible for standing in the way of such a transaction. In fact…I
insist
we pursue it.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone before Stratton spoke again. “Kate, we can find another company to buy. There will be other opportunities.”

Knowing her cousin as she did, it was important to convince him that her feelings were neutral, or she knew he’d intercede on her behalf and cancel the deal. “I mean it Stratton. This is business. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Think carefully. Are you sure about this?”

No.
Her heart fluttered with a strange mixture of hope, anticipation and dread.

“We need to do what’s best for English & Company,” she said firmly. She paused before adding softly, “Anyway, Étienne and I are ancient history.”

Fifteen-year-old Kate English didn’t mind spending spring break with her aunt, uncle and three of her five cousins in Haverford, Pennsylvania while her parents completed a two-week tour of Europe. In addition to the fact that she adored her cousins, the freedom from her parents’ strict and old-fashioned rules felt like heaven. Although sometimes—like right now—she wished one of those cousins had been born a girl because it sure would be nice to have someone to talk to. She briefly considered calling her best friend, Libitz, back in New York, then remembered Libitz had gone to Cancun for the week. Kate sighed. She was on her own.

Walking down the grand staircase, she passed seventeen-year-old Alex in running clothes on his way upstairs for a shower, glistening with sweat and smelling like a cross between b.o. and a stale distillery. She wrinkled her nose at him, which earned her a broad smile.

“Wanna smell my pits?” he asked, raising an arm, blue eyes twinkling.

“Gross!” she cried, dodging past him.

She heard his throaty chuckle ascend behind her as she continued down the stairs. Turning into the front foyer, she headed back to the kitchen to see if she could find some breakfast. Before last night, Kate had never had more than a few sips of Champagne at Christmas and New Year’s under her father’s watchful eye. Drinking three beers on the backyard trampoline with Betsy Story and the Rousseau sisters had been well over her limit, and her stomach was woozy this morning. Still, it had been worth it, if only because Jax and Mad’s older brother, Étienne, came looking for them.

Shivers ran down Kate’s arms, and she bit her upper lip, recalling the way Étienne had sauntered out of the bushes, making his leisurely way to the trampoline. He was barefooted, and wore his jeans slung low on his hips. His pale, chiseled face was so beautiful in the moonlight. Kate’s lips had dropped open, her heart skipping and stuttering. Jet black hair, thick and unruly, slightly curled at the ends, fell just past his shirt-collar and framed his face. Her fingers had twitched, longing to reach out and bury themselves in its softness.

He hadn’t smiled when Jax introduced them, his eyes staying flat and disinterested as though on purpose. He’d held out his hand, however, and when Kate took it, his flesh—unexpectedly warm and dry—had pressed flush against hers, making her breath catch as her entire body turned on, like it had been plugged in for the first time in her life. His lips—the memory of which had kept her up well past midnight—were torturing her. Remembering the way he’d slowly licked them while their hands were clasped together made Kate breathe funny, made her tummy flip over and flutter. She’d had small crushes on a few of the boys at Trinity, the private prep school she attended in New York City, but nothing like this. Nothing like the way her skin puckered at the memory of their hands touching—the way secret, hidden muscles deep inside her body clenched every time his beautiful face floated through her mind. What was happening to her?

“Hey Kate!” exclaimed twelve-year-old Weston, darting out of the kitchen’s double doors at the end of the hallway. “Mom said if I want to go riding I gotta get you or Alex to go with me.”

“Why’s that, slick?”

“Aw, she doesn’t trust me after I jumped the Ambler’s fence last week.”

Kate pursed her lips. “You
did
almost kill yourself.”

“One lousy fall isn’t going to kill me.”

“Sprained your finger, though.”

Weston rolled his eyes. “Big deal! Will you go with me? Please? Alex is such a jerk. Whenever we run into someone we know, he calls me ‘Romper Room’ on purpose. I hate him.”

“No, you don’t,” said Kate, chuckling as she ruffled his hair. She’d never seen a kid who worshipped his older brothers as much as Weston English.

“Okay, I don’t. Will you go? Come on! Please, Kate?”

She had already been riding with Weston yesterday and knew the riding trails around Blueberry Lane rambled through the backyards of most of the estates, including the Rousseau’s.

“Sure,” she said, cheeks flushing like she’d just told a lie. “I’ll go. Just let me get some breakfast first.”

Pushing open the swinging doors, Kate wasn’t surprised to find her fourteen-year-old cousin, Stratton, sitting at the long chrome counter in the center of the kitchen, reading a book, with a plate of cold, half-finished waffles in front of him.

“Morning, Strat,” she said.

“Hey, Kate,” he answered without looking up.

Kate gave him a hard look before pulling up a stool across from him. Alex was a tease and Weston was too young…with Barrett and Fitz away at college, Stratton was her best immediate option for a chat. She propped her elbows on the counter and stared at him.

“
What
?” he finally asked, looking at her, blue eyes exasperated to be interrupted while reading.

“Étienne Rousseau.”

“Hmm,” said Stratton, folding down the corner of his page and giving her a cautious look. “What about him?’

“What’s his story?”

Stratton sighed, pursing his lips and shaking his head. “He’s one of four. His older brother, J.C., goes to Princeton. His sisters, Mad and Jax, are in junior high. He’s a sophomore at St. Michael’s with me and Alex. They moved here from France about ten years ago. He thinks he’s better than everyone else…and he used to cheat at hide and seek.”

“Hmm. Not a big fan, huh? What else?”

Stratton rolled his eyes. “It’s not like we’re friends, Kate.”

“You go to the same school. You’ve lived on the same road together for years. You’ve got to know more about him. Come on, Strat.”

Stratton sighed, looking deeply annoyed. “He’s on the swim team, and I think he paints. He won some award last year for a painting. The Rousseaus are sort of…
fast
. I mean, I’ve seen Étienne drunk more than once. He’s been caught smoking behind school, and that’s illegal at his age. I’ve also seen him driving his Dad’s car and he’s only fifteen, which means he’s pretty comfortable breaking the law. And…” Stratton lowered his voice, but it didn’t conceal the wide ribbon of jealousy threaded through his words, “girls are always staring at him.”

I bet they are.

Kate wetted her lips, dropping Stratton’s eyes. “Is he dating anyone?”

“Like I’d know. He’s a year older than me and way more popular.” He tapped twice on the metal counter. “Why all the questions?”

Kate slid off the stool and turned for the coffee maker, pouring herself a cup and stirring in a little milk. “I met him last night.”

“And…?”

Fireworks. Dazzling, blinding, gorgeous fireworks.

Her cheeks felt hot. “I was hanging out with his sisters and he stopped by. That’s all. I’m just curious about him.”

Stratton cleared his throat. “Nothing against Jax and Mad, but why not hang out with the Story sisters instead? Or Emily Edwards? She’s probably close to your age.”

Um, because neither the Story sisters, nor the gardener’s daughter, are able to scorch a path to my heart with a single touch.

“Yeah, okay.” She gave her cousin a small smile as he stood, taking his book off the counter.

As Stratton neared the mudroom door, he turned. “You
really
want to know what I think?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t like Étienne. Never have. That’s my opinion.” He swallowed, blinking twice before leveling her with his eyes. “Your parents wouldn’t like him either.”

Kate cast her eyes down quickly, her cheeks flaring with embarrassment. He was right. Her parents had a strict rule that Kate wasn’t allowed to date until she was sixteen, and even then the boy needed to be “well-healed” and from one of the “right” families. No way the racy, French-born Rousseaus would crack that list.

Stratton must have sensed he’d shamed her because his voice was gentle when he followed up. “I care about you, Kate, and the Englishes and Rousseaus don’t mix. Steer clear, okay?”

Looking up, Kate smiled at him in the well-practiced way she smiled at her parents when they’d just rejected her request to attend a school dance or sleepover at a friend’s house whose parents they didn’t know.

“Of course. Will do. Thanks, Strat.”

Kate watched him leave, settling back on her stool and taking a long sip of coffee as the image of a beautiful, green-eyed, dark-haired boy flooded her mind. Goosebumps rose up all over her innocent, goody-two-shoes body just thinking about his bad-boy ways.

Though their entire meeting had only consisted of brief eye contact and a single, electrifying handshake before he’d herded his sisters home, Kate had sensed something in his energy; something edgy and mysterious she desperately wanted to learn more about. She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, chewing on it distractedly until Weston came to find her to go riding.

She only knew two things for sure:

One? Her parents were far, far away in Brussels.

And two, despite Stratton’s warning, Kate had no intention of staying away from Étienne Rousseau.