Anyone but Alex (The English Brothers Book 3) (16 page)

“It could go to a girl’s head,” she teased, but her heart fluttered, both from what he was saying and the idea that they were about to spend an evening
completely alone as an exclusive couple.

She was excited to have him all to hers
elf, but all of those women who she swore didn’t bother her? As they got closer and closer to Alex’s apartment where so many had availed themselves of his gorgeous body, she couldn’t help it. Doubts encroached.

“What’s going on in
this
girl’s head?” he asked.

“Nothing,
” she answered a little too quickly.

“I know women, Jess. I know when they
’re overthinking something—and I say this without a shred of arrogance—I also know when they’re overthinking me.”

“You know your history doesn’t bother me, right? The women?”

He clenched his jaw. “So you say.”

“And it really doesn’t. But, I’m
—” She licked her lips and pressed them together. “I mean, I’ve had boyfriends, of course, and lovers, but nothing like…I mean, my experience isn’t…” Her face flamed with heat, and she sighed loudly, looking out the window.

To her surprise, Alex pulled into the parking lo
t of an abandoned gas station in the Philadelphia city limits and put the car in park, turning to face her.

“You’re worried…
”

She nodded.

“…about the others.” His voice was level, but his eyes searched hers hard.

“I can’t compete,” she
confessed, and her voice was so soft, she almost couldn’t hear the words in her own ears.

“Jess,” he whispered
slowly, shaking his head back and forth as his face softened and saddened before her. “You’ve got it backwards.
They
can’t compete. Not one of them. In fact, I don’t have one memory with another woman that competes with this moment, right here, right now.”

“Oh,” she gasped, surprised when tears brightened her eyes.

He twisted his body to face hers, reaching out to cup her cheek and swiping away a tear with his thumb. “Not one of them really knows me. Not one of them ever looked at me with trust. Not one of them ever sideswiped my heart. It was just sex. Fun, but ultimately meaningless. And I don’t know if that comforts you or disgusts you, but don’t ever worry that my mind will wander to someone else when I’m with you. All you see is me? Jess, you have to know… all I see is you.”

Jessie’s cheeks were wet with tears by the time Alex finished in a soft, reverent voice, and she swiftly unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for him. Their lips collided with hunger and reassurance, with wonder and
want and something deeper that neither of them was quite ready to name. Jessie whimpered as his tongue slipped into her mouth, struggling to get closer to him, but impeded by the console between them. She fisted her hands in his shirt, her blood on fire for him, wanting nothing more than to rip off his clothes and rip off hers and let him drag her into the backseat to prove that all he could see… was her.

Her chest heaved with short, ragged pants when she pulled away from him abruptly, hurtling herself back into her seat with
the frustration of unquenched desire.

“How much longer
till we get to your apartment?” she panted, staring out the windshield.

A
lex burned rubber pulling out of that abandoned parking lot, driving like the devil was at his heels, or like heaven was just around the next bend.

***

God, she burned hot.

Whatever chivalry Alex was trying to e
xercise was dying a swift death, burned to ashes by the heat Jessie was bringing to the equation. Think of another woman? It was impossible when he was with her. Aside from the fact that she actually meant something to him—something more real and important with every moment they spent together—Jessie, for all that she was younger and less experienced than Alex, was not shy. She wasn’t some shrinking violet who gasped every time he hurled a hot glance her way.

From the beginning, s
he had met him on his own ground, suggestive, demanding, wanting, taking. Alex was famous for his high libido, and in a perfect twist of fate, Jessie seemed to lust for him with the same appetite and passion that Alex did for her.

Taking all of her, thrusting up into her wet heat, was such a heady and imminent fantasy
, the semi-hardness that had started when she’d kissed him wouldn’t subside. As he pulled into his parking space in the basement garage of his building, he reminded himself that while she’d mentioned something this morning about staying over, and while their heat seemed to be off-the-charts, he should temper his expectations. Whatever happened between them would be at her pace and hers alone.

As the sounds of the engine all but disappeared
, they sat in quiet darkness, neither of them saying anything or reaching for the other, just staring straight ahead at the dark concrete wall of the parking garage, the mutual shallowness of their breathing the only indication of how much their bodies were trying to stay in control.

“It was nice of Fitz to offer to bring over the tree
to your place tomorrow,” said Jessie, casting a glance at him.

“Yeah,” said Alex, wetting his lips and wishing his body would cool it. They hadn’t even had dinner yet, but damn it, he’d never wanted a girl—never, not ever—as much as he wanted Jessie. “So, um…”

Without turning to him, her left hand landed on his arm.

“Alex,” she said
. “Do you know what’s going to happen tonight?”

He swallowed. God, she tied him in knots with
the way she walked the line between bold and sweet. It made him uncertain, like he was all new at this, and because it was her, Jessie, he liked it. He liked the feeling that he couldn’t predict every move, every sigh, every look. It made him breathless with anticipation in a way he couldn’t ever remember feeling before. Jesus, it was exciting.

“Nope.”

“Me neither.”

Her fingers curled gently into his arm
, and when he looked over at her, her breasts rose and fell swiftly.

“You know what I
do
know?” he asked her.

“Tell me,” she whispered, still not looking at him.

“You’re calling the shots. Whatever happens tonight? It’s all you, Jessie-girl. You tell me what you want, and I say yes. That’s how it’s going to be with you and me.”

“
How do you know you’ll want what I want?”

“I
just do. Plus, I’m not saying no to you anymore. I want—no, I
have
to give you whatever you want. I
need
to.”

“If it’s all about me, what about you?”

“I’m a guy, Jessie, and you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. And I’ve had feelings for you since I was a kid. I’m not going to lie… I want you bad. But, even more than that, I want you to feel safe with me, and comfortable and… good. I want to make you feel good, Jess, because that’s all I feel when I’m with you. I feel good. I feel… like I’m not some filthy piece of philandering shit.” He covered her hand with his to soften the blunt ugliness of his words. His voice was gentle. “I have no expectations. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

She turned to face him
, and in the dim light afforded by the pale orange lights of the underground garage, he could see the softness, the tenderness, the reach-into-his-chest-and-squeeze-his-heart trust looking back at him.

And that’s wh
en Alex English realized it: Margaret had been right, and damn it, Fitz had been right, too. He wasn’t sure how it had happened so quickly, but he had fallen in love with Jessica Winslow.

***

Jessie watched his eyes widen, heard the soft, surprised gasp escape his lips as his eyes locked with hers and held on. He’d been so confident during his little speech and then she’d lifted her eyes to him… and she saw it: he truly, deeply cared for her. He might even—

No
, she thought.
Don’t go there. Five weeks of fun. That’s all you agreed to. You can’t change the rules now.

She swallowed, forcing herself to look away from him, because the hammering of her heart was almost painful. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Detaching his hand from hers, he circled the car, opened her door, and held out his hand again. He pulled her toward the glass door that led to a simple vestibule with an elevator, then put his key in the elevator door and it opened.

“Hey,” he said, as they entered the small space together. “I never asked what you wanted for dinner.”

You
, she thought, her cheeks flushing at the thought.

He still held her hand
, and she concentrated on the soft warmth of his fingers laced through hers, the way nothing had ever felt as perfect as her hand in Alex’s. Would it feel that perfect when their bodies were joined together, too? Would she fit him like a glove? Like something that was built especially for him? Would she be able to quell her nerves enough to make it to that moment tonight? Would he?

She hazarded a glance up at him.

He looked cool and confident. The straight, strong curve of his jaw tilted at an angle as he watched the numbers slowly go up. Internally, Jessie shook her head at her foolishness. She highly doubted Alex English ever met a bedroom or a naked woman who made him nervous.

He
caught her eye, raising his eyebrows, a small smile playing at the corners of his gorgeous lips. “Dinner?”

“Anything,
” she answered, wishing her heart would stop its fierce pounding.

“You want to order or
should I cook?”

This
distracted her. “You cook?”

“Oh, yeah,” he boasted, his eyes twinkling. “All of us do.”

“The English brothers cook?”

He grinned, nodding at her. “Yep. My mother insisted. Susannah taught all of us the basics.
Scrambled eggs, garden salad, marinated chicken breasts—”

Her laugh interrupted him
. “I don’t know why it’s so difficult for me to picture this.”

“Oh, I’ll
help you,” he said, as the elevator dinged to tell them it had arrived at his floor. Alex held door open for her, gesturing to the left.

She stepped out
, and he grabbed her hand again as they walked down a long carpeted hallway that reminded her of a corridor you’d find in a very elegant hotel (which did nothing to calm her nerves.)

Gold-framed mirrors and botanical pictures were
hung on the walls and every twenty feet or so, they passed an apartment door. Jessie couldn’t help wondering exactly how many other women had made this walk with Alex, holding his hand, glancing at the same pictures, checking their reflections surreptitiously in the mirrors, as they got closer and closer…

“Picture five boys in white aprons standing at
that metal island in the center of my parent’s kitchen at Haverford. Susannah stood on the other side, bowls and bread and eggs and vegetables between us. And my mother sternly watched from the corner, smoking a cigarette, assuring the absence of any shenanigans. Barrett was fourteen that summer, so Fitz was twelve, I was eleven, Strat was eight, and Wes was six.”

Jessie grinned, able to picture all of them perfectly.

“And little Jessie Winslow was five,” he added softly, stopping at a dark wood door that had a brass knocker under the number five . He pointed to the five and winked at her.

She laughed softly
, grateful for the way the conversation was relaxing her.

As
Alex dropped her hand to unlock the door, Jessie pictured herself at five-years-old. Her mother would braid her long black hair every morning into a tight French braid that started at her crown and ended halfway down her back.
Better for riding, playing, and mischief
, her mother would add with a grin before encouraging her to go find Christopher at the stables or ask the Story girls to come over for a swim.

With the old sorrow that never really goes away, Jessie also recalled that her father was still alive when she was five, tall and strong, so big, she though
t he was indomitable, maybe even immortal. She’d been wrong.

Alex’s palm gently caressing her face made her lift watery eyes. She smiled at him. “When I was five, my Dad was still alive.”

Alex nodded, his face tender and searching. “I remember him.”

“
Do you?” she asked hopefully, leaning toward him.

“Mm-hm. He was big, and he had jet black hair like yours.” Alex reached for a long strand of dark hair and wound it around his finger. “And a black moustache.”

“He did,” said Jessie, still smiling, still on the brink of tears.

No one in London had ever known her father, and
her brothers—their mother’s sons through and through—had adopted a “stiff upper lip” mentality about his loss. They rarely talked about him, and though Jessie had quietly accepted that remembrances weren’t the Winslow way, she couldn’t help that she
wanted
to remember.