Brothers of Paradise Series

He takes a seat next to me on the couch, his big body so much closer than it was before. His arm drapes on the back of the sofa. My mind instantly wants to race ahead, thinking about the cone shell and what it could mean. I take a sip of my wine and try to ignore it completely.

Hayden smiles after he takes a bite. “Well, I’ve definitely missed this. Your family pretty much spoiled me for anything but French food.”

“You know I don’t do this half as well as my mom, not to mention my grandma.”

A shadow briefly crosses his face. “No,” he says. “Yours is the best.”

I laugh. “Thanks, but now I know you’re lying.”

“Not a lie.” He takes another bite of the tarte. He’d cut himself a huge slice, but it’s already halfway gone. It doesn’t surprise me. Together with my brothers, he always had a huge appetite. I guess it had to go somewhere-and now I know where. Straight into broadening his chest and strengthening those muscles.

I take off my shoes and curl up on his couch, legs crossed, turning to face him. “Let me guess what you didn’t miss about Paradise Shores. The people. The organized parties. The water polo team.”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, Lily, don’t mention the water polo team. I’ve missed them the most, I think. Not to mention their shaved chests.”

“The school uniform?”

“Every day in the Navy, I just kept thinking, this uniform would look so much better in the colors of Paradise High.”

My smile is wide now. “Mandatory classes in Latin.”

“Non sibi sed patriae,” he says, the pronunciation flawless. “You don’t know how often that’s come in handy. I might be the only sailor in the Navy who can actually conjugate our motto.”

“Hanging on the bleachers.”

“My great pastime.”

“Smoking?”

Hayden narrows his eyes at me. “Smoking?”

“You used to smoke in high school, remember? I figured you’d stopped.”

He puts the empty plate on the coffee table, turning to face me. There’s an expression on his face that I can’t quite place. I don’t know if he’s uncomfortable or embarrassed, but then he runs a hand through his hair and I know it’s the former.

“You knew I smoked, Lils?”

I grin. “Of course I knew.”

“I made sure to never smoke when you were around.”

“Yeah, well, I figured it out.”

“Hmm,” he says. “A real Sherlock.”

“That’s me.”

“You never called me on it?” He shifts closer, moving so that our knees almost touch on the couch. I don’t know if it’s a conscious movement or not, but his body has turned to face me too. It’s hard to stop my pulse from increasing, or the painful tear in my chest. Friends, I remind myself. He wants to be friends.

But I can’t stop the faint protest. He kept the cone shell.NôvelDrama.Org owns this text.

“No. I figured it was important to you that I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t want to be a bad influence.”

“My own brothers wouldn’t even swear in front of me. You were the one who taught me.”

His smile is crooked. “That’s right.”

“And how to punch someone.”

“Have you had to do that?”

“No,” I answer honestly. “But I still remember. Look.” I raise my hand and make a fist, just like he taught me. Thumb on the outside of the fist, not inside, or it’ll get broken instantly from the impact. Make sure you’re not clenching so tight that your little finger starts collapsing inwards.

“Hmm,” he murmurs, taking my hand in both of his. He twists it around, looks at the placement of my thumb. “Very good.”

“I didn’t forget,” I murmur. His eyes are warm this close, the same amber color I remember. His skin is tan, and there are small, faint lines around his eyes now. He’s seen things-done things, things I can’t begin to comprehend. He’s lived a whole life in the decade we’ve been apart. So have I.

But his hand on mine feels as familiar to me as my own. And while his hair might be shorter, it still curves over his forehead the way I remember.

“Good.” Hayden lowers my hand slowly, until it’s resting in both of his, in the open space between us. His thumb rubs a slow circle on the inside of my palm. The touch sends shivers up my arm and warmth through my chest. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You told me that your brothers missed me. Were they the only ones?”

My breath is coming fast. What he’s asking…

“I’m sure your uncle did too,” I tease softly, and he laughs. The throaty sound makes me lean in closer.

“Lily,” he complains.

“I know, I know.” I look down at where my hand rests in his. “I missed you too,” I whisper. “You know I did.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long time, just sits there with my hand in his. They’re warm and bigger than I remember, the skin dry and slightly calloused. I wonder what they’d feel like on my cheek, cupping my chin, sliding down along my neck and further down still.

My heart feels like it might beat out of my chest. Isn’t he going to respond? My heart aches for his words and my body for his touch.

His hand drifts to my knee, resting easily there. There’s barely any pressure but my body still curves toward the touch. It’s an automatic reaction where he’s concerned.

“Lily,” he murmurs, close enough that I can feel his warm breath against my mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

He bends his head and slowly, giving me more than enough time to pull back, presses his lips against mine. They’re warm and soft and strong, kissing me with a powerful restraint. It’s a test, I realize.

He’s testing the waters.