Brothers of Paradise Series

Faye

I watch in silence as Henry opens the fridge, pouring us more wine. There’s something so relaxed about him here-in his own apartment, his own territory-that I never see at work. It’s disarming, and it’s not doing wonders for my self-restraint. The kiss in his office has been on repeat in my mind since Friday.

He returns to the couch with sure strides, dressed in a sweater and slacks. The usually stern features of his face have softened, something resembling a smile playing at his lips. To think I once thought him practically incapable of it.

“Henry Marchand,” I say softly, “the waiter. No one would believe me if I told them you could be this domestic.”

“Would you?”

“Tell anyone? Of course not. It does make me wonder, though…”

“About?”

“If who you are at work, in your meetings, is a bit of a charade.” I wave a hand. “You know you intimidate the associates and architects. I think you thrive on it. But I’m not sure it’s who you really are.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s bold of you to say. If it’s not a charade, I might fire you on the spot.”

I’m nervous all right, but not from fear. Nothing I’ve seen from him suggests anything other than a genuinely decent man, one who hides behind layers of protection.

“You wouldn’t,” I taunt.

“No?”

“You need me, inconvenient or not.”

There’s a sudden spark in his eyes, and the heat dances from me to him and back again. “You’re right about that. How are you both inconvenient and completely irreplaceable?”

“It’s a skill.” I wet my lips again and shiver as his gaze slips from my eyes to my cheek, my ear, my hair. Our conversation is about nothing at all, but it still strikes me as momentous.

He lifts his hand up and smooths my hair back behind my ear. The movement is painstakingly soft, like he’s giving me enough time to back out of the whole thing.

I don’t. I slide closer on the couch instead, the warmth of his body echoing the warmth spreading through my own limbs. I’m doing what I shouldn’t, and for the first time in forever, the potential consequences aren’t on my mind.

His mouth twists into a wry smile. “We’re not very good at being good, are we?”

“No,” I say, leaning into the hand on my cheek. My skin feels hot under his touch, like I’ve gotten too much sun, but I’m still coming back for more. “But we’re very good at being bad.”

His dry laugh is a sweet sound, washing over my senses, and he closes the distance between us. “As long as we’re the best at something.”

My second kiss with Henry is nothing like the first. It’s slow and deep from the get-go, his lips slanting over mine, a hand sliding into my hair and another flattening against my back.Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

I give as good as I get, fingers finally threading through his hair. It’s just as soft as I’d imagined, sliding through my hands like brown silk. His lips leave mine for a moment, and I take the chance to sidle closer to him, my body nearly on top of his.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I say, despite my body blatantly disobeying.

“Absolutely not,” he agrees, sliding his lips along my cheek, my jaw, finding the spot below my ear. The couch gives beneath me as my leg circles the other side of him, straddling him. He’s large beneath me, wide chest and strong neck and muscle.

“You’re in such good shape,” I say, voice breaking. “How are you in such good shape?”

His laughter is warm against my neck. “You want my workout routine?”

I roll my hips against him and shiver as his large hands slide up my hips, my sides, my ribs. The curve of my waist and the heavy undersides of my breasts. “Yes,” I breathe. “Preferably in video format. And without a shirt.”

Henry’s hands don’t stop, not even when he leans back and looks at me with eyes that are nearly black with desire. “There were at least two HR violations in that sentence.”

I glance down at his hands, now gripping my waist so tight I think I might bruise, and the hardness of his arousal beneath me.

“Not sure if you’re the one to speak.”

His eyes shutter, and he starts to withdraw his hands, but I don’t let him. I press our bodies closer together and capture his lips with mine. I grip handfuls of his clothes and tug him closer, his mouth turning as hot and eager as mine again. I’m in control now; he’s letting me set the pace.

I don’t know how long I kiss him for, but when I stop, it’s to gasp for air. Henry grins at me-and it’s a full and unrestrained smile. He’s so handsome it makes it even harder to breathe.

He runs strong hands down my sides, over my thighs, down to my calves and back up to circle my arms. I might be on top, but it’s only because he’s letting me, and I shiver at the reminder of just how strong he is. How it might feel if we flipped around-if he was in complete control.

“Faye, you’re so…” He shakes his head, trying to find his words. “You feel just as good as I’ve imagined.”

He tips my head back and trails his lips down to the neckline of my dress, and I don’t care if this is the worst decision of my life-not when his touch feels like this. I grip his shoulders and try to hang on.

It’s easy to picture what this would feel like without clothes on. The two of us, doing this, over and over again. Making out like teenagers on the couch at first, before shifting to the bedroom, where it be heavy and slow and quick, all at the same time.

I dig my fingers into his shoulders. He’s in a soft, gray sweater, nothing at all like the harsh suits he wears to work. “You look good in your suits,” I murmur. “The gray one is my favorite.”

His mouth starts its upward journey again, finally finding my lips. He kisses me in a way that makes it perfectly clear where this will end. “You look unreal in the office,” he says. “Every morning, I think there’s no way she can look as good today. Everybody has bad days. But damn it, every day you find a way to top yourself.”

I smile against his lips, his praise sweeping through me like a tidal wave. “You’re biased.”

“Yes, clearly.”

“So I like you in your suits and your big office…” I slide my finger across his jaw, meeting his dark green eyes. The heat in them makes my stomach tighten. “And you like me in my pencil skirts and blouses. I think we’re somewhat of a cliché, sir.”

Henry’s eyes warm with amusement. “It’s a common kink.”

“You’re calling us common?”

His hands grip my thighs, and I’m lifted up and around, spread on the couch with him above me. His body is everywhere-tall and strong and resting lightly against me. He’s still hard; I can feel him against my thigh, through the thin layers of fabric. Everything in me distills to that narrow point of contact. Excitement and fear chase one another.

“Absolutely nothing about you is common, Faye Alvarez. You’ve been unexpected, ever since that damn letter arrived in my inbox.” Henry kisses me with the single-minded determination I’ve come to expect from him. Strong arms cradle my head, biceps taut under the pressure, and I run a hand over his back.

Pulling him closer, my legs opening instinctively for him, I want him everywhere-the two of us one.

He breaks off the kiss. “Slow. We’re not in a rush.”

“Aren’t we?” I tease, reaching up to nip at his lips. “We shouldn’t be doing this at all. How long can we outrun common sense?”

He runs a finger down the side of my cheek. It’s a sweet gesture, even if the hunger in his eyes is anything but sweet. “Common sense, huh.”

It’s like I’ve dumped a bucket of cold water over him.