Brothers of Paradise Series

I wet my lips. “I didn’t phrase it exactly like that.”

“But that’s what you meant?”

“Yes.”

Rhys leans in closer. “Tell me about the last man who saw you.”

Oh no.

I glance down at my cards and try to find the convenient lie, the one I’ve told before when people have asked about my exes. I’ve dated around a bit. Or my favorite one, I work too much for anything to get, you know, properly serious. Those answers imply experience. They’re vague.

They’re also lies.

“Ivy?” Rhys asks, and something in his tone sends my lies out the window. I doubt he’d buy it, anyway. So I look at the giant photographs of wildlife on the wall. A leopard in a tree is easier to face than him.

“I’m not sure anyone really has.”

He gives a thoughtful hum. “Well, damn. Perhaps I should apologize for my gender.”

“You’re not responsible for other men’s actions.” I reach for the cards, but Rhys isn’t done.

“So you’ve only had relationships with men who don’t see you?”

I shuffle the cards, keeping my eye on them. There’s an illustrated image of the Eiffel Tower on the back. “I’ve never had a proper relationship with a man.”

Rhys blows out a breath, his gaze piercing. “How is that possible? Men must have tried.”

“Have you seen the men who usually hang around models? The men you hung out with at the Hamptons party?” I shake my head. “They ask me out, sure, but I know what that entails. It’s not me they want, it’s a model. It’s the status. And I know the part I’m expected to play in return for a fancy dinner-and I have no interest in that.”

His lip curves. “Ivy,” he says, “I hope you take this as a compliment, but you’re interesting enough for men to talk to beyond that. They might want that, sure, but I doubt it’s the only thing all of them want.”

I deal the cards. “You’ve gotten a lot of mileage out of your question.”This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

“It was an interesting answer. One that’s spawned more questions.” He raises a finger to me. “So don’t worry, I’ll win again.”

I groan and get up from the sofa, heading toward the shelves. “In that case, I think we need reinforcements.”

“Excellent thinking.” He reaches for the hotel phone on the side table at the same time as I open the hidden minibar I’d found earlier. There’s still nothing in it but a few sodas and miniature bottles of alcohol.

“Mix our own?” I suggest.

He shakes his head. “I’ll order drinks. What do you want?”

“A glass of wine.”

“We’ll get a bottle. Red okay?”

“Excellent.”

I drift off to my giant suitcase and listen to Rhys as he orders a bottle of wine, discussing vintages with the person on the other end in a confident, competent tone. He has his back to me, so I shrug out of my pants and shirt with a pounding heart. Pull on my silken pajama shorts and the matching top.

He gives me a once-over when I return. “Getting comfortable?”

“If we’re to play games and drink, I don’t want to be in pants I’ve laid on a Jeep in.”

“But it was such a winning pose.”

The wine arrives a few minutes later, and he pours it into two glasses, one for each of us. “Your turn to start,” he says, nodding toward the cards.

He wins this time again, and not by a little, either. Rhys runs a hand through his hair. “You might need more wine for this question.”

“It’s that bad?”

“Yes. And perhaps I shouldn’t ask, but I want to know.”

I clasp my hands together in my lap, and his eyes track the movement. “Go on,” I murmur.

“Before Paris, how long had it been since you’d kissed someone?”

Oh God.

My cheeks heat up, but I don’t look away from his dark gaze. Not when I’m standing on the edge of admitting something that has been buried deep, deep inside me for as long as I can remember.

“I see,” he says softly, and I wonder if perhaps he might.

If he might be the only one who’s ever seen.

I look down at my hands. Nude, short nails. No rings. “It’s been at least a year,” I confess. “Perhaps a year and a half.”

“Hmm.”

“What are you thinking?”

His long hands sort the cards with elegant competence. “I’m thinking that’s a shame, since kissing can be so much fun.”

“Was ours?”

“Fun?” He glances at me, an eyebrow raised. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

I bite my lip to keep from smiling. “Yes, perhaps I do.”

He hands me the cards, and I watch him do it, staring at the broad, tanned backs of his hands. “Aren’t you going to ask me the final question?”

“The final question?”

“About sex,” I say, the word like acid on my tongue. I can’t believe I’m inviting in his opinion like this.

But here, with him, a thousand miles from the largest city and with only the sounds of the savannah as our companion… it feels different. Like my worries about this were all childish.