Brothers of Paradise Series

“Brutal honesty,” I murmur.

He nods, lifting himself up on one arm. Watching me with those inscrutable eyes, the ones that had intrigued me in the beginning. Infuriated me in their unreadability.

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“Your sister called during dinner?”

“Yes,” he says. “She’s being a nag.”

It’s so unexpected in the context of our conversation that I chuckle. His lips curve into a fond smile. “What is she nagging you about?”

“My father’s birthday is the day after we return to New York. It’ll be a grand affair,” he says, using the words mockingly.

“You’re not planning on going,” I guess.

“No.”

I reach out and run my fingers through his hair. The fear of these casual touches had disappeared days ago, shifted into comfortable intimacy. “You went to Yale.”

“I did,” he confirms. “For two years.”

We look at each other, the tension from Ben’s sudden arrival leaking out of me. Rhys is right, in the end. Him knowing changes nothing between the two of us.

He crosses the distance between us and kisses me, the touch of his lips setting off an ache in my chest. My arms twine around him in response.

“We still have two days, right?”

He nods, his hand slipping under my shirt to find the curve of my waist.

I grip him tighter. “We’re going to use them well, then.”

“Ivy,” he murmurs against my neck, his lips sending shivers across my skin. I stretch my neck to give him full access to the sensitive skin. But he pauses, rising on an arm as if a thought has just struck him. “I respect you,” he tells me. “And I don’t think any less of you for working as a model.”

I pull him back down to my lips, his words setting off the same ache in my chest again. The one that warns me I’ve already fallen too deep.

Ivy

We land in New York after more hours of flying than I like to count, the both of us quiet and tired. It’s mid-afternoon here, but it’s the Wild West inside of me time-wise. I’ll need a week or two to fully recover from the jet lag.

“Welcome home,” the passport controller tells me. It’s a professional tone, but the words are beautiful. I can’t wait to collapse into my own bed.

Rhys rolls my giant suitcase as well as his own. The agency hadn’t arranged transport back home for us from the airport, but I’ve decided to splurge on a cab.

“Solid ground,” he mutters.

“Feels good, huh?”

“I’m never flying again.”

“Yes, you are,” I tell him. “But not anytime soon.”

“Did you know I sail?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Well, that’s how I’ll travel from here on.”

We turn the corner and emerge into the arrivals hall, walking past lines of people waiting for their loved ones. Seeing it makes me smile.

But Rhys stops in his tracks. “Fucking hell.”

“What’s wrong?” I follow his gaze to a man. A man who’s staring at Rhys, and who Rhys is staring right back at. “Oh. A friend of yours?”

His voice is short. “My brother.”

The man approaches us. Nearly as tall as Rhys, with the same hair, similar features, the two of them almost the same age. Their expressions are perfect replicas of one another. They look like mirror opposites, carved from the same stone but by different sculptors.

“You sent Lily your itinerary,” his brother says by way of greeting. “I’m heading up to Paradise and you’re joining me.”

Rhys’s eyebrow is lifted, but it’s not mischievous. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

The temperature between them is glacial. It’s the kind of conversation I shouldn’t be here for, shouldn’t be overhearing.

But then his brother blows out a tired breath. “Your sister has missed you. Mom’s missed you. Just stay for the night, man. The cottage is yours.”

I can tell Rhys is gearing up to refuse. It’s in his tense form beside me. I grip his arm and look at his brother. “Will you give us a moment?”

He turns to me for the first time, as if only now realizing I’m there. “Yes, of course. I’m parked right outside.”

And then he disappears through the sliding doors, shoulders back and bearing straight.

Looking so much like Rhys.

Was that Henry? The older brother who’s designing the New York Opera House?

I turn to Rhys. He’s running a hand through his hair, looking at me. Waiting for me to speak.

So I nudge his shoulder with mine, forcing my voice to be light. “Feel like going on another adventure? I’m up for it, if you are.”

His eyes widen. “You’d come with me? To Paradise Shores?”

“Why not? I’ve already played buffer once for your family. I can do it again.”

“You were excellent at it last time.”

“All I had to do then was flutter my eyelashes. This crowd might be tougher, but as long as there are no Jeeps and deserts, I’m in.”