Brothers of Paradise Series

Henry’s eyes widen as he reads the emotion on my face. “That’s not what you wanted to hear,” he murmurs.

It’s foolish. So, so reckless.

But I shrug. “Maybe not. Are you sure you can stay away?”

His gaze turns molten and I can’t look away. I never could, with him. The tension between us heightens until it’s a current, electricity dancing over my skin and setting my nerves aflame. Alive, my body is whispering, as it so often does when Henry’s near. This is what it feels like to be alive.

“You’re taunting me. Are you sure that’s wise, Faye?”

I wet my lips and swallow at the sudden dryness in my throat. Somehow, our story has already begun-beating hearts and the scent of his cologne and forbidden kisses in offices-and I didn’t realize it until I’m here, right in the middle of it.

“Wisdom comes with age, so I’m relying on you here.”

Henry arches a dark eyebrow, a smile hovering around the corners of full lips. The man is indecently handsome on the best of days, and now, with the feel of his mouth still lingering on mine…

“Dangerous, that. I think I’ve proven that I’m not exactly in control of this particular situation.” He glances down to where his hand rests next to mine on the desk. Our bodies aren’t touching, but the air between us is charged with possibility. “And neither are you, it seems.”

It’s a question-even if he’s phrased it as a statement. And I know I could walk away right here, make the right decision, close the door to his office and come back on Monday morning like nothing changed between us. That’s what he’s offering me.

We can pretend we never crossed this line.

“It is inconvenient,” I echo. “I guess it’s a bit like a staring contest, after all. We’ll just have to see which one of us breaks first.”

“But of course,” he murmurs. “You’re as competitive as me.”

“You keep forgetting.”

“At my own risk, clearly.” Something sparks in his eyes, something I can’t place. Dark satisfaction makes my stomach curl with pleasure. He leans in, close enough that I think he might kiss me again. My eyes drift closed on reflex. Whatever he wants, I’m game-there’s no common sense or resistance left.

There’s a huff of deep laughter. “I’ve already told you I don’t lose. Go home, Miss Alvarez. On Monday we start anew.”

Damn man. I open my eyes, only to see his half-smile. He thinks he has me on the ropes.

I stand slowly, my hip brushing his, and let my hand slide down the skin of his forearm. His eyes narrow at me-the smile is gone entirely now, replaced by heat. “Good night, Mr. Marchand,” I say. “Enjoy your weekend.”

His eyes are on me the entire way out.

Henry

The gym used to be my calm place.

There was no thinking when I was lifting weights, or running on the treadmill, or bench pressing. Just me and achievement; lifting more, running longer.

But that peacefulness is lost. Ever since Friday-since earlier, if I’m being honest with myself-my mind drifts back to Faye every chance it gets. It doesn’t matter that it’s seven a. m. or that my breath is coming in painful huffs.

I shouldn’t have kissed her, I think for the hundredth time. What had come over me? I wasn’t a horny teenager, and I wasn’t Elliot Ferris, and still… I’d kissed her right there, right in my office, sitting at my own damn desk.

I turn up the incline on the treadmill another few levels. It’s the part of my gym routine I hate the most, but I never skip it. Doing things I don’t want to do is my specialty. Getting things done. Playing by the rules, pushing the limits, sacrificing things like pleasure for the plan. In my family, my self-discipline was practically legendary.All content © N/.ôvel/Dr/ama.Org.

But it had crumbled with one look from Faye.

Damn woman. She was just as infuriatingly stubborn as me, not afraid to speak her mind, and she knew just how to push limits. No woman I’d dated would have acted like she did on Friday-drawn up a contract. Taken a seat at my desk. Negotiated for her future.

I run until my legs nearly give out, lungs about to burst in my chest. It’s a small testament to the self-discipline Faye has tried to ruin. Brick by brick, I’ll have to rebuild the layers of control. She’d challenged me to stay away from her. I’ll win, and there’s no denying I’ll have a hell of a lot of fun doing it, walking the thin line with her.

When I arrive at work, it’s mostly empty, as usual. I spend the first two hours working on the opera house and answering emails. The clock hand moves slowly on my desk toward ten a. m.-the time I know Faye will be at my door, laptop under her arm, ready for our Monday meeting. My self-control does nothing to dampen anticipation, it seems.

She knocks on my door at exactly ten a. m. A vision in red today-a dress that follows her body, coupled with a blazer. Hair up in a ponytail.

The look she gives me in indecipherable. I look right back at her, our gaze locked until there’s a smile on her lips. It eases something in my chest-the part of me that had been unsure of how she’d behave around me, given Friday.

“Well,” she says, “shall we begin?”

We run through her list of things to check for the coming week. It’s not much, given we’ll both be out of office on both Thursday and Friday. The urge to tease her about it is nearly overwhelming.

Faye gently closes her laptop, reaching up to tuck an errant lock of silky hair behind her ear. “So,” she says, “on to my final item.”

“Oh?”

“I want more information about this weekend. If I’m to be your date, I want to know what I’m walking into. Is this wedding really going to last four days?”

I lean back in my chair. “Yes, and no. People are coming in from out of town and there are things scheduled from Friday to Sunday. Dinner, games, brunch, that sort of thing.”

“And on Thursday?”

“Dinner with my family.”

Something like surprise flashes in her eyes. Interesting. “Okay,” she says, but there’s a faint frown on her lips.

“You still want more information.”

She runs a hand over her hair, but stops halfway, as if remembering that she has it pinned tight. “Yes. I’m a planner. An organizer. What if we get asked questions about how we met? What do I work with, if we don’t work together? I need details.”

I stifle a smile at her rambling. “You want all your bases covered.”

“Yes.”

A glance from her to the office door proves it’s shut, but it still feels too exposing to talk about this, here, in the place where we both need to be professional. “Come over tonight,” I say instead. “We’ll make a game plan. You can ask all the questions you want.”

Her eyes widen. “To yours?”

“Yes.”

It’s risky, but I need to prove to the both of us that we can do the right thing-that we can stay away from each other. That I still have self-control.

Her eyes narrow with determination. “I can tell what you’re doing.”

“Really? And what am I doing?”