Brothers of Paradise Series

“Because I didn’t find anyone I wanted to seriously date,” he says. “Maybe because the person I wanted hadn’t moved back yet. Does that satisfy you, your honor?”

My breath catches in my throat. Words are beyond me, and I pull him toward me instead. Answer him with my lips.

He groans low in his throat when I deepen the kiss. My legs brace against his hips, and I’m drowning in sensation. In his words and his touch, and then I try not to think at all beyond the hungriness of his kisses and the strength of his hands on my body.

My hands tug his shirt up and, caught between our bodies, I trail my fingers over the tautness of his abdomen. Muscles tighten instinctively beneath my touch.

“Christ,” he mutters against my lips. “I love it when you touch me.”

My hand pauses. “You do?”

“There’s nothing you can do that I wouldn’t like. No mines hidden in this, in us. You know that, James.”

I do. I do, because it’s him, and it’s me, and this has never been anything but safe. And I surrender to him completely. His kisses deepen, and large hands slide down to tug me toward the edge of the counter. I’m flush against his chest.

“God, yes,” he murmurs when I wrap my legs around his waist. “Isn’t this so much better than Play-Doh?”

I laugh and he switches to my neck, kissing a trail down to the neckline of my shirt. “Marginally,” I tease.

His left hand slides up along the side of my chest, brushing past the swell of my breast, and I take a shaky breath. There’s a fire in my stomach that hasn’t burned there for months. Years, probably.Material © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Okay, a lot better,” I murmur, “even if you don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

His lips pause at the neckline of my shirt, right there, halfway down my chest. I thread my fingers into his thick head of hair. “I’ll take my chances,” he says, speaking the words into my skin, right above my heart.

So will I, I think, and reach for the hem of my shirt.

But even deep in the fog of desire, with the man I’d never thought I’d see again, my mom ears haven’t signed off from duty. I register the telltale creak of small feet on the stairs.

I push Parker away.

“Mommy?” a thick voice asks. Emma walks into the kitchen in her purple pajamas, and in her left hand is Mr. Rabbit.

I jump off the counter. “Honey, did you just wake up?”

Emma nods and looks at the man beside me. “You’re here?” she asks. It sounds like an accusation.

“Yeah. I came over to help your mom with something,” Parker says. His voice is only slightly rougher than usual.

“Oh,” Emma says. She blinks at us, eyes sleepy. Then she smiles. “Did you like the cookie?”

“I did, yes. Very much. Did you bake it?”

“Yes, with Mommy and Granny. Mommy said she would bring you one.”

“She did. It was very good. Was it your idea to put M&M’s in it?”

Emma shifts from one foot to the other and yawns so large I can see her tonsils. It makes me smile, and beside me, Parker chuckles.

But she manages a nod.

I bend to smooth her hair back. “Ready to go back to bed, honey?”

“Mm. I’m thirsty.”

“Let’s get you something to drink, then,” I say. But when I turn around Parker is already on it, filling up one of the clean glasses drying by the sink.

Emma drains half of it and yawns again. I bend to lift her up. “Come on, sleepyhead. Let’s go upstairs.”

She rests her chin on my shoulder. “Read the book.”

“Again? We read it before.”

“Again,” she says. We’re halfway through the living room when a request stops me in my tracks. “I want the captain to read it.”

The captain in question-he’s never going to get over being called this, I think-hears her.

“You sure?” he asks Emma. His eyes are blue and serious on hers. “I might not be as good at it as Mom.”

Emma buries her head in my neck, bravery forgotten. “I’m sure,” she mumbles.

Parker looks at me. There’s hesitant surprise in his eyes.

“Only if you want to,” I mouth.

He nods. “Let’s go upstairs.”

That’s how I find myself standing in the doorway to my daughter’s new bedroom, watching Parker sit down on the very edge of Emma’s purple bed. It makes me smile to see how he tries to make himself small, the gentle way he moves in her space. “This is the book?”

“Yes. It has a funny name.” Emma pulls the comforter up past her nose, muffling her voice. “Seg id.”

“Huh?”

“Say it.”

“Oh.” Parker flips the book over. “Cinna and the Flying Cinnamon Buns,” he says.

Emma erupts in giggles beneath her comforter.

“You’re right. That is a funny name.” Parker opens it to the first page. I watch as he reads words that are too familiar to me now, a script I’ve stopped reacting to, and hear them for the first time. He’s warm and gentle with her. He emphasizes words that make her laugh, and when he notices she’s starting to drift off, he lowers his voice. It’s deep and soothing in the room.

I could fall asleep to it too.

And when she’s out like a light, he gently puts the book down on her night table, and puts her beloved bunny next to her on the pillow.

“Thank you,” I tell him. He pulls me close and presses his lips to my forehead, and I close my eyes, hoping this isn’t just a dream.

JAMIE