Brothers of Paradise Series

“No part of New York is ever truly calm.”

I study his profile. The city might not be calm, but he looks it, the restlessness gone from when I’d seen him waiting by the deli. “Not like Paradise Shores?”

His eyes slide to mine, and I wonder if he’s remembering it all the way I am. The two of us on the boat or walking along the shore at midnight. Alone together in the cottage.

“No,” he says softly. “Not like Paradise Shores.”

“Would you ever move back?”

He frowns, but it’s his thoughtful look, not his displeased one. I’m not sure if most people realize there’s a difference. “Maybe,” he says finally. “But it would have to be the right time. I can’t see myself leaving all of… well, this.” He sweeps his arm across the busy street, the water beyond, the pounding beat of the city we both live and work in. I can’t imagine leaving it either-not yet, anyway.

Our slow, meandering walk eventually comes to a stop outside my building. I’ve been leading us here, to the red brick building that’s been home since I moved to the city nearly six years ago.

“This is me,” I say.

Henry looks past me to the lobby. “I remember.”

“Right, the letter. Thanks for that, by the way. Truly.”

He rubs his neck. “I should have thought of it sooner. We could’ve had this discussion weeks ago.”

“It came at exactly the right time,” I say, and I mean it, too. These weeks have been long, but I’d needed the time to sort through my own emotions-to separate Henry and me from the professional role we’d met in.

Henry takes a step closer, until we’re nearly touching. He runs his fingers along my cheek, my jaw, tipping my head back again.

“I like our height difference,” I say, stupidly.

His mouth quirks up. “I’m glad. That’s not something I could’ve changed, had you not.”

I smile at him, and he smiles back crookedly, reaching out to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “Can I come up?”

I think of him in my apartment, his giant size in that small space, the shabby carpet, my dying palm tree. I think of my framed architecture posters on the wall and his visionary mind. Of his arm around my waist as we sleep.

“Yes,” I say. “I’d like that.”

Something in him relaxes, as if he’d been unsure of my response. He slides a hand down my arm, taking my hand. “Lead the way, then.”

When we reach my front door-Apartment 13C emblazoned in gold letters-my heart is beating with a mixture of excitement and nerves. Henry, here in my space. Good thing Jess left for work at the same time I did.

I unlock the door and he steps past me, opening it for me.

“Thanks.”ConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .

“You wanted us to do this properly,” he says with a sideways grin. Once, I’d thought that smile was rare, and treasured each one. He’s been liberal with them today, just like he was during the weekend in Paradise Shores.

Henry stops in my living room and looks around, his gaze taking it all in-my crocheted throw on the sofa, made by my mother. My overflowing bookshelf filled with biographies and architecture books.

He takes a step forward and looks at the posters on my wall. With his hands in his pockets, his shirt stretched out over his broad shoulders and thick hair kissing his neck, he feels too good for this space. Too much. I wait with bated breath for his commentary.

“These are magnificent,” he says finally, looking at the architectural crosscut of the Colosseum. “Where did you find these?”

There’s a faint lump in my throat, all of a sudden. Jess was my best friend in the whole world, and she had never paid them any mind. Aiden had though they were needlessly expensive and yet another display of my inconvenient ambition.

“Online,” I say. “An artist makes them, drawing on real historical records. Some parts of them are speculative.”

Henry nods, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Have you ever been?”

“To Rome?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

He trails a hand down my arm, his fingers leaving goose bumps. “Good to know. Are you hungry?”

“Um, yes. A bit. Do you want us to cook something? I think I have chicken in the freezer.”

He pulls me toward my couch, and we sink down on it effortlessly, his arms still around me. “Absolutely not,” he says. “I’ll order something, and we’ll eat right here on your couch.”

“We’re having our first proper date right away?”

“Yes.”

I smile. “Not wasting any time, are we?”

“I’ve wasted too much already,” he says. The sunlight illuminates a faint five-o’clock shadow along his jaw and circles under his eyes. How had I missed that earlier?

“Sounds good.” I put a hand on his cheek and smooth my thumb over his cheekbone, his eyes closing in pleasure. “You look a bit tired. Have things been stressful at work? Splitting up Marchand & Rykers?”

“Yes,” he sighs. “Dividing up the projects turned out to be harder than we thought. Rykers and I have had a few disagreements about personnel, too.”

I slide my hand into his hair and run my fingers along his scalp. “She might be the only one at work who’s not afraid to go toe to toe with you.”

He snorts. “At the moment, yes. But only because you left.”

“Flatterer.”

“It’s the truth.” Henry sighs again, leaning into my touch, eyes closed in pleasure. It makes me smile. “Plus, I’ve been terribly distracted at work. Forgetting to reply to emails. Losing my train of thought. Forgetting the details of projects.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

“No, it doesn’t.” A smile hovers on his lips, even as his eyes remain closed. “I had this smart, talented, beautiful woman in my life, and then I screwed up and lost her. And it turns out I couldn’t really think of anything else after that.”

I slide my fingers down to the nape of his neck, gently massaging the thick muscles. “You really are a flatterer tonight,” I murmur, “but I’m enjoying it immensely.”

His smile quirks up. “Another point to me.”

“You want to play the compliment game?” I kiss the edge of his jaw, the stubble tickling my skin. “You’re going to have to get used to being called handsome, then.”