The Everest Brothers: An Alpha Billionaires Series

by S. L. Scott

  “A lot happened today,” he says.

  That’s an understatement, but even his optimism rubs off on me. “And we survived.”

  “We did.” An incorrigible grin arises. Bridging the gap, his hand lies seventy-five percent closer to me, palm up.

  “You could have met halfway.” Fifty percent would have been a good compromise.

  “I don’t mind going the distance for you, cactus flower.”

  And then I pool into a puddle of mushy feels on the floorboard of this SUV. Plucking my heart up, I wedge it back into place, and reply, “And here I thought you’d go for prickly pear, movie star.”

  “Nah. You’re more than the armor that surrounds you.”

  Placing my hand in his, I study the size difference. His bear paw engulfs my panther paw, making me smile. He goes on to say, “You weren’t born among the thorns, which makes me wonder why you grew them in the first place.”

  “My mother’s death,” I reply without thinking. I glance up to his whiskey eyes, holding my breath in shock of what I’ve admitted. I don’t ever talk about that time, yet I have to him twice.

  “That would do it.” He slides all the way over until he bumps into me. Reaching around my head, he pushes the lock down, grumbling about it being up. When he rests back, our fingers fall into place, weaving together a bond built over days of getting to know each other. “I’m sorry about your mother, Winter.”

  “So am I, but there’s nothing to be done now. There wasn’t then either. Cancer fucking stole the rug out from under us. In her case, we didn’t notice until we fell.”

  “Singer’s mother fought breast cancer.”

  “How is she doing?” I ask, praying she’s alive, and I didn’t step in a landmine.

  “She’s doing well. The doctors are happy with her body’s response to the treatment.”

  “That’s good.” I wish that was my case, but some of us aren’t meant to have nice things. I look at the nails of my free hand remembering how my mom used to paint them dark blue like her eyes. She told me it was a warrior’s color. Although I was only seven, she used to let me paint her nails while she would recite poetry from the heart. “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.” I spilled the paint the day before she died. I say, “She died on a Tuesday. That was what she called Mommy-daughter day. Every week we spent that day together just the two of us. I found her passed away in her bed instead.”

  I hate how my voice trembles. Eighteen years is a long time to let something bother you. I’ll need longer than this lifetime to get over her death. “She was buried the following Tuesday. I painted my nails black.” I hold my hand up, the OPI Bubble Bath polish clean and neat, and the furthest from a warrior’s color I can get.

  Noticing the familiar skyline out the window, I ask, “Where are we going?”

  “To my apartment.”

  “I don’t have anything on me for a sleepover, not even a toothbrush.”

  “I have a spare.”

  “Clothes? I don’t even have underwear. God, how embarrassing.”

  A slow grin slides deliciously into place. Dipping into his pocket, I recognize the lace he pulls out. My mouth falls open and my eyes go wide. “I got that covered too,” he replies.

  “With my dirty panties?”

  Shaking his head, he laughs. “We can wash your clothes for tomorrow.”

  “Well, what about tonight?”

  “You can borrow mine.”

  “But you’re a beast of a man. They’ll swallow me whole.”

  His laughter deepens. “You know. I think you like how big I am.” And then I get his signature wink.

  I roll my eyes to play it off like he’s just spoken pure insanity, but I do like it—the wink and his size. “Size doesn’t matter. I’m not that shallow.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart, and maybe one day you’ll believe it.”

  “You know, sometimes I think you’re the most charismatic man I’ve ever met. And then sometimes you open your mouth, and I just want to plug it.”

  “With what? Your tongue? I see how you look at me—”

  “You mean the same way you look at me?”

  “Maybe.” He shrugs unapologetically. “Maybe not. I think we see things differently.”

  “Do we? How so?”

  “I think you see men as prey—someone to con, someone to waste some time with, someone to fuck. See? You don’t even balk at the suggestion. You’d be offended if I wasn’t right.”

  “I can feign offense if you’d like.” Covering my heart with my hand, I put my other to my forehead. “Oh, mercy me. Whatever would I be without a big, strong man telling me what to do?”

  “You should have gone to drama school. You nailed it.”

  “I’ve had plenty of practice.”

  The see-saw of our emotions teeters the other way, and he says, “That’s exactly what I mean. You don’t have to practice with me. I’m not battling for control or one-upping you every chance I get. If this is who you are in Manhattan, I choose Paris.”

  Despite the fact he’s still holding my balled panties in his hand, his words have such finality to them that I stare at him. “What do you want from me, Bennett?”

  “I want you to end the battle before it begins. I understand you’re outside your comfort zone, but I need you not to fight me every step of the way. We’re on the same side. We’re allies.” His gaze lowers to my injured jaw. “No one is going to hurt you again, especially not me.”

  “Trust,” I say, remembering how he said if he gives me his heart, I give him mine. He’s been wearing his out in the open for all to see while I’m still trying to protect mine. “How do I learn to trust?”

  “You just do it without any guarantees. Take the risk. Think how much better we can be as a team.”

  Squeezing his hand gently, and then with more assurance, I say, “Allies.”

  “You and me.”

  I wouldn’t be alone.

  I lean my head on his shoulder and he wraps his arm around me. Allies with Bennett is a good place to be. I don’t need a man, or anyone, to feel complete. But for the first time in a very long time, I don’t feel alone, and that’s worth savoring. That’s worth fighting for.

  We spend some time in rush hour traffic before we finally pull into an underground garage. A gate comes down behind us with visible cameras throughout the garage. When we come to a stop in front of a gray steel door, it happens so fast that I’m not sure what to do other than sit tight.

  The lock pops up, and my door opens abruptly. Lars says, “Right this way.”

  I glance back at Bennett, needing to know what to do. He nods. “It’s okay.”

  Stepping out to Lars’s right, I release his helping hand. He looks to his left and then escorts me to the open area by the door but tucks me behind the brick wall. I start to calm when Bennett joins me. “What’s going on?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

  “I said I’d protect you. Welcome to The Everest.”

  19

  Winter

  Not in front of the elevator.

  Just past the stairwell.

  Not near the door.

  Stay close enough to “save.”

  After Lars doled out the firm directives, I stay put right under Bennett’s arm. Lars comes back down the hall to where he left us standing. “All clear.”

  “Thank you. I texted my brother, but can you update him on the clearance?” Bennett replies.

  “Yes. I’m going up there now.”

  Lars continues to a door down the hall. Looking just beyond him, I see another door, and ask, “There’s only one other apartment on the floor?”

  “Yes, my oldest brother and the princess live there.”

  “Princess?”

  “Of Brudenbourg,” he says so nonchalantly that I still don’t know if he’s teasing.

  “A for real princess?”

  “Yes. A ‘for real’ princess.” He throws in air quotes for fun as we walk into the apartment.r />
  I stare at him. “I don’t understand. You’re not kidding?”

  He chuckles. “No, why would I kid about her being a princess?”

  “You call me sweetheart?” I don’t even know what I’m asking, but I crave the answer like a kid craves candy.

  Pulling me in, he kisses my head. “Because you are,” he replies like the answer was always right there in front of me. “When you’re not my prickly pear.”

  “I prefer cactus flower.”

  “Me too.”

  I force myself to look away from the gorgeous man next to me, my mouth falling open as soon as I enter the “apartment,” which makes me want to use air quotes. I’ve never seen an apartment in Manhattan this big before. Rushing forward to the center of the living room, I stare out the large windows before me. “Good God, Bennett.” It would be impossible to feel claustrophobic in such an airy, wide-open space. “It’s like living in the clouds with no walls confining you.” Finding him over my shoulder, I ask, “This is your place?”

  “This is my place.” The smugness isn’t lost on me. But damn, he has every right to be cocky. My place is nice . . . at least I used to think so. But it’s a ramshackle walk-up compared to this palace in the sky. From behind me, I hear him say, “I thought you did your research on me?”

  I laugh. “I looked you up. I didn’t research you.”

  “Ah, I didn’t catch the difference earlier.” When I look back, he’s reaching into a cabinet. “Something to drink?”

  “Whatever you’re drinking.”

  The glass of the window is cold when I press my hands against it to see how far the view extends. Pretty damn far. “What did Lars mean when he said he was going up now? Up where?”

  “My brother Ethan lives in the penthouse. That’s base.”

  “What’s base?” I start to snoop around the place. “Nice view, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” Setting a pitcher of water down on the island counter, he hands me a full glass. “Base is home base. Hutton’s apartment down the hall is first base. Mine is second.”

  “But you’re third born?”

  “I know,” he replies, shaking his head. “Missed opportunity if you ask me. They didn’t.” He chuckles. “Maybe it throws off the bad guys.” He finishes his water in one long chug and begins to refill it.

  “Bad guys?” I ask, my eyes going wide. Do they have more than the ones I’ve brought into their lives?

  “Kidding. Kind of.” And there’s that wink again followed by a playful nudge as he walks by.

  “I think it’s too soon to joke about bad guys.”

  “You’re probably right.” Looking back at me, he signals toward the hall. “Come on. Let me give you a tour.”

  “Am I staying that long?”

  “Is it bad if I want you to?”

  Bumping against him, I say, “No. It’s nice to hear.” I walk ahead of him. “What’s down here?”

  “Probably a messy bedroom.” I’m yards—yes yards, because this place is so damn big—ahead of him, making my way straight down the hall while peeking into each room I pass. Not his. Not his. Not his. “Palace,” I mumble. Goose!

  I walk into the cleanest bedroom I’ve ever seen. Not an item is out of place in the uncluttered space. The wood floors shine from a recent polish and not one wrinkle covers the duvet. Speaking of . . . “That’s the biggest bed I’ve ever seen.” I run and jump into the middle, ruffling up the blanket and sheets. Turning my face to the side, I say, “A giant sleeps here.”

  He chuckles from the doorway.

  I roll over, propping myself up on my elbows. I glance at the clock on the nightstand and then back at him. “It’s only five. I’m not going to make it to seven.”

  Coming to the end of the bed, he takes my ankles and pulls me toward the end until my butt is almost at the edge. Leaning over me, he rests his arms on either side of my head. “Do you think you’ll be able to give an account of what’s been happening to the security team tonight?”

  “You need to work on your sweet talk.”

  “I’ll take that as a pause for now on that topic.” He laughs. “But how about kissing? Do I need to work on that?”

  “It’s been too long to judge. I need a reminder.”

  “Happy to oblige.” He holds my gaze for a few anxious beats of my heart before he leans down and kisses me. My eyes fall closed, and my heartstrings reattach to his, and then it’s over too soon. “How did I do?”

  I wish we could kiss all day. He’s just as amazing as he always is. “You’re a talented man.”

  “I was inspired. I want to ask you something.”

  “Ask away.”

  He pushes my hair back from my face and strokes my cheek several times, his eyes fixed on my lips. “Are we together?”

  When he trails his way to my eyes, I nod, ever so slightly and a lot squirmy. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

  “More than proximity?”

  “More than proximity.”

  I’m rewarded with a slow, lingering lick across my bottom lip, a little tug, and then the sweetest pressure of his lips against mine asking for more. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him right where he is. I’m sure it’s the jet lag making me feel so much for this man. It must be the lack of sleep, delirium, the emotions ballooning inside. I hold my tongue before I say more than I should.

  Permission granted.

  Closing my eyes, I kiss him, my body relaxed but my hunger aroused. Pulling back suddenly, I ask, “Do you mind if I take a shower? I feel so dirty after flying.”

  A sigh escapes him, but he’s kind enough not to let his disappointment show. “That way,” he says, pushing up. “Towels are on the shelf along with anything else you need. I’ll get you something clean to wear and leave it here on the bed.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. I hate the comparison, but I couldn’t help the memory of when I dared to pull away from Kurt. It didn’t end well for me. Yet here is this man, a little disappointed to pause things, but kindness and understanding fill his eyes. I hug him tight around his neck. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For being you. For being so wonderful to me.”

  “You deserve wonderful. You deserve more.”

  I kiss his cheek, and then ask, “What are you going to do?”

  Rolling to the side onto his back, he throws one arm wide while the other slips under me. “Hang out waiting for you.”

  “As soon as I’m clean. I like that thing you do with your face and mouth. It’s my favorite. But I’d feel better if I showered first.”

  He’s chuckling. “One time and you already have favorites?”

  I steal another quick kiss and climb off the bed. Kicking off my shoes, I send them flying in different directions. “Absolutely. Don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  “Yes.” He eyes me as if he already sees me fitting snugly right into his life. “I’ll let you know when the time is right.” This gentle giant’s gaze sweeps over me as he gets up. “Shout if you need me. I’m going to make a few calls.”

  “Okay.” I bunch the bottom of my shirt in my hands, suddenly a little nervous. My chest feels tight when I realize how deeply I already care for him.

  I’m unsure what to do with these feelings. I didn’t expect him. I definitely didn’t see a man that good finding me at my worst, and instead of turning a cold shoulder, he offered me his hand.

  He leaves, and I’m left to my own devices, free to snoop as I please. “Shower, Winter.” I take another quick look around the bedroom and smile. The furniture is a little different than I imagined for him. Back in Paris, I saw him surrounded by eighteenth-century French pieces curated to fit the opulence of the hotel.

  Here, he’s modern lines mixed with rich brown leather. Open, but warm. This room, and his entire apartment, is much more relaxed. Comfortable and not pretentious. If I ever had to describe Bennett, it might be the same.

  T
he bathroom is big, just how I love it. The bathroom rivals the fanciest spas in Europe with white marble, wood shelves, and pale blue towels the size to fit a Viking. I smile, squeezing the plush cotton as I pass to turn on the water.

  The water warms within seconds. Beats the pipes in my apartment, but that comes with living in a brownstone and trading modern conveniences for the character of our city’s past.

  I step under the spray, thinking I’m ready to trade my past for a new life. Closing my eyes, I let the water run over me, hair and all, washing away my makeup, the grime of the day, and hoping the threat I’ve been living under drains away.

  Can Bennett really protect me? Can the Everest brothers take on McCoy if I give them the information I know? How will my family react to my return?

  Bait.

  I was nothing more than a worm on a hook for Kurt. I owe Bennett and his brothers so many apologies I don’t know where to begin.

  I did what I was told because I didn’t know the master plan, but now I wonder what role my father has been playing. It seems too convenient that Bennett ended up in Paris from my father’s request to check on me when Kurt is collecting them. Are they in this together? Bennett’s right. My father is the key, but what game is he playing?

  My father has shown me who he really is, but it’s still hard for my heart to believe. Tears fall with the spray, rivulets stream down my body, the flat of my stomach, and tops of my thighs as they race to the drain.

  Large arms wrap around me from behind. Kisses cover the exposed skin of my neck through wet hair. “Don’t cry,” he whispers against my shoulder before kissing it.

  I curl into him, molding myself to his body wanting to sink into his arms, his heart, his life, his world. With my head still down, Bennett turns me around.

  Standing in a soaking wet white shirt and dress pants, bare feet, and a silver watch that reflects the light from above, all I see is his heart worn proudly on his sleeve. I embrace him, my arms around his middle as tight as I can hold him.

  The water rains down on our parade, and I’m so okay with that. I have him. I have him willing to weather the storm and a shower after a long day. He softens my sharp thorns and braves the planes of my prickly leaves. I’m the luckiest woman in the world. I say, “I don’t deserve you.”