The Everest Brothers: Ethan - Hutton - Bennett

by Scott, S. L.

  Two blocks down from where I’m kept . . . where I’m staying, I correct as if I have a choice, I hop on the Métro. But the word kept makes my heart squeeze and my throat close as the night I woke up in the apartment flashes in my head.

  My instructions were clear, the threat following profoundly convincing. The sounds of brakes that need replacing pierce my ears as the train comes to a stop, saving me from another painful memory. Glancing to the platform, I see the station name in tiles and maneuver into the bustling lunchtime crowd to exit.

  Parisians are known for their long lunches, but today, everyone seems to need to be somewhere and fast. Up ahead, I spot the green awnings and blue mansard roof of his hotel. It’s one of the most prestigious in the city, and the central location can’t be beat. Tourists may frequent this area, but I love the gardens across the street and being able to blend in with other people.

  When I step through the first doors into the foyer, I look up and then move forward to take a quick spin through the revolving door. The chandelier sparkles above as I turn under it; the crystals shining like little beams of sunlight.

  The bustle is kept at bay outside the fancy entrance. A couple stands at the check-in desk and two businessmen speaking German walk by me, so I move to the side, wondering what I should do next. Should I try to find out which room he’s staying in or sit and wait?

  I’m not even sure what I’m doing here or what I’ll say when I see Bennett. He’s a gorgeous man, but his genuine interest in getting to know me makes me feel human—not property or a pawn—drawing me to him once more.

  Last night he told me that he’d see me tomorrow, but we said goodbye. Did he stay another day? I walk to the front desk. “Bonjour,” I say.

  The man in a suit so tight I wonder how he gets into it much less walks to greet me in return. “Bonjour, mademoiselle.”

  After trying my best ploys to get the information I want, he kindly and firmly shuts me down. So I sit on the sofa, dragging the locket along the chain, and people watch.

  I’m too anxious to sit still for long, so I rely on the necklace in times like these. My mother’s gift comes with memories from when she was alive, her locket a tie to a happier life.

  Nora Nobleman needed the sun like I do, craved light even when she was stuck in a bed dying. On cold days, we’d draw the sun on paper and hang it on the windows like it was the middle of May instead of January and gray.

  Holding the locket to my ear, I shake it lightly and listen to the little rattle inside and smile. It’s not a real bell, but I like that we always pretended it was. To myself, I make another wish. “Please lead me to my destiny.” I glance at the ceiling as if I’ll see my guardian angel looking down on me. My bouncing knee stills and my cheek biting stops when momentary peace is found.

  A painful hour later, I get up because I’ve lost my patience. Waiting for Bennett has been for naught. Maybe he left Paris. Maybe he’ll be gone all day working. Maybe he’s found someone else to show him the Eiffel Tower. Maybe he’s upstairs now but waiting to leave until he meets me at the bistro later.

  My mind is stuck in a Rolodex of bad thoughts and regrets. I have so many other things to stress about. A hot guy who looks great in a suit shouldn’t be one of them. Why am I here? Just because he made me laugh once or twice doesn’t mean I have a right to a third. This was another ill-conceived plan. This time I need to bail. Anyway, if it’s meant to be, fate will bring us together again.

  And hopefully, it’ll be when I’m not in the middle of somebody else’s plot. I take the time to push through the revolving door again just for the small thrill of it and glance up at the chandelier once more to catch the sparkle. But it comes to an abrupt halt when someone pushes in from a different chamber, causing me to look through the glass to the other side.

  My grip tightens. Holy wow! A suit has nothing on Bennett Everest wearing running shorts and a fitted athletic shirt. I struggle to swallow normally, but this time, the sound echoes in the small, enclosed space.

  In the opposite compartment from me, he laughs, but with his hands, he mimes push. “Oh,” I reply, coming to my senses. “Yes.” I push until I’m back in the lobby where he stands—wet hair stuck to his forehead, sweat pooled in the center of the shirt, a heart rate monitor bulging from under the fabric. A healthy glow skin deep in his olive complexion.

  He wipes the top of his forearm across his forehead, making his hair stand up.

  I’ve seen his eyes under clouds when evening meets night but seeing them in the daylight makes this trip worth the risk. Whiskey with golden sunset centers I could swim in for hours. He says, “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  .

  .

  .

  .

  .

  .

  .

  .

  .

  I should really say something else, but he’s so much more handsome than I’ve given him credit for, and movie star doesn’t seem to fit as much anymore.

  Supermodel?

  No.

  Prince?

  No.

  Knight?

  Cold.

  A rock star?

  Warm.

  A fantasy?

  Warmer.

  A dream?

  Warmest.

  A book boyfriend?

  Steamy.

  Mr. Darcy!

  Hot.

  Hot.

  Hot.

  Tilting his head, his smile grows as he looks down at me. “Winter?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you?”

  “Huh? Do I what?”

  Chuckling, he says, “You didn’t hear anything I said.”

  “Nope,” I answer a little too proudly.

  “All right, how about I start over. What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you.” Subtle, Winter. Really subtle.

  “You found me.” His eyes are set on mine, a hint of cockiness slipping into the corners of his ridiculously adorable grin. “What are you going to do with me?”

  “Ha! Cute.” So cute. Too cute for his own good. I’m tempted to bite my fist. “I was thinking we could go to a museum and do other things before you leave.” No threats prevent me from making new friends. No rules in place other than I’m bait. I don’t even know what that means, so if I’m stuck in this city, I might as well make the most of it.

  “I did a little sightseeing this morning and ran a few miles. I need to shower, so if you don’t mind waiting—”

  “I’ll wait.” I plop down on the sofa like it’s the last round of musical chairs, and then inwardly roll my eyes at myself. Cool it, eager beaver. You’re going to scare the man away with your desperation.

  He taps his watch when an alarm rings. “You can wait here, or the bar is nice, but you’re also welcome to wait in my room. I have a chair with a nice view, and we could order tea or coffee, anything you like, while you wait.”

  “That sounds nice.” I hop up, and as we walk to the elevators, I ask, “So you’re a runner, huh?”

  That makes him laugh too hard. He shakes his head. “Seemed like a good way to burn through the day.”

  “Why did you want to burn the day away?”

  “I have a date.”

  “Oh.” I stop a few feet from the elevator. “I shouldn’t keep you.”

  Turning back, he winks. “It’s okay. You’ve saved me another crazy taxi ride by coming here instead. So about those few other things you want to do . . .?”

  “Keep your thoughts where they ought to be. I was referring to seeing paintings and some sightseeing, movie star.”

  We step on the elevator, and he pushes the button for the fifth floor. “Are you sure you’re okay with coming upstairs? I’m practically a stranger.” I hear the teasing in his voice.

  “Are you dangerous? I have enough psychopaths in my life.” Truer words have never been spoken.

  His laughter fills the elevator. “No, not dangerous, though I hear most women love a bad boy.”
<
br />   “I don’t. What about murderer?”

  “Nope.”

  I shrug. “Then I’ll take my chances.” I have nothing left to lose. There are worse ways to die than in the hotel room of a handsome millionaire who has a penchant for romantic grunge-era songs and french fries.

  6

  Bennett

  Winter Nobleman is striking at sunset, but when the clouds blew out and blue ran the expanse of the sky, she’s stunning. Sitting in a purple chair near the window, she’s trying really hard not to look my way. Talking with her eyes glued to the window, it’s as if she’s waiting to hear “Simon Says” so she can look at me.

  It’s quite adorable, actually. I haven’t exactly been playing fair though. With my shirt in my hand, I say, “What would you like to drink? I’ll order something.”

  She turns and her eyes go wide. “I, uh, er, um. Wine? I think I need wine.”

  I casually flex as I remove the heart rate monitor wrapped around me. It’s just after two in the afternoon, but if the lady wants a drink, I’m not one to judge. “White or red?” I’m no wine connoisseur. I usually just drink whatever’s offered.

  Glancing at her watch, she replies, “White.” Her gaze returns to me in a flash and stays put as I order the wine and a cheese plate. I catch her blues going lower, but they soon return unashamed back to my eyes. As soon as I hang the phone up, she cocks an eyebrow. “Are you going to stand around shirtless all day or take your shower?”

  “Does me being shirtless bother you?”

  “Not at all. Just curious.” Her shoulders rise and fall quickly. Sitting back, she returns her attention out the window. “The view is nice, but I prefer the gardens.”

  Smirking, I stand in the doorway that leads to the bathroom, and say, “I don’t usually pay much attention to views from hotel windows. I’d rather be outside than staring at it.”

  She angles in my direction. “Interesting.”

  “I won’t be long. Make yourself at home.”

  “I will.” This time, she smirks, and it’s damn sexy on her.

  I close the door and wonder what she’ll do unattended while I’m in here. Not sure that room service will be quicker than I am, but I put it to the test and get in the shower. My muscles are tight from traveling, so I spend an extra few minutes letting the heated spray pound down on my shoulders before I get out.

  After I brush my teeth, I consider shaving, but I don’t want to keep Winter waiting any longer, so I skip it. It isn’t until I finish in the bathroom that I realize my clothes are in the bedroom with her.

  Shit.

  Tightening the towel below my middle, I tuck the corners in the front and walk out. The chair is empty, but the bed is not. She doesn’t even bother to lift on her elbows, much less look guilty for lying in the middle of it. The last thing I expected when I woke up this morning was to see Winter Nobleman lying on my bed. I might have dreamed about it, but the reality is even better.

  “You said I could make myself at home, so I did. This bed is comfy.” Her legs and arms move in the middle of the cream-colored blanket as though she’s making a snow angel.

  “That I did.”

  When there’s a knock on the door, she points in that direction but makes no move to answer it. “Room service.”

  I hold my towel in place and open the door. The tray is set on the table and then the wine opened. After filling the glasses, the server disappears as if he was never here. And she still makes no move. Eyeing her, I raise my own eyebrow. “Are you waiting to be served?”

  “Are you up for the task?”

  “I can handle it.”

  She sits up, crossing her legs. So small in the middle of the large bed, I inadvertently smile from the sight. Maybe it’s because it’s my bed she’s in as well . . . maybe . . .

  With her eyes unabashedly roaming my body again, I give her a little show. The towel slips just enough to cause her mouth to open. But then I tighten the terrycloth around me and give her a little wink. “I bet you can handle me—I mean, the task at hand.”

  “What’s the task at hand?” I ask.

  “Bringing me wine.”

  “At your service.” I take my sweet time crossing the room, giving her the full show without putting everything on display if you know what I mean. Her grabby hand takes the glass, making me laugh. “Hard day?”

  “Every day is hard.” The lightness of her voice and the fun that had been floating through the air dissipates.

  “Always so cryptic.” Why is every day hard? Is she in some sort of danger? Surely not. She’s still as composed on my bed as she was at the bistro.

  I expect her to finish her wine, but she doesn’t even take a sip. She sets it on the nightstand and lies back. “I shouldn’t be here—in Paris, in this room, here with you. I don’t know you.”

  Her eyes follow me as I move to the open suitcase on the floor at the foot of the bed. Squatting, I grab some casual clothes and look up. “Don’t you?”

  She sits up, fluffing the pillows behind her. After retrieving the glass, she sips from it and then returns it to the nightstand. “I looked you up online.”

  I stand and search her face for signs of what she’s thinking and not saying. “That’s disappointing.”

  “You could have lied. I would have never known the difference.”

  I have been. “I didn’t want to lie about who I am to you.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t like to lie.”

  “Everyone lies, Bennett.”

  “That’s a shame.” It’s a shame I’ve lied long enough to gain her trust so that she’s sitting on my hotel bed like she’s spending the day and maybe the night right there. It’s a shame I can’t bring myself to confess the truth to her even now when we’re supposed to be honest, supposed to be proving that not everyone lies. But I’m still stuck on her words.

  “I shouldn’t be here—in Paris, in this room, here with you.” Because even though she’s walked away from me twice, and even though she shouldn’t be here . . . she is. I don’t know what to make of that. Do I push for answers or wait for her to expose what she’s hiding?

  She takes another drink, this time longer, closing her eyes as if she’s trying to dull the pain rather than savor the notes. Tilting her head back, she opens her eyes. “It’s probably best.”

  “Why are you in Paris?” I ask, hoping I’ll get a better answer this time.

  “I had dinner in New York and woke up in Paris. You never know where life will take you.”

  “Sounds adventurous.” What I want to say is, what the hell does that mean? But it’s as though she’s unsure what she can say, not being deliberately evasive. I think.

  “Something like that.” She takes a drink, not leaving enough to take another.

  “Vague responses seem to be your specialty.” I’m about to drop this towel but decide I should give her some warning. “Are you going to watch, or you want to give a guy a little privacy?”

  “You have something to hide, movie star?”

  Laughing feels good and lightens the mood. “Nope, nothing to hide, sweetheart.” The towel falls, and she sits straight up. Her hair is a mess as her eyes go wide, absorbing the full picture.

  For a woman who can have her choice of any man, she acts like this is the first time she’s seen one naked. “Need some extra time to take in . . . well, the extra?”

  Rolling her eyes, Winter falls back on the pillows. “And here I thought you were different.”

  I pull on my boxer briefs. “You can’t expect me to pass up a perfect setup like that.” Slipping on my jeans, I’m still chuckling. “I’m still not sure how we went from all the formality of the bistro to my hotel room and showing off our better parts.”

  “Two things,” she says, watching me as I button my jeans and then pull on an undershirt.

  “What’s that?”

  “First, a bistro is about as far from formal as you can get. Though I understand what you’re saying. We weren�
�t exactly at ease there.”

  “And secondly?” I pull on a sweater and then sit on the bench.

  “I may be in your room, but I definitely haven’t shown you my best parts.”

  When I look over my shoulder, she’s lying on her side, head resting on her elbow, and she winks. So fucking gorgeous. Such a contradiction. Sassy and confident. Dark and moody. I can’t figure her out. What I need to do is stop thinking about her better parts or I won’t be able to walk out of this room. “Ready to go, or do you want to stay in?” Plucking the front of my sweater, I add, “I can have this off faster than it went on.”

  Laughing, she sits up and swings her legs over the edge. “I just bet you can, but we have plans.”

  “Plans can change.” After putting on socks, I lace up my Red Wing Chukkas.

  “You’re telling me.” She pats my shoulder when she walks by and picks up her jacket from the chair. Cutting a piece of Brie, she eats it, and then says, “Come on. I want to show you my favorite statue.” When she takes another bite, the lightest of moans escapes her lips.

  I steal a few grapes from the plate but then squint at her. “Wait. You’re forcing art on me?”

  “Yes. Touristy stuff, too. It seems you haven’t taken in any of the required sights in Paris since you’ve been here.”

  “You don’t want to stay in, eat cheese, and drink wine?” I’m hungry, so I snatch a couple of bites of cheese and pop them into my mouth.

  Grabbing me by the sleeve, she pulls me toward the door. “From the mess of papers on that desk, it seems you’ve been working when you weren’t running. Let’s go have some fun.”

  “Fine. Can’t blame me for trying. You looked comfortable on that bed.”

  The door opens, but I stop to grab my wallet, check to verify the room key is inside, and then take my phone. Tucking them into my pockets, I step in and grab the rest of the grapes before the door shuts. Winter is already halfway to the elevator. “On a mission there, sweetheart?”

  “Always.”