Chapter 10
Desmond
Iswing the door open, and Charlie’s soft, green-eyed gaze fixates on my bare chest. I could’ve worn a shirt, but where’s the fun in that? I lean against the doorway and hook my thumb in the waistband of my shorts.
“Hello, piccino.”
He gulps, his gaze slowly meeting mine, and raises his hand. “Hi.”
I smile, finding his social awkwardness absolutely adorable. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t smitten, and his history only strengthens my determination to have him.
I knew he was special.
My twin realizes it too. He’s just stubborn and emotionally cold. He shows his love through loyalty and protection, as does Charlie.
They’re also both intelligent, experienced with weapons, and dislike people. The only difference is Charlie comes in a smaller, gentler package, which my brother appreciates.
Me? I’m not picky. Fun is fun is fun, you know?
Tonight, Agent Mercer is dressed in skinny khakis, a cream sweater, and white tennis shoes, looking all posh and preppy. His brown hair is short on the sides and messy on top, falling into his eyes like a shield. He’s delicious; I could eat him up.
He’s perfect—for both of us—but Dante won’t chase anyone, especially someone he thinks I want.
Charlie catches me gawking and blushes. He glances behind me then drops his gaze, and I’ll bet anything my brother is scowling.
“You gonna let him in or stare at him all night?” my twin grumbles.
I peer over my shoulder. “You gonna stop mean-mugging, or should we go for a walk on the beach, Tay?”
He narrows his eyes at my use of his nickname—one I’ve used since childhood, when I struggled with speech and couldn’t pronounce his full name.
Our locked gaze becomes intense. I want Charlie. He wants Charlie. He just needs a push, and for me, he’s selfless. He’ll give me what I want, and vice versa, and my wish is for us to share, because he’d enjoy it if he let his guard down.
“We’ll play COD,” I offer.
I’ve studied Charlie for the past two weeks.
His moods range from enthusiastic interest to anxious rambling to quiet distrust. I asked his favorite video game, and he launched into a thirty-minute monologue about COD.
It took me a few days, but the pool house now has a sweet gaming setup.
It’s not as fancy as the one in the security room, but it’s sure to tempt the little nerd into spending time with me.
If that fails, I’ll take it apart and pretend I need him to fix it.
My deception must be written all over my face, because my twin shakes his head and mutters, “You’re obsessed.”
“It’s a great game.” I grin and step back to let Charlie inside.
He toes off his shoes, revealing pink polka-dot socks, his observant gaze darting around the open space.
The studio is well-appointed—high ceilings, stained concrete floors, and expansive windows overlooking the moonlit pool.
A sleek, modern kitchen on one side, leather seating surrounding a dual stone fireplace in the middle, and a plush king bed and full bath on the other.
The only time we slept here, Dante took the couch and I took the bed. Tonight will be interesting, provided I can get our gamer geek to stay.
I plop down on the couch and grab two controllers. When he’s close enough, I wrap an arm around Charlie’s waist and pull him onto my lap. “Do you prefer Charlie or Parker?”
***
Charlie
I stiffen. Lava erupts in the pit of my stomach and rushes through my veins. I’ve never been in a man’s lap. Ever. Nor have I been with someone as powerful as Desmond Rossi.
I’m an average-sized guy. Although few, the men I’ve dated have been my size. I may be small compared to the twins, but I’m not tiny. Am I? They make me feel tiny and something else I can’t quite put my finger on. Safe?
Desi’s hand flattens over my abdomen. He guides me back against his chest and hands me a controller. “You’re okay, piccino. Get comfortable.”
There’s that word again.
My fingers tremble. Why did I come here? Is this what I wanted? It must be because my body relaxes into his, even though I can’t seem to catch my breath.
Reece is next door. Nothing will happen. They wouldn’t dare harm you.
Dante drops beside us and stares at me expectantly, those dark eyes straight out of a nightmare—not mine, but someone’s—and I recall being asked a question.
“Wh-what?”
“They call you Charlie. Do you prefer Parker?” Dante asks, rough and smoky.
My lips part and my brows furrow. “How do you know that?”
He tilts his head, much like a wild animal assessing his prey. “You’ve done your homework, I’m sure.”
“On you?” I blink, my mind reeling. “Yes, it’s my job.”
“Then you’re aware I’m capable of doing the same.”
A tense sigh escapes me, followed by a curt nod. “Right. Of course. Um…” What do I prefer? I don’t even know. Parker was my birth name, and Charlie was given to me. I wear it as a badge of honor, a representation of survival, but it also weighs heavily with survivor’s guilt.
Perhaps that therapist was right and I have lost my identity.
“You don’t have to decide now.” Nuzzling my neck, Desi launches the game.
He smells faintly of sea salt and strongly of bad choices. His thighs are rock-hard beneath me, and I’m acutely aware of other parts of him.
His stubble scrapes my skin, and my nipples tighten. My hips shift. Only my anxiety and his brother’s penetrating judgment are keeping me from getting an embarrassing erection.
When it’s my turn to set up my character, he slips under my sweater. I freeze, sucking in my stomach, and snatch his wrist.
He doesn’t continue, but he also doesn’t remove his hand. “I’m going to feel you, see you, at some point.”
Nausea churns my gut. My insecurities war with my body. I long to be touched, desired, but I may never leave my room if rejected. “Why?”
“Why not?”