of the bargains he’d made, the deals he’d cut to keep her safe and untouched and he thought about Kane and how he’d react if he knew about her. If he’d understand why Syren made the choices he’d made for her. Would Kane want to be with him knowing she was in the picture? Would Syren have to choose?
Before he could reject that thought, he’d arrived in front of Kane’s house, a twostory Colonial Revival painted white and a dusky blue-gray. A home clearly meant for a family. Not for the lone man who resided within. He’d lived there with his dead lover, they’d likely planned for a future with kids and pets when they bought the house and now, Kane lived in it all alone.
Syren’s heart ached for him. For that kind of pain. He’d been through his share, but it was mostly physical. He couldn’t imagine loving someone the way Kane obviously loved Bailey Shannan then living without that person, knowing they’d never come home again, yet waiting nevertheless.
But Syren couldn’t help the jealousy as he stared at the house. Kane had loved someone completely. Bailey had him, Bailey got to sleep beside him and feel his kisses, his touch, his heat. Bailey earned Kane’s remembrance, his memory.
Syren wanted that same place in Kane’s heart. In his memories. Surely there was room enough for two?
He forced his legs to move and got out the car. The tremors were coming fast, intent on taking him under. He wanted to run but he couldn’t, he owed the man waiting for him. He owed Kane. And the selfish part of himself that he readily owned wanted to erase the picture Kane had of him.
Paint something new. Something real.
He walked up to the door and knocked. A simple rap of his knuckles before he noticed the doorbell to his right. He reached out to press that, but the door jerked open and Kane was there, framed by light, a drink clutched tightly in hand, his gaze too intense to dodge.
“Faro.”
Syren shook his head and held out a hand. “My name—” He cleared his throat. “My name is Marcos Inácio de Melo.” He didn’t see the glass slip from Kane’s fingers, he didn’t hear it shatter, but he felt the liquor as it splashed against his pant leg and soaked through.
Kane grasped his hand and yanked him close as he brushed fingers across Syren’s cheek and that was how he realized the tears had begun. Syren circled Kane’s waist and held on tight, burying his face in the other man’s chest as he fought for composure. They stood in Kane’s doorway where anyone could see. They had to move.
He’d only started to allow the hurt back in. The fear. The pain. The cold and the darkness. They’d only just crept up and he needed to speak before they swamped him and took over.
Kane must’ve read his mind. “Come inside.”
Syren lifted his head, but Kane’s gaze was on the door. He moved away, leaving the comfort of Kane’s heat and walked into the house.
The front door slammed behind him. Syren flinched.
“To your left.”
He followed Kane’s direction and ended up at a locked door. He went to open it but Kane was there, behind him, warming him again, as he unlocked the door and waved Syren in.
Syren entered the dimly lit room first and dropped onto the first thing he saw, an Lshaped sky-blue banquette next to a large window overlooking Kane’s backyard and pool. Tree branches brushed the windowpane as the wind rustled and shook the leaves. Syren sighed and sat back, eyes closed, throat already raw.
“Here.”
He opened his eyes. Kane loomed over him, his large frame appearing menacing, cloaked in a dark t-shirt and jeans, even though he’d turned on the overhead light. “Take it.” He indicated the glass of liquor he held, bourbon if Syren’s nose was any indication.
Syren shook his head. “I don’t drink.”
“Then you’re a better man than me.” Kane downed the drink in one swallow with his head thrown back. The smooth movement of his throat was the sexiest thing Syren had ever seen.
Drink consumed,
Before he could reject that thought, he’d arrived in front of Kane’s house, a twostory Colonial Revival painted white and a dusky blue-gray. A home clearly meant for a family. Not for the lone man who resided within. He’d lived there with his dead lover, they’d likely planned for a future with kids and pets when they bought the house and now, Kane lived in it all alone.
Syren’s heart ached for him. For that kind of pain. He’d been through his share, but it was mostly physical. He couldn’t imagine loving someone the way Kane obviously loved Bailey Shannan then living without that person, knowing they’d never come home again, yet waiting nevertheless.
But Syren couldn’t help the jealousy as he stared at the house. Kane had loved someone completely. Bailey had him, Bailey got to sleep beside him and feel his kisses, his touch, his heat. Bailey earned Kane’s remembrance, his memory.
Syren wanted that same place in Kane’s heart. In his memories. Surely there was room enough for two?
He forced his legs to move and got out the car. The tremors were coming fast, intent on taking him under. He wanted to run but he couldn’t, he owed the man waiting for him. He owed Kane. And the selfish part of himself that he readily owned wanted to erase the picture Kane had of him.
Paint something new. Something real.
He walked up to the door and knocked. A simple rap of his knuckles before he noticed the doorbell to his right. He reached out to press that, but the door jerked open and Kane was there, framed by light, a drink clutched tightly in hand, his gaze too intense to dodge.
“Faro.”
Syren shook his head and held out a hand. “My name—” He cleared his throat. “My name is Marcos Inácio de Melo.” He didn’t see the glass slip from Kane’s fingers, he didn’t hear it shatter, but he felt the liquor as it splashed against his pant leg and soaked through.
Kane grasped his hand and yanked him close as he brushed fingers across Syren’s cheek and that was how he realized the tears had begun. Syren circled Kane’s waist and held on tight, burying his face in the other man’s chest as he fought for composure. They stood in Kane’s doorway where anyone could see. They had to move.
He’d only started to allow the hurt back in. The fear. The pain. The cold and the darkness. They’d only just crept up and he needed to speak before they swamped him and took over.
Kane must’ve read his mind. “Come inside.”
Syren lifted his head, but Kane’s gaze was on the door. He moved away, leaving the comfort of Kane’s heat and walked into the house.
The front door slammed behind him. Syren flinched.
“To your left.”
He followed Kane’s direction and ended up at a locked door. He went to open it but Kane was there, behind him, warming him again, as he unlocked the door and waved Syren in.
Syren entered the dimly lit room first and dropped onto the first thing he saw, an Lshaped sky-blue banquette next to a large window overlooking Kane’s backyard and pool. Tree branches brushed the windowpane as the wind rustled and shook the leaves. Syren sighed and sat back, eyes closed, throat already raw.
“Here.”
He opened his eyes. Kane loomed over him, his large frame appearing menacing, cloaked in a dark t-shirt and jeans, even though he’d turned on the overhead light. “Take it.” He indicated the glass of liquor he held, bourbon if Syren’s nose was any indication.
Syren shook his head. “I don’t drink.”
“Then you’re a better man than me.” Kane downed the drink in one swallow with his head thrown back. The smooth movement of his throat was the sexiest thing Syren had ever seen.
Drink consumed,
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