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 Ihavelost 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 ofotherparts 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?”
Chapter 11
Dante
My brother is impulsive, and I have zero patience. “What’s wrong with your stomach?”
Engrossed in the game, Charlie answers, “I was burned in a bombing…in the military.” A flush creeps up his neck, and he swallows hard, but he remains focused on the flatscreen.
My gaze is drawn to where Des’ arm is wrapped around Charlie’s waist, caressing his side with his thumb. A sliver of taut, discolored skin shows, but it’s nothing hideous and certainly nothing to be ashamed of.
My brother likes him—too much. I’ll admit he’s attractive, and his skittish behavior arouses my protective instincts, but he’s not for us. No way we’re getting involved with a federal agent. He’s devoted to Reece, and when we return to New York, he’ll remain with Reece.
Still, he sits rigid in my twin’s lap, shoulders curled forward and jaw tense. His nervous energy is palpable, and it bothers me. “Put him between us, Des. Let him relax.”
Desi narrows his eyes in warning then releases him. Charlie scoots closer, casting a suspicious glance in my direction.
I’m not much of a toucher or hugger. I learned to comfort my brother as a kid, but I’ve never felt the urge to do so with anyone else. Until now.
No one speaks; only the chaotic sounds of virtual shooting and controllers clicking fill the room. I try to concentrate on the game, but the more awkward it grows between us, the more irritated I become. If I wasn’t here, they’d be dry humping each other already. I consider leaving, but the thought grates on me, aggravating me further.
I want him—I do. In an alternate universe, one in which Charlie wasn’t a federal agent and I wasn’t consumed with worry and responsibility, I’d be as eager as Des to explore this attraction.
What’s the worst that could happen? My brother becomes attached and wants to stay in LA? I guess we’ll stay in LA, or maybe split our time, as long as we’re not bringing an agent home.
And if Charlie decides he’s not interested, leaves, and my twin is heartbroken? I’ll find Charlie and haul his ass back here.
Maybe one night won’t hurt.
I clasp Charlie’s nape, and he jumps, snapping his head around to stare at me wide-eyed.
“What about Lucas?” I weave my fingers through his soft, shaggy hair. “You shouldn’t have to carry the burden of your past. The scars are already on your body.”
The controller falls from his hands. “I…I was named after Luke Skywalker.” His speech is rapid, his voice higher pitched.
