Too Sweet (Hayes Brothers #3)(11)

I wish he wouldn’t. He’s too close. So close I can make out gold specks in his almost black irises. So close that I’m enveloped by the heat radiating from the bulk of his body.

There’s a forest tattooed on his forearm. Tall, dark trees, a wolf, small birds, and mountains in the background. A stormy sky with lightning stretches up his elbow. The trees are burning. Smoke swirls higher, above the sky. There’s more there—a bird, I think, but it’s hidden under his sleeve.

Burning curiosity conquers embarrassment, pushing me to roll up the sleeve, and uncover a raven in flight. An unhealthy thrill zips through my nerve endings when Nico covers my hand with his, pressing it harder against his warm skin.

“I-I’m sorry. It’s beautiful... the bird.”

He clenches his jaw, flinching his hand from mine and shoving both of his into his pockets. “Why are you here alone? Where are your friends?”

I want him to touch me again. Take my hand or cuff my wrist... even if it’ll hurt a little.

I don’t know what to do with myself as we stand here, too close but not close enough, so I start twisting my rings. “I told you. They’re in Q. Colt said they’re here. He didn’t text me when they changed club, and I didn’t text him to say I was coming, so it’s my fault.”

A ghost of a smile lifts his mouth. “Come on.” He nudges his chin toward the staircase. “I’ll take you to them.”

“No, that’s okay. I know the way.”

“I’m sure you do, but I’m not letting you out of my sight until you’re safe with my brothers, Mia. I can’t force you to get in my car, but I will walk you to Q. Don’t argue.”

Seeing as he won’t back down, we start walking. I carefully lead the way like I’m taking my first steps, feeling self-conscious while he trails behind me, watching... judging.

“Q is just around the corner,” I say once we’re outside, hoping he’ll reconsider. “I can manage on my own.”

He shakes his head, making the black, messy hair bounce along his forehead. “You shouldn’t have to manage on your own, kid.” He falls into step, urging me to do the same. “Where did you learn to play the piano?”

Keeping up with his long legs proves a struggle. He’s six-foot-three while I’m a whole foot shorter, and that’s only because I’m wearing three-inch heels. I fall back a few steps—a blessing in disguise. It’s easier being around him when he’s not crowding my personal space.

At the same time, I hate the distance.

It’s silly how I react to him as if he’s a powerful magnet spinning me like a compass needle. It’s not his looks that leave me breathless, even though he’s a sight to behold.

It’s his stance. The ruthless confidence. How he walks, talks, and smells like a divine mixture of masculinity, pheromones, and sex. At least that’s how I imagine sex smells.

“My grandfather was a piano teacher.”

Nico glances over his shoulder, stopping when he spots me a fair distance behind. “You need two steps for one of mine, don’t you?”

“Sorry, I wasn’t graced with height. Or speed.”

He chuckles, the sound thick, reminding me of tar on a hot summer day, his chest moving up and down. His whole face lights up. The harsh features soften, eyes sparkle, and he looks unnaturally carefree for a second.

He’s beautiful.

It’s not something he’d want to hear. Hot, handsome—yes, but beautiful? No. He wouldn’t want to hear that. He is, though. Beautiful and not half as scary when he smiles.

I know more about Nico than I’d care to admit aloud. Since we met two weeks ago, I’ve paid more attention to what his grandmother, Rita, says about him in particular when we play Bridge. Her grandsons are her favorite topic.

“You may have pulled a short straw there but you got a long one in talent. Why do you play old songs?”

He likes old songs. Aerosmith is his favorite band. Or used to be when he was younger. Rita doesn’t know much about what he enjoys now.

“I don’t always. You only heard me play when I had to clear my head. Classics work best. I like all kinds of music. New-age computer-generated music’s great for a party, but not what I listen to when I’m alone.”

He stops, putting one of the earphones dangling from the collar of his t-shirt in his ear before he hands me his phone. “So what’s your alone music? Show me.”

The distance between us is less than a foot. The heady scent of his cologne assaults my nose, his chest in my face.

Literally.

Even in three-inch heels, I’m eye level with his pecs. I hold the phone, unsure what to play. I like intimate music. Slow, emotional, a little dark. Not necessarily old, just full of emotion. Inhaling a deep breath, I pull up one of my playlists on Spotify.

“Left Alone” by Allan Rayman fills his ears a moment later. The song is heavy, the lyrics full of meaning. I know every word. Watching Nico listen to Allan’s raspy voice and slow melody, I realize the lyrics fit him perfectly.

A lone wolf.

It’s unnerving how he never looks away from me, but I’m at ease despite the intimate atmosphere. I avert my gaze first, watching him save my playlist to favorites.

“Give me your phone.” He tugs the cord until the earphone pops out. “Your playlist for mine.”