Page 71 of Filthy Rich Ex's Brothers

“Why?” I ask, eyes peering around on the ground. “Are there, like, snakes or something?”

At that, Graham laughs, and I snap my gaze back to him. It always feels like a triumph, to make him laugh.

“No,” he says, stepping forward and wrapping his arm around the small of my back, pulling me in close. “But you could trip and fall, and we would never find you out here, covered in lemons.”

With that, he covers his mouth over mine, and I practically climb his body, hands sliding over his chest, under his shirt, a moan slipping through my lips at the feel of all that warm skin under my fingers. He’s a furnace, the perfect glow of warmth I need now that a chill zips up my back, under my sweatshirt.

“Been waiting to do that all day,” he says when he pulls back, stopping just to press a kiss to the tip of my nose. I stare at him in wonder. How can this man—these men—be real?

Then Graham sets me back down, straightens my sweatshirt, and says, “Go on, then.”

“Go on?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He gestures to the lemons, “Keep taking pictures. I don’t want to stop you.”

Now that lust for this man is humming through my veins, the photos take on a different quality. Far more Italian, now, indulgent and rich, laden with meaning. The lemons hang from the trees like they are seconds from falling right into the palm of your hand. It’s practically erotic.

Graham dutifully trails behind me as I continue taking pictures. As I pull back and adjust a few settings, I ask, “Why are you up?”

Without missing a beat, he says, “It’s my mother’s birthday.”

Blinking, I turn to him, letting the camera drop against my chest once more. His mother, who is gone. “Graham. Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he mutters, shaking his head and stepping away from me to examine a tree. “Been a long time. Just—I’m older now—than she was. When she died. It’s weird.”

I swallow, move toward him, place a hand on his shoulder, “My parents died when I was little. Too young to remember them.”

He already knows that, but it feels worth saying. Like maybe it can help him feel less alone.

“Yeah.” His throat bobs when he turns back toward me, popping the baseball hat from his head and running a hand through his thick hair. “Guess I should be grateful I got to know her at all.”

“No, that’s not what I?—”

He reaches for me, smoothing the loose tendrils of hair back from my face. “Serena. I know what you meant. No matter how it happens, it’s a cruel act of the universe.” Graham pauses, looks off into the distance, then says, “Growing up without my mom, with just Stephen… your parents are supposed to love you unconditionally. When you’re a kid without that, you become an adult who’s not sure you’re worth it.”

Graham blinks, then his gaze jerks back to me. There’s a flicker of embarrassment on his face—then it passes and he smiles—giving me a sheepish look, “At least, I assume.”

“I assume so, too,” I choke back. My heart aches at the truth of it, at how similar he and I are, despite all the differences.

This time, when Graham brings his mouth to mine, it’s sweet, tender. Warm. He tastes, somehow, like lemon and ginger, and I wonder if he had tea before coming out here. The idea of that—of him comforting himself over the loss of his mother, alone—makes that ache in my chest spread.

I want to be here for him.Iwant to be the thing that makes him feel better.

He pulls back again, peers down at me, his breath coming quick. There’s a look of wonder in his eyes again, and I think he can see it reflected in mine.

“Oh—shit.”

The moment is interrupted by the slide of rock and dirt to our right. I jump and Graham moves in front of me. Then we seem to realize at the same time it’s Ryan on his ass, groaning loudly.

“Ryan!” I move around Graham and hurry to him, crouching down beside him, looking him over for injuries. “Are you okay? What happened?”

He sits up, winces, shakes his head. “I’m fine. I heard you slip out and figured I’d better make sure you didn’t get hurt out here. But I lost you in the trees.”

When he looks up and catches my gaze, I realize his face is close to mine, and without thinking, I surge forward, pressing my lips to his, “Well, thanks. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Ryan’s expression has gone a little lax, and he glances between me and Graham, who stands over us both. “I’m gonna be honest with you,” Ryan murmurs, eyes jumping to mine. “I might have seen you two. On the couch.”

Instantly, my face flushes.