Page 8 of Bought by His Brother’s Best Friend (The Bennett Brothers #1)

FIVE

SHANE

Morning light filtered through a gap in the heavy curtains, painting a golden stripe across the plush carpet. I blinked awake. Then the memories flooded back—the impromptu invitation, the private jet, and the night with Damien.

Especially the night with Damien.

I turned my head to find him still asleep beside me, his dark hair tousled against the white pillowcase, his face relaxed in a way I’d never seen before. Without his usual intensity and focus, he looked younger, almost vulnerable.

This was crazy. Just a couple of days ago, Damien Roth had been my brother’s successful friend who occasionally appeared at Tyler’s events—someone I’d admired from a distance but never truly known. Now I was waking up beside him in a luxury suite in Paris after the most passionate night of my life.

As if sensing my gaze, Damien’s eyes fluttered open. A slow smile spread across his face when he saw me, and he reached out to brush a strand of hair from my forehead.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

“Good morning.”

He shifted closer, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. “Sleep well?”

“Better than I have in ages.”

It was true. I’d fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep after our second round of lovemaking, my body relaxed with satisfaction and my mind quieter than it had been in years.

“Me too.” His hand trailed lazily down my arm. “How about breakfast and then exploring the city? We have until this evening before we need to head back.”

“That sounds perfect.” I stretched, feeling pleasant soreness in muscles that reminded me of last night’s activities. “Though I should shower first.”

A mischievous gleam appeared in his eyes. “Need company?”

Forty minutes and one very thorough shared shower later, we were dressed and ready to face the day. Damien wore dark jeans and a sweater that looked effortlessly stylish and worth more than my entire wardrobe. I’d packed light, as suggested, and opted for my best jeans and a simple navy henley.

“You look good,” Damien said, his eyes appreciative as they traveled over me.

“I’m underdressed for Paris.”

He shook his head. “You look perfect. Besides, the best parts of Paris aren’t the fancy restaurants and museums. They’re the little sidewalk café’s and hidden gardens where no one cares what you’re wearing.”

We had breakfast at a café near our hotel, sitting at a tiny table on the sidewalk. The morning air was crisp but pleasant, the sky a clear, vibrant blue that seemed impossibly perfect.

Damien ordered for us both in fluent French, earning an approving nod from our waiter.

“I didn’t know you spoke French,” I said, impressed.

“International business requires it. I speak decent German too, and I’m working on Mandarin.” He smiled. “Though my French professor would cringe at my accent.”

“It sounded pretty good to me.”

Our breakfast soon arrived—flaky croissants, strong coffee, and fresh fruit. The simplicity of it allowed us to focus on each other rather than elaborate haute cuisine.

“So,” Damien said after taking a sip of his espresso, “what would you like to see today? The Louvre? Eiffel Tower? Or we could just wander and see where we end up.”

“I’ve always thought the best way to experience a place is to get a little lost in it.”

He reached across the table to take my hand, his thumb brushing my knuckles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

* * *

After breakfast, we set out with no particular destination in mind. Damien seemed content to follow my lead as I navigated us through narrow side streets and across elegant bridges spanning the Seine.

We walked hand in hand, something that felt surprisingly natural despite how new this was between us. Paris seemed to encourage it—everywhere I looked, couples strolled together, fingers intertwined, stopping to share kisses or whispered conversations.

“Do you come to Paris often?” I asked as we paused on Pont des Arts to look out over the water.

“A few times a year for business,” Damien replied. “But it’s different being here with you. I’m seeing it through fresh eyes.”

He gestured to the view before us—the Seine flowing beneath us, historic buildings lining its banks, the spire of Notre Dame visible in the distance.

“Usually, I’m rushing from one meeting to another, barely noticing any of this. But with you, I’m actually present. The way the light hits the water, or how the clouds are moving overhead.” He squeezed my hand. “It’s nice.”

I understood what he meant. I lived my life on a schedule too—client meetings, contract reviews, phone calls with team owners.

Even my downtime was planned and purposeful. This spontaneous wandering, with no agenda except enjoying each other’s company, was a luxury I rarely allowed myself.

“Tell me more about your work,” I said as we continued walking. “I know the broad outlines—tech company, very successful—but what does a typical day look like for you?”

Damien laughed. “There is no typical day, which is part of what I love about it. One day I might review new software prototypes, the next I’m negotiating an acquisition, and the day after that I could meet with investors.”

“Do you miss the early days? When it was just a startup?”

He considered this as we navigated around a street performer surrounded by tourists.

“Sometimes. There was an energy then, a sense that we were building something revolutionary. Everything felt more immediate and personal.” He shrugged.

“But I don’t miss the constant financial stress or the eighty-hour weeks. ”

“I can understand that. Starting my agency was like that—exhilarating, but terrifying.”

“What about you?” he asked. “Do you enjoy being an agent?”

I thought about it as we turned down a quieter street lined with small boutiques and café’s. “I do. It wasn’t my original plan, but it suits me. I like the negotiation aspect, and knowing I’m helping athletes navigate a complex system that could take advantage of them.”

“You’re good at it too.”

I knew how my brother enthusiastically sang my praises. “Tyler’s biased.”

“But I’ve heard the same from others in the industry.” He tugged me closer, pressing a quick kiss to my temple. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Shane.”

We found ourselves in a small park, where we claimed a bench beneath a flowering tree.

An elderly man was playing gentle melodies on an accordion nearby, adding to the quintessentially Parisian atmosphere.

Damien’s arm rested around my shoulders, and I leaned into him, savoring the simple pleasure of the moment.

“This is nice,” I murmured. “It’s so achingly perfect that it’s practically a romantic cliche.”

We sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching Parisians and tourists pass by. A young couple with a toddler paused near us, the child’s laughter ringing out as his father swung him up onto his shoulders.

“Damien,” I began, a thought occurring and feeling suddenly nervous. “What happens when we go home?”

He shifted to face me, his expression serious. “What do you want to happen?”

I was looking for clarity, not a question with a question.

“I don’t know. This has been incredible—you’re incredible. But it’s also been this perfect bubble, away from real life. I can’t help wondering if it will feel different once we’re back in our regular routines.”

“Shane, my interest in you didn’t begin in Paris. It didn’t even begin at the charity auction. I’ve wanted to be with you for years.”

The knowledge still surprised me, even after he’d mentioned it on the plane.

His fingers traced patterns on my palm. “I’m not suggesting we need to define everything right now. We can take it slow, see how things develop naturally. But I want you to know I’m serious about exploring this—exploring us.”

Relief and happiness flooded through me. “I want that too,” I admitted. “I just didn’t want to assume.”

“Assume away,” he said with a smile, leaning in to kiss me. “I’m not going anywhere.”

We continued our exploration of the city, stopping for lunch at a tiny bistro tucked away on a side street. The food was incredible, rich and flavorful in a way that made me understand why French cuisine was so celebrated.

As late afternoon stretched into evening, we made our way back to the hotel to gather our things.

“I wish we had more time,” I said as I packed my overnight bag.

“We do,” Damien replied, coming to stand behind me. He wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Just not in Paris.”

I turned in his embrace to face him. “You’re right. But Paris has been pretty magical.”

“It has.” He kissed me, thoroughly, as if trying to commit the sensation to memory. “Though I think that has more to do with the company than the location.”

We checked out of the hotel, got into the waiting car, and made our way to the private airfield where Damien’s jet waited. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the city as we drove through the streets.

“Thank you for this,” I said, as Paris slipped away through the car window. “For the auction bid, for bringing me here, for... everything.”

Damien took my hand, interlacing our fingers. “Thanks for taking a chance on me. To all of it.”

Boarding the jet felt different this time—less intimidating, more familiar. Michael greeted us with professional warmth, and soon we were airborne, watching the lights of Paris recede beneath us.

Once we reached cruising altitude, Damien moved to sit beside me on the comfortable couch, his thigh pressed against mine.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“About?”

“Tyler. We should probably talk to him when we get back.”

I hadn’t even considered my brother’s reaction to this development between his old college friend and his agent, who also happened to be his younger brother. “I don’t think he’ll mind, not really. Do you?”

Damien shook his head. “Not at all. In fact, he tried to set us up once, about two years ago. Remember that dinner at his place where you and I were the only other guests, and he suddenly had an ‘emergency’ phone call?”

I stared at him. “That was a setup? I thought he just double-booked himself, as usual.”

“Definitely a setup. He told me afterward he was frustrated watching us dance around each other for years.”

I laughed, shaking my head at my brother’s meddling. “That’s Tyler for you. Always thinking he knows best.”

“In this case, maybe he did.” Damien’s voice was soft, his eyes warm as they met mine.

“Maybe,” I agreed, leaning in to kiss him. “Though I prefer our version of how this started.”

“Charity bachelor auction, twenty-thousand-dollar bid, spontaneous trip to Paris?” He grinned. “It makes for a good ‘how we got together’ story.”

As the jet carried us back across the Atlantic, we talked more about practical matters—our schedules for the coming week, when we might see each other again, whose apartment was closer to whose office.

The conversation should have felt ordinary after our extraordinary weekend, but instead, it felt comforting.

Real.

Beginning something that could exist beyond Paris.

Outside the plane’s windows, stars scattered across the dark sky, impossibly bright at this altitude.

Damien’s arm was warm around my shoulders, his presence solid and reassuring beside me. As exhaustion from our whirlwind weekend caught up with me, I rested my head against him, feeling completely at peace.