Brooklyn Sinners 3 -A Sinner Born (28 page)

to his toes. Kane’s hold on him was firm and claiming. Perfect.
He smiled into the kiss then moaned when Kane sucked his tongue and rocked into
him. Syren buried his fingers in Kane’s hair and held on. Too soon Kane released his
mouth and looked up, face flushed, eyelids hanging low.
“We can split our time between here and my house.” He licked his lips. “O.G.
misses you. I miss you. Tell me you love me. Tell me I can be in your life. In Càtia’s
life.”
“I love you,” Syren said softly. The words were the easiest things to say. “I’ve loved
you for so long.”
Kane’s eyes pleaded with Syren. “Then tell me.”
Kane laid out everything Syren ever wanted in a buffet line. All his to take, to have,
with only one word. “There were so many times over the years when I thought I
couldn’t go on,” he confessed. “Especially back when I was being used and sold like
chattel. I proved myself wrong.” He held Kane’s gaze, never blinking. “I thought for
sure I wouldn’t be able to live without you.”
Kane’s façade wavered, fear bleeding from his every pore.
“I know now that’s not true either,” Syren whispered. “I can live without you.
Make me not want to.” He took both of Kane’s hands and brought them around his
waist. “Make me ask you to stay.”
Kane squeezed him until Syren barely breathed. “I don’t know what you want me
to say. I love you.” He kissed Syren on his nose, the corner of his mouth. “Give me the
chance to show you. Give me a chance to know your daughter, to love her like I do her
father.” His eyes were red-rimmed. “All I want is the chance to prove that I’ll never let
you go again.”
Syren wanted to believe in those words. He wanted to believe in Kane, but he
couldn’t make himself say what he knew his lover desperately needed to hear. “You thought you were the damaged one,” Kane said softly, “but you’re wrong. I
was the one who needed saving and you came along and did just that.” He cupped
Syren’s jaw. “I can’t go on without you.”
Their gazes held and Syren’s defenses melted away like nothing. The front door
banged open. The two men jumped apart.
“Papa?” Càtia stood there, hair in pigtails, wearing the red dress with butterflies Isa
bought her and barefoot too. She gazed at him and Kane quizzically. “Papa, it’s okay.
Remember, he can fit.”
Syren had to smile. “Thank you for the reminder.”
She nodded. “It’s time for dinner, Auntie Nina says.”
“Thank you.” Syren strode forward and took his daughter’s hand. “Come on.”
Footsteps shuffled behind him and he looked over his shoulder. Kane was making his
way toward the gate leading away from the house. “Wait!” Syren grabbed his arm. “Papa, are you okay?” Càtia peered up at him.
Syren smiled down at her. “Yes. I’m okay.” He looked up to find Kane’s eyes on
him. Cautious. Hopeful. Chances, they were made for taking.
“Stay.”

Caribbean transplant, Avril now lives in Brooklyn, N.Y., with a tolerant Spousal Equivalent. Together they raise a daughter who loves reading and school (not so much school anymore). Avril’s earliest memories of reading revolve around discussing plot points of Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys with an equally book-mined mother.

Always in love with the written word, Avril finally decided to do the writing in August of ’09 and never looked back. Spicy love scenes, delicious heroes, and wicked women burn up the pages of Avril’s Stories, but there’ll always be a happy endin; Av remains a believer of love in all its forms.

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