Page 43 of Take My Hand

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask him over my shoulder.

He pauses, contemplating it for a moment, before he says, “There’s nothing to say really. It just all seems so fake, us having to smile for the cameras and tease new music when the four of us know there’s never going to be any more.”

“Never say never. You don’t know what the future holds for you guys. You’re brothers. I’m sure you’ll find your way back to each other one day.”

My response is met with silence. So much so, that if it wasn’t for the tingling that dances across my skin every time I’m in the same vicinity as Hayden, I would think he might’ve left the room.

A quick glance behind me confirms that he’s still standing there, lost in thought.

There are just two last hooks for me to attach, and as I stretch to reach one of them, the barstool swivels slightly, throwing my balance off. My body shoots to the side, and I tighten my abs, trying to keep my center and feet underneath me.

I let out a small yelp, and two large hands are on my hips, fingers digging in and steadying me. Hayden’s palms burn through the material of my shorts, and if he removed them, I’d bet they’d leave behind an imprint.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.” My voice comes out breathier. “Thank you.”

I look at him, the first time I’ve ever done so. He’s a good four inches taller than me and I always liked the way that when we stood in front of each other, I had to lift my chin the slightest bit to look him in the eye. And often when I’m shooting for the shows, I’m in the pit or on the same level as him.

But now as I stand on this stool, his head reaches the top of my thighs. My fingers itch with desire to run my hands through the top of his hair, twisting themselves around the strands and finding a home.

I will my heart rate to slow, the panic of falling receding. But it refuses to, and I realize it’s beating faster for an entirely different reason.

His voice is husky when he breaks the silence that stretches between us. “Can you get that last one, or do you need me to hop there?”

His eyes look dark, almost black when he looks up at me and there’s a fire behind them. As well as restraint. The fingers digging into my hips reiterate that control he’s trying to maintain.

His eyes dip to my center, so close to his face, and I inhale sharply. He’s at the perfect level that if he wanted to, if he allowed himself to, he could slide his hand down and move the fabric of my loose-fitting shorts to the side just a little bit and see?—

“Carter?”

I rear back, the fog of lust evaporating as I return to the present. Or not fully disappearing because he’s still holding me, still looking at me like he wants to pull me off this stool, throw me on the ground, and ravish me on this pristine white backdrop for our shoot today.

Oh hell, would I let him…

“Sorry, yes, I got it. Just hold on to me?” I have my footing again. He doesn’t need to keep me in place. But I don’t want him to let go.

“Of course,” he says, grip tightening as I reach around to secure the final hook. He knows I’ve found my balance too, but I smile that he doesn’t want to pull his hands away either.

I get everything situated and lean back.

“It’s done,” I tell him. But his hands don’t budge.

I look down again, prepared to tell him he can let go so I can hop down but instead he steps back and lifts me up. I squeal, my hands reaching forward and gripping his shoulders as gravity takes over and I’m lowered to the floor.

We stand, chest to chest, for a breath. Then two.

Hayden pulls his hands back, and my skin instantly cools, missing the warmth of them. “I’ll go get changed,” he says, clearing his throat. “Pants or shorts?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I tell him. “Either will work.”

He nods, before starting to head out of the room. Just as he’s about to exit, he pauses and looks over his shoulder at me. “You’re not going to be hanging anything else up, right? Or if you do, then just wait until I’m back down here.”

I shake my head at him. “Hard stuff is done. Just have some props to set up.”

Nodding, he walks out of the room.

I slump over, bracing my hands against the stool and let my head hang between my shoulders. I take a deep, dragging lungful of air in that doesn’t feel nearly enough and will the throbbing between my legs at the memory of his hands on me to dissipate.

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