The Forbidden

  “More marriages end than survive.” Lizzy picks up her teaspoon and points it at me. “And mostly because of infidelity. I had a lucky escape. I’m never getting married.”

  “Me either,” I agree, feeling like I’m subconsciously kissing good-bye to my happily ever after, as well as my dream project.

  “Fuck coffee,” Lizzy says. “Let’s get pissed. Call the others.” She grabs a menu and proceeds to order alcohol en masse.

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now. And hopefully you’ll get laid, too.”

  She’s right. I need to get back into the saddle. “And you also need a good screw.”

  Her eyebrows jump up.

  “By someone other than Micky,” I clarify as I grab my phone to call the guys, my mouth now watering in anticipation for the mojito that will soon be landing on the table in front of me.

  * * *

  Unplanned drinking sessions are the best. The fact that it’s on a weeknight makes it all the more thrilling. We’ve ended up in a beer garden in Camden; it’s 8 p.m. and we’re both tipsy. Not pissed, just a nice gradual state of drunkenness. We’ve talked about everything and nothing, my mind being perfectly occupied by alcohol and a dedicated friend.

  “I’ve missed this,” Lizzy says, looking past me to a group of men at the back of the beer garden.

  I follow her eyes and smile. “You’ve missed ogling men?”

  “No.” She waves her wine between us. “This. You’ve been working so hard on your business, and I get that, but I’ve missed our girlie time.”

  “Me too,” I confess, watching Lizzy plaster a knockout smile on her pretty face, obviously having attracted the attention of the group of men. “Hey, come on. We’re having a nice time without men,” I point out, smacking her arm to win her attention back.

  I look past Lizzy and see Micky stroll into the beer garden. I can virtually hear all the female hormones in the vicinity go potty. He laps it up and struts over. “Shit, how many behind am I?” he asks, taking in our tipsy states.

  Lizzy burps in reply, and I start giggling. “I’ll get more drinks.” I snatch my bag up and head for the bar. “And keep your hands to yourself while I’m gone.” I level a warning look on Micky, and he holds his hands up in surrender.

  “Reading you loud and clear.”

  I make my way to the ladies’ to freshen up before heading to the bar to get our drinks in. By the time I’ve made it back to the garden, Nat’s found us, too. Everyone cheers my return and dives on the tray when I place it on the table. “Wow,” Nat chimes, toasting my head. “It’s a school night and Annie’s not in her studio. What’s happened?”

  I ignore her sarcasm and throw my arm around her shoulder. “Drink,” I order. “We’re three ahead of you.”

  “To being single!” Nat sings, and we all chink our glasses before getting our drinking session under way.

  * * *

  It was so needed—the alcohol, the friends, the limited space to allow my mind to venture further than the laughs being had in the pub garden. I feel normal again. Sane. Even if I’m smashed.

  Micky drops me home in a cab at around eleven, the amount of alcohol I’ve indulged in evidence as I zigzag my way up the path to my front door. “Hey, Annie!” he calls from the cab. “Run in the morning?”

  I snort unattractively and give him the finger, making him laugh as he slams the door and the cab pulls away. Getting my key in the lock proves tricky. I close one eye and zero in on my target, but each time I hit the wood to the side, chipping at the paintwork. “In you go,” I slur, getting up close and personal with my door, my tongue hanging out a little in concentration.

  “You’re not doing very well there, are you?”

  I jump and whirl around, just barely managing to keep my balance, and find Jack standing behind me.

  I smile brightly and point at him. “Well, if it isn’t the married man himself!” I sing, and then slap a clumsy hand over my mouth to silence myself, giggling like an idiot. “Oopsie,” I say into my palm. I might be drunk, but he definitely scowls at me, and I even manage to find the sense to be offended by it. “Did you just scowl at me, Jack Joseph?”

  “You’re drunk,” he mutters, coming toward me. My challenged vision runs a sluggish check over him, finding him looking delightful in some battered old jeans and an old gray T-shirt, his biceps bulging.

  “Yes!” I stagger a little, my back meeting the door. “I am drunk. And it’s not your concern.”

  He takes the top of my arm and moves me to the side, prying my key from me and opening the door. A deep warmth penetrates my skin, making me look down on a frown to where he’s got hold of me. “Why does that happen?” I ask my arm.

  “What?” he mutters, irritated. He’s in a mood. I laugh hysterically on the inside. What, has he had a row with his wife again? Good! I hope she’s figured out that he’s a cheating arsehole.

  “I go all funny whenever you touch me.” I shudder on the spot, and he looks at me as he pushes my door open.

  “‘Funny’ isn’t the word I’d use.”

  “What word would you use, then?” I challenge, pulling my arm free, but it’s soon claimed again when my hasty withdrawal has me staggering backward.

  “I’m not having this conversation with you when you’re drunk.” He guides me into the hallway, following.

  “No, you’d better get back to your wife!” I laugh, snatching my arm back and slumping against the wall.

  “Stop it, Annie,” he warns, placing a palm into the wall next to my head and leaning in close. Too close. “Why haven’t you answered any of my e-mails or calls?”

  “Because I want nothing to do with you,” I spit, making him recoil, shocked. He has a nerve.

  “Stop fucking lying to me!”

  I drink in air, searching for some poise before I slap him. Too late. My arm flies out clumsily, but I miss his cheek by a mile, my arm ricocheting off his shoulder. He doesn’t even jolt, whereas I lose my footing and stumble forward awkwardly. “I hate you,” I snipe as he catches me in his arms, cursing under his breath. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

  “Shut up, Annie!” he seethes, lifting me off my feet. “Don’t ever fucking try to hit me again!”

  “Why?” I snap, wriggling to break free.

  “Because it doesn’t suit you!”

  As we pass through my bedroom door, the sight of my bed makes me start squirming more, but Jack just holds on tighter. “Get off me!” I begin to flail my arms, but they have no effect on him as he strides across my room with me locked tightly to his body.

  “Cut it out!” he warns, a threatening edge to his tone.

  “No!”

  He lowers me to my arse on the bed, but I’m scrambling back up a second later, getting up in his face. It’s a bad move. This close, his gorgeous features make me even dizzier. I slam my eyes closed and lose my footing again, plummeting to the bed. I’m a mess. Useless. Pathetic.

  “Just go,” I plead, burying my face in my palms to hide from him. “Leave me alone.”

  My stomach lunges, and my mouth becomes watery. Oh no. I jump up from the bed and make a mad dash for the bathroom, banging into everything on my way, whether it’s blocking my path or not. I throw my head over the toilet and throw up on long, loud wretches.

  “Oh God,” I groan, going limp around the bowl, clinging to it with weak arms.

  I feel fingers weave through my hair and pull it away, and a warm palm smooths across my back. Slumped over the toilet, I rest my head on my arms and close my eyes. “Please don’t hate me,” he murmurs.

  I black out.

  Chapter 12

  You know it’s going to be a bad one when your head is throbbing and you’ve not even lifted it off the pillow. And your body hurts when you try to move and get comfy in your bed. And your mouth is dryer than the driest desert, but you can’t figure out if you’d prefer to remain unmoving and poke up with the dehydration, or attempt to get to the kitchen in search of water and r
isk throwing up on the way. This is a bad one. Maybe the worst I’ve ever had, and that’s an achievement since I’ve not even got up yet.

  I groan and attempt a stretch, hissing as I lengthen my body, spreading myself out in search of a cool patch. I peel my eyes open, my nightstand coming into view, a glass of water sitting waiting for me. And propped up against it, a note saying, “Hydration.” I frown and sit up, spotting two pills on a note that says, “Pain relief.”

  What on earth? I still and try to think back to last night. Oh God. I slowly cast my eyes over my shoulder, cringing as I do, bracing myself for what I might find.

  What’s spread across my bed gives me a fucking heart attack, and I bolt upright, immediately grabbing my head for fear that it might fall off. I hiss and wince as I fall back to the mattress, unable to give the seriousness of my situation the attention it deserves in my feeble state. “Jack,” I moan, throwing my leg out to kick him. What have I done?

  He groans but remains on his back, and my eyes take a greedy roam down his naked body, arriving at his cock. There’s a note there, too. “Breakfast.”

  “Jack!”

  His lashes flutter and his lids open, revealing deep gray pools of adorable sleepiness. “Morning,” he rasps, not in the least bit perturbed by seeing me.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, starting to panic for both of us.

  His hand comes across and rests on my hip. Which is naked. “How’s your head?”

  “Confused,” I admit, pulling away from him before his touch has a chance to scramble my mind further. He looks down to my hip, now free of his hand, and back up to me. “We didn’t…” I wave a finger between us, trying my hardest to pull some memories out of my beaten brain. “You and I, we didn’t—”

  “No,” he says quietly, almost apprehensively.

  I’m relieved, but I still don’t know why the hell he’s in my apartment. “What are you doing here?”

  “You didn’t answer my messages or calls.”

  “So you thought you’d break in?”

  “I didn’t break in. I found you plastered trying to unlock your door when I came to talk.”

  I swallow down my anger and push myself to the edge of the bed. “I have nothing to say to you.” Taking a deep breath to push away the dizziness, I rise to my feet. I spend a few precious seconds ensuring I’m not going to face plant, then make my way to the kitchen in search of water, abandoning the one Jack kindly laid out for me in my need to abandon him.

  “Please leave, Jack,” I call.

  I make it to the kitchen and turn the tap on, running it while I collect a glass. I glug back two pints of water on the bounce, ravenous, before slamming my glass on the drainer and pivoting to leave the kitchen. Brushing past him as I exit is unavoidable when I find he’s blocking the doorway, and as soon as our skin connects, I gasp, my pace faltering. But I fight myself to keep moving.

  I don’t get very far. Jack’s hand shoots out and claims my wrist. “Don’t do this,” he practically growls, squeezing his hold. “Don’t you dare, Annie.”

  I wrench my arm free, my teeth gritting hard. But I don’t say anything. My seething expression must say it all. I glare at him as I walk away, my jaw aching from the pressure of clenching my teeth.

  “Annie!” Jack shouts, his bare feet thumping the wooden floor as he comes after me.

  “Get out.”

  I push my way into my bathroom, shutting the door behind me and locking it. In an instant, his fists are banging on the wood. But I ignore them, flipping the shower on. After scrubbing my teeth to within an inch of their life, I get in the shower and scrub the stench of stale alcohol away. He has no right to be here. He may not have taken advantage of me, but he took advantage nevertheless.

  I start shampooing my hair roughly, blocking any thoughts and questions from muscling their way into my achy mind. After rinsing and washing down, I step out, grabbing a towel from the towel rail, listening for movement beyond my bathroom door. There’s nothing.

  As I dry off and throw a T-shirt on, I mentally plan my day. I need to revise some drawings. Maybe I could take Micky up on his offer and squeeze a run in. It could be a good stress alleviator. I should call the girls, too, to see if they’re in any better shape than I am. And I mean hangover-wise. Not fucked-up married-man-wise.

  After towel-drying my hair I flip my head up, just as the door flies open, the lock jumping off the wood. I swing around, finding Jack in the doorway. “Get out!” I shout incredulously.

  “No.”

  I spin away from him, doing everything I can to avoid meeting his eyes in the mirror, knowing I mustn’t risk being hauled into their burning depths. It’s not a battle I can win. An invisible force pulls my stare to his in the reflection. My spine lengthens. He’s just there, no expression and no movement, but it makes no difference to my uncontrollable reaction to him. Reactions I shouldn’t have. Reactions I can’t help.

  “Your wife,” I say. “She doesn’t deserve this.” No woman deserves this, no matter what. I’ve encountered her only a few times, seen her behavior and heard the rumors, but it still doesn’t make this right.

  His nostrils flare as he scans my face for a few thoughtful moments, maybe considering what a selfish arsehole he’s being. What an awful situation he’s putting me in. “Don’t think you’re destroying a perfect marriage, Annie. You’re not.”

  “It’s still a marriage,” I mumble meekly. “Perfect or not, I have no place in it.”

  “That’s not true. You do have a place in it, because you are the only thing that can save me from it.”

  I feel my brow furrow. “Save you from it?”

  A small smile crosses his handsome face. “Stephanie is…” His words die as he evidently struggles to piece together what he wants to say. “Volatile.” He sighs. “Our marriage is over. I know it, she’s knows it, but she refuses to accept it.” Jack shakes his head and squeezes his eyes closed, the frustration clear. “I can’t live like this anymore, Annie. There’s no going back for me.” Opening his eyes, he levels a determined stare on me. “I don’t want to find a way back again. Especially now. Especially since I met you.” He shakes his head a little in frustration. “See me again,” he orders quietly.

  “Are you crazy?” I ask, dumbfounded. I’ve already spent limited time with Jack, and it feels like I’ve known him for years. Adding any more hours to our time together would be monumentally stupid. I’ve been stupid enough already.

  He moves across the bathroom toward me, coming to a stop behind me. He doesn’t touch me, but ensures our eye contact remains intact. “Quite possibly,” he answers simply.

  I swallow and shake my head, but he counters by nodding his own, confident with his declaration. I can feel myself slipping from the safety of my conscience again. “No,” I murmur.

  “Yes,” he counters, watching me as he lowers his mouth to my shoulder and rests his lips on my flesh. I jerk and grab the sink for support, but I don’t pull away. Stupidly, I let him at me, consumed in a second by his power over me.

  He kisses my shoulder lightly and takes my hand, extending it out to the side and kissing his way down my arm to the very tips of my fingers. My skin bursts into flames, my head drops back, and my mind blanks out once again. Only Jack exists. I slide my hand up his arm and curl my palm around his neck, applying a light pressure, telling him to come to me. He expresses no victory. He circles me until he’s before me and slides his hand onto my cheek, lowering his mouth leisurely to mine.

  I’m gone, lost in that special place he takes me to, where passion and longing cloud everything.

  Then Stephanie’s face is suddenly all I see, and I shout, pushing him away from me. “No,” I snap, turning and walking away from him, my hands coming up to my temples and physically trying to force the image of her from my head. It’s stuck there, tormenting me, torturing me. I can’t cave again. I mustn’t cave again! “Get out.”

  “Annie, don’t walk away—”

  “G
et out!” I scream, swinging around in a blind rage. His pursuit halts as soon as he gets sight of my incensed face. “I don’t want you!” I seethe, snatching up his jeans and T-shirt and throwing them at him viciously.

  He lets his clothes hit him and fall to the floor. “Stop fucking lying to me!” he roars, stalking forward and claiming me. “Stop saying what your head is demanding and start listening to your fucking heart, Annie!”

  “My heart is saying nothing!” I fight with him, scared to death of remaining in his hold, feeling him breaking me down with every second he’s touching me.

  “Then why can I fucking hear it?” he yells. “Loud and fucking