The Forbidden, Page 24

  He nods and strokes over my hair, his hand falling to my neck and massaging. “Then we do this together. We’ll figure it out.”

  He collapses to his arse and hauls me into his body, holding on to me like he’s never held me before. His heart is pounding hard, his emotion clear in his constant swallows. “I love you. I’ll never regret not walking away from you that night,” he tells me quietly.

  I smile through my wretchedness, squeezing him harder, reinforcing how I feel without words. “Crossing that road to you was the best move I’ve ever made.”

  He kisses my head constantly, feeling me everywhere as I snuggle in his embrace, letting myself calm under his touch. “We’ll be all right.” Gently breaking away from me, he smiles mildly, a smile full of the worry and apprehension that I’m feeling myself. “I should go,” he says regretfully, just as his phone rings. On a weary exhale, he looks down at the screen, as do I. Her name stares up at us and brings on another level of despondency.

  “Where is she?”

  “At home. I walked out when she came at me with her claws.”

  I wince, but a flash of anger creeps up on me. The sooner he’s out of there, the better. He stands and pulls me to my feet, brushing my hair from my sticky face. “I need to fix your door before I go.” Taking my hand, he walks us through to the hall where my door is literally hanging off its hinges. There’s no way Jack’s fixing that. He’ll be here all night.

  “I’ll call a locksmith.”

  “I’m not leaving you with your door like this.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have smashed it down,” I mutter.

  “Then you shouldn’t have brought a man—” My hand zooms up and covers his lips, and his eyes widen. Then his mouth opens and shifts a little, and he bites down on my hand.

  “Ouch!” I yell, retracting quickly, but my split second of a chance to retaliate is stolen from me when he seizes me around the waist and pins me to his body. Taking my arms and draping them over his shoulders, he gets nose to nose with me. I scowl. He chuckles lightly. I have no idea why. Tonight has been about as funny as a horror film. “Why the hell are you laughing?” I ask indignantly.

  “Because if I don’t laugh I’ll embarrass myself and cry like a fucking baby.”

  I sigh. “You’d better go.”

  His shining eyes dull immediately. “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “You don’t have any choice,” I point out, detaching him from my body and moving toward the door before I beg him to stay.

  “Can I see you tomorrow?” Jack asks. “I’m in the office all day but can get away for an hour for lunch.”

  I fight my hands to my sides when he stops in front of me, giving me hopeful eyes. After everything, I just want to charge at his waist, tackle him to the floor, and hide in his chest. And hide him from her. “You’re in the office? But it’s Saturday.”

  “I have stuff to catch up on.”

  And it keeps him out of the house. “Where?” I ask.

  “There’s a little place at the back of the docks.”

  “That’s a bit close to your office, isn’t it?”

  “It’s Saturday. No one from the office will be around.”

  “Okay,” I agree, without hesitation. If Jack’s comfortable with it, then there’s no reason for me not to be. “Noon? I’m seeing Micky for coffee at ten. Shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

  “Noon,” Jack confirms, stopping at the door and giving the splintered wood another inspection. “Call the locksmith straightaway and text me when they’ve been.” He turns and gives me stern eyes.

  I sigh. “I can’t text you.”

  “Yes, you can and you will. I won’t sleep until I know it’s done.”

  Is he becoming a bit complacent? All the signs suggest it. Bashing down my door, meeting for lunch, telling me to text him when he’s going to be in bed. I know he’s made a decision, but he still needs to tread carefully, as well as think about how and when he’s going to do what needs to be done. Cold waves ripple through my bloodstream at the thought.

  After kissing my cheek, he wanders down the path. “I’ll text you the address of the restaurant.”

  “Okay. See you tomorrow.” I push my door closed as best I can, then go in search of my phone to call a locksmith. They can’t specify a time, so once I’ve let Jack know, I’m given little choice but to sit on the couch and wait for them to turn up, when I’m so desperate to fall into bed and shut my mind down. But there’s no hope of that happening. He’s leaving her. You’d think it would be what any woman who’s in love with a married man would want to hear, but given everything I know, I’m full of dread rather than elation.

  Dread for Jack.

  My Jack.

  Chapter 20

  I come awake to banging—relentless, panicked banging. Diving up in a daze, I stumble down the hallway to my front door, trying to straighten my sleepy mind while shaking my dead arm awake. It’s full of pins and needles, which results in my hand refusing to grip the handle of the door in order to turn and open it. I mentally encourage my muscles to wake up as the banging continues, my head rattling more with every impatient thump of the door. “Hold on!” I yell, swapping hands and wrenching the door open.

  I growl before my sleepy eyes tell me who the culprit is. I soon wake up when a blurry silhouette of a person becomes Jack. He looks a little flustered. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s one o’clock,” he grumbles, pushing me inside and following, shutting the door behind him. “You didn’t acknowledge the address of where we were meeting for lunch, and you didn’t fucking turn up.” He points a finger in my face. “I’ve been worried sick!”

  I blink a few times, letting everything he’s just shouted at me drip into my brain. “It’s one o’clock?” I blurt in panic, turning and running into my lounge to find my phone. “I was supposed to meet Micky at ten!” I cry, pulling cushions from the couch and throwing them over my shoulder. No phone. I shove my hand down the sides in turn, feeling around.

  “Looking for this?” Jack picks up my phone from the TV cabinet and holds it up.

  “Yes!” I rush over and snatch it from his hand, finding its battery is dead. “Shit!” I quickly plug it in and wait impatiently for it to switch on. Sounds start ringing, dinging, and singing chaotically when it comes to life. I wince with every separate sound, seeing missed calls and text messages springing onto my screen; not just from Micky, but from Nat and Lizzy, too. I can see Micky in my mind now, dialing them to try and find out where I am. Going through the texts, I see each and every one of my mates have left a message asking where the hell I am and if my lay was up to scratch. I quickly call Micky, worried that he might be on his way over to track me down. “Damn,” I mutter when it goes to voicemail. “It’s me. I slept in.” I laugh like an idiot. “Call me!” Hanging up, I proceed to call Nat, telling her the same excuse, walking away from Jack when she asks, a bit too loudly, if I’m able to walk this morning. I peek at him, and his nostrils flare dangerously. “I’ll call you later,” I say, hanging up. Then I dial Lizzy. She might not be so easy to fob off.

  “Where the hell are you?” she answers in greeting.

  “Slept in.” I screw my face up, waiting for her scoff of disbelief. In the ten years I’ve known Lizzy, I’ve never slept in. Not this late, anyway. I look at Jack and see him roll his eyes, a sign of his annoyance.

  “I’m on my way over to check you’re not dead.”

  “No need!” I shoot Jack a pained look, watching as he flops down to the couch. “I’m on my way to my mum and dad’s.”

  “Oh. Okay. So how was it? You seeing him again? I like Rugby Player Tom!”

  I turn away from Jack and cringe. “I can’t talk right now.”

  “Oh my God! Is he still there?” She squeals excitedly. “Call me later! I want every dirty little detail.”

  “I will.” I hang up and drop my phone to the couch, exhausted after my mammoth session of bullshit. “I cannot believe I slept i
n ’til this time.” It shouldn’t be a surprise. The locksmith didn’t turn up until four a.m. and I didn’t get to bed until five.

  “Don’t sweat it,” Jack grumbles. “It’s not like you’ve given me a heart attack or anything.”

  “What did you think happened to me?” I ask, passing him to go to the kitchen. “There was no risk of the madman who beat my door down returning.”

  “He’s here now,” he replies, low and husky and…very close behind me.

  I whirl around and collide with his chest. “Oh!” I’m grabbed and hauled up to his lips, and then indulged in a long, passionate hello kiss. “Hmmm,” I sigh, relaxing into the smooth, slow rotations of his tongue. “Hello to you, too.”

  “Fuck, I’ve missed you.” He keeps our lips sealed as he lowers me back down to my feet.

  “It’s been twelve hours.”

  “Every minute feels like a century,” he mumbles into my mouth moodily. “I didn’t sleep a wink, I daydreamed my way through my morning, and tapped the table in the restaurant a million times with the fork while I waited for you.” He pulls back and scowls at me.

  It’s then I see it. A nasty red mark on his cheekbone. My eyes root on the blemish, fury burning a hole through my gut.

  “It’s nothing.” He covers the mark and steps away, avoiding my furious eyes.

  “Nothing?” I ask, astounded. Nothing? I can feel myself beginning to quiver with the rage building. Last night she shredded him with her fucking nails, and now this? “You might not be able to retaliate, Jack, but there’s nothing to stop me.” I storm past him, enraged, set on finding Stephanie and giving her payback for all the marks I’ve seen on Jack, and the ones I haven’t, too.

  “Annie, stop.” He snakes his arm around my waist from behind and lifts me from my feet, stopping me.

  “She can’t do this to you!” I shout, wriggling to break free from his hold. “I swear, Jack, I’ll rip her fucking arms off so she can’t touch you again!”

  “Annie, calm the hell down.” His voice is so level, so composed, as he takes me back to the kitchen. “You will be doing nothing.” Placing me on my feet, he tilts me a warning look.

  This just isn’t fair. “How would you feel if you found me with one of these?” I ask, pointing at the mark, flinching as I imagine her hand connecting with his face. His beautiful face.

  Jack’s low, threatening growl gives me my answer. “Don’t ask silly questions, Annie.”

  “It’s not silly, it’s genuine. I want to know.”

  His face looks murderous. “Kill.”

  “I rest my case.” My lips form a straight, thin line.

  Jack visibly gathers patience. “I didn’t come here to argue with you. Please, just let me deal with it.”

  I open my mouth to argue once again, but he covers it with his palm. My eyes become angry slits.

  “Please.” His plea pierces my fury like a needle, and my swallow is lumpy. I’m stressing him out more, giving him something else to worry about. And though I’d love nothing more than to rip his wife limb from limb, I relent, pulling his hand down from my face so I can speak. “I’m sorry.”

  “Never be sorry for loving me that much.” His fingers thread through my hair and grip at the base of my neck. “Do you hear me?” I nod, and Jack nods in return. “Good. Now, make us some coffee.” He plants a kiss on the tip of my nose, turns me in his arms, and sends me on my way with a tap on my arse.

  I set about preparing us a strong, steaming cup of the good stuff, but I pause as I spoon some granules into my gigantic mug. “Where is she?” I ask, swinging around.

  “On her way over for coffee,” he replies flippantly.

  I’m not in the least bit amused by his attempt to lighten our moods. “You’re not funny.”

  “She’s gone to her parents’.” He rolls his eyes, like I should know that. “We…” His forehead wrinkles a little. “Well, it didn’t go too well when I got home.” He points to the mark on his face, and for the first time I ask myself why she hit him.

  Oh fuck, has she figured it out? Yesterday gave a chain of clues. Did she rewind through it all and piece things together? Or did Jack tell her he’s leaving? I start to sweat, and then steel myself to ask the operative question. “What happened?”

  “The usual.” He shrugs his big shoulders dismissively. “I didn’t say what she wanted to hear, so the fingernails and screams come out to play. She’s gone to her parents. It’s her father’s birthday. They picked her up and took her home for the evening to join in on the jamboree with all the family, friends, and business associates. The thought of sitting there pretending my life is perfect, pretending to be the perfect couple, doesn’t appeal. Funny, that.”

  I spoon two sugars in his coffee—just the way I know he likes it—and stir, watching him, thinking how casually he reeled all that off. Because he’s used to it—the drama, the fights, the lashing fingernails—and that isn’t good. I hand him his coffee and rest back on the worktop, cupping mine with my palms.

  “Anyway.” He takes a quick sip and rids his hands of his mug, then proceeds to try to take mine. I put some resistance up, taking a big gulp of caffeine before he can take it away. He laughs under his breath as he slides it onto the counter, and then takes my hips, hunkering down, getting his face close to mine. “Enough of all that. You’re supposed to be my happy place.”

  “Happy place?” I ask, slowly pulling back when his palm slides over my waist before drifting down a little and stroking over my inside thigh, just a fraction away from my crotch. I go rigid.

  “My happy place,” he declares, restraining his grin.

  I gasp, shocked, totally forced. “Cheeky!”

  Jack laughs, a true happy laugh that sinks straight beneath my skin and impales my heart. He dips and hauls me up over his shoulder. I yelp, laughing, as he strides out of the kitchen, holding me in place by the backs of my thighs. “My coffee!” I protest, not really giving a fuck about my caffeine, but feeling the need to put up a fight.

  “Fuck the coffee,” he scoffs. “I have something far tastier to wake you up.”

  I grin like an idiot and hold his hips, eyeing his arse as he hauls me down the hallway to my bedroom. I land on the bed, laughing. Jack pulls off his suit jacket and tosses it to the side carelessly, yanks his tie free, and then his fingers are quickly working the buttons of his shirt. I remain still and happy while I watch him strip down, licking my lips provocatively when he pushes his trousers down his sturdy thighs. He kicks his shoes and socks off, and finally his trousers, leaving him graced in only his boxers. My eyes drop to his groin. He’s hard, the shape of his cock prominent and calling for me. Slipping his finger into the waist of his boxers, he pushes them down and it springs free. I lose my breath, my anticipation building.

  I reach for him with my hand, asking him to come to me, but he shakes his head, taking a loose hold at the base. “Take your T-shirt off,” he orders, his voice edgy and firm. My hands go straight to the hem of my T-shirt and I pull it up over my head, revealing my breasts, tipped with pink, hard buds. He smiles, his eyes sparkling. “Now come here.” I’m on my knees and crawling toward the end of the bed, my eyes remaining on his arousal the whole way until the tip of my nose is touching the tip of his cock. He has something tastier than coffee. He wasn’t wrong. My tongue leaves my mouth, keen and hungry, but he pulls away before I make contact, devastating me.

  “Want a taste?”

  I try to play it all cool and nonchalant. I try. But next thing I know, I’m knocking his hand away and wrapping my lips around his flesh. Jack’s stomach concaves, his body bending over to try and escape my wicked mouth. I don’t let him.

  “Holy shit, Annie.” His hand comes to my head and presses me to him. “Fuck!” His bark of shocked pleasure soon changes into a deep moan of ecstasy.

  I look up as I move forward, getting comfy, loving the feel of the taut, velvet skin of his manhood gliding in and out of my mouth. His head is dropped back, his throat stretch
ed, showing every hard swallow he makes. And there are many.

  He tastes divine. Better than coffee. I’ll take this over caffeine any day of the week. His hands in my hair start to meld against my scalp, and his hips start to rotate to meet the advances of my mouth. I work my hand, too, doubling his pleasure. Then he adds to my pleasure, his hands leaving my hair and feeling down until he has a breast cupped in each palm. It’s me moaning now, my pace faltering for a fleeting moment while I accustom myself to the feel of him caressing my aching boobs and I pump my mouth up and down, the tip of his cock hitting the back of my throat each time. I hear mumbles, I hear moans, I hear barks of pleasure-filled despair. It all fuels me. Sliding my hand down his stomach, I reach between his thighs and stroke his heavy balls tenderly. His body convulses. “Ohhhh…fuckkkkkk.”

  I smile and draw back slowly until his cock pops free, then I circle my tongue teasingly around the tip, watching him as his head goes limp, dropping. His eyes are closed, but a cheeky bite of the tip of his cock remedies that. They spring open, low and hooded and clouded with want.

  “Better than coffee?” he asks. His chest heaves, his eyes falling to his hands molding my breasts. I should be asking him that question but instead of doing that, and instead of answering him, I start a punishing pump with my fist, ensuring my hold is tight.

  “Motherf—” he chokes, jolting forward on unsteady legs, his hold of my boobs becoming brutal. I wince but battle through the slight discomfort, shooting back and forth at an epic rate. “Shit…Annie…”

  My tongue circles his tip as my fist continues to work him, and then when I sense he’s close, I swathe the top third of his cock