The Forbidden

  “At eight o’clock in the evening?” he asks, a small smile on his face. It’s only a hint of the full beam I’ve seen and loved, but it’s still wonderful, nevertheless. Inviting. Reassuring. It makes it all too easy to confide in him.

  “It’s not really nothing,” I relent on a sigh, silently questioning my need to tell him. I should be leaving. Walking out. Removing myself from this situation. “The manufacturers have made a monumental cock-up.” I shrug. “I’m trying to figure out a way around it, and I’m not coming up with much.”

  Jack moves forward, and as a consequence I instinctually move back. He stops, regarding me closely. “Want to show me?”

  “Yes.” My answer comes without hesitation, stunning me, and he smiles, this time brighter, getting a little bit closer to the blinding, signature Jack Joseph smile. I find myself returning it, unable to stop myself. “Please,” I add.

  He drops his shovel and approaches me, and my damn eyes are glued to his the entire way, my stomach doing cartwheels, until he stops a few paces before me. “After you,” he murmurs.

  I quickly turn and head back inside, feeling him close behind me. My whole being lights up, and I close my eyes and silently pray for strength. Why did I accept his offer? I glance over my shoulder as we enter the huge back room, meeting his stare again. “You should put a T-shirt on,” I say out of the blue, my thoughts falling out of my mouth.

  “I should?” He looks down his chest. “Is it distracting you?” His teasing smile as he looks up through his lashes sets off a carnival of beats in my blood.

  I shake my head and return my focus forward, adamant that I won’t feed his playfulness. “Very cute.”

  “You’re quite cute yourself.”

  His words, a repeat from that night, have my steps faltering too much for him not to notice. Ignore it, I warn myself silently, pulling it together and concentrating on keeping myself that way, arriving at the table where my drawings are laid and pointing with a shaking finger at the one detailing the roof. “They’ve miscalculated the weight of the roof.”

  His hand appears and wraps around my wrist, and my whole bloody body bursts into flames. I flick my eyes up to his, tensing every muscle in my body, fighting back the heat. “Why are you shaking?” he asks, squeezing my wrist.

  “Because you make me nervous.” I come right out and say it, and regret it just as fast. “I mean…” My words die on my lips. There’s no going back from that. “Please, Jack,” I beg him. “Can we just stick to business?”

  He slowly peels his hold away and rests his hands on the table. “Right. Business,” he confirms, looking over the drawing. “How much have they miscalculated by?”

  I silently thank him for being professional, even though he’s chosen to ignore my request to cover his gorgeous chest. The smell of him is potent this close, his body nearly touching mine. “Two-hundred kilos.”

  He whistles, confirming the shit I’m in. “I’m no structural engineer, but even I know that puts us right up shit street.”

  I sag next to him. “I know.”

  “This is seriously going to hinder the progression of the project.”

  “I know.” I sag some more.

  “And we have a four-month deadline before Colin’s launch. It’s already tight.”

  My hands hit the table and my head drops. “Are you going to say anything that will make me feel better? I was hoping for a miracle.”

  He laughs, light and lovely. “I’m a contractor, not a miracle worker, Annie.”

  I pout to myself, feeling more and more despondent by the second. “I could cry.” My blow-your-mind project is just an average project without that roof.

  “You look gorgeous when you pout,” Jack says softly.

  My lips quickly un-pout themselves and purse instead. “You look gorgeous all the time.” I look around me, startled. Who said that?

  Jack laughs, and the sound seems to dilute my problem. For a second, everything fades and all that matters is listening to his laugh. “Keep it business, please,” he teases.

  “You started it.” I shake my head at myself in dismay, thinking I need to fix my brain-to-mouth filter, pronto. I feel him gazing at my profile, and I peek out of the corner of my eye to him, assessing him, taking him in. “Why are you really here this late at night?” I ask, stalling on fixing that filter. I don’t believe for a moment that he likes getting his hands dirty once in a while. There’s something more to it, and though I damn myself for it, I can’t help wondering more and more about Jack and his wife.

  “I needed to get out of the house.” His answer is very dismissive, and for once he doesn’t look me in the eye, choosing to look down at the drawings instead.

  His evasiveness just amps up my curiosity. “To get some fresh air?” I ask.

  “Something like that.”

  I stare at his profile, my hand taking on a mind of its own and reaching up to his neck, where the scratches seem to glow at me. Jack catches my hand before it lands on his skin, prompting my eyes to jump to his. The dullness of his grays has regained a little bit of sparkle again as he holds my stare and my hand, gently working his fingers around mine.

  I find my eyes taking in our tangle of fingers, the sight morphing into the tangle of our sweaty bodies rolling around in a hotel bed, our mouths kissing wildly, our moans drenching the air. I lose myself in those thoughts, my mind tunneling, my body feeling it all over again.

  “You’re in the hotel again, aren’t you?” Jack whispers, hunkering down to meet my gaze. “Reliving that night like I am every single fucking minute of my life.”

  I can’t talk. Can’t move. The rush of feelings has paralyzed me, leaving me at the mercy of the man who’s consumed my mind, body, and soul since he found me in that bar.

  “I can see it all in your eyes, Annie.” He moves forward, and the heat from his breath hitting my face spreads through my body like wildfire. He enraptures me, knocks all sense out of me. His wife. What am I doing?

  I swiftly pull my hand away, turning back toward the table and holding the edge for support. I stare down at the drawings, my head whirling. “You promised me.”

  “Jesus, Annie, how the hell are you doing this? You make it look easy.”

  “Because it is.” I spit at the table. “Because there is nothing there for me, so stop trying to find anything. You’re wasting your time.” I wince at my own scathing words, but I have to remain strong. Easy? He thinks this is easy? The notion makes me mad.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers, hurt tinging his apology.

  His sincerity plays havoc with my willpower. It’s already painfully difficult to face him on a professional level. It’s painful, but it’s doable. I already feel consumed by guilt, ashamed of myself. This is impossible. The undercurrent of our connection is still there no matter how hard I fight to disregard it. But it doesn’t mean I can act on it.

  “I should be going.” I push myself away, all in a fluster, my work predicament forgotten and the urgency to remove myself from the situation now dominating my mind. I grab my bags but forgo the drawings, knowing it’ll take me too long to fold them all up. I need to get out of here now before I let my attraction and want get the better of me. Before I cave under the pressure of his struggle, because it would be all too easy to fall into his arms again. So easy. Yet the aftermath and backlash will be unbearable.

  I hurry away, keen to get myself home and talk some sense and strength into myself.

  “Annie, wait!” Jack calls after me.

  I ignore his plea and keep going, knowing I’ll be doomed if I let him stop me.

  “Annie!”

  I hit the fresh air and take the stairs fast, but come to an abrupt halt when Jack overtakes me and blocks my path. “Jack, please don’t.” My breath is labored, not only because of my rushed escape from him.

  “I won’t, I promise.” He steps back, giving me space, his hands held up in surrender. “I’m sorry.”

  I fix him in place with a sure, cut expr
ession. “Then. Let. Me. Leave,” I say slowly, watching as he breathes in deeply. After what seems like ages, he finally moves to the side to let me pass.

  I hurry away, fighting against the magnetic pull trying to drag me back to him.

  The pull that’s getting tougher to resist by the second.

  Chapter 9

  I spot Micky outside the café and hurry over, landing in my chair with a thud. It’s been a long bloody day of technical drawings and calculations on my roof…and the total head-fuck that is Jack Joseph. I’m drained, my mind bent in more ways than one, and I didn’t sleep a wink last night, memories of his words and of his bare, sweaty chest refusing to leave my mind. That vision has plagued me all fucking night. Still is.

  “All right?” Micky asks, eyeing up my stressed form.

  “My brain is frazzled,” I sigh, dumping my bag down on the chair next to me. “Problem at work that I’ve been trying to fix.”

  “You work too hard. When was the last time you went on holiday?”

  I cast my mind back…and back…and back.

  “I rest my case.” He shows the sky his palms on a shrug. “You look tired. Take some time off and relax. Do nothing. Your business isn’t going to fall apart if you take a break.”

  He’s wrong. It most definitely would fall apart. Besides, even if it wouldn’t, going on holiday and doing nothing means I’d get to think too much, and I don’t want to be thinking right now because there’s only one subject my brain annoyingly wants to focus on. “Maybe next year,” I murmur, looking past Micky into the distance.

  “Oh no.”

  I snap out of my short daydream immediately and find Micky looking at me, all worried. “What?”

  “That look. What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing.” I laugh and start faffing with the spoon at my place setting.

  “Annie…” My name is said on a long, warning exhale of air, and I laugh again, with a lack of anything else to do. Micky has known me my entire life. I’m not fooling him. “Tell me.”

  “Nothing to tell.” I wave a hand in the air, feigning indifference, and pray he leaves it right there. “Work’s crazy.”

  “And have you seen him?”

  “Not really,” I reply weakly, hating myself for not being able to sound convincing. I’m too tired to find the energy to be convincing.

  Micky moves back in his chair slowly, eyeing me with caution. “Please tell me you’ve not been there again.”

  I slam my mouth shut and avert my eyes from his. “No.” Though I haven’t physically been there again, I have in my head, a million times, and that’s making me feel just as guilty.

  “I hope not.” Micky leans across the table, probably to ensure I can see with perfect clarity how stern his face is. “You know, because he’s fucking married!”

  “Will you be quiet?” I hiss across the table, my frantic eyes checking the vicinity, looking as paranoid as I feel. “I’ve not been there again, and I don’t plan to either.”

  Micky throws himself across the table threateningly, and I withdraw, worried. I’ve never seen him look so mad. “I don’t like this. Is he pursuing you?”

  “No,” I lie, for fear of my lifelong friend taking matters into his own hands. He looks perfectly capable right now.

  “Are you pursuing him?”

  “No.” That’s not a lie. I haven’t. “I’m working with him, Micky. It’s hard not to see someone when you’re being forced to work with them.”

  “No one is forcing you to do anything.”

  “Are you suggesting I should throw away my dream job because some arsehole led me on?” At that very moment, my phone starts buzzing on the table, and Jack’s name flashes up at us. I reach and reject the call, stabbing at the screen of my phone heavy-handedly. I look up at my friend and his lips purse.

  “I know you, Annie. I know when something is on your mind, and I know that it isn’t work.” He shakes his head, dismayed. “Why didn’t you take that?” he asks, pointing at my phone. “If it’s purely business, why?”

  “Because I’m having coffee with you.”

  “He’s married,” he says simply, twisting the knife in further. “You don’t go there, Annie. You don’t even think there!”

  “I’m not.” I grit my teeth harshly. “It’s work. Nothing more.”

  His face softens as he reaches over and takes my hand. “You deserve more. Don’t get yourself caught up in that shit. It won’t end well.”

  I drop my head, even more exhausted than when I arrived here. “I called you for coffee and a catch-up. Not an earache.” I force a smile and shift my hand so I’m holding his, nodding my assurance. “It caught me off guard. The whole situation. But I’m fine, honestly. You know me.” I look up when the waiter slides a coffee toward me. “Thank you.”

  “Should I have ordered something stronger?” Micky asks seriously.

  I snort, thinking that he most definitely should have. “Probably. How’s work?” I ask. “Specifically, the new client?” I wag a cheeky eyebrow.

  My lifelong friend sniffs in the most blasé way possible, toying with the napkin at his place casually. But just like Micky knows me, I know him, and this new client has clearly gotten under his skin. “All right.”

  “That’s it? All right?”

  “I suggested she might need an extra session per week.”

  I laugh and take a needed hit of caffeine. “Of course she does.”

  Micky grins around the rim of his cup. “Hey, I saw Jason yesterday.”

  “That’s nice. Did you tell him you’d screwed his ex?”

  “No.” Micky rolls exasperated eyes. “Lizzy and I were a drunken mistake.”

  “Yeah, yeah. So what did he want?”

  “He wants to start training.”

  I laugh sarcastically. “What, to get himself in better shape for the twenty-one-year-old he cheated on Lizzy with?”

  Micky shrugs. “Not my business.”

  I’m laughing again, but this time on the inside. I wish he’d adopt the same approach to me and my fuck-up. I look down at my phone and sigh. “How’d it get to four o’clock?” I ask the screen, bracing myself to get my arse back to my studio so I can agonize over my problem some more. And I mean the roof problem. I’m going to have to admit defeat soon and revise all my plans, and then break the bad news to Colin.

  “Four? Shit!” Micky jumps up from his chair and throws a tenner on the table. “I have a session with Charlie.” He rushes around the table and smacks a kiss on my cheek. “See ya later.”

  “Have fun!” I call, gathering up my things and getting on my way. My phone rings three more times before I make it to the Tube—all Jack—and I reject every single call. After last night, avoiding Jack is top of my priority list.

  * * *

  I look up from the pavement as I near my house, my feet slowing to a stop when I see a silver Audi parked up over the road. What the hell?

  The driver’s door opens, and Jack gets out of his car, his tall body straightening to full height slowly. I spend a few too many seconds taking him in, as if I need to remind myself of his sheer magnificence. The sleeves of his pale blue shirt are rolled up, his hard forearms on full display, as well as his throat from his open collar.

  I ignore him, pretend he isn’t there, and focus on putting my front door between us.

  “Hey.” Jack’s soft voice blazes a trail up my back, igniting panic as I get closer. I start frantically searching for my keys in my bag.

  “Annie?”

  Where the hell are my keys? Suddenly his hand is on my back, and I whirl around clumsily, pressing my body into the wood of my door. “What do you want?” I blurt, sounding as scared as I feel.

  Jack’s head tilts, and he shakes his head as if trying to gather some patience. “Why haven’t you answered my calls? Or replied to my voicemail?”

  “I think it’s best I deal with Richard in future.”

  His face takes on an angry edge, his nostrils flaring. “W
hy’s that?”

  “Because…” I don’t want to say it out loud. I don’t want to admit that whatever this is between us is slowly breaking me down and if I don’t remedy it soon, I might go where no woman should go.