Page 2 of Forbidden Hunger

1

One year later

Where’s Eden?I’m supposed to be taking my daughter to lunch, and she’s not at our usual meeting place in the lobby of the Barre Institute. It’s not like her to be late or forgetful.

My phone buzzes with a text from Shane, my associate. He has a question about an upcoming client meeting. I text him a brief reply, then put the phone away.

The hallway is thronged with dancers, all of them ambitious, talented, and hardworking. Eden has earned a place among them, and I’m proud of her. But right now, we’re on a schedule and I need to find her.

I slip through the crowd of students, past the receptionist at the front desk. Pushing past more dancers, I make my way down the hallway, peering into open doorways.

I finally find Eden in one of the practice rooms. She’s sitting on the floor, and next to her is Tori.

My daughter’s friend is crying, face buried in her hands, Eden’s arm around her. My gut twists with sudden rage. I want to find out who’s responsible for making Tori feel this way and rip them to shreds.

Fuck.

I’ve been fighting my feelings for Tori since the day I met her. She captivated me during dinner with her beauty, her kindness, and a sense of mischief that balances Eden’s more serious nature.

And then, later that night, I dreamed of her. Vividly. The most erotic fantasy my subconscious had ever invented – about a girl only a few months older than my daughter.

Since then, it’s been a constant battle to keep my distance from her. To guard my mind against the desires that won’t leave me alone, no matter how wrong I know they are.

And now I want to kill an unknown person for making her unhappy.

Crouching down in front of the girls, I struggle to keep my face impassive. “What’s wrong?”

At the sound of my voice, Tori stops crying and starts frantically patting her face dry. My brain automatically catalogs her features, as though I didn’t already have them memorized.

Sable hair, pulled back from her face in the typical dancer’s style; a high forehead and delicately arched brows over dark, deep-set eyes; and a straight nose leading to a full, sensual mouth that’s starred in more than one of my forbidden fantasies. Her jawline is firm, but the shallow dent in her chin hints at vulnerability.

Strength and softness, style and grace. No one thing about her is extraordinary, not at first glance. But somehow it adds up to a whole that I find utterly entrancing.

Irresistible, even.

My rage, my need to protect Tori, to be her champion, is still there. But now it’s wrestling with the desire to pull her into my arms and comfort her.

My cock twitches. I know all too well what kind of comfort I’d like to give her. The more I try to resist her, the stronger my hunger grows.

The fact that my brother, Hunter, is now happily married to a younger woman only makes it more difficult to maintain my resolve.

Quashing the need to touch her, I keep my distance. “We have a reservation.” It comes out more brusquely than I intend. “Let’s all go to lunch, and we can talk about it there.”

“That’s all right, Mr. Drake.” Tori’s lovely dark eyes are red from weeping, and it wrenches at me. “You and Eden go and have a nice time. I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be silly,” I say, as gently as I can. “Whatever the problem is, we’ll do what we can to help.”

“Her roommate stole her rent money,” Eden says in a rush, “and her landlord evicted her. Her roommate too, but Heidi’s moved in with her boyfriend. That’s who she stole the money for.”

Now I’m mad at a bunch of people. “Let’s go to lunch,” I repeat, “and we’ll see what we can figure out.”

Eden helps her friend up and they go into a dressing room, emerging a few minutes later changed for lunch. Tori’s wearing some of Eden’s clothes. The two of them are the same size, and my daughter is happy to share with her bestie … especially since she knows Tori is here on scholarship and can’t afford a New York City lifestyle.

I admire my daughter’s generous heart, but seeing Tori in Eden’s clothes only makes me feel like more of a lecherous old man. I should be treating Tori as another daughter, not fantasizing about her late at night.

Shaking off my guilt, I lead the girls out to where my car is waiting. There’s a man begging on the sidewalk. Tori stops and digs a dollar out, dropping it in his cup.

A familiar warmth squeezes my heart. According to what my daughter’s just told me, Tori’s in dire straits at the moment, but her first impulse is always to share whatever she has with those in need. I add my own donation before following the girls to the car.

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