Page 10 of Forbidden Girl

“Oh, a weekend, huh? That’s a helluva date.”

Her cheeks go rosy. “Yeah, that was presumptuous of me.”

I’m not the outdoorsy type. And I’m surprised to find that she is. I’d never have guessed it by looking at her. But I like it, the sense of adventure I didn’t realize she had until right this moment. Anyway, I wouldn’t care where we went. If I get to be with her, I’m good. “Let’s do it.”

“Seriously?” Her big, blue eyes sparkle with enthusiasm.

“Yes.”

“When?”

Now—no. Dad has a shipment of who-the-hell-knows-what coming into the harbor tomorrow and I have to be at the marina to receive it, or I’ll get my ass handed to me. “This weekend. Will that be enough time for you to hatch an escape plan?”

She goes pfft. “Plenty.”

I feel a bud of excitement in my chest. Mostly because I want to spend time with her, but also because it’ll be nice to get away from the shitshow that is my life for a few days. “Cool.”

“Cool,” she echoes. Then yawns.

“You’re tired. Let’s go to sleep, okay?”

“Only if you keep holding me.”

“Deal.” I reach over and switch off the bedside lamp, then turn back to her. “Good night, Jules.”

“Good night.” She kisses my lips, then turns away from me and cuddles into my arms again, the perfect little spoon.

SEVEN

JULES

Rowan looks so innocent when she’s sleeping, like she’s never committed even a venial sin. But I’ve heard the stories. And I see her scars. She’s taken blows and doled them out twice as hard. She’s never killed anyone, though. Tough as she’s been forced to be, she doesn’t have that in her. She’s had to steel herself to live the life her father chose for her, but I see who she is in her heart. I don’t think she wants any of this any more than I do. Still, she’s a better daughter than I am—defiant in her own way, yet dutiful; she does the jobs she’s given without complaint, but also without joy.

I push her dark, messy bangs out of her face. She stirs, slowly opens her eyes. Those green irises focus on me and the thought that pops into my head is frightening. I’d like to be the first thing she sees every morning for eternity.

“Good morning,” I say with a smile.

“Morning.” She yawns. “What time is it?”

I check the clock on the nightstand behind her. “Eight o’clock.”

“Hmm. We slept in.”

I snort. “This is sleeping in to you?”

“I’m up with the sun most days.” And then she does something unexpected: Leans into me and kisses my forehead. I try to curb the warmth from coloring my cheeks, but I’m sure it’s pointless. “Sleep well?”

Very. “Yes. You completely exhausted me, Rowan Monaghan.”

“I’ve been told many times that I’m exhausting,” she smirks.

“Want some coffee?” I throw the sheets off me and move to get up, but she grabs my wrist.

“No, Juliet. Not yet. I want to hold you a while longer. If that’s okay?”

“Of course it’s okay.”

She opens her arms for me. I crash into them, turn toward her, rest my head in the crook of her shoulder. She folds herself around me and it’s startling how nice it feels, our bodies pressed together, all skin on skin. It’s comfortable. Familiar, even though this is new territory for us. “Can we stay like this all day?” I ask without overthinking it.

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