Page 42 of The Forbidden

Gabe stares at me, his expression teetering somewhere between admiration and annoyance. “When did you become so cautious? I remember a girl who used to take risks, who wasn’t afraid to chase what she wanted.”

“A lot has changed since then,” I reply, my arms shifting to cross over my chest. Defiance rather than self-protection. “I had to grow up and I don’t call that being cautious. I call that being wise.”

The big jerk isn’t chastened by my veiled reference to the reasons I had to grow up—mainly his lack of devotion to me. His eyes roam the length of my body and in a husky, sexually taunting voice, he says, “Yes, you have grown up, and very nicely indeed.”

“Oh, shut up,” I growl and backhand him lightly in the chest. There’s no heat in my strike because it’s all centered in my lower belly where his words have a very unwanted effect on me.

Gabe moves lightning fast, catching my wrist. But he doesn’t push me away, rather reels me in slowly until our hands are trapped between our bodies.

The air thickens, charged with the history and tension of what was left unsaid all those years ago. “Why do you think we keep circling back to each other?”

“Because I’m a glutton for punishment,” I bite out.

His voice is low, rumbling. “Oh, I think it’s more than that.”

My breath hitches and my legs wobble. “It’s bad history. That’s all.”

“Or a new future,” he counters softly, and all my fears—or are they dreams—come true as his mouth descends onto mine.

It’s not that fiery crash of lips on the night of the gala but something so terrifyingly sweet, I almost believe I could forgive Gabe for breaking my heart. His mouth roams mine, a slight brush of tongues, a gentle exploration, as if he’s trying to lay down new memories to block out the old.

A rebranding of sorts.

As quickly as it starts, it ends, with Gabe being the one who pulls back to peer down at me. I can’t read his expression, but I expect that’s intentional as he’s trying to read mine without providing any influence.

He’s using silence to force me to say if this is okay.

Continue? Slap him? Tell him to go to hell? Ask him to kiss me again.

“Aunt Kat,” Sylvie calls in the distance. I try to jerk away, but Gabe holds my hand tight for a second. My head twists and I see her making her way to the cedars where her complete view of us is momentarily obstructed.

Did she see that kiss or was she too far away?

I look back to Gabe, still holding tight to my hand. I stare at him imploringly to let me go before Sylvie can see us in this intimate position.

“We need to talk,” he says.

“We talk all the time,” I mutter.

“About us.”

“There is no us,” I snap and jerk hard, my hand sliding free as I step back.

“There could be, Kat. Second chances happen all the time.”

“Aunt Kat. Uncle Gabe,” Sylvie calls again and I see her waving at us enthusiastically as she clears the cedars and lopes down a gentle incline to reach us. By the tone of her voice, I can tell she didn’t see anything.

“Kat,” Gabe says softly, and I look back at him. His eyes are the ones beseeching now. “Can we talk?”

The thud of Sylvie’s feet on the earth has me distracted so I mutter, “Maybe,” and then turn back to her.

“Hey, kiddo,” I say, opening my arms for a hug. She flies into them and I embrace her tight. “Have a good time at Camille’s?”

Camille was a classmate of Sylvie’s and the closest friend she left behind. This is the second night she stayed over with her.

“Oui,” she says with a toothy grin. “Nous nous sommes tellement amusées!”

I laugh because since returning to her homeland, Sylvie has slipped back into French as if it’s a natural extension of her body, like her arm or leg. “English, please!”

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