Page 59 of Forbidden You

Incredulous, she turns her head toward me, her eyes automatically moving up and down my body. The wolfish smirk on my face makes her cheeks grow flush, and I let out a soft chuckle.

She’s cute when she’s not being a smartass. Even though I’m doing my best to not look at her like that. After we went home that night after visiting my dad, I dropped next to her on the couch, feeling more relaxed than I had felt in a long time.

I’ve had late night calls from Peartree Park a few times now, and every time I come home anxious and on edge, unable to sleep. But this time, I came smiling through the door, feeling like I could handle it all, and when I climbed into bed, I wondered what was different this time.

The answer was simple; it was the brunette in my guestroom.

She makes me laugh. She is goofy and silly, and with her, I don’t seem to feel as moody and broody like I have since my father’s condition started deteriorating.

Less worried.

“You’re wearing a jacket,” she states, referring to my short denim coat. A hoodie sits underneath it, and she eyes me as if she wants to wrap herself inside of me.

“It’s 30 degrees out.” I shrug.

“You have a car.”

“I walked.”

“What?” I frown. “Why?”

“Could use some fresh air. Are you cool with us walking back tonight?”

She answers with suspicion. “Sure.”

The truth is, I want her for myself. I want to talk to her, hang out with her without any of my employees lurking from behind their desks, and I don’t want to do it on my living room couch.

As soon as we walk through the door of the apartment, I walk around with my hands in my pockets to make sure I don’t yank her into my bedroom. To make sure I don’t strip her naked and start peppering her skin with open-mouthed kisses. Or move my hands up and down her thighs, teasing her until I dip my finger…

“Bodi!”

“I’m sorry, what?” I blink a few times, pulling myself out of my daydream while my dick tightens against the zipper of my jeans.

“Did you need anything else?” There is amusement traveling her pretty features and I match it, not even embarrassed that she probably knows what I was thinking about.

“Oh, yeah. Right. I need you to throw a New Year’s reception.”

“It’s February,” she deadpans, blinking.

“I’m aware.”

“That’s like throwing a Christmas party on the 4th of July.”

I huff. “That’s not even remotely the same thing.”

“It totally is! Why would you still throw a New Year’s reception in February? I’m pretty sure it’s bad luck and all.” She twists her chair, putting her focus back on her screen.

“You totally just made that up.”

“I’m serious! It’s like you can’t say Happy New Year after the sixth of January, or breaking a mirror, walking underneath a ladder, seeing a black cat. It’s a very long list.”

“You believe in that crap?”

“Why wouldn’t I? There are more people dying on Friday the 13th than on any other day of the year. That’s solid proof, Aussie boy.”

I reach out with my foot, linking it underneath her chair to yank her closer, and it’s immediately followed by a screech from her because of the sudden movement.

Her hands land on my knees as she tries to steady herself while heat flashes in her blue eyes when our bodies touch. “What are you doing?”

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