Page 23 of Forbidden Desires

Rather than take a long soak in the bath, I decided to take my time in the shower. God, the water pressure was something to kill for, the heat enough to turn me into a lobster if I really wanted to. I washed my hair, cleaned the makeup from my face, and freshened up the shave on my legs and pits. Once I’d cherry picked my way through the full-sized, complimentary body washes that they had provided, I stepped out of the bathroom in a comfortable pair of cotton shorts and casual-but-fashionable shirt. After running a comb through my hair, I returned to the main section of the suite, where Eric sat on a plush, red-velvet chair.

He was leaning back, wearing a white t-shirt and plain black boxers that were probably as expensive as a single outfit in my closet. His hair, still damp, had not been combed back and neatly put into place as it usually was. He had his glasses on once again, instead of his contacts. Despite the shower, he still looked so weary, and all my earlier annoyance instantly vanished.

Silence hung between us, as it had for most of the day, but I went ahead and walked his way. Nor could I stop myself from getting into his space whether he wanted it or not. I sat down on the floor beside that low set chair and let my head rest against his knee—my way of silently comforting him.

“Tell me why I’m here?” I asked softly.

It was not a demand, but a gentle request. I let myself be unexpectedly brought out here, under a premise that I had not prepared for, yet the way that Eric had gone about it and even the wariness—no, the bone-deep reluctance—to tell me what was going on, made me think that it was something bigger than even I could imagine.

I waited patiently, and eventually, he answered.

“My parents live up here in an assisted living facility,” he explained, his voice low and steady. “Considering my age, I imagine you understand that they’re not the youngest people,considering they had me in their late thirties. My mother has had dementia for the last five years, my father the last three. Between running the business, and keeping them comfortable, this was the best solution, for them. They’re the most familiar with New York. It keeps them calm, and for me, it keeps them safe because there aren’t many people who know about their condition, nor do I want them to.”

He reached out and gently ran his fingers through my damp hair, slowly and methodically, as if the action soothed him as much as it did me as I continued to keep my head on his thigh. I was just content that he was touching me in some way after all the distance between us today.

“Honestly, it’s a miracle that they even remember me, though it’s not much,” he said, sounding heart-breakingly sad. “They always wanted me to marry, settle down, have children. I was always too married to work to let that be a reality. So…usually when I would come to visit them, I’d bring whatever girl I had most recently dated. When my parents had to be admitted to the facility because of their dementia, I kept doing it. Now, they think it’s the same girl, even when it’s not.”

I closed my eyes, my throat growing thick as I listened to his story and heard the pain in his voice, while he continued to absently pet my head.

“They always ask about the children that we ‘haven’t had yet’ and I pay her handsomely to play along, because it makes them happy to talk about the grandkids they’d always wanted and believe are real. It’s easier to perpetuate the ruse than to try and convince people who can’t even remember their names some days to understand that the fantasy in their minds just doesn’t exist,” he said gruffly. “I had planned on eventually explaining all of this to you, to see how you might feel about accompanying me for a visit that I’d schedule months from now so it was planned and you were prepared, but I received a call earliertoday that my father had an accident. He fell and set his hip out of order. A whole ordeal. He kept asking for me, and my wife. Wanting me to come visit and take care of him.”

Eric exhaled a deep breath, and I lifted my head and glanced up at him, meeting his dark, somewhat tormented gaze. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

“No,I’msorry.” He gave me a faint smile as his hand settled at the side of my face and his thumb stroked along my cheek. “This should have been something that I put into your contract. I understand this. I know that unexpected things happen all the time, and honestly, I should have prepared for this better. It’s…I try to guard my parents as best as I can. The last time I brought someone around them, it didn’t go well. She thought that joking about them being ‘forgetful’ was fucking peak comedy.”

I winced and Eric scoffed, disgusted. “I am sorry,” he said again, his eyes softening. “I’m in a place right now where I am trying to do the best thing I can for my parents and I apologize for bringing you into this situation, but I just couldn’t face them alone.”

There was more vulnerability in his words than he’d ever displayed with me, and it made my heart tighten in my chest. When I was sure that he was done speaking, I rose to my feet and then settled onto his lap, grateful that he allowed me to do so.

His pain resonated within the deepest part of me, because I knew what it was like to lose parents. His weren’t dead, but they weren’t themselves, either. They weren’t the mother and father that he had grown up with, weren’t the parents that had shaped him into the man that he had become. They were something different, and he was having to navigate that the best way that he knew how. They didn’t even live in the same state as he did, and I couldn’t recall if I had seen pictures of himself with his parents in his apartment. It was, truly, as though they were no longerthere, as if those memories and reminders of how they’d once been were too much for him to bear.

“I understand,” I said after a moment. “I mean, different situation, but you’re trying to figure out how to live knowing that who you knew your parents to be aren’t there anymore in here,” I said, tapping my temple. “But if you need me to help you cope with this, Eric, then I can do that. Just tell me what I need to do.”

I reached out, brushing my fingers through the damp strands of hair that had fallen over his forehead. He took my hand in his hold, pressing it to his chest, right over his steadily beating heart.

“Thank you,” he said softly, the earlier tension in his body now gone. “I promise I won’t be so out of sorts tomorrow.”

“I think in this case, you’re allowed to be out of sorts, Eric. You’re dealing with some pretty heavy stuff. You can’t be Mr. Business all the time.” I sat up a little more, an idea popping into my head that would hopefully putusback on course. “Say, why don’t we order in tonight for dinner? Get something really bad for us. Pizza. Maybe some wings. We relax tonight, that way come tomorrow, you can have your head a little more cleared.”

Eric chuckled, his blue eyes a bit brighter now that he’d shared his burden with me. “You’ve got a deal. I’ll get us the biggest supreme pizza you could possibly find in New York, and I know the perfect place to get wings. How do you feel about honey barbeque?”

I grinned, as if he didn’t already know how I felt about food in general. “I feel like I might have to let my clothes out at the seams. Honey barbeque wings are my weakness.”

“Oh?” His brows rose, and a wicked smile curved his lips. “I wish I had known that sooner. You know I’d do just about anything to get you out of your clothes.”

Relief and that familiar desire trickled through me. And just like that, we weremostlyback on track.

CHAPTER 10

Jasmine

An hour later, Eric and I had a New York supreme pizza, and two orders of wings spread out on the California king-sized bed in front of the suite’s bedroom television. We randomly chose a channel, mostly so that there would be something going on in the background while we ate.

As we dug in, I focused on trying to get Eric to relax even more. Eased something of a smile and then laughter out of him when the movie on the television showed something funny, or one of us made an off-hand snarky comment about it. Coaxed him to recline back against the pillows instead of sitting so straight-backed and proper like he always did. Encouraged him to slouch like he was a college frat boy and not a man with an art empire at his fingertips.

Fingertips that were, currently, greasy and a little barbeque-y and messy.

“You know, when I come here to New York, we usually eat at The Fontaine,” he explained, sucking sauce off his thumb. “The stuffed pasta there is something to die for, but I think I might have to make this a part of the usual rotation.”

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