Page 47 of Forbidden Desires

Instead of pushing any further, I let it go, trusting him. “Okay. I can respect that.”

The corner of Eric’s mouth turned upward, into a charming if not teasing smirk.

“What?” I said, having no idea what had prompted that playful look on his face.

“I just remember a time where you’d probably flare up and fight me on this,” he said, reminding me of that night at the gallery and my contentious, push-him-to-his-limits attitude. “It’s quite adorable. I almost miss the argumentative fire.”

I rolled my eyes, nudging at him. “I could give that to you if that’s what you’re really wanting,” I griped.

An easy laugh erupted from his chest. “No,” he said, and abruptly rolled on top of me, pinning me beneath his strong,solid body with his knees wedging between my legs to spread my thighs wide for his stiffening cock. “No, I think what I really want is a round two.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

CHAPTER 22

Jasmine

Three Weeks Later

“I’m really sorry,” I told Eric over the phone, feeling like shit, literally and figuratively that Friday morning. “I was really looking forward to seeing your parents again.”

“I already told you not to worry about it,” he said, his understanding and compassionate tone drifting through the phone line. “I’d rather you get your rest so you’re feeling better when I come home.”

Instead of being able to answer, a coughing fit shattered my lungs. Out of nowhere I’d caught some kind of virus. It had taken root in my chest, made my nose runny and my throat feel like I was in a constant state of swallowing razor blades. I was supposed to accompany Eric to visit his parents again for a long weekend, Friday through Monday, but there was no way I wasgoing to survive the flight, let alone be safe enough to be around his parents.

“See?” he pointed out. “Please, rest. I’ll have Jeff bring by some soups and meds for you in a bit.”

A part of me warmed at his thoughtful, caring gesture. “You don’t—”cue massive coughing fit“—have to do that, Eric.”

“I know that I don’t, but I want to,” he insisted, and I knew he meant it. “Please, Jasmine. Rest. I’ll be in touch when I get back.”

When we disconnected the call, I did exactly what I was told. I bundled myself up in my bed covers, put on trashy reality TV, and let the first round of medication work its magic to put me to sleep…until I got a knock on my door that startled me awake.

Head stuffy, my mind groggy, I forced myself out of the bed to retrieve whatever Eric had Jeff pick up for me. It was probably a good thing that I hadn’t gone with Eric, if my wobbly, freshly birthed baby deer walk was any indication. I clearly had no business being upright, let alone conscious.

When I answered my door, Jeff was there, standing a respectful distance away as he handed me a brown bag. “All the items that Mr. Maxim requested. Soup for three days, as well as medication for your flu. If you need anything else, just let me know.”

“Thank you,” I managed in a hoarse voice.

I didn’t have the state of mind to even care whether or not I was going to like the soup. I just cared that I wouldn’t have to cook for myself.

The next few days were a blur of microwaved soup, rounds of medication, and enough reality TV to rot my brain irreparably. Every once in a while, I’d receive a message from Eric checking in on me, which helped to boost my spirits. The man was not chatty when it came to texts, which made me appreciate the effort all the more.

On the fourth day, Monday, I was beginning to feel better. When I got another knock on my door, I assumed that it was Jeff again, coming to deliver the next round of goodies. My stomach actually grumbled hungrily, a good sign that I was definitely on the mend. I wrapped myself in a robe and headed for the entry.

I was so certain it was Jeff that I didn’t even bother to look in the peephole. A careless mistake on my part when I opened the door and found James standing on the other side instead.

I stiffened, and my entire body flashed cold. My first instinct was to slam the door in his face, but I decided in that moment that I refused to cower or show fear where this man was concerned. I reminded myself that he held no power over me any longer, emotionally or physically.

I folded my arms over my chest and glared at him. “What are you doing here?”

He had the gall to smile, as though we were friends and hadn’t shared a tumultuous past. “I have something I think you’d be interested to see.”

I snorted. “There is absolutely nothing that you might have that I’d even be remotely interested in.”

“I suppose I deserve that,” he said, and hung his head almost…sheepishly. “But I thought you’d want to know that I found out who killed your parents.”

I gasped, those words filling me up with instantaneous shock, following quickly by disbelief. During one too many glasses of wine one night on one of our first few dates, I’d confided in James about what happened to my parents, the hit and run and the fact that nobody had ever been held accountable.

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