Page 5 of Forbidden Fruit

“It’s excellent,” I said, meeting her gaze. “In fact, I happen to have raspberry bushes growing on my property. Perhaps you’d like to see them for yourself?”

Her composure faltered for just a fraction of a second, but it was enough for me to see that she was genuinely surprised. She recovered quickly, her smile widening with genuine interest. “That sounds like a lovely idea, sir.”

“Maxwell,” I said. “Saturday night, then. I’ll have my staff serve you a drink for a change. You can relax and enjoy the sunset from my terrace. It’s quite the view.”

There was a momentary pause as she considered my offer, and I could see the wheels turning in her mind. It was clear she hadn’t anticipated this turn of events, but her willingness to adapt was impressive.

Alejandro shifted beside me, his brow furrowing slightly. He leaned over and whispered, “You sure about this, boss? We don’t need distractions right now. There’s important business that needs handling.”

I nodded slightly, acknowledging his concern. Alejandro was right; our current situation was precarious, and distractions could be costly. But there was something about Raya that intrigued me beyond mere curiosity. She wasn’t just a stunning woman; there was a story behind those eyes, and I intended to find out what it was.

Raya, meanwhile, navigated the room, engaging with my associates as if she belonged among us. It was impressive, watching her converse and respond to their questions and comments with laughter and smiles, even as Alejandro remained skeptical. I could see that she was doing her best to charm, and despite myself, I found it hard not to be impressed. It was a skill I recognized and respected.

As the night progressed, my associates and I moved on to discuss business matters. Raya remained present but busied herself behind the bar and refilling our drinks as needed. She was good at this, playing the role of the attentive bartender.

After we concluded our meeting and I was escorted to the waiting Escalade idling at the curb, I found myself contemplating Raya Kinkaid. She was a complication, no doubt, and one that could prove dangerous if mishandled. But there was a certain allure to the challenge she presented, a mystery that begged to be unraveled. Perhaps she would be nothing more than a diversion, a temporary indulgence to provide respite from the pressures and responsibilities that weighed heavily on my shoulders these days. It had been some time since I had allowed myself the pleasure of a woman’s company, and Raya was undeniably tempting.

Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more at stake here than a mere dalliance. Raya had come into my life at a pivotal moment, and her role was yet to be determined. Was she a threat, a pawn, or something entirely different?

The city lights blurred past the window, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across my face. The night was alive with possibilities, each moment teetering on the edge of revelation. I had built my life on calculated risks and strategic decisions, and this was no different.

I would find out exactly who Raya Kinkaid was, and what secrets she held. Until then, I would enjoy this little game until I could claim her as my own.

Chapter Three

RAYA

The days leading up to Saturday night had been a whirlwind of emotions and conflicting thoughts. Meeting Maxwell Evans in the VIP room at Sweet Cocktails had changed everything. His presence had been overwhelming, a magnetic force that drew me in even as every instinct screamed for me to stay away. I wasn’t just playing with fire; I was diving headfirst into an inferno.

I couldn’t deny the attraction I felt for him, but I had to remember my mission. Burt Stamford had made it clear that Maxwell was dangerous, and I wondered if he could be connected to a major drug cartel. Yet, the man I’d met at Sweet Cocktails was proving to be more than just a suspect. He was enigmatic, alluring, and guarded in a way that only heightened my curiosity. I remembered his gaze, heavy with intention, as I served him the raspberry martini that had made me somewhat of an urban legend. It was like he knew there was more to me than met the eye, as if he could see straight through the bartender facade to the woman on a dangerous quest for truth.

"Focus, Raya," I muttered to myself, shaking off the memory. He intrigued me, this man of shadows, with his dark skin and mysterious accent that danced around my curiosity. I couldn't quite place it, and that only added to the enigma. But tonight wasn't about indulging intrigue; it was about getting closer to whatever Maxwell was hiding behind those chocolate, knowing eyes. There was a softness in his eyes that contrasted sharply with his hardened exterior, making me wonder if there was more to him than what Burt had led me to believe. Or whether I was just being naïve, letting physical desire cloud my judgment. I’d learned to be smarter than that, and I wasn’t about to let a man get the upper hand now.

I had to keep my head in the game. This wasn’t just about me; it was about finding the truth. The fact that Maxwell was sending a car for me on Saturday night only added to the sense of increasing danger and resulting determination I felt with each passing day. When I received his text, my heart skipped a beat. The man knew where I lived—Of course, he did. A man like Maxwell Evans had the resources to find out anything he wanted, but the thought that he had taken the time to know this detail made my pulse quicken with both excitement and fear.

As I stood in front of my closet, trying to decide what to wear, my thoughts were a jumbled mess. He'd mentioned showing me the raspberry bushes on his land—a sly smile tugged at my lips since of course I already knew exactly where they were. Or was he already aware of that and intending to taunt me with the knowledge? Or punish me? If that were the case, however, he could have turned me over to the authorities weeks ago. Instead, he’d invited me to join him for dinner. That meant there was more to it than that.

After what felt like an eternity, I settled on a summer dress. It was elegant and light, its hue somewhere between peach and pink that contrasted nicely with my olive complexion. It flowed gracefully around my legs, cinching at the waist to highlight my curves. I wanted to appear sophisticated but not too eager, like I was dressing up for myself, not for him. But as I caught a glimpse of my reflection, my gaze lingered on the snake tattoos winding up my arms. They were a reminder of the past I was trying so hard to leave behind. A past that had left me with scars, both visible and hidden.

For a moment, I considered leaving them uncovered, letting Maxwell see the real me on display. But then, the old insecurities crept in. These tattoos were a part of who I was, but they didn’t fit the image I was trying to project tonight. With a sigh, I draped a light summer wrap over my shoulders, concealing the inked serpents beneath the fabric. It was a futile attempt, really—my scars ran much deeper than skin.

I was relieved that Trina was working the closing shift at the bar tonight and wouldn’t be home to ask questions. The fewer people who knew about this, the better. I’d told her I had a date and not to wait up if I wasn’t home by the time she finished her shift. The truth was, I had no idea what tonight would bring, and I didn’t want to make any promises I couldn’t keep.

When Maxwell’s driver arrived promptly at 6 pm, I felt a flutter of nerves in my stomach. The man was enormous, towering over me even though I was wearing heels. He was dressed in a tailored suit and wore dark glasses, with an earpiece tucked discreetly into his ear. His expression was unreadable, and he spoke only a brief greeting as he opened the door of the black Escalade with blacked-out windows. The vehicle itself was imposing, its sleek exterior giving off an air of power and secrecy.

As I climbed inside, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was stepping into something far bigger than myself. The door closed behind me with a solid thud, sealing me inside the luxury of dark leather seats and soft lighting. The driver didn’t say a word as we pulled away from my apartment building, the city lights fading into the distance as we drove toward the outskirts of Orange County.

The drive was smooth and silent, the kind of silence that leaves too much room for thoughts to run wild. I twisted my fingers together with nervous energy, trying to focus on the mission and reminding myself of the questions I needed to ask, the information I needed to gather. But all I could think about was Maxwell—his deep, melodic voice, the way his accent hinted at something foreign and exotic. It was a blend of something rich and rhythmic, perhaps Spanish with an undertone of something else and I wondered about his origins for the millionth time.

After what felt like an eternity, we arrived at the gates of Maxwell’s estate. Tall, thick green hedges lined the perimeter, blocking any view of what lay beyond. The gates were imposing, made of wrought iron and flanked by security personnel who were armed and alert. As the driver rolled down his window, I noticed the high-tech security system, cameras tracking our every move, and the guards scanning our faces, their own devoid of expression. Everything about this place screamed wealth and power, but also a sense of isolation—a fortress to keep the outside world at bay.

The gates opened smoothly, and we drove up a long, winding driveway that cut through manicured lawns and lush gardens. The mansion that came into view was breathtaking, an architectural masterpiece that looked more like a palace than a home. It was grand, with sprawling terraces and large windows that gleamed in the evening light. The circular drive in front of the entrance was lined with carefully pruned trees, their branches casting long shadows over the cobblestones.

The driver pulled to a stop, and I took a deep breath before stepping out of the car. My heart was racing, but I forced myself to remain calm, to keep the mask of confidence firmly in place. As I looked up, Maxwell was already there, standing at the top of the steps that led to the front door. He was dressed in light summer linen pants and an open shirt that accentuated his broad chest and muscular frame. Everything about him spoke of effortless elegance and supreme control, from the way he moved to the way he held my gaze.

“Raya,” he said with a smile, his voice sending a shiver of electricity down my spine. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “Your home is incredible.”

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