Page 6 of Forbidden Fruit

He descended the steps to meet me, taking my hand in his. The touch was brief but electrifying, and I was close enough to smell his spicy masculine scent that instantly ratcheted up the invisible heat between us. “I’m glad you could join me,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine.

The estate was even more magnificent up close, each detail meticulously crafted to exude both luxury and timelessness. The scents of jasmine and honeysuckle filled the air, and in the distance, I could hear the faint trickle of a bubbling fountain.

“I thought we’d start with a tour of the property,” Maxwell said, leading me down a stone path that wound through the gardens. “There’s something I’d like to show you.”

I nodded, trying to maintain my composure, even as the anticipation built inside me. It was impossible not to be captivated by the sheer opulence of the estate, but I had to remind myself that I wasn’t here to admire the scenery. I was here for a reason, and I couldn’t afford to lose sight of that.

As we walked, the sound of hooves clattering against stone drew my attention. I turned to see an open carriage being drawn by two magnificent horses. The carriage was elegant, with polished wood and brass accents, and it seemed like something out of a fairy tale.

Maxwell turned to me, his smile widening as he took in my expression of surprise. “I thought we’d take a ride through the fields,” he said. “It’s a beautiful evening, and the view is even better from the carriage.”

A female server dressed in a starched white shirt, black slacks, and low heels appeared with two glasses of wine, which we accepted before climbing into the carriage. The seat was plush and comfortable, and as the horses began to move, I felt a thrill of excitement. The evening air was warm and there was a light breeze, the perfect setting for what felt like a scene from a movie.

Maxwell sat close beside me, his presence both comforting and intimidating. The carriage ride gave us the perfect opportunity to engage in conversation, but I knew I had to be careful with my words. This was my chance to gather information, but Maxwell was no fool. He would see through any attempt to pry too deeply, so I had to tread lightly.

“So, tell me, Maxwell,” I began, swirling the wine in my glass. “Where are you from? Your accent..it’s intriguing. I can’t quite place it.”

He smiled, taking a sip of his wine before responding. “I’ve lived in many places,” he said, his tone deliberately vague. “But I spent a good portion of my childhood in the Dominican Republic. My mother was Dominican, and my father was Nigerian. I suppose that’s where my accent comes from—a blend of cultures.”

The revelation caught me off guard, and I found myself even more fascinated by him. He was a man of many layers, each one more intriguing than the last. But I couldn’t let myself get too caught up in his charm. I had to stay focused.

“And you, Raya?” he asked, turning the conversation back to me. “What brought you to Orange County?”

I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. “I needed a fresh start,” I said, keeping my voice light. “Texas wasn’t exactly the place for me anymore.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly curious, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he took another sip of his wine, his gaze drifting out over the fields as we rode along. “A fresh start,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Sometimes, that’s exactly what we need.”

The conversation continued, a dance of words and subtle deflections. We both answered just enough to keep the other interested, but not enough to reveal too much. It was a battle of wits, and I found myself enjoying it more than I expected. There was something thrilling about matching my mind against his, even as the sexual tension between us simmered just beneath the surface.

As the sun began to set, casting the sky in ribbons of orange and pink, we returned to the estate. Maxwell led me along a winding landscaped path and series of short staircases that wrapped around the main house to a terrace along the back of the property. The architecture seemed to blend the finest luxury with the raw beauty of nature seamlessly. The floor beneath my feet was cool, smooth stone, polished to a soft sheen. Beyond the terrace lay an infinity pool, its surface shimmering like liquid glass. The water spilled over the edge, giving the illusion that it flowed straight into the canyon below. The view was breathtaking—stark cliffs and rugged landscape bathed in the golden light of the setting sun.

In the center of the terrace was a small table set for two, intimate and elegant. The tablecloth was white, crisp, and pristine, with a lace trim that fluttered lightly in the breeze. A simple centerpiece of deep red and purple flowers sat in the middle, their scent just barely noticeable, adding a touch of sweetness to the air. The place settings were impeccable—fine china edged in gold, silverware perfectly aligned, and crystal glasses that sparkled in the fading sunlight.

Maxwell pulled out my chair for me, his hand resting on the back of it for just a moment longer than necessary as I sat down. I could feel his presence, close and warm, and my pulse quickened. There was something about the way he moved, a graceful confidence that made me feel both drawn to him and wary all at once.

As soon as I settled into my seat, a server appeared, dressed in a sharp black suit, moving with a precision that spoke of years of experience. He set down the first course in front of us—a foie gras terrine with a slice of toasted brioche and fig chutney on the side. The dish looked almost too beautiful to eat, but as I took my first bite, the richness of the foie gras, balanced by the sweetness of the figs, melted in my mouth. The flavors were decadent, sophisticated—a perfect start to the meal. I’d never eaten like this before, and the experience tantalized my senses in a way I’d never known was possible.

The server returned with the second course, seared scallops resting on a bed of creamy cauliflower puree, drizzled with truffle oil. The scallops were cooked perfectly, their golden-brown crust giving way to a tender, buttery interior that practically dissolved on my tongue. The earthiness of the truffle oil added depth to the dish, making each bite more luxurious than the last.

For the main course, they brought out a perfectly grilled filet mignon, drizzled with a rich red wine reduction and served with roasted baby vegetables and a creamy potato gratin. The steak was so tender that I barely had to use my knife to cut it, the flavor so intense that I savored every bite. I could feel Maxwell watching me as I ate, his eyes dark and intense, like he was trying to read my thoughts, to uncover whatever secrets I might be hiding.

As we dined, the sun dipped lower in the sky, turning the canyon into a canvas of amber and rose. Maxwell poured us both a glass of deep red wine, its aroma rich with dark fruit and spice, perfectly complementing the meal. Everything about this dinner—the setting, the food, the wine—was designed to impress, and to disarm. I’d been planted in another world, one where luxury and indulgence were the norm. It would be all too easy to be swept away in the dream if I wasn’t careful. This dinner was more than just a meal. It was a test, a game, and Maxwell was playing it masterfully. I just hoped I could keep up.

I excused myself to go to the bathroom, and a sense of unease settled over me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this evening than what Maxwell was showing me. And as I made my way down the dimly lit hallway, that feeling only grew stronger.

It was then that I noticed something strange—a loose floorboard near the base of the wall. At first, I hesitated, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. But the curiosity was too strong to ignore. I crouched down, carefully prying the board up with my fingers, revealing a hidden compartment beneath. My heart pounded as I reached inside, pulling out a small key.

There was a door nearby, one I hadn’t noticed before. It was almost hidden in the shadows, blending seamlessly with the wall. With trembling hands, I tried the key in the lock. It turned easily, the door creaking open to reveal a narrow staircase leading down into darkness.

I knew I shouldn’t go down there. Every instinct was telling me to turn back, to leave this alone. But the need to know, to find out what Maxwell was hiding, was too strong. I took a deep breath and descended the stairs, each step echoing in the confined space.

At the bottom, I found myself in a small, dimly lit room. The air was cool and slightly musty, the scent of old books filling my nostrils. Shelves lined the walls, filled with documents, photographs, and other items that seemed out of place in a mansion like this. I moved cautiously, my eyes scanning the contents for anything that might give me a clue about Maxwell’s true nature.

There were ledgers with numbers I couldn’t quite make sense of, photographs of people I didn’t recognize, and maps marked with locations that seemed random at first glance. But as I pieced it together, a pattern began to emerge. These were more than just random items—they were pieces of a puzzle, one that hinted at something much larger and more dangerous than I had anticipated. I wished I had my phone, but it was back at the table in my clutch. I was kicking myself for leaving it behind. I couldn’t take pictures, couldn’t document what I was seeing. All I could do was try to remember as much as possible, to commit every detail to memory.

As I sifted through the papers, I lost track of time. The sound of distant footsteps brought me back to reality, the noise growing closer with each passing second. Panic surged through me as I realized someone was coming. I had to get out of here, but the room was small, with no obvious place to hide.

Thinking quickly, I ducked behind a bookshelf, pressing myself against the wall as tightly as possible. The footsteps grew louder, and I held my breath, praying that whoever it was wouldn’t find me.

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