Page 41 of Forbidden Fruit

I consider this, leaning back in my chair. “Hungry. Determined. Not so different, just with less gray hair.”

Her laugh is like music. “The gray suits you.”

“Does it?” I can’t help but smile.

“You know it does.” She holds my gaze boldly, and I see the woman beneath the polite exterior—confident, perceptive, strong in ways she doesn’t even recognize.

“Tell me something real about you, Becca,” I say suddenly. “Something most people don’t know.”

She blinks, surprised by the shift. Then, she contemplates, twirling her wine glass between slender fingers.

“I’ve never felt good enough,” she says, voice soft but steady. “For my parents, for Jack... I’ve spent my whole life trying to be perfect, to check all the right boxes.”

“And today?” I ask, heart hammering. “Out on the reef?”

Her eyes meet mine, dark and honest. “Today, I wasn’t trying to be anything. I was just... being.”

I reach across the table, my hand covering hers. Becca's skin is warm under my touch, and I feel her fingers instinctively curl around mine.

“That’s who I want to see,” I say. “Just you. Not the perfect daughter or the ideal girlfriend. Just Becca.”

She bites her lower lip, a gesture I’m finding increasingly distracting. “It’s scary,” she admits. “I don’t know if I remember how to be just me anymore.”

“I think you do,” I say, running my thumb across her knuckles. “I caught glimpses today.”

The ocean breeze picks up, making the candle between us flicker. Her white dress ripples like water, and I’m transfixed by how the fabric moves against her skin.

“Why are you so nice to me?” she asks suddenly.

The question catches me off guard. I consider deflecting with humor but decide she deserves honesty.

“Because you see things others don’t,” I say. “Because you’re kind without being weak. Because when you laugh, it’s real.” I pause, gathering courage. “And because I couldn't look away from the moment I met you.”

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t break eye contact. “I thought I was imagining it,” she whispers. “The way you looked at me sometimes.”

“You weren’t,” I admit. “I tried not to stare. God knows I tried.”

She stands suddenly, still holding my hand, and pulls me gently to my feet. We’re inches apart now, the dinner forgotten, the night air wrapping around us like silk.

“I don’t want to be the reason things are complicated with Jack,” she says, but there’s uncertainty in her voice.

“Jack and I were complicated long before you,” I tell her. “And whatever happens between us has nothing to do with him.”

Her hands rest against my chest, and my heartbeat accelerates. I reach up to cup her face, my thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone.

“Tell me to stop,” I murmur, giving her one last chance to pull away.

Instead, she rises on her tiptoes, bringing her lips closer to mine. “I don’t want you to stop,” she breathes.

The last thread of my restraint snaps. I close the distance between us, capturing Becca's mouth with mine. My lips caress hers with indulgence as if I’m consuming a rare delicacy I want to savor slowly. My hands slide down to her waist, feeling the delicate fabric of her dress and the warmth of her body beneath it. Her arms wind around my neck, pulling me closer. I taste the wine on her tongue and feel the soft moan that vibrates through her chest. The world narrows to just this—her body against mine, the sounds she makes when I trail kisses down her neck, the way her fingers tangle in my hair. When we finally pull apart, our breaths are ragged, and my body burns with desire.

“Wow,” A deep, throaty chuckle vibrates through my body.

“My thoughts exactly,” she murmurs, her forehead pressed against my chest.

“Becca,” I whisper against her skin. “As much as I want this, we should slow down.”

She pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, her pupils dilated with desire. “Should we?”

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