Page 36 of Taboo
I squeeze his hand, my fingers trembling, and take a breath, steadying myself. “Don’t torture yourself, Max. I don’t feel dirty. I don’t regret it at all. Last night was…” I pause, my cheeks flushing, the memory of his body on mine sparking heat low in my belly. “Everything I’ve wanted for so long.”
His eyes widen, a flicker of hope, and I push forward, the words spilling out, reckless but true. “I’ve been thinking, Max.Sara’s gone for two weeks, and no one’s here but Jason, you and me. What if… what if we let ourselves have this? What if we tell Maria and the maids not to come in. You can cook, and I’ll clean. Just these two weeks. And we’ll be together, really together, like we always wanted. No one needs to know—it’ll be our secret, like all the secrets we kept that summer. When Sara comes back, we stop. We go back to being… family.” My voice cracks on the word, a lie I’m forcing myself to live, and I swallow hard, my heart pounding. “I’ve never known another man, Max. I couldn’t. It’s always been you. So let’s have this time, and then we let it go. One more secret, just for us.”
He stares at me, his jaw slack, his eyes dark with awe, with love, and something like disbelief. His hand tightens on mine, his thumb tracing circles, and he shakes his head, a soft laugh escaping, raw and reverent.
“Amelia, you’re incredible,” he says thickly. “I was just thinking the same thing, so I sent the staff away this morning—Maria, Lisa, all of them. Even the gardeners. Two weeks paid vacation. It’s just us now, you, me, and Jason. This house is ours, and I want every second of these two weeks with you. No apologies, no regrets, just us.”
My heart leaps, a wild, reckless joy flooding me, and I laugh, a soft, shaky sound that feels like release. “You already sent them away?” I ask, my voice filled with astonishment and disbelief, and he nods, his smile boyish, the same grin from that summer, and it’s like we’re kids again, stealing moments in the attic.
“All of them,” he says, his eyes gleaming. “I’m going to work from home. So we’ve got this time, Amelia. Just us.”
I lean forward, unable to stop myself, and kiss him, my lips crashing into his, hungry and fierce, a seal on our pact. His hands find my face, cupping my cheeks, his fingers tangling in my hair, and the kiss deepens, his tongue sweeping mine, a heat that consumes me. It’s not like last night’s desperation—this isa vow, a promise of two weeks to live the love we’ve buried. I pull back, breathless, my forehead resting against his, our breath mingling, warm and unsteady.
“Come on,” he says, his voice low, playful, standing and pulling me with him. “I made breakfast. Your favorite—French toast and strawberries. Jason’s waiting.” He steps back, his eyes roaming over me, still naked under the quilt, and a grin tugs at his lips, a spark of mischief in his gaze. “But first, you’ll need clothes. Jason will notice if I’m walking around hard all morning.”
I laugh and slide out of bed, deliberately letting the duvet fall away.
His eyes darken, tracing my body. “Don’t, Amelia,” he warns.
I feel the heat of his gaze, a caress that makes my skin prickle. He’s right. The one thing we shouldn’t do is let Jason guess that we are lovers. I’m Aunt Amelia. I must always remember that.
Quickly, I grab a pair of cotton shorts and a gray tank top from the dresser and pull them on under his watchful eyes. His stare is a mix of hunger and restraint. The shorts hug my hips, but the tank top is old, loose, and unsexy. I step closer, my bare feet silent on the rug, and take his hand, my fingers lacing with his, warm and sure.
“Let’s go,” I say, my voice soft.
Then we head downstairs, side by side, but not touching. The house feels different—empty and all ours, the absence of staff, a freedom I hadn’t realized I craved. The kitchen smells of cinnamon and bacon, the air warm with the sizzle of French toast on a tray, a bowl of vibrant strawberries and blueberries beside it. Jason sits at the table, his dark curls bouncing as he swings his legs, a shy smile lighting his gray eyes when he sees us.
“Morning, Aunt Amelia!” he chirps. His voice is brighter than last night, and my heart swells. I will not allow guilt into myheart. I will simply enjoy every second of these next two weeks. They are a gift from the universe. A consolation prize for not winning the real prize.
I slide into the chair beside him. Max takes the seat across, and we begin to eat. The bacon is perfectly cooked, the French toast is sweet and golden, and the berries are bursting with fresh juice. Everything is perfect.
Max’s eyes meet mine over the table, a silent agreement passing between us—two weeks, our secret, our stolen time. The tension is there, a current humming beneath the surface, but it’s laced with a fragile joy I’ll hold onto, even though I know it can’t last. It’s not meant to.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
AMELIA
About an hour later, the breakfast plates and dishes have been cleared, and the kitchen returned to its gleaming state. The sweet tang of berries and cinnamon lingers on my tongue as I steal a glance at Max across the breakfast table. His sparkling eyes catch mine, a spark of mischief beneath the warmth, and my heart skips, a reckless beat that hasn’t slowed since he kissed me awake.
Jason’s chatter fills the air, his small voice bright as he describes something he learned about dinosaurs and how they hunted. His gray eyes are wide with wonder. I smile and nod at how animated he is, but Max’s presence is a current, pulling me under, making every nerve tingle with anticipation. We were at it all night long, but already I’m greedy for more, my body craving his touch like air.
Max yawns and stretches, his black T-shirt pulling across his chest. He ruffles Jason’s curls. “Buddy, why don’t you go play games for a little while? You’d like that, right?”
“Heck yeah!” Jason yells.
I can’t help my laughter.
“Go on, and I’ll come up and check on you in a bit,” Max tells him. His voice is casual, but there’s an edge, a hunger I recognize, and my pulse quickens.
Jason nods happily and hops off his chair, his footsteps pattering toward the den. And just like that, we’re left alone in the sunlit dining room, the chandelier casting soft prisms across the walnut table.
Max’s eyes lock onto mine, a smoldering intensity that makes my pulse stutter, my skin prickling under his scrutiny. I’m hyper-aware of him—his black T-shirt clinging to his chest, the faint stubble shadowing his jaw, the memory of his body pressed tight against mine last night.
The fire hasn’t cooled even slightly since the day I laid eyes on him.
Reckless. I feel wildly reckless.
