Page 19 of Forbidden Virgin Mate

Chapter 9 - Tanya

I'm such an idiot. I could have left it there and not replied to Zack’s message. I don't think he would have pursued me if I'd made it clear I just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened.

But the truth is, I can't forget. I'm not sure I even want to. The things Zack did to my body feel like brands. I don't think my body will ever forget what his hands felt like as he gripped my hips, thrusting in and out of me. My inner walls clench at just the thought.

I ignored his text most of the day, trying desperately to distract myself. My mom kept calling and texting, but I sent her straight to voicemail, convinced she'd be able to tell something was different about me if we spoke. She's always had an unnerving way of getting me to tell her things, and this is something I can't possibly admit to her.

I no longer believe my own bullshit about making my revenge sweeter by getting Zack to like me. I slept with my family's enemy because I wanted to. So, I'm basically betraying both him and my parents now.

I strip out of my work clothes and walk toward the shower. I hear my mom's ringtone in the background again and take a deep, calming breath before ignoring it and stepping into the steam. I know she wants an update. She's practically salivating at the thought of destroying Zack and Saffy. I’m sure if my dad is sober, he is, too, though it's more likely he doesn't know what's going on.

Everything is working perfectly. Another two transactions will leave the pack accounts this week. This time, they won't go into Zack's business account but into a new offshore account I've set up in his name. The account is hidden, of course, but still traceable if they have the bank really look into it, which I'm sure they will.

So why do I feel no satisfaction? As my parents deteriorated over the last couple of years and talked more about revenge, I thought helping them achieve it would give them a renewed focus in life. But that doesn't seem to be happening; they've only become more obsessed and bitter. Any concerns I voice to them are immediately squashed. I want to give them what they want, but now that I'm here doing it, it doesn't feel like how I thought it would.

After my shower, I change for bed and send a quick text to my mom that I'll speak to her tomorrow. Her bitterness is exhausting, and as I sink into bed, I try to ignore her voice in my head. I also try not to dwell on the bubbling anticipation in my belly at the thought of seeing Zack tomorrow. My cheeks blush as I imagine his strong hands on me again.

The next day, Zack picks me up early, and we drive to his town. Apart from a brief kiss when I got in the truck, we keep our distance as we park along the main street. As there's a market setting up for the weekend, we head into the store to grab coffees to go so we can wander around.

Just when I start to think Zack might not be interested in me anymore, he reaches over and takes my hand as we walk toward the market. The contact sends a tingle of electricity up my arm, and I jump. He turns to me and grins. I'm almost certain he feels it, too.

We walk hand in hand around the market. "I love how wholesome these local markets are,” I say. “It's just not what I grew up with."

He chuckles. "You don't have markets in San Francisco?"

"Very funny," I say. "We do, but they're not the same. These are all families and local businesses. It just feels less corporate."

"I'll have to take your word for it. Not sure I've ever seen a corporate market stall before." He's teasing me, and I playfully punch his shoulder.

As we approach the second row of stalls, I notice a few men standing nearby, whispering and looking at us. I try to ignore them, but then one of them points right at us.

"That's weird," I murmur, and Zack glances at the men. I don't recognize them from my pack, and I can't imagine why anyone from Zack's would be hostile toward me, too.

Zack seems to read my mind, probably remembering the women at the fair. He squeezes my hand. "It's not you," he says, pulling me along the path to some outdoor seating in the center of the market. We sit down, and I warm my hands on my coffee cup, waiting for him to explain.

"There've been some issues with some charity funds I help manage," he begins, and I try to keep my face neutral. "Some money's gone missing, and I'm having to clear my name. To be honest, I didn't think it was common knowledge yet. But after getting a few dirty looks today, I guess it's gotten out."

I can feel my face begin to burn, and I'm not sure if it's from trying to look shocked or from being embarrassed. I take a sip of my coffee to buy a little time before replying.

"Well, that doesn't seem like something you'd do," I say evenly. "I know a thing or two about ignoring the haters, so you should do just that—ignore them."

Some kids run by and wave to Zack. He tries to look cheerful as their parents mutter lackluster greetings, clearly not wanting to stop and talk to him.

I stand and pull him to his feet. "Come on. You can give me a walking tour of your town."

He flashes me a genuine smile before leading me on a tour around his small town, showing me the landmarks and local parks. He laughs at my enthusiasm for small-town life, but the more time I spend in these little towns, the less I miss the city I grew up in.

Driving back to my place, we put on the soft rock station we listened to last time and sing along to the cheesy songs. He's laughing at something the DJ said when I look at him, and a twinge of profound guilt surges through me. He looked so sad at the market, so embarrassed and confused. Not unlike how I've felt at times since coming back. And I'm sure how my parents felt when they were first accused.

I should be loving this ringside view of my plan working, but I'm not. Instead, I feel sick.

We pull up outside my house, and Zack seems to notice I've gone quiet. "I completely understand if you want to leave things with us while I clear my name," he says, looking straight ahead as though he doesn't want to witness my reaction.

This is it. This is the moment I can extract myself from this situation. I can get some distance, set up the final transfers, and be gone. I just need to tell him to give me some space.

One moment passes, then another. The words don’t come, and the sound of my heart beating fills my ears. The next moment, I'm sliding across the bench seat and straddling his lap. He grips my hips to keep me steady.

"I—" he begins, but I cut him off by kissing him.

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