Your Forever Love (The Bennett Family #3)

by Layla Hagen

  “Okay. I’ll order pizza. Do you know if she likes it?”

  “Everyone likes pizza.”

  “Right.” Trying not to be too obvious, I fish for more information. “Any dessert?”

  “I want cheesecake. Oh, and Pippa loves tiramisu. She ordered it a couple times.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Bingo. The least I can do for Pippa is make sure I order her favorite dessert. The urge to find out everything there is to know about her hits me hard. I thought the outing yesterday would be enough to satisfy my curiosity, but far from it. The more she spoke, the more I wanted to know. Most of all, I wanted to erase that sadness in her eyes when she spoke of her ex. It’s incomprehensible to me how that moron could spend years with her and not love her. I’d worship her. Hell, I’m worshiping her already, and she isn’t even mine. This is the first time in years that I don’t feel the need to keep a woman at arms’ length. On the contrary, I can’t seem to get enough of her. I’m walking a dangerous line—we both are. We also can’t seem to help ourselves.

  Julie crawls under the bed, emerging with a neon pink sock after a few seconds. She pushes her hair out of her face, frowning. Then she dives under the bed again. Leaning against the doorframe, I ask, “Honey, why’s all your stuff under the bed?”

  No answer.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Nail polish,” her muffled voice comes out. “I promised Pippa….” The rest of the sentence fades, and I leave her to finish her search.

  ***

  At three o’clock, the doorbell rings. Opening the front door, my jaw nearly drops. What in God’s name is the woman wearing? That thing looks large enough for five Pippas. She barely steps in when Julie storms down the hallway, holding a small bottle of nail polish in front of her like it’s a diamond.

  “I found it,” Julie announces.

  “Awesome.” Pippa gives her a genuine smile. “I’ll do your nails if you do mine.”

  “Deal.”

  Opening her purse, Pippa takes out a foil with what appear to be tiny stickers on it, and my daughter sighs. “Oooh, they are nice.”

  “Promised you I’d find half-moon nail stickers, didn’t I?”

  They talk about the stickers for a few minutes, completely ignoring me. I simply watch them, amazed by the intense excitement on my daughter’s face. I instantly tune out whenever Julie starts talking about this stuff. Pippa listens and shares her opinion. Hell, she even seems to enjoy the conversation.

  Finally, Julie heads into the living room, and Pippa turns to me, offering me a shy, “Hello, Eric.”

  “Welcome.”

  “Where is Ms. Blackwell?”

  “She has the day off.”

  Even though her dress doesn’t show anything, I know exactly where the curve of her waist meets her breasts, and my eyes linger there. I’ve been paying attention to her more than I like to admit. When I look up again, she draws in a sharp breath.

  Then Julie calls her, and they spend the next fifteen minutes doing each other’s nails. Afterward, we settle onto the couch, enjoying the movie and eating pizza. Julie sits between Pippa and me, looking happier than I’ve ever seen her. I watch the two of them more than the movie. At some point, Pippa stretches her arm on the backrest of the couch. I mirror her stance and our hands meet in the middle. I stroke the back of her hand with my thumb, and intertwine our fingers. Pippa stares at the TV, but I can see her chest rising up and down with labored breaths. We stay like this for the rest of the movie. I’m not sure where I’m going with this, but it feels right. I like having her here, watching her have fun with Julie, as much as I liked spending time with her yesterday. I think I could watch Pippa do nothing at all and still find it fascinating.

  After the first movie finishes, Julie leaps off the couch, announcing it’s time for dessert.

  “What’s for dessert?” Pippa asks.

  “Cheesecake for Dad and me, and tiramisu for you,” Julie answers. “We ordered it especially for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We can bring the dessert,” Julie says, taking Pippa’s hand and directing her to the kitchen.

  “All right. I’ll prepare the second movie.”

  Low chatter comes from the kitchen as I pull up the second movie, and then I hear a scream. Instantly, I jump to my feet and stride their way. Julie emerges from the kitchen, looking pale.

  “Blood,” she mutters.

  “Are you okay?”

  She nods. “Pippa cut herself.” With that, Julie rushes past me into the living room. She hates the sight of blood. As I step into the kitchen, I discover she’s not the only one. Pippa holds her finger over the sink, looking away from it. There is only one small cut on that finger. I grab the first aid kit from one of the cabinets and take out a Band-Aid. Standing in front of her, I carefully wrap the adhesive bandage around her finger, fighting not to laugh.

  “Stop it,” she says.

  “What?”

  “You know what. You’re laughing at me.” She’s still looking away from the finger and away from me.

  “I’m sorry. I thought people get over the fear of blood after a certain age.”

  “Weirdly enough, I don’t have a problem with other people’s blood, only my own.” She breathes slowly as if trying to calm herself.

  “There, done,” I say. Slowly, Pippa turns her head, glancing briefly at her finger. This close, her feminine scent catches me off guard. It’s sweet and spicy.

  I caress her jaw, tipping her head up a notch. “I like your perfume.”

  “Thanks.” She shifts slightly, and her full breasts press against my chest. My reaction is instantaneous. A groan I mask poorly reverberates in my throat. Pippa licks her lower lip, averting her gaze, but she doesn’t pull away. Her sweet, warm body is nestled against mine as if we belong together. I’m fighting against my every instinct.

  “Fuck.” My voice trembles. “I want to kiss you so badly.”

  Pippa shakes her head, almost imperceptibly. “Bad idea.”

  “Yeah, very bad,” I agree. “Because I couldn’t stop at one kiss. I’d want to taste every inch of your skin, find out what you like and take you over the edge.”

  “Eric,” she whispers, fisting my shirt. My name in her mouth stirs a movement in my boxers. She is so close to me that I feel her pressing her thighs together. I nearly lose my control.

  That’s when I realize she’s trembling lightly in my arms. She’s fighting this as much as I am. I kiss her forehead, my mouth lingering on her skin for a few beats until we both calm down.

  “Is the blood gone?” My daughter’s voice resounds from the living room.

  “Yes,” I reply. “We’ll come with the desserts in a second.”

  Except we don’t. We need longer to pull ourselves together, and when we finally return to the living room, Julie says, “Dad, I miss your grill.” Turning to Pippa, she continues, “He makes delicious chicken wings with honey and ketchup sauce.”

  “Sounds delicious,” Pippa says. She senses no danger, but I already know where Julie’s going with this.

  “Why don’t you cook some tomorrow? I’m sure Pippa will love them.”

  Yep, exactly as I suspected.

  “I have plans tomorrow,” Pippa says quickly, throwing me a pleading look. “Alice and I are doing something together.”

  “Next weekend?” Julie pushes. I almost laugh as realization dawns on Pippa. I briefly wonder if Alice and Nadine corrupted my daughter when they went to the aquarium with her.

  “I suppose I could stop by next Saturday,” Pippa mutters.

  “Excellent,” Julie exclaims.

  Pippa and I exchange a glance, and one thing becomes clear. Next time I am alone with this woman, I won’t be able to hold back.

  Chapter Seven

  Pippa

  “What do you mean you’re not coming to the gym?” I ask Alice, clutching my phone tightly. I’m standing in the foyer of the gym, my usual meeting point with Ali
ce. The place is surprisingly empty for a Tuesday afternoon.

  “I have a meeting, sorry,” she replies.

  “And you didn’t tell me because…?” I tap my foot with impatience, eying the exit.

  “You would’ve skipped the gym. Admit it.”

  I sigh into the phone. “Fine, I admit it.”

  “But now you’re already there, so be a good girl and work out.”

  “Your motivational speech isn’t working unless you’re here with me,” I volley back. I hate exercising with a passion, but I love my sweets. I spent my early twenties avoiding any kind of exercising, relying on a young metabolism to get by. I was twenty-six the first time my sister dragged me inside a gym. I’d like to say I never looked back, but I have. I look back every time, hoping I can talk Alice out of it. Now that I’m alone… Well, I was a very good girl before Sebastian’s wedding, working out three times a week, keeping my eyes on the prize: rocking my dress. I’ve been floundering ever since the great event.

  “I want a picture as proof that you worked out today,” Alice says.

  Damn, my sister knows me well.

  “No need to be so controlling.” I let out a dramatic sigh.

  “Suck it up, sis. Think about the Jell-O.”

  “Eww. Fine, I’ll work out.”

  “Have to go,” Alice says. “My appointment is here. You might run into Max and Logan. They said they’d hit the gym in the afternoon.” That wouldn’t surprise me. All my brothers are sporty, and the gym is two blocks away from Bennett Enterprises.

  I shut off my phone, securing my equipment bag over the shoulder, and walk to the changing rooms’ area. You can do this, Pippa. Think about the Jell-O. After coercing me into my first ever gym visit, Alice and I went out for drinks. I was complaining about my sore muscles when my sister pointed to a Jell-O the woman at a nearby table had ordered.

  “That’s how your ass will end up looking if you don’t exercise,” she said. To this day, that remains a strong motivator. I like my sweets, but I like having a firm booty too.

  I change into my sports bra and Lycra pants, putting my hair up in a ponytail. Then I brace myself for an hour of hell.

  I start with the treadmill, putting on earbuds, turning up the volume, and listen to my favorite songs. I’m halfway through my set time (fifteen minutes) when I peek up from the timer and glance at the entrance. Max and Logan hover at the reception. Eric is with them. I haven’t seen him since last Saturday because Julie has started summer school, so she won’t come to my office anymore.

  I stop the treadmill, happy for a reason to interrupt my running, and head to the reception.

  “Well, hello, fellow Bennetts,” I tell my brothers. “Alice told me I might see you here.”

  They each kiss my cheek and then hop on the stairs leading to the upper floor, which is where they sometimes do their workouts. Eric stays put.

  “I didn’t know you work out here,” I say.

  Eric gives me a crooked grin, and I fidget in my spot. “I signed up a while ago. I work out four times a week. It’s the best place to clear my mind, and it gives me energy.”

  Oh, so he’s one of those weirdos who thinks the gym is therapy, coffee, and cake all rolled into one….

  My skepticism must register on my face, because he asks, “You disagree?”

  “I’m not a believer. I think the gym is a necessary evil.”

  “Working out is good for relieving stress,” he continues.

  “So is eating sweets. I prefer that. Exercising can be dangerous.”

  “How so?”

  “Look around. Every machine here is a potential death trap.”

  “So, what are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been tricked by my sister. But I’ll take your advice and try to relieve stress. This week will be rough.”

  “How so?”

  “I’m trying to finalize some new designs that have been giving me headaches,” I explain.

  “Good luck.”

  “See you around,” I tell him, and continue with my routine. Over the next half hour, I discover one of the few advantages of the gym—spying on Eric.

  He’s alone because my brothers do their entire workout on the floor above us. The man is a work of art, and he dedicatedly works out every muscle group. Seeing his skin damp with sweat while he occasionally grunts out with efforts is torture. I’m almost salivating as I watch him. Once in a while, he looks at me as if he can feel my stare, and a white-hot current runs through me every time.

  After I finish my routine, I stop by the health bar behind the reception and drink a fresh orange juice. This is my favorite place in the entire gym, mainly because I’m allowed to sit and do nothing, but also because it’s empty most of the time.

  Since I’m the only one here right now, I kick off my sneakers and prop my feet on the armchair in front of me. My heart slams against my ribcage with nauseating speed, and not because of my run on the treadmill. Knowing Eric is here does things to me. It makes me nervous, and at the same time, it gives me an odd reassurance. I love being around him, and I haven’t even remotely liked being around a man in a long time. In fact, ever since I filed for divorce, whenever a man not related to me entered a room I made a point to avoid any interactions beyond the necessary ones. My danger radar was up at all times, and all men failed it. But when Eric enters the room, I instantly look forward to any interaction with him. It might be because until now, everything he’s said prompted one of three reactions in me: laugh, swoon, or melt. Sometimes all three.

  “You’re cheating,” Eric says, startling me. He stands before me, holding a glass of orange juice himself. I rise to my feet, almost flattening myself against the wall behind me in an effort to put some distance between us. All I manage is to trap myself between the hard wall and Eric. His shirt sticks to him, and it’s a damn fine sight.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, trying hard not to look below his jawline.

  “You’re breaking the rules,” he replies. “We said no hot looks. You gave me plenty.”

  “We broke some other rules too on Friday and Saturday. It’s your fault anyway. You’re wearing clothes that show off your best parts, and you were making manly sounds.”

  He laughs, placing his glass of orange juice on a nearby table. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I lower my voice. “You know… grunting and stuff.” Without thinking, I add, “It sounds sexy.” How do I always talk myself into a hole when I’m around this man? Not only is my danger radar not working, but my hormones are wreaking havoc on my thoughts.

  “You have a dirty mind, Pippa Bennett.”

  “Only when I’m around you,” I add. “I promise not to do it again.”

  “Don’t.” He latches his eyes on mine, and the intensity is so powerful it weakens my knees.

  “What?”

  “Don’t promise. You won’t be able to keep that promise, just like I’m not.” His fingers find their way under my chin, and he tilts my head up.

  Without breaking eye contact, his thumb inches up my skin, reaching my lower lip. My chest heaves up and down. He drags his finger from one corner of my mouth to the other with exquisite slowness, setting my lower body on fire.

  “I’m a man, Pippa Bennett. I thought I could resist you, but I was wrong. I want to taste you. I want to kiss you until you tremble beneath me.”

  I’m shaking already. “Bad idea,” I mouth, as I did on Saturday, but it has no effect on him this time. What makes it especially bad is that I want this so much it hurts.

  “I know. Very bad.” His voice is a whisper. “Just one kiss.”

  Dropping his hand to my waist, he tilts his head forward until I can feel his hot breath on me, and it undoes me. Our mouths meet in a clash, his lips covering mine with desperation. His tongue searches, probes, tastes, turning me into a bundle of need. Eric is fierce, and I love it. His kiss spurs something deep inside me—a desire for more. Every inch of my body screams for him. I become acutely awa
re of his hard chest pressed against mine, his fingers digging into my waist.

  When we pull apart, gasping for air, his eyes hold the same kind of heat his kiss did. He rests his forehead against mine, cupping my cheek with one hand. I want to memorize everything about this moment, the warmth of his body, the tenderness of his touch.

  “Say something,” he whispers.

  “I don’t know what to say, except that I want more.”

  He pulls back a notch.

  “I’m going to kiss you again,” he announces. “Since we’re on that slippery slope anyway. You need to be thoroughly kissed, and I’m up for the task. All good things come in twos. One kiss wasn’t nearly enough.”

  This time, when his mouth claims mine, his hands don’t rest on my waist anymore. One reaches for my thigh, the other for my neck. My fingers find their way up his chest, feeling him up shamelessly until they reach his neck and then his thick, soft hair. I tug at it, pushing him closer to me. God, this isn’t enough. Two kisses will never be enough. The longer I feel his mouth on mine and his hands on my body, the more I want. A loud bang in the background startles us, and we pull apart, both breathing heavily.

  The girl in charge of the bar looks at us apologetically. “I dropped my tray. Sorry.” Then she scurries away. Eric and I are standing a few feet away from each other. I don’t dare to walk closer to him. Seeing his messed-up hair and luscious mouth while his taste is still so fresh on my lips might push me to do something reckless… like kissing him again.

  His next words confirm that I’m not the only one entertaining such thoughts. “I will not come near you again now, or I’ll kiss you senseless.”

  “Yeah. It’s best if we stop at two kisses.” I beam, finally looking at him. Eric smiles back.

  “See you at my house on Saturday.”

  Oh, crap. I’d forgotten about that.

  “See you,” I whisper as he leaves.

  How on earth will I go through with it?

  Chapter Eight

  Pippa