Guarding Temptation: A Dirty British Novella

by Talia Hibbert

  “And why the fuck did they keep bringing up your record?” He rubbed a free hand over his beard and scowled at the police department logo imprinted into the paving stones in front of them. “What possible relevance could that have?”

  “James—”

  “It’s not like you’re a fucking murderer! It’s not like you run around assaulting old ladies! So you tied yourself to a few trees—”

  “James.”

  “So you obstructed some traffic—”

  “James! You’re shouting.”

  “I…” He came back to himself, feeling as surprised as Nina looked by his outburst. Slowly, James looked around to discover they were still standing in front of the police station, passers-by gawking at the huge black guy shouting himself senseless. As he made eye contact with each one, the watchers shook themselves and hurried off about their business. Which, considering James’s present mood, was probably wise of them.

  “Come on,” Nina said firmly. She tightened her grip on his hand, dragging him down the street until they came to the area’s little park. Daffodils stood to attention in cheerful clumps about the grass, children playing on the climbing frame metres away. James took a breath of spring-scented air and let Nina shove him on to a bench.

  “Now,” she said, plonking herself beside him. “Do we really need to have a conversation about why you should not lose your temper in a police station, James?”

  He sighed. “No.”

  “Would you like to explain why you recklessly put yourself at risk over my feelings?”

  Because your feelings mean the world. He sat down beside her, rubbing a hand over his tired face. “I didn’t think.”

  “Clearly fucking not. Do you see yourself? Better yet, do you know how they see you?”

  “Yes.”

  “As a threat,” she snapped, as if he hadn’t spoken.

  He turned to face her. “Nina. Sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

  She nodded stiffly. He heard her swallow.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I’m sorry. Come here.”

  She let him pull her closer—maybe a little too close, with her thigh pressed against his, and his arm around her shoulders. But fuck it. Now they were sitting like this, he could feel her shaking. She needed him.

  He needed her, too.

  James sat back against the bench, pulling her impossibly closer, and watched the birds hop across the dewy grass. When Nina snuggled into him, her hand resting against his belly, he told himself that she was seeking shelter from the cool morning breeze. That was all.

  He’d had a moment of wild hope yesterday, when they’d talked about that first, forbidden time between them. He’d thought that she might hear the subtext in his awkward speech and tell him that it was okay, that things between them were different, that being with him had meant something.

  But she hadn’t said any of those things, because she wasn’t a liar.

  He swallowed his disappointment for what felt like the thousandth time and tried to enjoy what he had: Nina. Her friendship. Her presence.

  The memories of her moaning for you last night.

  No. Not that. That was off-limits if he wanted to maintain his sanity.

  As if she sensed his disquiet, Nina straightened with sudden energy, narrowing her eyes in his direction. “You know what we need?”

  James was instantly wary. “No. But I do know that when you get that look on your face, it never ends well for me.”

  She laughed, alight with a determination he unfortunately recognised, a determination that meant she was plotting. “Come on,” she said, and then she dragged him to his feet.

  “You cannot be serious.”

  “Oh, but I can,” Nina purred, a wicked smile tilting her lips. James really could’ve done without that smile right now: he was still furious at the shitty police response, and he was incredulous at where Nina had brought him. Add reluctant lust to the list of his current emotions, and he was in danger of getting a headache.

  And, much to his shame, a dickache. Because Nina had smiled like that on the day he’d gotten between her thighs, lips curving in pleasure before his tongue slipped inside her and that mouth of hers parted on a filthy moan…

  “James?” She patted his arm. “You okay?”

  Shit.

  Focus, Foster—on something other than the memory of how good her pussy tastes.

  “I’m just trying not to stroke out over the fact that you’ve brought me to Bounce Nation,” he scoffed, scowling at his surroundings with a renewed sense of alarm. The children’s amusement centre was located on the top floor of what used to be a lace factory. The brick walls and high ceilings were now splashed in purple and grey alien decor, with netted-off sections of wall-to-floor trampolines and bouncy castles placed all around. On the far side of the room was a concession stand selling radioactive-looking Slush Puppies and rubbery hotdogs. Screaming siblings and balloon-waving birthday parties surrounded them in the queue for Bounce Nation wrist bands, which at least made for a solid distraction from impure thoughts.

  “Trust me,” Nina said sternly as she tugged him forward in line. “This is gonna be great.”

  “This place is for children, Cupcake,” he muttered, throwing furtive glances around. Could any of these kid-corralling women tell he was lusting after his best friend’s little sister right now? Probably. Mums always knew things. In a second, they’d all start edging away from him like he was radioactive.

  “Actually, there’s an adults only section,” Nina informed him with a pert little grin. “Apparently, it’s great cardio.”

  “Oh, because we love cardio.”

  She stuck her tongue out. “Speak for yourself, James Foster. I’ll have you know I occasionally walk to places, sometimes.”

  The unselfconscious pleasure on her face, so rarely seen these days, was mildly hypnotic. James found himself torn between capturing it like the precious thing it was, and letting it soar unhindered like a shooting star. Maybe making a fool of himself on a children’s trampoline wouldn’t be so bad, if it kept Nina in this good a mood.

  He wasn’t entirely confident that these things, ‘adult section’ or not, would hold his weight when bouncing around, but… “Would this make you happy, Cupcake?”

  She rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t fade. “I think it would make both of us happier. Endorphins, and whatnot. That’s the point.”

  For such a prickly little thing, she sure did seem to care about his moods. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

  Her eyes lit up, and he was ruined.

  “I don’t trust this,” James said in an adorably grumpy tone of voice. A frown creased his brow as he jabbed a foot onto the empty trampoline platform of the adult section. Nina rolled her eyes, forced her thoughts away from the plump curve of his arse in those dove grey trousers, and rushed past him onto the trampoline.

  “Come on,” she ordered, sounding militant even to her own ears. “You promised me fun. We will have fun.”

  His expression softened into familiar exasperation. “Alright, Cupcake,” he snorted. “Keep your hair on.”

  Brattiness always worked with James. Perhaps she should try pouting a little the next time she caught him with his dick out, and he might touch her or kiss her or say her name or—

  No, no, no. There would not be a next time, because she had made the mature and adult decision to practice the fine art of staying her arse in bed for as long as she lived under James’s roof. The other night had been…

  Well.

  But it couldn’t be repeated.

  Her heart was about as bruised as her pussy was satisfied. Because she couldn’t forget that James didn’t really want her—not properly. Not in the daylight, not in his right mind. There was no use letting that fact sting. She just had to be a grownup about it and stop leaning into the blade.

  But damn, he made it so hard.

  James was biting his lower lip in concentration as he strode—yes, strode, with impressive balan
ce—onto the springy platform, his expression as suspicious as his steps were aggressive.

  “I don’t think you can dominate the trampoline, James,” she called over the sound of her own tentative bounces.

  He looked up at her, dark eyes gleaming as he arched a wicked eyebrow. “Can’t I?”

  And God, that gravel voice and that solid jaw, and his shirt sleeves rolled up to expose those thick, tattooed forearms of his… She was dizzy. She was absolutely dizzy. She moved forward, everything about him hooking into her and dragging her closer. He was so goddamn sweet, this man, doing whatever it took to calm and entertain her. Ever since they’d discovered that the address shared as Nina’s… wasn’t, she’d wondered if his protection might disappear—or, at best, fade away. Clearly, she wasn’t in as much danger as they’d worried. But she was still anxious as hell—and without her ever saying so, James had done all it took to support her and keep her steady.

  Maybe that was why he’d let them cross the line again, last night. Maybe he could tell she needed it. After all, James was protective enough to take his look after Nina mission really, really far.

  She should probably be upset by that idea—that they’d essentially had pity sex. Or therapy sex. Or something like that. But whenever she thought about it, all she could focus on was how horrifically hot he’d looked: sprawled naked on that sofa like a huge, lusty god, his cock thick and near purple in his hand.

  He was just as handsome now, too, even fully clothed. Watching her with a fading smile, awareness creeping into his gaze, resistance written in the curl of his fists and the regretful curve of his mouth.

  Ah, that mouth. Gorgeous and infuriatingly responsible and so determined to reject her.

  “Nina,” he said softly as she approached.

  She didn’t need him to finish that sentence. Nina, don’t.

  Shoving her clearly unwanted feelings away, she pasted on a smile—as if she could will away this electric tension by wanting it enough. James certainly seemed to think that was possible. “Alright. Time to stop stalling. Let’s do this,” she said, and then she bounced as hard as she possibly could.

  Big mistake.

  Nina wasn’t blessed in the boob department—hers could best be described as modest. But it became instantly clear that her everyday T-shirt bra wasn’t sturdy enough for the Tits on Tour: Bounce Nation Edition.

  Her huge bounce resulted in an earthquake-level boob rebound that practically slapped her in the face. She yelped with more embarrassment than actual pain, grabbed the girls with both hands, then swung stricken eyes to James.

  Who was doubled over with laughter, his section of trampoline shaking beneath him.

  Just like that, Nina found herself grinning. She was giggling along, actually, even as she gasped with mock outrage, “Are you laughing at my pain, sir?”

  This only made James’s laughter worse. In fact, for a moment, she was slightly worried he might be having some sort of fit. “Jesus Christ, Nina,” he finally said. “You looked so fucking surprised, anyone would think you’d just borrowed that chest for the weekend.”

  “I didn’t think!” she protested.

  “Clearly!”

  “Stop laughing. For all you know, I’m suffering with frightful boob bruising as we speak.”

  Predictably, James’s laughter dissolved into a concerned frown. He looked her up and down as if his eyeballs were capable of MRI scans. “Well, are you?”

  “No,” she admitted, “but I think I’ll have to, er, hold on to these if I’m going to have any fun today.” She gave her boobs an awkward shake, as if he might have forgotten their topic of discussion some time in the last five seconds.

  “Fine,” James said, and for one delicious moment she could have sworn that, beneath the calmness of the word, he was blushing. But then he shrugged and looked away. “Hold on to your tits, then.”

  “Said the vicar to the— argh!” Nina broke off as James burst into movement, jumping next to her with enough force to send her flying halfway across the space.

  She landed on her arse a few metres away, bouncing, bouncing, bouncing until she came to a gradual stop.

  At which point, her pulse racing, all the stress of the past weeks melting away, she grinned wide. And said just one word.

  “Again.”

  James smiled back at her. “And here I worried you hadn’t thought the whole ‘giant James’ thing through.”

  “You should know by now,” she said as she rose to her feet, “that nothing about you is too big for me.”

  “Really,” he drawled, folding his arms, refusing to take the bait.

  Didn’t matter; this wasn’t just a tease, it was the truth. “You, James Foster,” she murmured, “are just right.”

  Chapter Six

  On their way out of Bounce Nation, they bumped into a harried-looking father and a gaggle of sugar-high kids at the door. Nina’s arm brushed James’s as they stepped aside, and something electric crackled over the surface of his skin.

  For fuck’s sake. This was getting ridiculous.

  “Admit it,” she singsonged as they stepped out onto the street. Evening had fallen, and this back road was quieter than it had been hours ago.

  Jesus—had they really arrived hours ago?

  “Admit what, Cupcake?”

  “I was right. It was fun. And you loved it.” She ticked off each item on her fingers with obvious glee. Nina always had loved to be right. And James had come to find satisfaction very attractive in a woman.

  “Yeah,” he sighed. “You were right. That was a surprisingly good stress-reliever.” But the grin he couldn’t wipe off his face had nothing to do with Bounce Nation, and everything to do with how Nina looked in this moment: young, carefree, smiling wide with her pretty eyes crinkled at the corners. God, he wanted to kiss her.

  Wanted it too much, apparently, because he found his steps slowing as he stared down at that lush mouth. A sudden silence blossomed between them, Nina’s smile fading as she bit her lip. Around them, the city sank steadily into darkness, and the orange tinge of the street lights bounced off her thick, dark curls. He imagined bending just enough to drag his mouth over her smooth skin. Imagined kissing her cheek, her jaw, her throat. Grabbing a fistful of her hair to keep her still, feeling the curves beneath her huge, black T-shirt when she pressed against him.

  Last night, James had convinced himself he could have another taste of her, from a distance this time, and continue with business as usual. He could only blame such a major miscalculation on the fact that his brain had been starved of oxygen at the time, on account of all his blood going to his dick. Because the reality was this: every time he grew closer to Nina, every time he touched her or saw her or experienced her in some new way, she became more and more impossible to forget.

  Remember why you can’t have her.

  He started checking off each item on the list: they wanted different things. He couldn’t risk their friendship. She had more important stuff to think about right now. He’d known her when she was young, and he still couldn’t decide if his attraction to her was kind of creepy for that reason.

  But then she whispered, “James,” so sweetly, as if his was the only name she’d ever bother to speak again, and common sense fell right out of his head. His heart shuddered. His blood pulsed. His hands flexed at his sides with the need to hold her.

  He had to do something about this.

  “Remind me,” he gritted out through clenched teeth.

  “What?” Nina seemed to be floating toward him—or maybe he was moving toward her. Maybe the air between them was just fucking shrinking. James didn’t know. He was sure of only two things right now:

  That touching this woman would soothe something in him no-one else could.

  And that he absolutely could not let that happen.

  James had the unnerving feeling that somewhere in him lurked a beast only Nina could release, one that would never let her go.

  “Remind me,” he said again. �
�What was it you used to tell Markus and I? About men?”

  He watched as confusion furrowed her brow, then turned into realisation—and something else, something he couldn’t quite identify.

  Slowly, her lips tipped into a one-sided smile, and she repeated her own teenage mantra. “Men. Mine for a good time, not for a long time.”

  James breathed the familiar words in and exhaled a new, hardened resolve. This was what it meant to be with Nina: to be temporary. He knew it, and he loved her just as she was—but he still had to protect his devoted, possessive heart at all costs. Maybe she’d have him again, and again, and again—but eventually, she’d be done. She’d walk away with no attachments, while he might be in danger of tattooing her name on his arse, or something equally disturbing. And James really didn’t want to be that guy.

  His jaw hard, he nodded and turned in the direction of home—but a soft hand on his forearm brought him up short. He looked at Nina again and found her expression serious.

  “James, why did you want to know that?”

  He forced a smile. “It just came to me. The memory, I mean. Couldn’t quite remember the wording. It was funny.”

  “It was years ago,” she shot back, “and it would be irrelevant if—if I—” she pressed her lips tightly together, looking vaguely tortured, and James realised she was about to say something involving emotions and feelings and all the other shit she usually found so abhorrent.

  “James,” she started again, “you don’t think that—”

  A voice carved through the closeness of their conversation, rising above the rumble of passing cars. “Oi! That’s her, I swear that’s her. Are you that Brexit girl?”

  James stiffened. In an instant, everything inside him—the need, the resignation, the careful, barely restrained yearning, sharpened to a fine pinpoint. It was the knife’s edge of a blade named violence.

  He forgot his feelings, forgot their conversation, forgot everything he had ever known except for three basic facts: Nina’s position beside him. The position of the three men up the street, the men standing and staring and shouting at Nina, drunk off each other’s presence in that way weak, dangerous men often were. And finally, James remembered everything he’d ever learned during decades of competitive kickboxing, lessons stamped into his bones through blood, sweat and tears.