The Forbidden

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  “I have one person to explain myself to,” Jack says calmly. “Five minutes, Annie, please.” He lands me with gray eyes full of desperation. I force myself to disregard his evident despair and tell myself I’m owed an explanation. Because I am.

  “Five minutes,” I confirm, glancing at Micky and Lizzy, knowing I must be as mad as they think I am. But I need to hear what he has to say. I need closure. “I’ll be fine.”

  They both leave, clearly reluctant, and once we’re alone, that energy between Jack and me—the energy that frightens me—surges forward. It’s so powerful it makes me move across the room hastily to put as much distance between us as possible and, perhaps, to make the situation look as casual as possible should anyone walk in. Just two people having a chat about business in the kitchen. “Go ahead, Jack. Explain,” I say, cutting straight to the chase.

  His hesitation is obvious. “Before I explain anything, you need to know that I have never cheated on my wife. Not ever, Annie. Not until you.”

  I scoff, unable to force it back. “And that makes everything okay?”

  “I didn’t say it makes everything okay. I just want you to know that I don’t make a habit of cheating on my wife.” He moves forward a few steps, and I hold my hand up, silently stopping him from coming any closer as I glimpse over my shoulder into the garden. His wife is chatting with Lizzy. My friend’s keeping her occupied while her husband is in here with me. I wince, swallowing down the building guilt. “Have you thought about me?” he asks.

  I snap my eyes to Jack’s. “No.” Admitting it would be stupid.

  “Don’t lie to me,” he warns, totally serious. “Don’t pretend you didn’t feel it.”

  “What the hell does it matter now?” I hiss. “You lied to me. Where was your ring?”

  He throws his hand up, showing me his ring finger. It’s still bare. “I don’t wear one. I broke a knuckle when I worked the tools and haven’t been able to get it on since.”

  “Then you should have told me!” I imagine plenty of women throw themselves at him. He should have a sign on his head or something, some kind of visible warning not to go near.

  “Told you?” He almost laughs. “I already said, Annie, I couldn’t. I couldn’t even think the words. I saw nothing except you. Thought of nothing except how much I wanted you. Everything else paled. All I see are your green eyes staring up into mine. All I can feel is your skin against me. Your breath in my ear.”

  “Stop!” I demand, ignoring the fact that I had a similar reaction to him. But I’m single. I’m allowed to feel like that. He shouldn’t. Not when he’s taken!

  “No.” He comes over to me, and I find myself quickly checking behind me again, all skittish, before looking at him. He’s too close. It’s dangerous for more reasons than his wife possibly walking in here. “I can’t stop, Annie.”

  I shake my head and move away, opening a cupboard and pulling down a bag of pretzels, anything to look busy and casual. “You’re married. It ends here,” I say firmly and evenly, not allowing his words to pierce my resolve.

  “Do you want it to?” he asks, knocking me back a bit.

  I don’t answer nearly as quickly as I should, distracting myself with pouring the pretzels into a bowl. “Are you suggesting an affair?”

  “I’m asking you if you’re curious about us.”

  “There is no ‘us,’” I whisper-hiss, performing another check of our surroundings.

  “What if there should be?”

  I balk, astounded. “‘Should be’?”

  “I’ve played tug-of-war with my conscience all week, Annie. I’ve told myself that this isn’t the right way to get out of my marriage. I’ve tried, I’ve tried so fucking hard to stop thinking about you, and then shit happens with Stephanie and I’m back to square one, obsessing over you and how you made me feel. The smiles you pulled from me. The feelings you spiked. You are clouding everything.”

  Shit happens with Stephanie? I hate myself for wondering too hard what that shit is. I can’t ask. Shouldn’t ask.

  “You will stay away from me.” I pivot and leave the kitchen before Jack can come back at me with anything else that may dent my determination, slapping a smile on my face as I enter the garden.

  I just need tonight to be over so I can commence with the meltdown that’s undoubtedly going to floor me. He felt it, just like I did—the connection, the overwhelming chemistry. But it was just lust, stirred up and made more potent by alcohol. And spontaneity. I have to keep telling myself that. It’s the safest way. I never thought I’d see him again, that he would remain a beautiful albeit frustrating fantasy in my head. A benchmark for all men who may come after. I doubt I’ll find that crushing attraction with anyone else. I’ve been teased, experienced something incredible, only to discover I can never have it again. That I should never have had it in the first place. Denying yourself is one thing. Being denied by something out of your control is a whole new ballgame. It just makes you want it more.

  I watch as Stephanie chats with Colin, and Jack stands silent at her side, obviously distracted. No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop my eyes from straying to him. Every time I catch his gaze, I quickly glance away, pushing down my thumping heart as it works its way up to my throat. I fight to keep myself in conversations, but I’m too unfocused, seeing mouths move but hearing no words being spoken. My head is full of reminders. Of things Jack said to me. Of the way he touched me and made love to me.

  I discreetly glance over to him again, but this time his attention is on his wife as she speaks to him. Colin raises his hands, like in surrender, and backs away from the couple warily, making his way over to me. Stephanie looks a little mad, and though I try my hardest to lip-read her, I can’t make out what she’s saying to her husband. Her husband. Jack. Stephanie’s husband.

  “It’s kicked off over there,” Colin laughs, a little tipsy as he reaches me.

  “What has?” I ask, playing ignorant, keeping one eye on him and one eye on Jack.

  “Jack is a diamond of a bloke, but it seems the rumors are true.”

  “What rumors?” I ask, frowning as I watch Stephanie’s face get closer to Jack’s and he retreats a little, shaking his head and closing his eyes. He’s gathering patience.

  “Well,” Colin starts. “I’ve only met the woman tonight, but I can see what people mean. She’s a bit…of a handful.”

  Handful? I can’t rip my eyes away. Jack is clearly trying to keep whatever’s got Stephanie irked on the down low, leaning in to speak to her and placing a comforting hand on her arm. My eyes root to that hand, feeling it touching me all over again. What is wrong with her? Is she suspicious? Has she sensed the friction between Jack and me?

  My eyes jump between them, trying desperately to figure out what’s going on. Jack catches my eye, and he breathes in deeply as Stephanie shrugs him off and throws her wine back on a sneer. She marches off to top up her glass, and I find myself stuck in position, wanting to move away but unable. I start to shake, fearful of the lack of control I have over my body where Jack’s concerned. And, worse, my mind.

  “Best keep out of the way of domestics,” Colin says, pointing to my empty. “Another drink?”

  I strain a smile. “I just need the toilet.” I force my shaky legs to take me into my apartment and to my bathroom. I close the door and fall back against the wood, trying to breathe some calm into my lungs.

  I feel like I could crack under the pressure of Jack’s presence, my mind going into overdrive, wondering if the tension between us is obvious. Wondering what his wife’s grievance is. I’m not the paranoid type. I’m not unreasonable. Yet right now I feel like I have a sign stuck to my back detailing my sins.

  “Annie?” There’s a knock on the door behind me and Lizzy’s concerned voice drifts into the bathroom. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” I rush toward the sink and brush at my flushed cheeks, then spot the bottle top on the shelf. I’ll never be able to look at Budweiser in the same way again. Cle
nching my jaw, I grab the cap and throw it in the bin. “Just coming.”

  “They’re gone,” she says quietly through the door.

  I swing around, air gushing from my lungs in relief. “They are?”

  “Yes, just left. His wife seemed a bit drunk.”

  I open the door and face my friend’s pursed lips, trying to smile. It’s an epic fail. “A bit?”

  “Okay. Totally fucked.” Lizzy eyes me carefully. “To be fair, she was drinking wine like water.”

  I wince. “I think they were arguing. What if she knows?” I start to shake again.

  “She doesn’t know, Annie. Calm down.”

  I try to breathe steadily, and Lizzy takes my arm. “Come on.” She pulls me out of the bathroom, where I think I’d happily hide for the rest of my life. “Micky’s lined up shots, and I think you need ten of them.”

  * * *

  I spend the rest of the evening pretending to listen to conversations while constantly wondering what Jack’s thinking, what he’s doing, and what he’s saying to his wife.

  Micky and Lizzy make their excuses to hang back when everyone leaves, though the knowledge of an impending inquisition doesn’t fill me with dread like it probably should. I need their support, plus Lizzy spent most of the night talking to Stephanie. What did she find out? Do I need to know? Or, more importantly, do I want to know anything about them? Because they are a they. A couple. Married.

  I shut the door behind the last people to leave, then roll onto my back, finding Micky and Lizzy standing in the hallway, both sober, both waiting for…I don’t know what. So I just shrug, the evening sinking into me and weighing me down.

  “I can’t believe it,” Lizzy says, shaking her head.

  “Happy Housewarming to me,” I murmur, wandering toward them. They part and let me through to the lounge, where I pick up a few cushions and chuck them on the couch on my way to the kitchen. I pour myself a nightcap in the form of a large glass of wine, and take a long glug as I stare out of the kitchen window. “Well, that was fun,” I say seriously.

  Lizzy clears her throat and comes to stand by one side, Micky on the other, like they’re sensing my need for support. I look to each of them in turn and smile a small, hopeless smile.

  “You okay, treacle?” Micky’s palm slides onto my shoulder and squeezes.

  “I’m fine,” I say resolutely. “Honestly.” I shake my head to myself and finish off my wine, hoping it’ll knock me out and put me out of my misery.

  Both eye me doubtfully, and they have every right to. I’m not fine. I don’t sound it, and I’m certain I don’t look it. My stable, controlled existence has been rocked to the core, and I’m scared. More than I was scared by the crushing connection we had.

  Because everyone wants what they can’t have.

  Chapter 7

  Monday morning comes far too quickly, and I feel far from fresh going into my meeting with Colin and his contractor. Jack.

  I did a little research on his company last night and found that Jack Joseph Contractors was formed by Jack in 2009, when he was only twenty-eight. I mentally noted that that makes him thirty-five today. He did manual labor for years as a builder, which would explain the stunning physique—a physique that he’s clearly set on maintaining—before starting his own building firm that has gone from strength to strength. It was clear from what I learned that any architect should feel lucky to work alongside him. Me? I just feel scared to fucking death.

  I’ve agonized constantly about how to deal with working together. I’ve quit Colin’s project ten times in my head, then reinstated myself quickly after. The prospect of kissing this opportunity good-bye makes me feel empty and weak. But I’m not weak, and I’m not about to let a man make me that way. I owe it to my career to move forward. I owe it to myself.

  Jack’s the contractor. Just the contractor, and I’m not going to let his lies and deceit affect what I’ve worked my arse off for.

  So I put on a pale gray pencil dress, leaving my hair down and wavy, then gather Colin’s file and get on my way.

  I call Lizzy as I walk to the Tube, hoping for a little pep talk. “I’m due to start a bikini wax in two minutes,” she says when she answers. “So let me cut to the chase. How are you going to handle him in this meeting?”

  “I’m going to pretend I’ve never met him before Saturday night,” I tell her, my voice now wavering from the sureness I’d found, just at the thought of doing so. “He’s a liar and a cheat and, frankly, I hate him. It shouldn’t be hard to keep it business.”

  “Good girl.” There’s a hive of activity from down the line, and Lizzy curses a few times. “Shit! I just spilled hot wax, I have to go. Good luck!”

  I hang up, straighten my shoulders, and head for my meeting.

  * * *

  My plan was to arrive early, get a coffee, and settle at a table before the men arrived, and maybe talk my nerves down, but when I walk into the bistro I find them both already sitting at a table at the far end.

  They’re talking, looking over some paperwork. And when I’m only a few feet away Jack slowly turns to face me, like he’s sensed I’m close. My lungs shrink at the sight of him, my feet slowing as I fight to breathe. His straight expression doesn’t clue me in on what reception I might get from him, and that makes me all the more nervous.

  That chest, rippling above me, undulating as he drives into me steadily.

  I jolt myself from my untimely flashback, and a dart of my eyes to Jack tells me he hasn’t missed it, his expression questioning.

  I take a deep breath and will myself forward.

  “Annie. Here, take a seat.” Colin motions to the chair next to Jack, but I opt for the one at the other side of the table instead. Not too close.

  “Morning.” I greet them, smiling at Colin as I unload my files onto the table. “Jack,” I say formally without looking at him.

  “Annie,” he replies, just as formally, taking his coffee cup and lifting it to his lips. My eyes catch a slight tremble of his hand as I involuntarily follow the cup to his mouth. I think of him drinking that bottle of Budweiser, his neck stretched, begging me to lick the column of his throat. Bending me over the bar, his big hands on my hips.

  “Super party!” Colin chirps, snapping me back into the bistro. Jack is watching me watching him.

  I shake my way back into my meeting, telling myself to concentrate, to not let him distract me. “It was. Thanks for coming.” I smile, thinking I never want to think about that night ever again.

  The waiter approaches and I order a large latte, declining the offer of any pastries. I would never be able to hold anything down; my stomach is somersaulting repeatedly, and I’m getting annoyed that I can’t control it.

  Colin looks down at his watch. “I have to be at an auction in thirty minutes, so let’s get this schedule agreed upon.” He motions to my files. “Do you have the revised drawings for Jack?”

  “I do.” I pull them out and push them across the table to Jack, avoiding making eye contact, which is hard when I can feel him staring at me. This is so strange. I spent a night in a hotel with this man, the most amazing night of my life, and now I’m acting like I’ve never set eyes on him, let alone his naked body.

  All this formality, this distance, isn’t coming naturally to me. Being consumed by Jack felt so right and easy—looking at him, admiring him, talking to him, listening to him. It all felt so natural. “The details of the French roof manufacturer are on there, too.”

  “Thank you,” Jack says, unfolding the first drawing and scanning it over. “I’ll take them back to the office and go over them with Richard. He’s my site manager, who’ll be overseeing the build, by the way.”

  “Good to know.” I make a mental note of Richard’s name.

  “We have various machinery arriving tomorrow so we can start clearing the site.” Jack starts folding up the drawing and places it on the table with the others, finding my eyes and locking stares with me. “We anticipate a few weeks to s
trip it back to the bare bones.”

  Strip. Bare. My skin starts to prickle with heat, and I glance away from him, making notes on my pad. “Okay. So you’ll have the site pegged out as per my drawings by—”

  “Week three,” Jack finishes for me, pulling my attention up. He smiles, and I have to take a deep breath and force my attention back down to my notepad.

  I power on. “And by week four, you’ll have—”

  “The trenches for the foundations dug out.”

  My pen falters across the page. “Good,” I say quietly. “And the concrete slab for the floor should be complete by—”

  “Week five,” Jack murmurs.

  I close my eyes briefly and will him to stop being so on the ball. It’s a perfect scenario for an architect and contractor to be so aligned when it comes to a project, but now, between Jack and me, it isn’t helping me hate him.

  “That was what you were thinking, wasn’t it?” he asks, almost pensive.

  My smile feels strained. “It was.”

  “Good.” Jack gets a diary out of his briefcase and opens it up