Forbidden Desires

by Roberts, Jaimie

  "I'm not doing this for me. You can go on your own if you want. I just wanted to make sure you had a break. Life’s too short for being locked in your office all day.”

  "I really appreciate the gesture.”

  Our eyes connect, and the air starts to thicken around us. The silence in the room is almost deafening. I can't move, can't breathe. All I can do is stand there and stare. Too many of these moments happen between us, and I don’t think I’m imagining it. He can feel it too. But, as with all the other times, Owen manages to snap his gaze away, clearing his throat in the process.

  "Let's go for that drive, shall we?" he asks, rising from his chair. I reach my hand out to take the basket, but Owen places his hand over mine.

  A surge of electricity pulsates through me. I flit my gaze to Owen to see if he felt it too, only to find him staring at our hands in surprise.

  "I'll take that," he says quickly. I yank my hand back, the moment lost.

  He walks toward the door, and I follow. We reach his ten-car garage, and I stand waiting as he grabs the key from the hook and unlocks his purple Bugatti Veyron. It's one of those cars that makes you sigh dreamily every time you see it. It’s stunning.

  "Are you coming?" Owen asks, amusement in his voice at me standing here drooling.

  "Oh, yes!" I shout back, causing him to laugh.

  I quickly slide in alongside him, scared to touch anything in fear of ruining it.

  "She's not delicate. You can actually touch her."

  And he's a mind reader now.

  "I'm worried I will smudge something."

  Owen laughs, and the deep, rumbling sound goes straight to my groin. He starts it up and clicks a button for the garage door to open. His foot presses against the gas, revving the engine, the sound vibrating through my whole body. "You're going to love this."

  He puts it in gear, and we fly out of the garage at speeds I never knew existed. Screaming my delight, I throw my hands up in the air and relish the cool breeze against my skin.

  Owen laughs out at my obvious delight. "You like it?"

  "I love it!" I shout back.

  The gates to the house open, and Owen accelerates away. "I know a country road where hardly any cars drive on. It will be perfect for this baby." He runs a hand over the curvature of the dash, and my legs squeeze together with want. How I wish he would run his hand over me like that.

  For the next hour, we're doing a mixture of cruising and racing—dependent on the traffic conditions. He suddenly slows, turning onto a road with nothing but trees on either side. The trees part, and a beautiful little white house over-looking the most picturesque lake appears.

  "Oh, wow."

  I sense Owen looking at me, so I cock my head toward him. He's smiling. "You like it?"

  "It's beautiful."

  "This is my family’s vacation home. It's been with us since my grandfather bought it back in 1908. It's small, but it's my favorite retreat."

  I stare back at the little house and sigh. "I can see why."

  The car comes to a stop at the end of the drive and Owen gets out to retrieve the picnic basket. I reach out to open the door, but he beats me to it, offering his hand. I take it, relishing the feel of him touching me—no matter how brief.

  "There's a dining area by the lake. A perfect peaceful spot to eat."

  "Sounds great."

  A wooden bench table is situated twenty feet from the water’s edge, overlooking a massive deck with a big speed boat bobbing alongside it. In the distance, people on their boats are either fishing or splashing in the cool water. A rumbling of a boat's engine, faint at first, soon becomes louder, appearing from behind a tree. There’s a man holding onto a rope behind the boat. The guy jumps, then lands perfectly on the surface, causing everyone in the boat to cheer. It's a happy sight—one that fills me with a sense of peace.

  "I've never been water skiing," I whisper, realizing I've said my thoughts out loud.

  "I can change that, if you want."

  "You have a boat?" I ask, turning my gaze to Owen. He’s unloading all the contents of the basket onto the table. When he raises his hand and points to an area to our left, I take in the speedboat I had been admiring. Of course it’s Owen’s. How silly of me.

  I walk toward the table and start helping him with the unloading. "You are a man of many mysteries."

  "I guess now that you're living with me, you'll get to find out all of them." That same fuzzy feeling in my stomach comes back to taunt me. "In fact, you're the first woman I have brought here who isn't family."

  My eyes widen at the thought. "Really?"

  My heart surges with a flurry of happiness. It might not mean anything to him, but it certainly means a lot to me.

  "Don't look so surprised."

  I gaze out at the beauty of the lake and how romantic this whole setting is. "You've never brought my mom here?"

  The slight wince at the mention of her is back. I swear, it’s there every time I bring her up.

  "I guess we haven’t had time to. Besides, I don't think your mom's the picnic at the lake type."

  I laugh at that. "I guess living in the city does that to you."

  "But you seem to like it.”

  I’m not sure if that was a question or an observation.

  With everything laid out on the table, we both sit down next to each other. I have to make sure we're a good distance apart. His presence, scent—his everything—is all too much to take at times.

  "My mom and I are different in a lot of ways. I like the city—don’t get me wrong—but if I had to choose one or the other, I would choose this." I motion toward the lake.

  "That surprises me."

  I snap my head to him, frowning. "Why?"

  "You're so young. I would have figured you for a city girl. Don't all young girls want to be in the city?"

  "Not this girl."

  Owen smirks, setting my belly fluttering. "I should have realized that when you mentioned the horses. You're definitely a country girl at heart."

  Just then a bee starts to assault me, swarming around my head, making that horrible buzzing surround my ears. Squealing, I get up and run around the table, trying to get away from it. I catch the sound of laughter, but I'm more concerned about getting stung. When I don't see it anymore, I sigh in relief and sit back down, my heart racing.

  "Maybe not," Owen jokes, grabbing a sandwich and unwrapping the saran wrap.

  "I do love the country," I retort. "I just don't do bees."

  Owen turns toward me, an amused smile on his face. "You don't do bees?"

  "Yep. Or wasps, snakes, spiders. Basically anything that can kill me." Owen starts laughing so hard, I fear he's going to fall over. "What's so funny?"

  "You," he replies, catching his breath. "I never took you for someone so melodramatic."

  "I'm not melodramatic!" I screech, and Owen’s laughter returns.

  "You thought that bee was going to kill you?" He raises an eyebrow, and I shrug.

  "Well…" I glance away, slightly embarrassed, "they certainly hurt when they sting."

  "Ah, yes, and flailing your arms and legs when it's near you certainly won't make it want to sting you." He lets out a chuckle before placing the sandwich in his mouth.

  "You know…I'm starting to regret coming on this picnic with you."

  I glance at him amusingly, and he does the same. He then picks up the other sandwich and hands it to me. "Here, eat it before all the bees swarm in on you."

  "You'll be so sorry if that happens."

  Owen laughs again before taking another bite. "These sandwiches are good. What's in them, ham and tomato?"

  "Yep, and a little salt and pepper."

  "Such a small thing makes a big difference."

  "It does," I reply, unwrapping mine.

  For a while, we sit in silence, eating our sandwiches and staring out at the activities on the lake. When everything is devoured, Owen grabs the bottle of wine and gets up.

  “Would you l
ike to check out the lake?"

  “Hell, yes!” I respond, jumping to my feet.

  "You're so easily pleased," he says as we walk toward the boat. I'm about to ask him what in the hell that means, when he says, "It's refreshing."

  His pace picks up, leaving me behind so he can do whatever he needs to on the boat while I'm wondering who on earth he's hung around with all his life to warrant me as refreshing. He must have some very high maintenance family or something.

  My mom flits through my mind, making me wonder if Owen naturally assumed I would be just like her. I guess he's realizing how far from the truth that really is.

  I wait as he jumps on the boat, setting the bottle of wine on the table before walking back to the edge to help me in. His hand comes out, and I relish the feel of him as he helps me jump down. I stumble, but he catches me in his arms.

  "Thank you," I say, giggling, then make the mistake of looking up into his eyes to find him staring down at me.

  I'm lost. Completely and utterly lost. I can't move, locked in this moment that’s so breathtaking, I forget everything around me.

  As soon as it's there, it's lost the moment Owen releases me. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine."

  Looking awkward now, Owen nods and scurries away to start the engine. When he unties the rope, guilt at my laziness takes over. I should be doing something other than just standing here. "Can I help?"

  Owen looks up and smiles. "No, I've got it. Sit down and enjoy the ride."

  Pretty soon, I have no choice but to as the boat jerks forward. I squeal, sitting down, and laugh as we take off.

  The engine and the thumping it makes as it hits the water has my heart accelerating with excitement. The faint cheers of other people boating float past us. I close my eyes, relishing the wind in my hair as we whizz through the water.

  After a few minutes, Owen slows next to a very private area. All you can see are hundreds of trees lining on top of the hill above us.

  "Have you ever fished?" I look at Owen. He has a rod in his hand and is currently setting up the strings.

  "Nope. I’ve seen it enough on TV, but never done it myself."

  Owen looks up briefly, cocking his head. "You really are doing a lot of firsts with me, aren't you?"

  I never know whether there’s a double meaning when he says that, but I smile at our running joke, nonetheless. "That I am."

  Owen sets the rod down for a moment and fetches a couple glasses from inside one of the seats. He opens the wine and pours us a glass each. Once poured, he sets the bottle down and raises his glass.

  "To a lot of firsts."

  I laugh and clink his glass. "To a lot of firsts."

  Taking a sip, I close my eyes at the cool feeling running down my throat. It's crisp and dry—perfect for this setting.

  "I take it you enjoy wine."

  He obviously noticed my appraisal. "I like a lot of things," I say in jest, but realize after it seems like I'm flirting with him.

  "Like what?"

  I look around the expanse of the water, enjoying the slight bobbing of the boat along the waves. The sun is out, but we're shaded in a perfect spot, the trees offering the protection we need.

  "Like this. I like this a lot." I spin toward him with determination. "Aren't you glad I forced you out of your office now?"

  Owen chuckles before taking a sip of his wine. "I must admit, this certainly does trump being stuck in the office. Especially when I have such great company." He raises his glass to me before gazing out onto the water. I wonder if he's thinking of Mom and wishing she were here instead. The thought brings a pang to my stomach. I’m glad she's still in Europe, but that doesn't mean Owen is. I'm desperate to ask, but I'm also scared he's going to give me an answer I don't want to hear—the only answer I should hear from a newly married man.

  I realize in that moment how selfish I am, but I’m also unable to help myself. My mother doesn't deserve him. Call it an animal instinct inside me screaming to claim him as mine. It's there regardless of the fact that my mom claimed him first.

  "What are you thinking?"

  I gaze over to Owen, who's watching me intently. If he knew what I was thinking, this little excursion of ours would be cut short and ruined within seconds.

  "I was thinking how lucky I am to be here. I don’t feel worthy."

  His forehead crinkles. “Why would you think that?"

  "Because I never worked hard for this like you have."

  "And because of that, you feel you're not worthy?"

  I shrug. "I guess."

  "You've worked hard this week and deserve a break. Don't be so hard on yourself. You're worthy because you don't think you are."

  "I'm enjoying working for you."

  "That makes me happy to know that. I want all my employees to be happy at work. A happy worker makes a happy boss."

  I chuckle. "Like that saying, happy wife, happy life."

  "Well, your mother seems in no hurry to come home from Paris, so I guess that makes me happy for her."

  My eyes dart down at the disappointment, worried he'll see it. "I'm happy for her too."

  I look up from under my lashes, my eyes meeting his. It's almost as if he's gauging my reaction—waiting to see if I'll give away how much I hate my mother. When he finds me staring back, he places the wine on the table and gets up, grabbing the fishing rod.

  "Right, let's get fishing," he says, changing the subject.

  I'm unsure whether he got what he was after from our little exchange. Maybe I'm reading too much into it.

  I choose to study with fascination as he fetches some bait and attaches the little wriggly worm to the hook. Witnessing that makes me shudder for a second. He motions for me to come to him, so I place my wine down and walk toward him. He stands behind me and hands me the rod, his close proximity doing things to my insides. I don't want to smell his musky scent, but it invades my nostrils, forcing me to inhale his sweet, manly aroma.

  "You hold it like this," he begins, guiding one hand to hold the end while the other hand is on the wheel. "You have to make sure there's some leverage before you pull back and swing." My hands go lax as he takes over, swinging the rod over into the lake. He guides my hand to pull the string in a little. "There, see. Perfect."

  "Now what?" I turn to watch him.

  "Now, we wait." With his eyes focused on the lake, he smiles. As soon as he looks down at me, it quickly fades. Our eyes lock, and that undeniable chemistry between us sizzles through the air between us. I can't help it. I look down at his lips, giving my feelings away. My heart always runs away with me like this. Try as I might to not like the man, my body and soul yearns for him.

  The feeling is soon gone when Owen lets go of my hand and steps away, immediately sitting down and picking his wine up. He takes a rather large gulp, his eyes fixed to the water.

  Great, I've made him extremely uncomfortable.

  To get us out of this awkward situation I've now put us in, I say, "How long does it normally take?"

  He manages to look at me, the awkward moment gone as soon as it had begun. "It could be minutes, or it could be hours. Fishing is a very patient sport."

  I chuckle. "I would hardly call this a sport. All I'm doing is standing here."

  Owen laughs, fishing out his sunglasses. "It is when you're hauling a fifty-pound tuna out the water that it becomes a sport. What you’re doing, no, it isn’t."

  "Oh shit!" I shout as the fishing line tugs. I turn to the water, and Owen jumps behind me, helping me reel in the fish. "You caught one. Well done." Slowly but surely, the reel gets shorter as it comes closer toward us. As it nears the boat, the fish hovers in the air, and I immediately deflate.

  "It's tiny." The fish is literally six inches long.

  Owen laughs, then moves forward to grab the fish. Unhooking it, he hands it to me. All I do is stare. Owen chuckles again. "Do you want to do the honors of throwing it back in the water?"

  Screwing my face up at the thought,
I shake my head. "Errr, no thanks. I'll leave that in your capable hands."

  Owen smirks, then throws the fish back in. It splashes up, but within a few seconds, it's swimming away like nothing happened.

  "I forgot. Country girl," he jests.

  "Make fun all you want, but this isn't exactly country, is it?"

  Owen's rumble of laughter makes me smile. "Savannah, take a look around you." He motions with his hands at the mass of greenery. "If this isn't country, I don't know what is." He continues to laugh, so I decide to ignore him and sit down. I pick my wine up, taking a sip.

  "How come you live in that big old house instead of here?"

  He frowns. "What's wrong with Scarsdale?"

  "Absolutely nothing. It's a beautiful house. It just seems so big for only you."

  "It's not only me anymore."

  "I know. It just seems this is more a family home." I rub my temple. "Sorry, I'm not making any sense."

  "Savannah, I completely understand where you're getting at, and it's fine. Scarsdale is more convenient for me since it's only a forty-minute commute to the city. It's as country as I can get while still being close to the office." He frowns again. "Are you saying you'd prefer to live here?"

  I shrug. "It seems so…perfect here. I'm not saying Scarsdale isn't, but I think here I would be able to relax without worrying that I'm going to break something."

  "Is that how you feel about the house?"

  "It's like a show house rather than a home. I love it there, I really do. It's just… it’s so peaceful here." His eyes widen a little, and he shakes his head. "What?"

  "I didn't know you were so grounded. You seem to prefer the simpler things in life."

  I’m unsure how to take that. Is there a compliment in there somewhere?

  "I suppose. I'm completely opposite to my mother in that respect. She loves all the finer things. Give me this country retreat any day." Owen stares for a moment, and I wonder if I've gone too far mentioning my mother. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say my mom's materialistic or anything—" she is, "—it's just we have different points of view about—"

  "Savannah, it's fine," Owen laughs, interrupting me. "You don't have to explain yourself. I think it's nice you feel that way."