Falling for the Forbidden: 10 Full-Length Novels

by Jessica Hawkins

  Liam must see something on my face, because he starts heading this way. People stop him as he goes, catching his arm. He turns to give them a few words before continuing toward us. “I know I’m not experienced enough for him—”

  “He doesn’t think he has it in him to love someone.”

  My heart aches for what could have made him that way. “He’s wrong, of course.”

  “No, sweetheart. That’s the problem. He’s right.”

  Liam reaches us in a few long strides, his expression hard. The tan of his skin contrasts sharply with his white shirt. He’s removed his tux jacket, which only serves to emphasize the hard, lean line of his body. Silver cuff links glint from his wrists. He’s as well-formed as any piece of art, a feast of shape and texture for the eyes—but undoubtedly his eyes are the crown jewels. A deep green like malachite, with darker striations running through them.

  Josh stands. “How are you, dear brother?”

  The question is asked in a mocking tone, but Liam rarely rises to the bait. Instead he studies me, his green eyes questioning. “Are you all right?”

  I press my hands to my cheeks, feeling the warmth raging. You want to work out some good old-fashioned daddy issues with Liam North, be my guest. It’s hard to find my composure with those words still ringing. “I’m fine,” I say on a squeak.

  A low laugh from Josh as he wanders away.

  “Do I need to kick his ass?” Liam asks, looking grim. It’s not an idle threat. In the ways of male siblings, they have been known to throw a punch in an argument. And I have the sense that their past was more violent than most, which may make it worse.

  “Absolutely not,” I say, keeping my voice light. “He’s too hard-headed to learn this lesson anyway.”

  You got a hard-on for your legal guardian? Go for it.

  Somehow I don’t think the rest of society would view it in such a light. Things between Liam and me would always be taboo. Always forbidden. It makes me wonder if that makes it sweeter. Then I see the concern in Liam’s expression, the wry humor in his eyes, the depth of feeling, and I know I would have wanted him no matter what.

  LIAM

  There’s something strange about the way Samantha looks at me. Almost… nervous. Is she afraid of me? Jesus. “Well,” I say. “You’re probably right. But I’d feel better.”

  She gives me a droll look that says I’m all talk—which is mostly true. I don’t go around beating up people because they say shit to me.

  Then again, if they say shit to Samantha, that’s a different story.

  And her forced casual expression can’t quite hide the way her cheeks are pink, her eyes wide as she looks up at me. Definitely nervous about something.

  I find Josh outside the tent with one of the bridesmaids, about two seconds away from bringing her to orgasm with the crowd of revelers inside. I clear my throat, which makes him growl his annoyance. “Go away.”

  He rocks her against his thigh until she comes, biting his shoulder through his tux jacket. Then he whispers something in her ear that makes her giggle, and sends her away on unsteady legs with a pat to her ass.

  “God, you’re such a bastard,” he says without heat.

  “You have a bedroom.”

  “And taking her there would mean giving up on the buffet early.”

  Naturally he doesn’t mean the food buffet. “What did you tell Samantha? She was acting strange after you talked to her.”

  He rolls his eyes, which is something most men at North Security wouldn’t do. That’s the thing about working with your brothers. “I told her about the baby bird.”

  Fury stiffens every muscle inside me. “You did not.”

  “Oh yes, big brother. Remember that little bird? It had such soft feathers. You wouldn’t think feathers could be fluffy, but they were. It had fallen out of its nest.”

  I have to fight to keep from throwing up on the grass. Wouldn’t that be the perfect way to end the day? It’s been pure torture watching the happy couple, listening to Samantha play songs about forever and always. And now this.

  “Don’t,” I say, my voice harsh enough that even my brother should know better.

  He grins the same way he did as a kid—full of bravado. He would rather get the shit kicked out of him than admit defeat, and in our house, our father was happy to oblige. “You kept her in your closet, feeding her little bits of bread and peanut butter.”

  “You did not tell this to Samantha.”

  “So what if I did?” he says, laughing. “She was so sad when I told her about the peanut butter.”

  I grasp him by the lapels and slam him against a tree beside the tent. “You had no fucking right to do that. You fucking bastard.”

  He leans his head back, still laughing. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. I didn’t tell her about the baby bird, or about how Father found out. Or how he locked you in the closet with the bird for days, until you’d practically died of starvation and the bird had died in your hands.”

  I shove Josh against the tree and push away, breathing hard. “You’re a sick fuck.”

  “Yeah,” he says a little sadly. “I come by it honest.”

  He’s still fucked up over what our father did, and I wish I could help him, I really do. All I can do is give him operational command of North Security. All I can give Elijah is the chance to shoot at assholes when they shoot first. That’s what our family has come to.

  “There’s no point talking about the past,” I say. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “Doesn’t it?” Josh says, following the path the bridesmaid took toward the entrance to the tent. “Sometimes I think you still haven’t let go of that baby bird.”

  SAMANTHA

  I’m the first one who leaves, slipping into the house with my violin case like a shadow. The faint clatter of dishes comes from the kitchen—the caterers hard at work feeding men who are never really full. I put my violin away with the same care a mother must show her infant child. It might seem extreme to some people, but the violin can’t protect itself. It can’t wipe away the rosin or polish its wood, so I do it.

  In the cool, conditioned air I realize that I’ve been sweating. The linen of my pale pink dress clings to my skin. Upstairs I take a shower, washing away the scent of the outside, turning my face to the hot spray until I run out of breath.

  I slip into my pajamas. Little penguins march across the pale blue flannel. It makes me feel safe and warm—I need that tonight. There are only a couple more months of sleeping in this house. There’s no reason for me to come live here after.

  The lights are off when I step into the bedroom. A lamp clicks, and light floods the plush beige carpet. I gasp at the sight of Liam standing near the entrance. His lids are low in the dim lighting, his green eyes burning emerald tonight. “Going to bed?” he says, the question lazy. Of course I’m going to bed. The question is what he’s doing here.

  “I’m tired,” I say, a little cautious. A little afraid. “Are you going to bed, too?”

  He shakes his head. “I thought I’d tuck you in.”

  Tuck me in? He didn’t do that when I was twelve years old. Why would he do it now? The idea wakes up every nerve ending in my body, as if I’m imagining his touch over the blanket, under the blanket, all around me. Nothing about my thoughts is innocent.

  He waits while I brush my teeth and change in the closet. I find him sitting on the edge of the bed when I come out, and I climb in, uncertain what comes next.

  “Your father made some people angry,” he says, his voice low. It’s as if the admission is torn from him, and it makes me wonder what else he’s been keeping held so tight. He pulls the sheets up high on my body, so it almost touches my chin.

  “What does that mean?”

  Liam brushes the hair away from my forehead, the touch of his blunt fingertips shocking even in their innocence. “It means he had enemies when he died. Dangerous people who would have hurt you out of a misguided sense of revenge. You couldn’t go into the
system.”

  “Is that why you got custody of me?”

  “I could protect you.”

  My throat feels tight. “So you didn’t know my father? Not really?”

  “I knew of him. That was enough for me. The rest doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it matters,” I say, frustrated that he can still pretend this isn’t everything. “It’s the whole reason you took me in. The reason you turned your life upside down.”

  “You’re safe now, child.”

  The word child makes me rankle with the desire to refute him. But he’s sitting on the edge of my twin-size bed, wearing a tux while I’m in jammies. I can’t refute anything. He bends to kiss my forehead, and I push him away with a glare. I don’t want a chaste kiss on my forehead. I won’t accept it.

  He frowns. “What exactly did Josh say to you tonight?”

  “He said you believe you can’t love anyone. Is that true?”

  “I suppose it is,” Liam says, sounding unnaturally calm about it. As if it doesn’t bother him to miss out on such a thing. “I care for you, though. Is that what you’re worried about?”

  I sit up in bed. “Tell me something. If you weren’t friends with my father, how did you even know that his daughter was orphaned? Was there some kind of mass e-mail to people in the intelligence sector? A post in a secret Facebook group? Lost little girl needs a strong and seriously grumpy man to become her guardian.”

  I’m panting by the time I’m done talking. It’s not only myself that I’m fighting for right now—it’s him. It’s us. And I’m willing to tear down every construct of our guardian-ward relationship to do it.

  Unfortunately he doesn’t seem to understand the severity of the situation. His lip twitches as if he’s holding back a laugh. “Seriously grumpy man?”

  “You’re like a bear who’s been woken up from hibernation.”

  “Maybe,” he allows. “But I have a reason to be concerned about you.”

  “That’s why you freaked out about us going to the club?”

  “Well, that and the fact that you’re not eighteen yet. Where did you get fake IDs?”

  “Look… I have to tell you something about the club.” Nighttime is made for confidences, and I have the irrepressible urge to confide in him. Maybe it will become my downfall, trusting Liam. I have to try. “That man—”

  “Criminal,” Liam corrects gently.

  “It wasn’t random that I met him there. I went there to find him, so that I could—”

  “I know exactly why you went there.”

  My mouth snaps shut. “Excuse me?”

  “You obviously were looking to lose your virginity.”

  Shock steals my breath, so I can only stare at him in bewildered horror. After a moment I’m suffused with outrage. “And what makes you so sure about that?”

  “I understand,” he says, with what appears to be sympathy. “You’re clearly experiencing a spike in hormones. Maybe even still suffering from some late stage puberty.”

  I stare at him in undiluted horror. I’m over here thinking about love and sex, about protecting my friend, about a new beginning. And he thinks I’m having hormones.

  “Samantha,” he says gently.

  “No, you’re probably right. Hormones. Puberty.”

  “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  I’m embarrassed and horrified and most of all, so sad I could cry. Tears prick my eyes. Anger rushes through my veins in a heavy beat. Maybe I actually am experiencing hormones, but that doesn’t mean what I feel for him isn’t real. “Good night.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The violin was considered the leader of the orchestra before conductors became common

  SAMANTHA

  In some ways Liam North was an indulgent guardian. He would spend two hundred thousand dollars on a violin. He persuaded an infamous violin teacher to move to Kingston so that I could visit him once a week. There were an endless supply of books and music. I always had the latest model phone, some before they were released to the public due to his connections at the major tech companies.

  In other ways Liam was the strictest guardian.

  My transient existence as a diplomat’s daughter had given me its own education. I knew how to barter for fish in an Indonesian market and how to counter the early signs of frostbite, but I couldn’t name most of the states. School, he decided. Not private tutors. Not correspondence courses. I should attend an ordinary school with ordinary classes. I’m not sure how ordinary it is to be driven every day by an armed guard in a limo, but St. Agnes did give me a normal experience.

  As normal as you can be when the tuition costs thirty thousand a year.

  “You ready?” Laney murmurs.

  I’m fiddling with the Bunsen burner, nudging the beaker with my tongs. According to Mr. Washington there should be precipitate once the molecules get hot enough to release the sodium. “I’m ready to be done with this experiment.”

  “Forget about the experiment.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You’re going into finals with a ninety-nine.” Laney is freakishly smart, which means she can get straight As without even paying attention. Meanwhile I can’t figure out whether I missed something crucial not going to elementary school or whether I’m just naturally terrible at chemistry. If these were sheep intestines that needed to be stretched, if I needed to figure out the precise frequency of a note, I could muster up some interest.

  Impatient, Laney taps the beaker. A small pile of white powder appears at the bottom. “We should be grateful he agreed to meet us here.”

  “Seriously?” I mutter, writing down my findings in the lab notebook. “I know that, but I still don’t know how we’re going to get past the hall monitors.”

  St. Agnes could pass for a high-security prison. Every school shooting that happens somewhere in the country is another excuse for them to add metal detectors and cameras—all of it expensive. It makes doing something as simple as skipping class a tactical maneuver worthy of North Security. Luckily I have the daughter of one of the greatest strategists for a partner.

  She pulls a key card from her pocket, letting me see it for only a brief moment before slipping it back into her navy blue sweater. “Simple.”

  I stare at her, incredulous. “You stole Mr. Washington’s security pass?”

  “Don’t freak out. He’s always losing his pass, so much that the secretary at the front office keeps an extra one for him in her desk.”

  “What happens when she sees that it’s gone?”

  “That won’t be for days. We’re going to graduate next week.”

  I’m simultaneously impressed and horrified at how casually my friend has broken the rules. “You realize we’re upgrading from breaking school rules to illegal activity, right?”

  She scoffs. “What’s illegal about swiping a key card?”

  “Theft.” I tick the words off with my fingers. “Trespassing. Oh, not to mention blackmail.”

  “All for the greater good.”

  Acid rises in my throat. If she weren’t right about that, I would refuse to do it. I’m not a rule breaker. Not a rebel. At least I didn’t use to be. That seems to be changing. “All I’m saying is that if we wind up in jail, I’m blaming you.”

  “Please. I have about three fake passports that could get me out of the country.” At my expression, she adds, “I’m kidding, of course.”

  I don’t think she’s kidding. “And leave me here to take the fall?”

  Like the way she did at the club. But I know that about her. She’s the one who found the guy selling a tape that we can use for blackmail. She also set up the meeting. That’s actually a high amount of planning for someone who flew to Coachella in a hot air balloon. I’m the one with the envelope of cash in my backpack. I have to be the one to finish this.

  “Nothing is going to happen,” she says. “No one is going to fall. This is exactly how my mom got into a Nicaraguan embassy and aided the rebellion.”
<
br />   “Which rebellion?”

  “Does it matter? We’re speaking truth to power right now. Coach Price is going down.”

  Because Laney is a smart girl and because it’s the only plan we have, I manage to convince myself that everything is going to be fine.

  We’ll buy the evidence we need to blackmail Coach Price. We’ll protect Cody and the other boys he coaches without breaking our vow of silence. And we’ll definitely not end up fleeing the country under an assumed name.

  At least I believe that until I use the card to get to the tennis court, where the club owner is supposed to be waiting. Only, he’s not there. Principal Keller stands there instead.

  SAMANTHA

  Liam and I have sat in the principal’s office together before. Once when he enrolled me in the school, after an interview process where Liam drilled the teachers in both core subjects and drama and of course music. Even though it was understood that the serious music learning would happen with my tutors outside school, both Liam and the school agreed that I should participate in orchestra. For the camaraderie, Miss Harper said. If six girls hating my guts for taking first chair every year was camaraderie, then it had definitely worked.

  Then again every year as we discussed my progress, my course schedule, my socialization. That’s what they called me sitting alone at the lunch table in tenth grade when Laney had volunteered in Costa Rica for a semester.

  Daddy never set foot in one of my schools. He would write a note—or have one of his aides write a note. I would take the bus to school, if there was a bus. I also took a train or a rickshaw or in one singular incident in Columbia, a donkey.

  And if a teacher ever demanded to see my father, if that was the price of entry, then I simply wouldn’t go. We’ll be leaving this hellhole soon enough, Sam. He called them all hellholes, even if it was a five-star hotel with crystal glasses and gold chandeliers.

  Liam showing such an interest in my schooling was strange. Foreign.