Forbidden Neighbor: A Contemporary Romance Boxset (Forbidden Saga Book 2)

by Summer Brooks

  Here I was giving relationship advice when my own had started from a web of lies. The irony was not lost on me, but Alec and I were happy after all, so I had some grounds to stand on at least.

  "Yeah, I guess so. But I want to get married. I want stability, and a family like what you have with Alec, and you can't half-marry someone."

  "You're right," I said sympathetically. "Well, I hope I see you tonight, but I understand if I don't. Just let me know how things go either way, okay? Who knows, maybe you'll have a ring on your finger when you show up over here."

  She laughed. "I highly doubt that."

  "Love you, Amanda. We'll talk soon. Good luck, girlfriend."

  "Thanks. I need it. Bye, sweetie." She hung up and I heard Alec come in through the front entrance.

  "I'm in the kitchen" I called out to Alec, putting Elijah back in his high chair. As soon as I let go of him, he began to cry again. Alec came in and gave me a kiss, then gave Elijah a kiss as well.

  "My two most favorite people," he said, setting his briefcase on a chair.

  I smiled, but Elijah just screamed. "I think he is ready for his nap," I said to Alec. "I'm going to put him down and then be back to chat. I've got some…news."

  "Uh oh, I hope it's good," Alec said, giving his son another kiss before I took him to his nursery to lay him down. Once he was tucked in and settled, I found Alec settled in the living room.

  "So, I just talked to Amanda and her and Marcus may not be showing up tonight. Trouble in paradise." I said. He had already heard Marcus' version of this ongoing fight before.

  "Is this about the marriage thing? Somehow, I almost feel responsible."

  I raised my eyebrows. "Why? Because you got married first?"

  "Well, yeah. She helped me pick out your ring and I think she has gotten worse ever since then."

  "I doubt it," I said. "Anyway I'm sure they'll work it out. They are so great together when he isn't too stubborn and she isn't too impatient."

  Alec looked at me with a cute smile on his face.

  "What? Do I have something on me?" I looked down at my shirt, wondering if I was covered in Eli’s spit up.

  "No, just beauty," he said, smiling and pulling me in for a kiss. "I am so glad I have you," he whispered to me, letting his hands wander underneath my shirt until they found my breasts, where he gave me a gentle squeeze. His cock twitched, stretching his pants noticeably.

  Elijah was down for a nap and the guests wouldn't arrive for plenty of time. Alec knew exactly what he was starting and I was all for it.

  He pulled me on top of him on the couch, pulling my shirt over my head. I pawed at his belt until I got it undone, allowing him the freedom to pull out his cock for me.

  "I love you so much," I whispered to him between kisses, struggling to get out of my panties. When we were free of fabric, I descended on him, softly moaning as I impaled myself on his hard, upright cock.

  "Yes," he cooed. "You're the best." We rocked together sweetly and slowly, and achieving our climax together. We had to take the time that we had together these days, but as our promise to each other before Elijah was born, we always managed to find the time.

  We quickly got dressed, cuddling on the couch for a bit longer. "You get better and better at that every time, I swear it," Alec said, gently rubbing my arm.

  I gave him a kiss. "You're funny," I said. "Flattery will totally get you to places with me, though. I need all the confidence boosting I can get. I still have baby weight that isn't going anywhere." I rolled my eyes.

  "I like it. I like all of you," he squeezed my ass, and then stood up himself. "I guess it's time to get ready for the dinner tonight. This should be fun, as long as Marcus does the right thing."

  I laughed, "Let’s hope so. I want to see everyone happy."

  Alec and I exchanged a look across the crowded table. Everyone on the guest list had showed up so far except for Marcus and Amanda. This wasn't good news, but everyone else was in a good mood at least.

  "So, Myra, when are you having another one?" Dylan teased me, and his boyfriend, Alfonse jabbed him in the ribs.

  "I don't know Dylan, as soon as you have one. There's technology these days, you know?" I smirked at him.

  "Children, children," Carter laughed. "No fighting at the table. Now, Alec, pass me the wine like a good little brother," he joked.

  We all laughed. Just then the doorbell rang and moments later Marcus appeared at the table, looking harried. Amanda wasn't with him. I shot Alec another look.

  Marcus made his way to the liquor table and poured himself a glass of bourbon before taking a seat with the rest of us. "I'm sorry I'm late," he said, taking a long swig.

  "That's okay, we're just glad you made it. Is everything good?" I asked, knowing full-well it wasn't.

  He shook his head, taking another long drink. "Amanda and I broke up. But I'll be fine. Really, let's just enjoy our evening, shall we? I still wanted to come. Family is most important."

  "You're right, and thank you for coming, of course. I'm so sorry to hear about this," I said. "Excuse me a moment."

  I heard Alec start to comfort his brother. Even Carter was chiming in, the man who never got involved in relationship dramas.

  I could hear my phone blowing up with a series of texts. They all were from Amanda:

  Sorry but I couldn't sit through dinner with him knowing I was leaving him. I don't have any more time to waste if we aren't moving forward, and I am happy for you, but I have to go find my happiness too. I'll call you soon. Please don't be mad that I had to bail on your party.

  I felt terrible for the both of them. Amanda and I had always talked about how great it would be if we were real sisters, and now it looked like that wasn't happening. I caught sight of a photo of Elijah, Alec, and I that was taken on the bay just before sunset, and I smiled. I knew just how good I had it, and I promised myself that I would never take it for granted.

  Forbidden Hero

  1

  Laura

  Amanda is making it super hard for me to ignore her, and I’m trying, engrossed in the book I’m clutching.

  Except it’s not the most interesting book I’ve ever read. It’s a cozy mystery, which I love, but the plot seems a little bit derivative, and the characters shallow.

  And I’m pretty sure that by page 150 of 400 I already know who did it, which I shouldn’t. Not yet. I should be on the edge of my seat trying to figure it out. So obviously the red herrings aren’t quite working out in the plot.

  My analysis is interrupted again as Amanda passes in front of me, heading into the kitchen. I peek above my book, comfortably ensconced in my favorite chair in our living room, waiting for her. I know exactly what she’s going to do. We’ve been best friends long enough for that.

  She peeks around the corner, her expansive smile visible from here, “Hey, Bestie...So, are we going to your brother’s party tonight?”

  I sigh. The invitation is in my book. I’ve been using it as a bookmark, hoping that somehow Amanda wouldn’t see it. Of course, she did. The woman has eyes like a hawk. I thumb it. The printing on it is perfect with beautiful embossing. He has money, working for some fancy law firm. Not like his younger screw-up of a sister, the only job she seems to be able to get is as a bookseller. Which is great for what I intend my job to become, which is a mystery novelist. But getting published is just so hard, and my latest book just isn’t coming together.

  “I don’t know, Amanda,” I look longingly at my book. “I really want to get this book done and try to figure out why it’s such a bestseller. See if I can maybe do some edits to my own book, even though it’s been rejected by every agent out there. Or maybe just start something fresh, and see if one will bite. I mean, maybe my characters aren’t shallow enough, or…”

  Amanda flops in front of me on her favorite chair and ends my tirade with one of her glares.

  “You really want to go, don’t you?” I resign myself.

  “I really do,” Amanda says. “
I mean, your brother always throws the swankiest of parties, and there’s going to be all of these random hot guys there and lawyers to boot. That’s money. And not just money, but class, and culture, and your brother always has these fancy little appetizers, and wine that you can’t really get anywhere on our ten-dollar a month wine budget.”

  She stops, looks down apologetically, “But, I mean, if you don’t want to go, that’s okay, too.”

  I sigh from the depths of my soul. “Amanda, I’m so glad you understand my lack of desire for going.” The expression on her face flickers quickly from disappointment to knowing that I’m just playing with her. She grabs a pillow and throws it at me. I block it with my book and bend back some of the pages.

  Amanda jumps up immediately, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to damage your book!”

  “The penalty for that,” I say dramatically, “will obviously be for you to make sure that I’m not bored to tears at tonight’s party.”

  Amanda sinks back down and claps her hands, “So, we’re going?”

  “I guess we are.”

  She squeals and jumps up. Hugs me and flutters away, talking about how she’s going to have to get ready for the evening - from doing her nails and her hair to selecting jewelry and her dress. And, most importantly, does she even have shoes to go with anything she has?

  I sit back in my chair and open my book back up. I straighten out the pages - not a big loss. It’s not like these words were ones that were truly captivating me. But, still, this book has been selling so well and I’m intent on finding out why. I always feel like I’m one step behind when it comes to writing and publishing. Like some people were handed a secret skeleton key to the entire industry, and I’m left in the shadows of their greatness, not even able to get published.

  I know by now that a bestseller doesn’t have to be the deepest novel, or the one with the best metaphors, or the greatest structure. There’s something in them, some kind of spark that works between what the market needs and what the store provides, which seems completely random to me. But, if life has taught me anything, it’s that if I study anything obsessively enough, I eventually find an answer. This is exactly what I intend to do here.

  I start reading again, losing myself in the caper. Well, more or less. Every page seems to support my preliminary conclusion on who the killer is. I’d be surprised to find a different ending. That possibility alone keeps me reading, trying to force myself not to flip to the back of the book. I need to see the build-up, the rising tension, the character arcs. All of those things are important to my learning.

  If my brother can spend all those years in school and learn to be a lawyer, then surely I can spend all this time reading books and learning to duplicate their authors’ successes.

  My brother.

  Ugh. I can’t believe I’m going to that party tonight. I really don’t want to. I hate the swankiness of it all and the pretense. I hate feeling like I’m the little sister left in the dust, the one who never succeeds at anything. It doesn’t matter that I try really hard, I’m still working in a dead end book-selling job even though I’m in my twenties. My God, I should have found a real career by now and not just some side-gig that teenagers do. What is wrong with me?

  The people who’ve been friends with my brother forever no longer even ask me about my book. Honestly, I’m so glad they don’t because it gets embarrassing telling them again and again that I’m still working on it; plus, having to pretend that I’m still as enthusiastic and excited to be a writer as I ever was.

  Nevermind. No problem. One foot in front of the other. Publishing takes time. Yadda, yadda, yadda. It’s all true, except it’s already been years. After that long, sometimes even I worry that I don't believe in myself.

  “Laura,” Amanda calls out, “can I borrow your black pumps?”

  “Sure.”

  Amanda pokes her head in again, “Are you going to get ready? Do you even know what you’re wearing tonight?”

  “I figure I’ll wear my polka-dot dress. It’s not like I have a wide selection, Amanda.”

  “Hmmm…” Amanda vanishes back into her room. “Come on, you should get ready now.”

  I sigh and put away the book. Amanda won’t let go of this, and she’s not wrong. It’s less than an hour before the party starts, and I guess I should probably try to do something - maybe with makeup, maybe with my hair, which happens to be frizzing all over the place today. I blame the humidity. Some hair product would prove more than beneficial.

  I head into my room, where Amanda’s prized red gown lays across my bed. She’d never let me borrow that one. She’s worn it only at a couple of events, always looking smashing with her dark raven hair tumbling down against the gorgeous silk.

  “Aren’t you wearing this?”

  “No,” Amanda calls from her bedroom. “I think you should wear it tonight. It’ll look good on you, and I wore it last year, anyways. I’m going to wear something green tonight.”

  “I don’t think I can pull off red,” I protest. “I mean, doesn’t it wash me out?” I swear Amanda has the ability to just pop up anywhere. Her head peeks through my doorway now.

  “Can’t pull off red? Are you crazy? With your perfect blonde hair and blue eyes? Don’t be silly. Put on the dress. I demand to see you wearing the dress.” Her eyes narrow, “That’s my best dress. Don’t spill anything on it.”

  “I won’t!” I laugh. I look at the dress again. It’s stunning. Beautifully tailored and very noticeable - there would be no blending in at the party for me tonight. Which I suppose is exactly what Amanda is hoping for, in a bid to get her introverted, book-loving roommate out there.

  Still, it really is a nice gesture. The least I can do is try it on. Not that the dress I’m wearing matters anyway. Nobody will probably even notice that I’m at the party tonight. I might as well feel somewhat pretty while standing in the corner being ignored.

  Maybe this won’t be so bad. Maybe I’ll get a cool idea for my book?

  Of course, I won’t - not at a fancy party full of mostly lawyers.

  I stick a notebook and pen in my purse. Might as well make the most of my evening.

  2

  Chris

  I can sense impending victory at the other end of the line. The slight rise in his breathing, the growing anger, practically palpable over the phone line.

  I wait. There’s no point interrupting the crescendo of emotions that’s about to rise out of this client. I want him to feel angry. I want him to give me more information than he wants to.

  “Are you sure we can’t come to a better agreement?” he says after some time. In control still, but barely. The cracks of strain at the edges of his voice are unmistakable. I don’t want to break him just yet.

  “I’m afraid not,” I make it sound like I care. Like this is just the way things are, and I’m not trying to manipulate the situation. Just two guys chatting business. “This is all we’re willing to offer at this time. You either give us the information that we need, or we will get a court order and acquire the information.”

  The breathing grows heavier at the other end again. I already have a court order, but they don’t know that. I want to see if they’re going to freak out, and what it’ll make them do. This case is almost won - a major victory for my firm. An important one for me, too.

  “Give me an hour,” the line cuts off.

  I drop the phone back into its cradle with a clang. I swear that’s one of the only reasons we still have old-style phones and not just cell phones. First, I don’t want to be reachable wherever I go. And second, that clang? It’s satisfying.

  Unless I’ve terribly miscalculated, which is a rare thing, this case is now won. The opposition’s lawyer should withdraw by tomorrow, and all charges should be dropped against my client, whose innocence is easy to prove - because he didn’t do anything.

  I stretch my neck and shoulders, the day’s fatigue finally catching up with me. I swear my eyes are coated with dust. I don’t eve
n know what time it is anymore. It’s getting dark outside, so definitely later than I was thinking. Time to go home - call it a night. Relax, shower…

  My cell phone rings. I look at it. It’s one of my partners, Dan Martin. I’m tempted to ignore him, but Dan is a friend and a colleague.

  “Hey, Dan,” I answer.

  “Chris! How did it go today?”

  “It went well.” Leave it to Dan to remember that I was potentially closing this case today. We work for the same firm, but our portfolios are so different that we rarely team up. The few cases that we have, however, remain some of my favorites.

  Dan and I started our careers at the same time, following each other from high school, into university, and then landing jobs at this firm.

  He’s always been one of my closest friends, and a great ally to boot, which is why the next question takes me by surprise.

  “So are you coming tonight?”

  I rack my brain, trying to figure out exactly what Dan is referring to. I’ve been so busy with this case that my entire mind just became wrapped up in it. I do tend to get tunnel vision, I know. And usually, it doesn’t matter. There are few people in my life for whom I care to make any effort socially.

  Well, Dan is one of them. He’s more like a brother than a friend.

  “I….tonight…” I try to gain some time, knowing that it won’t fool Dan.

  He sighs, but I can hear the laughter in his voice when he speaks, “You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?”

  “I most certainly have not,” I sound mock insulted. Then I remember before he can remind me. “Your birthday party! Of course, I’ll be there. I’m sorry, this case has just been-”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Dan says. “If you didn’t close this today, I’d fully expected you to have bowed out. But, since you closed it, and successfully - may I add - why don’t you join us tonight and we can enjoy toasting your victory?”