Forbidden: A Ward Sisters Sisters Novel

by Sorensen , Karla

  After a weighty silence, Aiden finally answered. “You know I can’t.”

  My lips pursed thoughtfully. “What if I draw an invisible line you’re not allowed to cross?”

  His eyelids fell closed, his chest rose and fell on a slow, steady inhale and exhale. “You are dangerous to my mental health, Isabel Ward.”

  I smiled even though he couldn’t see me. I liked knowing that. I liked that he’d said it out loud. Maybe Aiden was just as aware that this wasn’t reality, and we were allowed to make whispered admissions that might never see the light of day.

  There were a million things I could’ve said to him, could’ve told him, in this last conversation of our long, sleepless night together. Things no one knew about me, or things I wanted him to know about me. But I kept all those words inside because somehow, I knew this wasn’t the time.

  When Aiden opened his eyes and studied me, he seemed to be pondering the same depth of thoughts, judging by the thoughtful look on his face.

  “It would confuse Anya,” he said after a few seconds. My eyebrows lowered. “If she walked in here,” Aiden explained.

  Right.

  I didn’t have to make all my decisions through the lens of a child. And it was a timely reminder that he did.

  “You’re right.”

  “She already thinks you’re a superhero, especially after today. No matter what invisible line is up”—he paused meaningfully—“if she saw us in bed together …”

  I nodded. “I get it.”

  My eyes burned hot, though, because it very much seemed like an hourglass had been turned over when I crawled into his bed, and I was watching the last few grains of sand slip through the opening.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  Carefully rolling onto my back, I took a quick assessment of my body. “My head doesn’t hurt as bad as it did last night.”

  He held a hand out. “Let me see your wrist.”

  I turned again and laid my taped wrist gently in his palm. His face held no expression while he turned it, smoothed his fingers over the area.

  “Swelling isn’t too much worse, so that’s a good sign.” He glanced up at me. “No tingling in your fingers?”

  I shook my head.

  When his fingertip traced the edge of the tape and brushed the skin over my knuckles, I made a discovery that maybe no woman in history had ever discovered: if the right man, with the right fingers, touched the skin on your knuckles, you could feel it spread warm and slow over your entire body.

  I couldn’t breathe, let alone answer his question.

  My lack of speaking didn’t seem to draw his notice because his eyes stayed trained on our hands. Slowly, so slowly, and so gently, he found the edge of the tape and started unraveling it.

  Over the years, I’d seen him inflict incredible violence. Leave his opponents bleeding and sweat-drenched on the mat.

  And watching his hands slowly peel away the medical tape like he was unwrapping a priceless gift almost made me burst into tears.

  I hated when people took care of me. The last time I had the flu, I crawled my ass into bed with a veritable drugstore set up on my nightstand and told everyone to give me forty-eight hours to ride out the plague in peace.

  All anyone had to do was ask the paramedics who helped me what kind of patient I was.

  The worst. I was the worst patient in the world.

  What was it about Aiden that made me feel safe to be in this position?

  I shifted, bringing my arm to a better position for him, and he glanced up with a tiny smile.

  It was easily four o’clock in the morning, and he didn’t seem to be in a hurry.

  “What’s your favorite food?” I whispered.

  His hands paused in their unwrapping to check the bruising on the underside of my wrist with only the slightest brush of his fingers.

  I shivered.

  He noticed.

  Before he answered, he went back to removing the wrap. “Not strawberry Pop-Tarts.”

  I laughed.

  His eyes landed on my mouth. “You don’t laugh very often.”

  “Neither do you.”

  “My brother made you laugh,” he said casually.

  Oh, my heart. It wouldn’t surprise me if Aiden heard it thrashing wildly where he sat.

  “He said something funny.” When Aiden pinned me with a searching look, I simply raised my eyebrows. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You still haven’t told me your favorite food.”

  His smile was slight and sexy. “I called Paige when you were sleeping.”

  As a distraction technique, it was really effective. My mouth fell open. “You what?”

  Aiden finished unwrapping my wrist and turned it carefully. But he had no choice but to release my hand when I sat up. My legs swung in front of him on the floor, so I tucked them up crisscross underneath me.

  “Why would you call her? The whole point of coming here was so no one knew.”

  “No,” he countered, “the point of coming here was so that you didn’t have to go to the hospital. She heard about the tree from Molly and called you multiple times.”

  “So you unlocked my phone and called her back?”

  An eyebrow rose on his forehead imperiously. “Technically, Emmett unlocked your phone.”

  I gave him a withering look. Amazing how knuckle-stroking-almost-orgasms only went so far when he took it upon himself to tell Paige about something without asking. My chin rose a notch. “You had no right to do that.”

  “I didn’t have your permission, no.” He got on his knees, hands braced on the edge of the mattress, bringing his face closer to mine. “But whether I had the right is debatable. You are in my home with a head injury, and the worst thing I could imagine as a parent is if something awful happened and I didn’t know.”

  My withering look softened into something a little less … withery because he wasn’t wrong.

  “She wasn’t mad,” he told me. “They switched to the first flight out this morning. I think they’ll be here after breakfast.”

  My shoulders slumped. “I didn’t want to worry anyone.”

  “I know.”

  Carefully, I flexed my fingers, turning my hand back and forth so I could see it in the light. It was swollen but not terribly. The bruising would be ugly, but I was so fortunate. Anya was so fortunate.

  “But maybe,” he said, “it’s okay to let people worry about you every once in a while. It doesn’t mean you’re a burden. It sure as hell doesn’t mean you’re weak because that is the last thing you are.”

  I almost swayed in his direction. Once Logan and Paige got me and Emmett, once we pulled out of his driveway, I probably wouldn’t see him for a few days. Certainly not like this.

  In general, I wasn’t an impulsive person. I was decisive, and that was different. It didn’t take me long to decide about … anything, really, because I always had the sense of which course of action made the most sense.

  At this moment, I knew I was going to touch Aiden because I couldn’t not touch him.

  “I think I’m done sleeping,” I said quietly. I inhaled slowly, and he was so close—even though I was staring at my hand, and he was staring at me. It felt safer that way, to keep my gaze off his. With my good hand, I slid my fingers over his, and relished in the way he breathed out. Aiden’s hand was so much bigger than my own. It would span so much of my body with those fingers fanned out.

  As I moved my fingertips over his knuckles, I couldn’t help but wonder if it had the same effect on him as it had on me.

  Instead of fighting the impulse that tugged my body toward him, I let it flow through me. A hot sweep of power had me turning my head and resting my forehead against his temple. Underneath my palm, his fingers curled up into a tight fist. The muscles in his forearms flexed, and he breathed out of his nose, a short puff of air that sounded loud in my ears.

  And that big man, who caused such big feelings, he didn’t move away.
Neither did I.

  I slid my hand up his forearm, curled my fingers around his shifting muscle and sinew, until I felt the hard knot of his elbow, the tight, hot curve of his bicep underneath his skin. My teeth dug into my bottom lip when I saw, through heavily weighted eyes, the way his jaw flexed and bunched.

  Grab me.

  Touch me.

  Kiss me.

  My demands almost fell past my lips, but I yanked the words back in because I didn’t dare break the spell.

  Maybe it wasn’t a spell, I wondered, as my fingers curled, the tips of my nails digging slightly into the surface of his skin. Maybe this was me sticking my hand willingly into the fire, just to see if it would burn the way I imagined.

  His whole body trembled when—with the slightest lift to my chin—my lips swept over his cheekbone. If he ever unleashed the full force of himself on me, I’d probably snap in half from the impact.

  Aiden sank in, just an inch, his own forehead resting now on my bare shoulder. His exhale, heavy and hot, snaked down the gap in my shirt, and when it hit my breast, a sound escaped from the back of my throat.

  His hand, still fisted on the bed, shot forward, and with a hard press of his hand on my good hip, my legs unfolded like he flipped a switch. He curled that big hand along my lower back, under my shirt, and tugged me forward on the bed. My hand slid the rest of the way up his arm, over his shoulder, and my fingers curled around the back of his neck.

  And then nothing.

  Our heads stayed just as they were—his pressed into my shoulder, mine tucked against his—like neither of us dared to move.

  We’d both taken one step up to the invisible line because a touch could be ignored, but the second his lips hit mine, the second I knew what his tongue felt like slick and sliding against my own, the line would be obliterated.

  Obliterated.

  Such a good word for what he was capable of doing to me. Aiden Hennessy was huge, and my toes curled helplessly at the feel of him pressed between my legs. All it would take is a tip backward, a tug of a few meaningless scraps of material, and I’d be his.

  Please, I mouthed against his cheek.

  “Fuck,” he whispered, a tortured whisper that made my thighs clench around his hips. “I can’t,” he hissed.

  Aiden shoved away from the bed and stood, striding out of the room before I could take my next breath.

  I fell back on the bed, hand pressed over my hammering chest, and wondered if it was possible to die from built-up sexual tension.

  Even though the door was open, and I heard the bang of a kitchen cabinet, I stayed right where I was. There was nothing to be gained from following him out of the bedroom, from pushing him on why he held up this imaginary line.

  Or not now.

  This night felt like a crossroads. The moment we just shared was a road diverging into two distinct paths in front of us.

  Admittedly, his was even bigger than mine. He was moving on from a love he’d lost. I was simply taking a first step toward something that large.

  Wearily, I rose from the bed and walked into the massive bathroom attached to his room. The sunken white tub looked pretty amazing, along with stretches of gleaming tile and a glass-enclosed shower. My whole body ached, and I couldn’t even tell how much of it came from what just happened with Aiden, a letdown of energy that had propped me up for that moment in time.

  In the mirror over the double vanity, I leaned in and studied the cut on my forehead. There was minimal bruising around it, which was good. Maybe Paige wouldn’t lose her shit too badly when she saw me.

  Everything about the past twenty-four hours was hitting me at the same time. The entire roller coaster almost too much for my body to process.

  I just wanted … to float. Feel warm and clean and good.

  Decision made, I walked over to the tub and flipped the water on, testing the water when it got to the right temperature. There was no fancy bath soap in his bathroom, but I found some good old-fashioned Epsom salt in the linen closet, which I poured under the running water. It dissolved in the water as I swept my hand around the crystals.

  There was no more banging in the kitchen, and I walked back into the bedroom to grab the clean clothes out of my backpack. As I straightened, I caught sight of Aiden sitting on the couch, his head in his hands.

  When I paused in the doorway, he lifted his head, and our eyes met.

  “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to take a bath,” I said.

  His eyes burned bright, but he didn’t answer.

  “Unless you feel like explaining to me why you can’t,” I added. “Because I’d love to understand it.”

  Aiden dropped his chin to his chest, shielding his gaze from view. “You’re injured, Isabel,” he said quietly.

  I shook my head. “That’s not it.”

  His head snapped up, but he didn’t argue.

  The specter of his wife hung between us. I knew it.

  “I know that’s not it.” My voice gained strength. “And I wish you’d explain it to me.”

  Those eyes of his, I’d never seen any quite like them. A wordless answer hit me straight in the heart as he stared at me. I can’t. It was as clear as if he’d spoken the words out loud.

  “Don’t tell me you can’t,” I told him quietly. “You won’t, and there’s a difference.”

  My lungs didn’t work quite right as I gripped the knob on the bedroom door, and he disappeared from view, jagged bursts of oxygen making my whole chest ache. The door closed with a quiet click, and I sank against it for a moment.

  I pushed off the door and walked into the bathroom, stripping off my clothes and letting them fall haphazardly onto the floor. As I slid into the water, I knew he wouldn’t come in. I wasn’t willing to pretend anymore, like I didn’t have big, scary feelings for this man. Twice now, I’d begged him to do something. And he hadn’t.

  I had a feeling I knew why.

  But I needed him to open up a little too. Not all the way, and not all at once. But if he was unwilling to give me anything, then I had to decide if I could make peace with that.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Isabel

  A few hours later, Emmett and I were ready to get home.

  Well … Emmett wasn’t.

  I sure was. My bath had revived me, and with the help of one more dose of Tylenol, even though my body was still sore, I could manage more easily. And as I’d moved around the kitchen after packing my backpack and making his bed, Aiden acted like there was a six-foot force field surrounding me that he wasn’t allowed to breach.

  Breakfast was bagels (for the adults) and cereal (for the kids) because it wasn’t like Aiden had prepared for guests.

  “I’m hungry,” Emmett told me, tossing a pine cone into the air and catching it. Logan and Paige would be there any minute.

  “I told you you should’ve had a bagel.”

  Tongue trapped between his teeth, he tossed the pine cone higher and darted to the side to catch it, but his hand-eye coordination was off, so it bounced off my head.

  “Sorry,” he said with a grimace.

  I brushed flecks of the pine cone off my hair, slicked back in a braid going down my back. “Hey, what’s one more head injury.”

  Anya flew out of the front door and scrambled on my lap, where I sat on a white Adirondack chair that overlooked the front yard. She studied my face, her mouth twisting up in a thoughtful grimace when she looked at the bandage at my hairline.

  “Does it hurt?” she asked.

  “Not too bad.” I gently touched the bottom of the butterfly bandage. “Itches a little, but I need to leave it on here for a few days.”

  Her eyes, bright blue, and an entirely different size and shade as her father’s, met mine. Her mother’s eyes. My eyes came from my mother too, and I couldn’t help but think about how differently I might’ve felt if I liked seeing that reminder of her in the mirror. Anya would. And Aiden, every time he looked at his daughter, would see glimpses of the woman they lo
st.

  Gently, I brushed her hair behind her ears.

  “You don’t laugh a lot, do you?” she asked.

  Her father had asked me something similar, and I struggled not to feel like I’d done something wrong by the repeated question.

  I tapped her chin with my thumb, and it drew a smile. “I laugh more once you get to know me,” I told her.

  My answer made her happy, and my heart struggled to work past the sweet melancholy ache she brought out in me. If I was already falling in love with her dad, then Anya might have beaten him to the finish line.

  I loved her serious questions. I loved her daredevil streak, even if my wrist throbbed in protest. I loved that she laid in the middle of a boxing ring singing at the top of her lungs.

  “I went to sleep right away last night,” she told me in a serious tone.

  “That’s … good.” My brow furrowed because it certainly seemed like she was telling me something important. “Is it usually hard for you to get to sleep?”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  Her eyes moved from my face down to the letters on my Wolves T-shirt. The worn black fabric wasn’t something I would’ve packed had I known anyone outside of Emmett would be privileged to see me in all my morning glory. There were holes in the hem. I’d ripped the arms off years earlier because I hated sleeves on my shirts when I worked out.

  “What keeps you up, sweetheart?” I asked. As I watched her, it was impossible not to think about the nights I’d stared at the ceiling of my bedroom when I was younger.

  “I don’t know. ” Her answer was honest and simply spoken, but still … it wedged something raw and vulnerable into my heart. “But I liked that Emmett was across the hall. I pretended he was my big brother.” Her eyes met mine again. “And you were downstairs. Daddy wasn’t alone either. I think it was easier to sleep because I was happy.”

  It was almost impossible to swallow past whatever was lodged in my throat. I thought of what Aiden said the night before, about confusing her.

  “Your daddy was very nice to let us stay because I was hurt,” I said gently.

  Anya nodded. I found myself studying her more closely than I ever had.