Forbidden Hunger (Forbidden series Book 3)

by Mia Madison

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  About the Author

  Also by Mia Madison

  Forbidden Hunger

  Mia Madison

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Mia Madison

  Prologue

  “Well done, everyone,” Madame Ellis says. “I will see you all tomorrow.”

  I smile at Eden Drake, my new best friend. We’re both first-year students at the Barre Institute, Madame Ellis’s full-time ballet academy in New York City. “Good floor work today.”

  “Thanks! You too.” She flings an arm around my shoulders. We’re exactly the same height and build, but I’m dark and Eden’s blonde. “You should come home for dinner with me.”

  “Are you sure it’s okay?”

  “Of course. My dad would love to meet you.”

  “That would be great, then.” My heart sings, happy that I’ve made such a good friend here. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll just text our housekeeper and let her know to make a little more of whatever our dinner is,” she says. She pulls out her phone while we walk to the dressing room to change.

  When we go outside, there’s a dark sedan idling at the curb. “Dad’s driver, Hugh,” Eden explains. “It’s not that far to the apartment – we could easily walk it – but Dad’s protective.”

  We climb into the back seat. “Good evening, Miss Drake,” the driver says.

  “Good evening, Hugh. This is my friend Tori Smith. She’s coming home for dinner.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Miss Smith.”

  “You too,” I say, trying to act like this is no big deal. I came to New York City after high school, when I won a scholarship to the Barre Institute. Life back home, in rural Michigan, is very different.

  The car makes its way through the crowded streets, and I gaze out the window at the skyscrapers. “You grew up here, right?” I ask Eden.

  “Yes, I’ve been here my whole life.”

  “It probably seems like no big deal to you, but I love New York. It’s so different from home. So many kinds of people, so many sights and sounds … it’s hard to explain.”

  “No, I get it. I love the city too. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

  The car pulls up to the curb in front of an elegant apartment building. “Thanks, Hugh,” Eden says.

  “You’re most welcome, Miss Drake. Have a good evening.”

  “Thank you,” I say in turn, and climb from the car. Eden enters a passcode on a keypad to let us into the building. The lobby isn’t grand, but it’s nothing shabby either – it’s clean and well-lit and nicely appointed.

  The elevator rises smoothly to the fifth floor, and I follow Eden down the hall, where she enters another passcode to unlock her door. We go in and she leads me straight to the kitchen, where a cheerful-looking woman is cooking. “Carole, this is my friend Tori. Did you get my text?”

  “Sure did.” Carole smiles at me. “Welcome, Tori. We’re having chicken lentil soup, so there’s plenty.”

  “Yum!” Eden opens the refrigerator. “Tori, do you want a sparkling water, or just regular water? We’ve got blackberry cucumber and cantaloupe grapefruit.”

  “Blackberry cucumber, please.”

  As she’s taking it out, the front door opens and a man comes in. My heart jerks sideways in my chest. He’s tall, and handsome, and the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.

  “Dad!” Eden says, and runs over to give him a hug. “Meet my friend, Tori Smith. She goes to the Barre Institute too. Tori, my dad, Ashton Drake.”

  I shake hands with him. Electricity jolts up my arm and I manage, barely, not to gasp.

  “Hello, Tori. It’s nice to meet you.” Even his voice is sexy, with a warm timbre that creates a strange sensation low in my belly.

  “It’s very nice to meet you too.” My voice comes out all husky. Clearing my throat, I try to act nonchalant, like I meet hot older men all the time.

  Maybe it’s my newly-besotted imagination, but it feels like there’s something between us, a moment of awareness that isn’t just me. Mr. Drake’s deep, expressive eyes hold me spellbound in their gaze.

  “Let’s eat,” Eden says, and the moment ends. We break eye contact and look at her as she continues, with a grin, “Carole’s made her famous chicken-lentil soup.”

  “One of my favorites,” Mr. Drake says, and glances back at me for a moment. Our eyes meet, and that awareness, that sense of something more, starts to materialize again.

  Then he turns away, and I tell myself I’m being ridiculous. A man like him – wealthy and successful, judging from this apartment, not to mention sexy as fuck – no doubt has his pick of dates. I’m not sophisticated, or famous, or rich, or highly educated, or any of the other qualities he probably looks for in a woman.

  I’m a nineteen-year-old nobody from Nowhere, Michigan. Just a kid. No way would this gorgeous hunk of man ever be interested in me.

  Just as well, really. I can’t imagine trying to tell my new friend I’ve got the hots for her father. That would be the ultimate in awkward, embarrassing conversations.

  But as we sit down for dinner, regret simmers in my soul.

  1

  One year later

  Where’s Eden? I’m supposed to be taking my daughter to lunch, and she’s not at our usual meeting place in the lobby of the Barre Institute. It’s not like her to be late or forgetful.

  My phone buzzes with a text from Shane, my associate. He has a question about an upcoming client meeting. I text him a brief reply, then put the phone away.

  The hallway is thronged with dancers, all of them ambitious, talented, and hardworking. Eden has earned a place among them, and I’m proud of her. But right now, we’re on a schedule and I need to find her.

  I slip through the crowd of students, past the receptionist at the front desk. Pushing past more dancers, I make my way down the hallway, peering into open doorways.

  I finally find Eden in one of the practice rooms. She’s sitting on the floor, and next to her is Tori.

  My daughter’s friend is crying, face buried in her hands, Eden’s arm around her. My gut twists with sudden rage. I want to find out who’s responsible for making Tori feel this way and rip them to shreds.

  Fuck.

  I’ve been fighting my feelings for Tori since the day I met her. She captivated me during dinner with her beauty, her kindness, and a sense of mischief that balances Eden’s more serious nature.

  And then, later that night, I dreamed of her. Vividly. The most erotic fantasy my subconscious had ever invented – about a girl only a few months older than my daughter.

  Since then, it’s been a constant battle to keep my distance from her. To guard my mind against the desires that won’t leave me alone, no matter how wrong I know
they are.

  And now I want to kill an unknown person for making her unhappy.

  Crouching down in front of the girls, I struggle to keep my face impassive. “What’s wrong?”

  At the sound of my voice, Tori stops crying and starts frantically patting her face dry. My brain automatically catalogs her features, as though I didn’t already have them memorized.

  Sable hair, pulled back from her face in the typical dancer’s style; a high forehead and delicately arched brows over dark, deep-set eyes; and a straight nose leading to a full, sensual mouth that’s starred in more than one of my forbidden fantasies. Her jawline is firm, but the shallow dent in her chin hints at vulnerability.

  Strength and softness, style and grace. No one thing about her is extraordinary, not at first glance. But somehow it adds up to a whole that I find utterly entrancing.

  Irresistible, even.

  My rage, my need to protect Tori, to be her champion, is still there. But now it’s wrestling with the desire to pull her into my arms and comfort her.

  My cock twitches. I know all too well what kind of comfort I’d like to give her. The more I try to resist her, the stronger my hunger grows.

  The fact that my brother, Hunter, is now happily married to a younger woman only makes it more difficult to maintain my resolve.

  Quashing the need to touch her, I keep my distance. “We have a reservation.” It comes out more brusquely than I intend. “Let’s all go to lunch, and we can talk about it there.”

  “That’s all right, Mr. Drake.” Tori’s lovely dark eyes are red from weeping, and it wrenches at me. “You and Eden go and have a nice time. I’ll be fine.”

  “Don’t be silly,” I say, as gently as I can. “Whatever the problem is, we’ll do what we can to help.”

  “Her roommate stole her rent money,” Eden says in a rush, “and her landlord evicted her. Her roommate too, but Heidi’s moved in with her boyfriend. That’s who she stole the money for.”

  Now I’m mad at a bunch of people. “Let’s go to lunch,” I repeat, “and we’ll see what we can figure out.”

  Eden helps her friend up and they go into a dressing room, emerging a few minutes later changed for lunch. Tori’s wearing some of Eden’s clothes. The two of them are the same size, and my daughter is happy to share with her bestie … especially since she knows Tori is here on scholarship and can’t afford a New York City lifestyle.

  I admire my daughter’s generous heart, but seeing Tori in Eden’s clothes only makes me feel like more of a lecherous old man. I should be treating Tori as another daughter, not fantasizing about her late at night.

  Shaking off my guilt, I lead the girls out to where my car is waiting. There’s a man begging on the sidewalk. Tori stops and digs a dollar out, dropping it in his cup.

  A familiar warmth squeezes my heart. According to what my daughter’s just told me, Tori’s in dire straits at the moment, but her first impulse is always to share whatever she has with those in need. I add my own donation before following the girls to the car.

  As they climb into the back, I catch a whiff of Tori’s scent, something delicate and floral. It burrows straight through the walls I’ve so carefully constructed, and my dick promptly tries to burst out of my pants. Gritting my teeth, I join my unsuspecting guests in the vehicle.

  At the restaurant, the maitre’d leads us to a table that gives us a view outside, to the bustle of the city. I make sure that Eden sits between us so that I’m not within touching distance of Tori, even accidentally. I’m too susceptible to her charms to take the chance.

  When the three of us are alone, sipping water from fine crystal, our linen napkins unfolded, I say, “Now, tell me again. Your roommate stole your rent money … and gave it to her boyfriend?”

  “Yes,” Tori says. “He’s an undiscovered artistic genius – according to her – and she’s certain that the project he wants to do will put him on the map. But he can’t afford the materials.”

  “Can you prove she took it?” I ask.

  “No. I know she did, but she denies it. Insists that her boyfriend just magically came up with the money he needed from his dishwashing job.”

  My lawyer’s brain is busily sifting evidence. “The money was in your apartment?”

  “Yes, in the little hiding place where we always pool our rent money. On rent day, I convert it into a cashier’s check and take it to the landlord. When I went to get the money, it was gone. Heidi said someone must have broken in, but that’s a lie. Nothing else was taken and the apartment wasn’t disturbed in any way.”

  “You could file a small claims suit–”

  “It’s too late,” she says quietly. “The landlord’s already evicted me. Even if I came up with the rent money, he’s rented the apartment to someone else.”

  “Daddy.” Eden’s eyes are beseeching. “Tori’s parents can’t come up with rent and deposit on another place; their orchard is struggling to survive. She’ll have to drop out of the program. Unless …”

  There’s no mistaking her unspoken plea. Unless she stays with us.

  Tori’s watching me. I try to keep the reluctance from my face, but when she looks away I don’t think I’ve done a very good job.

  Our apartment has plenty of room. The problem is Tori – or, to be more accurate, me. I’m not sure I can withstand the temptation of having her under my roof.

  The waiter comes to take our orders, and the delay gives me a few moments to try to get my emotions under control. It’s difficult enough keeping my hunger for Tori in check when I only see her occasionally. If I have to live with her, see her constantly … how can I resist?

  That first night, when we met – there was something between us. I felt it. A kind of recognition that I’ve never had with another woman.

  Since then, Tori’s been as circumspect as I have. But if we were around each other all the time, that wouldn’t last.

  Still, what can I do? If I say no, she’ll be forced to forfeit all her hard work, all her struggle and sacrifice. I’ll be responsible for shattering her dreams and sending her home empty-handed.

  I can no more treat Tori that way than I can pretend my feelings for her are platonic.

  She’s staring off into the distance, her fingers toying restlessly with the thin bracelet on one slender wrist. Belatedly, I realize that Eden’s studying me as intensely as I’m regarding her friend. I can only hope my thoughts haven’t bled through. Clearing my throat, I say, “Of course Tori can stay with us.”

  “Thank you, Daddy!” My daughter throws her arms around me, but I’m still watching Tori. For an instant, she meets my gaze.

  The flash of pain in her eyes, quickly masked, makes me feel like the world’s biggest asshole.

  She knows. I’m a lawyer; I should, in theory, be good at lying. But she knows I don’t want her staying with us.

  I can weather that storm … so long as she never, ever knows why. She might suspect, but I can’t afford for her to be certain.

  I suppress another stab of guilt while Tori forces a smile to her face. “Thank you, Mr. Drake. It means the world to me.”

  I hate hearing her use my last name as if we’re strangers. “Ashton,” I say stiffly. “Please.”

  Her smile falters. Dammit, I have got to do better than this. I can’t have the poor girl thinking I hate her.

  But neither can I let the truth show.

  “Dig in,” I say with forced cheer when our orders arrive. “You’ll have to be back at school before too long.”

  Eden saves us from a completely awkward silence, keeping up a steady stream of conversation while we eat. It’s a relief when I can pay the bill and we leave.

  “Hugh will pick you both up this afternoon,” I tell the girls when we reach the school.

  Eden beams at me. “Thanks, Dad,” she says as she scrambles from the car.

  “Thank you, Mr. Drake.” Tori doesn’t meet my eyes. I don’t correct her for using my last name.

  Maybe some formality i
s what we need to survive this.

  When they’re gone, I let my head fall back against the seat and press the heels of my hands to my eyes. “Fuck.”

  There’s nothing for it. Somehow, we have to get through this. Blowing out a breath, I pull out my phone to check for messages.

  Sweet, petite Tori is going to be living with us. Indefinitely.

  And I have to pretend that my fondest wish isn’t to fuck her brains out.

  2

  We’re practicing pirouettes, whirling across the dance floor one after another. The trick is to fix your eyes on a spot ahead of you, and let that anchor you while the rest of your body spins.

  I know how to do them; I’ve been dancing since I was four years old. But this afternoon, my concentration is shot. When it’s my turn, I only manage three turns before I lose my balance and my footing.

  “Miss Smith.” Madame Ellis’s voice slices the room like a knife. “May I remind you that you are here on scholarship, and your continued attendance is contingent upon you demonstrating your worthiness. I advise you to do better.”

  “Yes, Madame,” I mumble. I don’t look at the other girls, even Eden, as I get in line to try again. It’s humiliating enough to be so poor that I have to wear my best friend’s hand-me-down clothing if I don’t want to stand out like a sore thumb in the big city. Being called out in front of the school is even worse.

  Madame Ellis is supportive, but she’s tough. She doesn’t hesitate to kick our asses when we need it, and I know I’m not measuring up right now.

  Focus, Tori. No doubt every student here has distractions of one kind or another. The mark of a professional dancer is being able to shut it all out, whatever life throws at you, and lose yourself in the music, in the moment, in the discipline.