“Because she sounds very protective of you. And I’m glad about that. I’m relieved you have somebody in your life, other than me, who wants to see you grow and flourish in all the right ways.”
“Shall we go and talk to them, then?” I murmur, nerves twisting in my belly.
“Yes,” he says, taking my hand and leading me back through the hotel suite.
I can feel how clammy my hand is against his, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t comment on it and he doesn’t try to make me feel small, the way Zack would if we ever held hands … which we didn’t, and wouldn’t.
I’d die before I let that man touch me.
I’d die before I let any man touch me who wasn’t Forrest.
Forrest nods over to the plush couches in the corner, indicating that I should bring the laptop over there. I walk over to the bed as he strolls over to the couch and drops down.
“Well?” Kelly demands. “Where is he? Or was he too scared to face us?”
“Kelly,” I cry. “He’s right here. He can hear you. Jeez.”
I carry the laptop to the couch and sit down next to Forrest, placing it on the table so that we’re both in the frame.
Forrest leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking so capable and handsome in his silver armor suit I could scream just to release some of the pressure budding up inside of me.
“Hello, Kelly—Miss Yates. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
“Is it?” Kelly snaps.
“Kelly,” Mom says, rolling her eyes. “Be nice, won’t you? It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Ford. Thank you for keeping us safe while we sort this little mess out.”
Forrest nods. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of letting anything happen to you.”
“Can we cut the crap, Forrest?” Kelly says. “We need to talk about how you lured my sister to Paris. We need to talk about how creepy that is.”
I bite my lip. If I don’t, I know I’ll shout at my sister for how rude she’s being right now.
I try to tell myself that she only wants the best for me, but surely screaming at the man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with isn’t the best way to go about that.
I feel a hot spring of anxiety bubbling up inside of me, threatening to boil and burn.
“I understand,” Forrest says, his voice utterly calm. “You have every reason to be concerned.”
“Okay,” Kelly says, her voice wavering a little.
Forrest couldn’t have chosen a better way to deal with my twin sister than this shield of calmness. Kelly likes arguments, thrives on them, so to be met with a smirk and a veil of serenity knocks her off balance.
“All I can tell you is that I have the best intentions for your sister, Kelly,” Forrest says, reaching across and taking my hand.
I squeeze it softly, glancing at the laptop to see if our hands are visible in the frame. Guilt stabs at me as relief washes over me—our hands aren’t in the frame. They can’t see that we’re clasping onto each other.
“I fell for her the second I saw her,” he goes on, a rumble entering his voice. “I’m not a conventional man. I’ve spent my whole life on my own. I’ve never had a girlfriend. I’ve never had a long-term partner. I thought my childhood had made that impossible for me—to feel, to care. And then I saw Fiona sitting in the café window and something changed in me, something confusing and impossible but … no less real. I’m sorry. I know this sounds like bad poetry. But it’s also the truth.”
“No, no,” Mom rushes to say. “It’s wonderful. It’s like something out of those romance novels Fiona loves so much.”
“But why couldn’t you just go and talk to her?” Kelly says, her voice softening a little.
Forrest sighs and runs a hand through his steel hair.
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “You don’t have to answer.”
“No, I want to, I need to,” Forrest says, gazing at me for a moment before returning his deep azures to the laptop. “You deserve to know, both of you. The truth is, I was terrified of what I was feeling. I thought, perhaps, that when we met in person, I might be able to fight off all these emotions. Hell, emotions. Even that’s new for me. So I played my hand. I thought to myself, Well, if it doesn’t work out, at least she can enjoy Paris. At least I’m not going to poison her hometown for her. Maybe that seems like fucked-up logic, but it’s what I felt. It’s what I feel.”
I blink when I feel tears rising in my eyes.
“I know it’s not the done thing,” I murmur, fighting off rising sobs. “I understand that. But surely you can see he did it for the right reasons. And I feel the same, Kelly, Mom. I feel exactly the same as Forest. I don’t like that he lied—he knows that. But I’m also really happy he brought me here. I’m allowed to feel both, aren’t I?”
“Of course you are, dear,” Mom says.
“Yeah, no one’s saying that,” Kelly sighs. “It’s just—Forrest, I want the best for my sister. I don’t want her to get swept up into this crazy romance and then have it all come crashing down.”
“The only way this will end,” Forrest says, “is if Fiona wants it to end. I’m not going to do anything to risk what we have.”
“Okay?” I say, letting out a laugh that borders on a sob, all shaky.
Emotion blooms in my chest, making my words hazy.
“Are we done with the interrogation now, Kelly?”
“It’s fine,” Forrest says, with an enthralling smirk, the sort that draws me in and makes me want to study every inch of his face for hours. “Like I said before, I’m glad you have such a protective sister.”
“What about this Zack shit?” Kelly asks. “Should we go to the police?”
Forrest sighs darkly, shaking his head. “He hasn’t committed a crime against you, so there’s nothing you can go to them with. The best they could do is offer a restraining order. But you’re safe with my security. They’re the best in the world.”
“I don’t exactly like being under house arrest,” Kelly grumbles.
“Freaking hell,” I say. “Talk about looking for a reason to complain, sis.”
“No, she’s right,” Forrest says. “It’s an unfortunate circumstance. I didn’t even know this motherfucker existed until a few hours ago. I’ve got people looking into him and his business.”
“He’s a dangerous man,” Mom murmurs. “Mafia.”
“I’m a billionaire with an army of trained killers behind me,” Forrest growls. “Nothing, nothing is going to happen to any of you. You have my word. In the meantime, don’t feel like you have to stay indoors. As long as my men are with you wherever you go, you’ll be safe.”
“Okay,” Kelly says, nodding. “Alright. And I’m sorry, Forrest if I came on a little strong. I just had to be sure.”
“There’s no apology needed,” he says.
“Let’s leave the two lovebirds to it,” Mom says, nudging Kelly good-naturedly. “I’m sure they’d rather be enjoying Paris than worrying about all this nastiness.”
“Okay. You’re good, sis?” Kelly asks.
I stare at her, smiling, willing her to see the happiness rioting around my body, setting every single one of my nerves on fire.
“I’ve never been better,” I tell her.
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you both,” I say.
They end the call and I reach forward, closing the laptop lid and turning to Forrest with an eye roll.
Even now, after everything that’s happened, part of me still expects his face to warp into livid rage and demand to know just who the hell my family thinks they are. In my overactive writer’s mind, I envision him marching around the room, kicking things, flipping the table, roaring that they have no right to speak to him in that way.
But his smirk is unwavering, his eyes focused on me and me alone.
“Come here,” he says, leaning back on the couch and pulling me toward him.
I lie down and pressed up against him, feeling his desire pressing solidly against my back. But d
espite the way he grumbles and his body tenses, he doesn’t try to touch me like that.
He wraps his arms protectively around me and pulls me close, squeezing me right up against him.
I feel as if nothing in the whole world could harm us right now.
“Thank you for doing that,” I whisper, kissing his hand.
“They deserved to know how much you mean to me,” he growls. “I mean it, Fiona. I won’t let anything happen to any of you.”
“I’m sorry for ruining Paris,” I mutter. “If it wasn’t for me and my messed-up past, we wouldn’t have to deal with any of this.”
“Everything about you is important to me,” he breathes huskily. “Your faults, your past, your perfections, and imperfections … I want it all. So don’t apologize for a single damn thing.”
I close my eyes and wriggle against him, savoring the closeness.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Forrest
“Snails for breakfast?” Fiona giggles.
I smirk across the table at her, unable to contain the light and joy that’s twisting up inside of me. I never thought a man like would me would feel this—feel anything, for that matter.
Sitting in the rooftop restaurant with my Fiona – with the sun making Paris shine below us – I can almost forget about the security milling about in the street below, ready to intervene should Zack decide to make a play.
I can almost forget about the way my uncle’s fists slammed into my head, the way he grunted and snarled as he did it, the animal.
For the first time in my life, I feel human.
“No, not snails,” I smirk, gesturing at the menu.
She smiles and rolls her eyes, radiantly alight in the fresh morning air. She’s wearing a light-fitting summer dress, the same sort she was wearing yesterday before she changed into the sequined number. It’s bright and colorful and settles against the curvaceous glory of her body like it’s begging me to tear it off.
My manhood throbs at the sight of her cleavage, her breasts heavy and juicy and so wonderfully big in her bra.
I have to fight a thousand urges each moment just to stop myself from reaching up and tearing the front of her dress down, revealing the beauty of her womanhood.
“Sorry,” she says, with another intoxicating laugh. “Escargots. My mistake.”
“What’s the matter?” I smirk, reaching for my drink. “You don’t feel up to the task?”
“Well, we didn’t get the chance yesterday,” she murmurs.
I sigh, nodding.
“I hate the bastard for that. I wanted last night to be special for you.”
“It was,” she rushes to say, her voice full of vivacity, magnetizing me to her. “Please don’t think it wasn’t. To be alone in that bookstore … I never dreamed I’d get a chance like that. You know it’s more than a hundred years old?”
“No,” I tell her. “I had no idea.”
“Yeah,” she says. “And a bunch of famous writers used to hang out there. It’s got quite the history.”
“One day people will talk about how the famous Fiona Yates visited,” I tell her passionately.
She turns away, her blush spreading across her face and down her neck. She has no idea what she does to me when her blush moves like that, turning every part of her the same shade as her sex, the way she brightened for me when I visited her the first night.
“You have too much faith in me.”
“Nope,” I grin, wolfishly. “I have just the right amount. Now, stop procrastinating, firecracker. Are we eating these escargots or not?”
“I guess it’ll be something to tell our grandkids about, huh?” she banters. “Snails for breakfast. Hey—that could be a good book title, don’t you think? Snails for Breakfast.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, I like it. You could do a sequel, too. Frog Legs for Lunch.”
“Squid for Supper.”
We laugh together, our combined voices rising up into the Parisian air.
She sighs contentedly and looks up at the Eiffel Tower, seeming insanely close from where we sit, as if any second we could reach out and touch the towering metal construct. We’re so close I can make out people walking around at the top, like tiny ants scuttling here and there.
“I can’t believe I haven’t been up there yet,” she says.
Nerves flare inside of me.
I don’t want her to go there, not yet, not until I make all the necessary arrangements.
“Be patient,” I tell her. “You’ll stand at the top soon enough. But just wait. That’s an order.”
“An order?” she says. “So you really are the boss of me.”
“I own you,” I growl. “Don’t let my nice guy act make you forget that.”
“An act?” she giggles. “There I was thinking you really were a nice, harmless gentleman.”
“I’m doing my best to be a gentleman with you,” I snarl. “But the way that dress hugs your body has got me thinking some very ungentlemanly things. Goddamn, Fiona, you really have no idea how badly I need to palm those breasts, to pull them out and suck on your needy pink nipples until you’re gasping and begging for mercy. I’m getting hard just thinking about it.”
She bites her lip, making a moaning sound that goes directly to the base of my manhood.
“I want it,” she moans. “I want all of it. I think …”
“Go on,” I snarl, my chest rumbling. “Say it, Fiona.”
“I think maybe I want to try tonight,” she says, her voice so breathy, the same way it’ll be when I plunge balls-deep inside of her and take her virginity like the wild beast I am.
“You better mean it when you say that,” I growl, gripping the edge of the table as lust barrels through me, making my hands shake and the cutlery trembles metallically together. “Because when I take that fresh untouched pussy, I won’t be able to stop.”
She grips the table, both of us staring at each other, into each other, as though we’re going to leap across the dinnerware and claim each other right here.
“I want that so badly,” she breathes. “Tonight—tonight, Forrest. Just don’t be disappointed if I don’t live up to your expectations.”
“Just be there and be naked and be adorable – which should be easy for you – and I wouldn’t dream of being disappointed. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman. Now, enough stressing. It’s snail time.”
“Snails for Breakfast,” she giggles, sitting back, causing her breast to jiggle alluringly. “I’m telling you, Forrest, that’s got bestseller written all over it.”
“I believe you,” I tell her fiercely, ignoring her joking tone. “You’re going to shock the world. I’ve got no doubt of that.”
“Do we eat it with the shells on?” she says, looking down at our plates.
I can’t help it. I throw my head back and laugh. It feels so good to have this release, to be able to let out all the anxiety and concern caused by that fucking rat Zack Sykes.
I never dreamed I’d be sitting on a Parisian rooftop with the woman of my dreams, laughing about snails, but here we are.
There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
“Hey,” she says, pouting even as she giggles along with me. “If you keep laughing, I might have to shower you in snails.”
“I’m sorry,” I smirk. “It’s just such a cute, naïve, you question, Fiona. No, my little firecracker, we don’t eat them with the shells on. Apart from anything else, I can imagine that would be quite painful.”
“Yeah, good point,” she laughs.
“We dig them out with these,” I say, gesturing with the fork. “And then—have at it.”
“Okay,” she says, biting her lip, staring down at the escargots as though she’s contemplating a serious life decision.
Her earnestness enflames something deep inside of me.
I can so easily imagine her bringing the same sincerity and sense of importance to our children, tackling every step of their progression with this sparkling intensity.
“I was thinking about what a great mother you’re going to make,” I tell her.
“Really?” she murmurs. “Because of some snails?”
“Because of you,” I growl passionately. “Because of the way you approach everything in life—fully, not ashamed to get sucked in and give it your all. You have no idea how beautiful you look when you’re concentrating.”
“Is that why …”
She trails off, biting her lip.
“I couldn’t stop watching you every weekend in the café?” I fill in for her.
She laughs, nodding.
“I love how well you can read my mind,” she says.
And I love you, I want to roar, but something rises up inside of me to stop the declaration, even if it would be the truest thing I’ve ever said.
Even if things are moving quickly between us, I need to be careful that I don’t push her too far and frighten her.
What if she didn’t say it back? Would it ruin us?
I can’t risk what we’ve already built, not yet.
“Yes,” I tell her. “That’s one of the reasons I couldn’t stop watching you. You get these cute-as-fuck dimples when you’re concentrating.”
“What? Do I?”
I nod and reach across the table, laying my forefinger softly against her cheek.
“Right here. You get them when you smile, too, and they’re gorgeous. But they change quality when you’re concentrating. It’s fascinating. Every piece of you is fascinating, Fiona. Yes—just like that.”
“What?” she murmurs.
“The way you can’t stop your blushes from spreading from your face and down your neck. You’re so honest, so pure, so young and fresh and naïve and mine.”
“I’ve always hated the way I blush,” she sighs. “It was so embarrassing in high school. Even if I was in English class and I knew the answer to something, I’d find myself blushing bright red like a weirdo.”
“You don’t need to be embarrassed by anything that makes you, you,” I growl. “Now, be a good girl and eat your snails.”
She giggles. “I would if I could figure out how.”
I take the fork and pry one loose, and then spear it and bring it across the table to her mouth.
Paris With The Billionaire: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance Page 9