Forbidden Fate

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  We’d been here for so long I was starting to lose track. The days blurred into one. It seemed like the perfect ending. For some reason, my uncle had wanted me to go, and now West was offering me an out as well. I should take it. This was the place for a free Story Hale.

  “Why Scotland?” I asked.

  Again, some emotion flickered behind his brown eyes, but all he said was, “Have you been?”

  I shook my head.

  “It would be a good place for you.” He pulled my hand into his and moved the ring on my finger around. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

  “You came up to me at a Crowne party I was serving.” He’d been so charming…he stood by me the entire night, making me laugh.

  “That wasn’t the first time, Angel.”

  West looked at my hand, thumbing the glittering diamond.

  “You were moving into Crowne Hall. You didn’t know the rules yet. You came up and you asked me where the servants’ quarters were.”

  He smiled, in on some secret. My lips parted, horrified.

  “No I didn’t. I wouldn’t do that.”

  He was totally grinning now, pearly-white teeth stretching his hazelnut cheeks.

  “You asked me to throw away your trash,” he said. “No, you told me to. You handed me a bubblegum wrapper, and then you just left.”

  I vaguely remembered the time in my life when I wouldn’t have thought twice about giving a du Lac my trash. When it wouldn’t have filled me with horror. The learning period after I moved in, when Grayson kicked over my bucket because I’d dared to clean while he was awake, or when I’d looked Mrs. Tansy in the eyes.

  West fixed me with his gaze. “I’d never had to find the garbage before.”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  His brow furrowed at my words. A few seconds passed as he played with the ring on my finger.

  “My time with you is almost up. Have you thought any more about what I asked?”

  “I…” I trailed off.

  Despite my best efforts, I was starting to feel something for West, but we were sitting on a bed where I’d only just locked lips with another.

  I wasn’t supposed to want a future with either of them.

  “I haven’t been a good wife, West…I’m…”

  “In love with Grayson Crowne?”

  I coughed. “No.”

  West stood, giving me his hand. “We’re late for breakfast. Again.”

  With the table so filled with Crownes and du Lacs, it was easier to blend in, because the Crowne extended family needed to stand out. Every five seconds someone was making a toast. West held my hand and refused to let go. He would set down his fork if he needed to raise his drink again.

  “I think our cook is learning a new recipe for the steak,” Tansy said with a tone I knew meant He’s taking too long. “I apologize for the delay.”

  “I’m sure it will be worth it,” one of Grayson’s great-uncles said. “I know steak is your favorite, Grayson.”

  “I hate steak. Not eating it anymore,” Grayson said. “But I’ll eat it every day for a year if the right person asked me.”

  I coughed on my eggs.

  “Uh…” Grayson’s uncle trailed off.

  Grayson pinned me with his gaze as he spoke, and my neck heated. I suddenly wished I was wearing something a little less thick.

  Tansy smiled as though what Grayson said was a joke, then faced her in-laws. “Everyone settled, I assume?”

  “I think our wing is smaller than last year,” one of Grayson’s twice-removed cousins noted.

  Tansy smiled thinly, expertly maneuvering the conversation to this year’s masquerade.

  Everyone was dressed down for breakfast, and by dressed down, I mean in designer jeans and one-of-a-kind sweaters and jackets. Grayson’s black zip-up fit him in a casual, sexy slouch and I hated that I wondered about the softness.

  West dragged my gaze away with his finger, lifting my chin up to meet his warm brown eyes, leaning so his lips were against my ear.

  “Do you like it when he watches, Angel?”

  Grayson’s cold voice drifted down the table. “Look me in the eyes.”

  It felt like he was talking to me. An audible pause followed, and I followed the eyes of everyone to what had them so stunned.

  Grayson had spoken to a servant.

  I tried to jerk out of West’s grip, but his hold turned bruising.

  “West, everyone—”

  “Is watching Grayson now.” He grinned, leaning closer, like he was going to kiss me at the fucking table.

  “Grayson…” Tansy’s light-as-a-feather voice warned.

  “I think it’s time we stop having the servants walk around with their fucking tails between their legs.”

  One of Grayson’s aunts coughed. “I think, I…read something about a blizzard this weekend.”

  Grayson stared at me as he spoke, and the heat in my neck rose. My heart pounded as West locked on my lips.

  “What if they look?”

  “So what? I’m your husband.”

  West pressed his lips against mine, kissing me deeper than before, harder. My lips parted on a gasp. My eyes stayed wide open on the table, darting around to see if anyone would turn from Grayson.

  Don’t kiss him again, Snitch.

  Grayson’s warning played over and over again on repeat.

  When West pulled back, Grayson was watching, jaw clenched.

  “If this is how I have to have you, Angel. For now it’s okay.”

  West stressed for now with a growl.

  I stood up so quickly the plates on either side of me wobbled.

  “I need…air.”

  “It won’t blizzard for the party,” Tansy said with certainty.

  “You can’t control the weather, too, Mother,” Gemma said, voice fading as I left the hall.

  This was bad.

  This was wrong.

  Something twisted was growing between all four of us.

  I’d barely left the dining hall when the servant from inside stepped in my path. I think his name was Jared. I exhaled.

  “Listen, can we do the whole bullying thing later?”

  “No—I…I wanted you to know there are servants on your side, Story. We loved Woodson, and we don’t think what they’re doing to you is okay. It’s gone too far. And, for the record”—he looked over his shoulder, probably having been away from his station for too long—“I didn’t want that photo out there. I don’t know how Mr. Crowne stopped it; I’m just glad he did.”

  Jared started to walk away.

  “Wait. What photo?”

  He stopped. “Ellie took a photo of you from inside his wing. You…” He rubbed his neck. “You said you were happy your mom died or something.”

  I wanted to press him, but he quickly left, and I know he’d already stayed longer than he should have. So, I left the hall, head buzzing.

  Outside it was snowing soft flakes, and the maze called to me. I’d always wanted to wander it, and with my mind and heart the way it was, it felt right.

  Firing one of them quiets them for a little…

  The conversation I had with West came rushing back. I never fired anyone, but Grayson had, and at the time, I thought it was because he’d been turning into someone else. All this time, for me.

  He told the world he was a virgin. I know he did. For her.

  The words I’d overheard Lottie say twisted in my mind as I went left and right in the overgrown emerald hedges. I wanted to believe there was no way Grayson would do that…tell the world his most guarded secret.

  He fired Ellie for me. He sold his secret for me.

  I thought it would be easy to hate West. I thought it would be easy to hate Grayson.

  They’d done horrible things to me.

  Instead I’d ended up hating myself.

  “You shouldn’t be out here in the cold.”

  I spun. “Grayson.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Ig
noring me, Grayson slipped out of his jacket, draping it over my shoulders. It was almost like the first time he’d given me his jacket.

  Without another word, he turned to leave.

  “Did you fire Ellie for me? Did you stop a story from coming out?” I demanded of his back. “Did the servants leak my secret? Is that why the entire world knows yours?”

  He paused.

  “You did. Why?”

  He slightly turned his head so I had a view of his angular profile, his perfect jaw, soft lips, and crooked nose.

  “That was my secret, Snitch. You gave that to me.”

  I shoved his back. Grayson spun around, blue eyes alight with some emotion. He walked to me, forcing me to take steps back until my back slammed into the prickly hedge. There was only a whisper of cold air between us.

  He ran a tender hand along my jaw.

  I couldn’t move.

  “Lottie loves you,” I said, desperate for something to eat the silence.

  “She does,” he agreed, still tracing that hand down my cheek.

  “West loves me.”

  His hand froze. He clenched his jaw. He took a step, pressing me farther into the hedge, arching over me until we were shadowed by his massive height.

  “When he kisses you, do you think about me, Snitch?” he asked quietly.

  Yes.

  Always.

  “I saw the way he kisses you…my little nun doesn’t like it sweet. Are you that desperate?”

  I swallowed, voice rough. “This is where we’re supposed to be, Grayson. Everyone wins.”

  His lips were on my neck, hot, soft. “I love my name from your lips.”

  He trailed his other hand from the arch of my neck, along my shoulder, down my arm, to the exposed skin of my wrist. I swallowed a sigh.

  “Grayson…”

  He either didn’t care, or he was done talking. His lips were a sultry, teasing whisper at my neck. Not quite a kiss, but not leaving the flesh. He swirled his touch along the bone at my wrist and made my gut ache for more.

  He moved even closer until we were practically one. He was hard on my hip, and my heartbeat sped. I wanted him. I couldn’t stop wanting him, but I didn’t want to be this person.

  “I hate you,” I whispered.

  His smile stretched along my neck. “No you don’t.”

  “I’m leaving. You’re letting me leave. You’re just my friend.”

  “No I’m not. I’ll never be just your friend.”

  I squirmed to get away, and he gripped my chin, whatever game he was playing vanishing like the sun above us into the lacy winter clouds.

  “Seriously, Story. What would I have to do to win you back?”

  “I’m married. You’re married—”

  “I don’t care. I’ll be with you even if you’re married. I’ll love you if you marry all the men you meet. I’ll love you if you join a convent. I don’t fucking care, Snitch.” He grabbed my face with both hands. “Let me love you.”

  I tried to shove him, but he was too strong. “You’ve broken my heart too many times.”

  “I won’t force you to stay, Snitch. I won’t lock you in a tower. But I’m going to follow.”

  His words made my blood freeze. “What?”

  “I’ll follow you. To the sea. To the moon.”

  I bit my lip to stop the smile. “You kind of sound like a stalker.”

  A smile flickered and died on his lips. “You’ve reduced Grayson Crowne to this. A lowly stalker.” He slid his hands underneath the jacket he’d given me, hands roaming my body like he’d been starved of it. My rib cage, my hips. All places …innocent…friendly…right?

  “You said you wouldn’t…” I breathed. “We wouldn’t.”

  “What?” He shot me a wicked smile. “I’m not kissing. I’m not doing anything. I’m just touching you. Friends hug. I can touch you like this, right?”

  “You said we wouldn’t. Not…” My words died when he slid his palm between my thighs.

  “Friends touch.” Gray pressed his lips against my neck. “I can’t stop picturing you getting fat with my baby. I heard chicks get wetter when they’re pregnant. Is it true?”

  His teeth scraped against my earlobe, the pain sending delicious tingles down my spine.

  “What is your pussy like now, Snitch? Does it still get wet for me?”

  “Friends don’t talk like this,” I said jaggedly.

  “Good friends do.”

  The wind blew, rustling the leaves, enough sound to break me out of it. I shoved him off.

  “We’re friends,” I said, wiping my brow. “We’re supposed to be friends.”

  “Friends?” Grayson growled. “I’ll be your fucking friend, Story. I won’t touch you.” He traveled his hand down his abdomen, gripping his hard cock over his jeans. “I’ll stay away from you. Go on, go back inside.” He jerked his head toward the opening of the maze.

  I was frozen.

  Transfixed.

  I couldn’t see anything save the hard, tapered outline, and that made it worse. Made the memory of him ache inside me.

  A cocky, cruel grin speared his pink lips. “Sure you don’t want to touch me, little nun?”

  I wanted to touch him so badly. I wanted to feel him.

  “You…” I swallowed, watching him palm and work himself. “Your wife…someone could hear.”

  “Who the fuck cares? I’ll fuck you right here until you scream so loud everyone comes to make sure you’re not fucking dead.”

  He fucked himself harder, faster. My thumb came to my bottom lip.

  “Oh, little nun, you want this bad.”

  My eyes locked with his.

  “Get over here,” he commanded.

  Go back, the sane part of my brain said, the part barely clinging to the idea I could still leave Crowne Point.

  I moved to him. In a trance.

  The minute I was within reach, Grayson grabbed my wrist and thrust my hand to the waistband of his jeans. I met the deep, hot ridges of his eight-pack.

  But no further.

  If we were going to do this, I had to make the decision.

  He continued to work himself, and the movement rubbed the hem of his jeans against my palm. Each rough scrape eroded my willpower. I slid the tips of my fingers down, brushing coarse hair.

  His half-lidded eyes and clenched jaw, the look that said he was about to tear me up, made my heart pound. Almost as much as the feeling of him as I lowered my hand more.

  “Friends help friends,” he rasped, with a wicked smile spearing his lips.

  Then I felt him. Hot. Hard. Iron and velvet and Grayson.

  The humor in his eyes vanished into brutal lust.

  Oh god. It was wrong.

  It was like he saw the words in my head, because he sandwiched my hand beneath his, trapping me over his cock, in his jeans.

  “Friends help friends, little nun.”

  He palmed himself like he’d done before, but now he used my hand as sinful friction.

  Slowly at first.

  Then faster.

  Harder.

  His breath grew rockier, mine shallow, our eyes locked together. I forgot the wrong of it, losing myself in his icy eyes. He swiped his tongue across his lips, and I leaned forward, wanting to taste him.

  Needing it. Grayson made a frustrated sound in his chest. Like he wanted it too.

  Neither of us went the final millimeter.

  Our breath fogged the air. The vision of him steamy. Muggy.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he growled.

  I couldn’t. It was too damning and vulnerable. Every nerve in his body was coiled, veins like lightning on his neck, his cock steel and throbbing. I knew he needed to come, but he was waiting on my words.

  “Fuck,” he gritted. “Snitch, please, just let me in.”

  “I want to kiss you,” I whispered.

  Then it happened, his groan I could feel in my legs, and sticky hot. He dragged my lips down with his thumb, as if pic
turing kissing me as he came, or maybe fucking my mouth.

  Or both.

  Then it was just the ragged sound of our breath.

  Silence passed in what felt like forever, his come coating my hand as we stared into one another. His eyes were too dark. Too muddled. But I could taste just a sliver of him by the thumb he kept on my lip, and I was strung out.

  I pulled my hand out, sticky and covered in his come. Emotions twisted in my gut. Bad…wrong…so why did it feel so right?

  He lifted my chin.

  “Friends help friends clean up, Snitch,” he whispered soft, coaxing.

  The spell shattered.

  His grip on my chin tightened before I could break away. The look in his eyes darkened and he spun me around, my back against his chest, my ass against his cock.

  “You’re not done, little nun,” he growled in my ear. “Fuck my come up inside your cunt.”

  Forty-Three

  STORY

  * * *

  I knew that if I did this, we were crossing a line neither of us could come back from, but I told myself as I slid my hand under my skirt and beneath my new soft-as-sin lace panties, that it was fine…My new thick double-breasted dress jacket covered me. Grayson couldn’t see anything.

  His blue eyes were dark, eyelids heavy. “Fuck it up inside you, little nun.”

  He made a sound deep in his throat as though I wasn’t doing it right, as he had the night we first started spiraling into our demons.

  But unlike that night, his hand covered mine over the fabric.

  He moved his hand with mine, telling me how to fuck myself.

  His lips at my ear, biting. “How does it feel?”

  When I didn’t answer, he bit hard on the lobe.

  “W-wrong.”

  His teeth slid down my neck. “We’re not doing anything wrong, Story.” He put his other hand to the hedges. “I’m not touching you.”

  It was wrong—so, so wrong.

  He was at my back.

  His presence a heated shadow.

  His lips at my neck. Not kissing me.

  I wanted him to kiss me.

  I knew all I had to do was ask.

  He wanted me to snap first.

  “Go back to your husband, Story.” He scraped his teeth along the curve of my neck. “Take him inside you. Take him inside you when you have my come inside you.”