Mated in Forbidden

by Keira Blackwood

  When James and Finn were on their way, Declan rose from his seat on the swing. “Let’s get you that coffee.”

  I nodded and followed him inside. “Thanks.”

  A text dinged on my phone. It was Brody.

  Got donuts. On my way.

  The guys would probably think he was trying to be nice. I knew better. He was just looking for an excuse to visit Pearl. Well, looked like he was going to get sewer duty all to himself.

  And I needed to call my realtor sooner rather than later, because I didn’t even want to think about what Brody was going to do to get back at me for sewer duty.

  Chapter 3

  Caleb

  Two days had passed since my bizarre-as-fuck meeting with Jill at the diner. I knew better than to try to explain mental illness, but I wanted an explanation, dammit. I wasn’t entirely convinced her baby was mine, but she needed someone to be there for her. I didn’t mind being that person. But after birth, we were getting a paternity test. And if the baby was mine, and he or she was going to be raised by a woman with hardcore delusional beliefs, I’d need to step up my involvement.

  I was going to be a father.

  Maybe.

  To a baby. To a baby who would grow into a real live person with their own thoughts and feelings and personality. The baby would become a woman who’d have assholes like me hitting on her, or worse, the baby would become a man just like me.

  It wasn’t like I never wanted to have kids. I did, probably, in the future. Way in the future, after I had the rest of my life figured out, like a real home with a yard, and a mate I’d chosen for forever. One who wasn’t crazy.

  I rolled over in bed, wishing for a warm body to keep me company. My mind immediately landed on Moira O’Malley. Ugh. I could only imagine her reaction to knowing she was in my thoughts. Better her than what had been plaguing me the past two nights. Already I’d had two baby dreams where there was poop everywhere and I couldn’t find diapers at the store, and Jill repeatedly smacked me on the head with her curling iron.

  I didn’t even know if Jill owned a curling iron. I still didn’t remember spending any time with her.

  But I’d do the right thing and step up as a father. It was my duty, and I’d shoulder it.

  No more of these thoughts. I tried to send my imagination back to Moira O’Malley, to her plump, smiling lips, her chestnut hair, and that body that seemed to have been molded from my teenage fantasies—curvy yet strong, with an ass made for gripping while I pounded into her from behind.

  My cock stiffened and I reached down to my boxers to squeeze it through the cloth. Somehow, thinking about random chicks hadn’t worked for me lately, but imagining Moira’s lips or legs, or fuck, any part of her body, even her pinkie finger, could get me immediately hard.

  Closing my eyes, I thought about her gorgeous green gaze and the way the dimple in her right cheek deepened when she was holding back a smile. She’d wear a smile like that while she jacked me off, maybe while I had my hands down in her panties, sliding my fingers along her pussy lips and over her clit.

  I wondered what sweet little noises she would make while she came—

  “Caleb?” A knock sounded on my door. “My window flower box needs to get nailed back up again.”

  Shit, it was Ms. Cortez, the lady who rented this basement apartment to me. She was formidable, strong, and smart, yet totally inept at wielding a tool around the house. I released my dick and my Moira fantasy.

  “Sure, I can help you with that this morning,” I called. I got dressed and went up the basement stairs to the door.

  Ms. Cortez had an old Hollywood look to her. Her dresses were elegant. Her pearly white hair was crimped into perfect waves. Her makeup was bold yet simple every time I saw her, morning or night, even if she wasn’t going anywhere. She used to remind me of a hispanic Marilyn Monroe—until I once saw her lift the sofa with one hand to vacuum underneath it. After that, my perception was never the same.

  She looked me up and down. “Did I disturb your beauty sleep? You look like hell, Caleb.”

  “Thanks,” I said wryly. My toolbox was next to my front door, ready for “emergencies” like Ms. Cortez’s window box. I picked it up and followed her around the side of the house.

  Sure enough, the box in front of her kitchen window was crooked, the geraniums in danger of plummeting sideways to the ground. They’d probably survive the fall, as my gran was always fond of saying they were the hardiest motherfuckers she’d ever encountered (her words, not mine).

  As I set to work putting the flower box to rights, Ms. Cortez spoke. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Caleb.”

  Her tone didn’t sound good. I looked up and met her gaze. She looked regretful.

  “Jonas wants the basement for a home theater.”

  Jonas, her much-younger boyfriend, had catapulted himself to stardom as an Instagram model and influencer. When he’d moved in with her two months ago, I’d gotten the feeling that my days living in her basement would soon reach an end. But he seemed to take care of her and truly love her, so I couldn’t be mad about that.

  “It’s okay if you can’t move right away,” she went on. “I feel so awful about this, but it’s the one thing Jonas wants, and he’s paying for the whole set-up. We love watching Netflix and chilling, so he wants a state-of-the-art theater to do that in.”

  I blinked at the unwanted image that seared itself into my mind. “It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll start looking at places today.”

  “There isn’t a rush,” Ms. Cortez said. “Really.”

  Holding back my sigh, I said, “I know, Ms. Cortez. But you and Jonas are probably wanting the run of the place, anyway. It’s time.”

  “I hope your next landlady is as nice as me.”

  “Impossible,” I said, scoffing.

  “I should probably get back inside to Jonas,” she said.

  She opened her arms and I set down my tools to give her the hug she was waiting for.

  When I released her, she gave me a saucy wink. “Don’t tell Jonas about our hug. He’s very possessive.”

  We both laughed. She returned to the house, and I returned to fixing her window box. The chore gave me some time to think about my next steps. A few years ago, I slept with a hot chick who later became a realtor. Brianne, that was her name. Long dark hair, nice big bootie. She’d liked things a little bossy, which had made us a perfect match for our brief affair, because I liked being the boss in the bedroom.

  As soon as I was done with the window box, I returned to my basement apartment and found my phone. Scrolling through the contacts list, I found Brianne’s name. I smiled experimentally at my reflection in the framed landscape photo over my sofa, then ran a hand through my hair. The old Caleb Stone charm was ready to be unleashed once again.

  My finger hovered over Brianne’s name.

  The charm disappeared. It didn’t feel right.

  Moira O’Malley’s face suddenly popped into my mind, a leftover image from this morning’s abandoned fantasy. For fuck’s sake, I couldn’t get her out of my head. I was tempted to find her and bang it out, but the idea was nearly as terrifying as the thought of her brother, James, finding out.

  Shaking off the thoughts of Moira, I tapped Brianne’s name.

  “You have some nerve,” she said by way of greeting.

  “Sorry?”

  “Yes, asshole, you should be.”

  “Brianne, it’s me. Caleb Stone.”

  She huffed. “Exactly.”

  I waited, unsure of what to say. Our affair was a few months in the past, and I struggled to remember how it had ended. Badly? I hadn’t thought so. Every woman I’d slept with knew that things were temporary. One month max, was the general rule. So this didn’t make sense. Especially as Brianne and I had ended things so long ago.

  Finally, I ventured, “I’m looking for a realtor to help me find a new place.”

  “Unbelievable,” she snapped. “Look somewhere else. I’m suddenly very busy, an
d it’s all your fault.”

  She ended the call before I could ask for more of an explanation. I dialed her back, but she didn’t answer.

  Weird. Well, Brianne couldn’t be the only realtor in Forbidden. I found the cheaply-produced town directory that seemed to magically appear in my mailbox every January. Hoping the copy I had was up to date, I scrolled through the business listings until I found another realtor. Elijah Woodson. I knew that guy—he’d gone to high school with me, too. He’d work, because he was a dude, and as far as I knew, he didn’t have a sister. Which meant I couldn’t have unknowingly burned any bridges with him.

  A glance at my phone told me it was time to get ready for work. I’d have to call Elijah later.

  Forbidden Hardware was my second home. I leaned against the counter and inhaled, feeling like the king of the store even if I didn’t own the place. It smelled like freshly cut wood and metal from the building supplies and hardware, rich soil from the garden center, and...Moira O’Malley.

  A vision of my fantasies, here in the flesh.

  There she stood in the wide doorway, taking a look around the large building. Her cool green gaze locked on me and she strode forward, her sexy-as-fuck high heels clacking on the cement floor. She wasn’t wearing her usual Converse, which meant she was probably working behind a desk today instead of on a job site.

  Nothing sexier than a woman who could wield a hammer.

  Except maybe a woman who could wield a hammer and rock a pair of heels.

  While wearing a pencil skirt and a slinky blouse that dipped just low enough to hint at her cleavage.

  When she got within a few yards of me, I said, “Moira O’Malley. To what do I owe this unprecedented pleasure?”

  “Cut the shit,” she said, setting a clipboard on the counter in front of me. “Your online order form is down.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad.”

  “It’s extremely inconvenient, is what it is,” she said, her mouth twisting wryly.

  I loved the shapes her deep pink lips curled into.

  I made a mental note to not ever fix the online order form.

  “I can help you, instead,” I said, fixating on her mouth. There was a faint something there just below her nose, something she’d nearly washed away—a curly black mustache.

  “Can you? Really?” she asked, batting her eyelashes, her voice deceptively sugary sweet.

  Oh, so she wanted to play. A battle of wits. Well, Banter was practically my middle name.

  “Yes, yes I can,” I said with a wink. “It starts with a trip to the Watering Hole. I get you nice and watered, then we go to your place—”

  “You’re being an idiot,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  “Fine, we can go to my place. I don’t even mind the mustache.”

  Her brows shot up. I expected her to cover her lip with her hand, but she didn’t. Instead she put her palms on the counter and leaned forward, giving me a better look at her ample breasts.

  When she spoke, her voice was quiet and sultry. “You couldn’t handle me or my mustache.”

  So fucking hot, I practically drooled. I wanted to throw her up on the counter to prove her wrong.

  She tapped the clipboard in front of her. “Here’s what I need.”

  I sighed and muttered, “So demanding,” but I took the clipboard from her and read over her order. Her handwriting was precise, neat, much like her outfit. She was always so in control of herself, and I wondered what it would take to make her lose control. I wondered if she’d let me take her long chestnut hair out of that uptight bun, whether she’d shake her head around to let it flow around her shoulders, whether she’d let me wrap it around my fist as I guided my cock between her lips—

  “Caleb,” she snapped.

  “Right. We have this stuff.”

  “Can you have someone deliver it to Redemption? The address is there on the form.”

  I nodded, and she turned to go.

  “For the record,” she said over her shoulder, “Brody got Sharpie happy the night before last. That’s why there’s a line on my face. You might try not insulting women when you troll for your next mark.”

  I couldn’t let her leave, not so fast, not like this.

  “Moira.”

  She turned around. “What?”

  “Go for a drink with me.”

  She just laughed and walked out of the store.

  Chapter 4

  Moira

  After the second day of logistics for the Redemption job, there was a knot in the center of my forehead, one that wouldn’t fade even when I closed my eyes. It had been dark for a few hours already. I’d gone straight from the job site to my home office, and worked a few more hours. The words on the pages were all starting to meld together into one big blur.

  It was time to call it a day.

  I straightened the stack of subcontractor bids and clipped them back into their binder. I was going to have to rely on Finn and James to conduct some of the interviews. It had only been two days, and the long drive back and forth was already weighing on me. Plus, my stomach wouldn’t stop growling.

  Standing up from the little desk in the corner, I rolled my neck and stretched my arms. Maybe some food would do me some good. There was a box of Lucky Charms on top of the fridge that I could eat. It would be easy, and right now, easy sounded perfect.

  I opened my bedroom door and took a step out into the hall. It was a strange, crunchy step. Lifting my shoe, I looked down and found colorful rocks and crushed powder. Beside the powder was a line of rainbows and pots of gold, and all the other sugary marshmallow goodness I’d been planning to eat.

  “Damn it, Brody!”

  My furious voice was met with silence. I knelt down and inspected the cereal closer. It was only the marshmallows. He’d dug through my entire box just to take out the marshmallows. Why?

  I checked his room, the living room. The whole house was quiet.

  I needed a drink, and I needed to be somewhere else before I exploded.

  Returning to the hall, I scooped up what I could of the marshmallows, lifted my brother’s comforter, and ground the sugary powder into his sheets. And I felt a little better.

  Then I grabbed my keys and left.

  The Watering Hole was busy, with the noise of chatter filling the room. The wood-paneled walls carried the scents of booze and fried food, and my mouth watered immediately. Maybe I should thank Brody for ruining my cereal, because a burger sounded so much better at the moment, anyway.

  There was only one stool open at the bar, so I slid in and waited my turn for Jeff, the bartender, to take my order.

  The couple sitting next to me left some cash next to their empty glasses and got up to leave. Thankful for a little extra space, I dropped my handbag onto the closer stool.

  Jeff came over and greeted me with what looked like a warm smile. It was hard to tell what exactly he had going on beneath his bushy beard. “Hey, Moira, what can I get you?”

  “Long Island Iced Tea,” a familiar voice said from behind me before I could answer.

  Caleb Stone picked up my handbag and slid onto the stool beside me. Great. The last thing I needed to deal with was Caleb showing up and pushing all my buttons. He always did. Caleb was skilled at both being a complete asshat and turning my insides all around at the same time.

  “Jeff was talking to me,” I said without turning to look at him. “Wait your turn like everyone else, Stone.”

  “It wasn’t for me,” he said. “It’s your favorite, isn’t it? With a splash of raspberry syrup?” He didn’t wait for me to respond, and instead turned to Jeff. “We’ll take two.”

  Jeff was still looking at me. I nodded. “Long Island Iced Tea with a splash of raspberry. And a burger. And fries.”

  I should have eaten with James and Finn at Between the Buns in Redemption. Now all I could think about was the burger I’d missed.

  “You’ve got it.” Jeff tapped the counter and headed over to the window to the kitchen.


  “Rough day, Moira?” Caleb asked. His entire body was turned toward me.

  I glanced over at him, which was of course a mistake. Caleb Stone was hot, but he wasn’t easy on the eyes. Looking at him was like staring at the sun, during an eclipse. He burned every woman he touched, even the ones who knew what they were getting into. They couldn’t help themselves.

  I wasn’t immune. Vaccinated, maybe.

  Growing up together, I’d been injected with little bits of his teasing, little bits of his flirting, and over time, I’d built up a resistance.

  I could appreciate the hard lines of his chiseled jaw, the glimmer in his intense golden-brown eyes, the purposeful flexes of his thick biceps straining beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt. I could listen to his pitch, thwart his charm, and walk away.

  But tonight, the drink...I didn’t know he had made the effort to learn my favorite drink.

  And something else about him was off, something about his smile. It was like he genuinely cared, and wasn’t just asking as a preamble to get in my pants. We both knew better.

  “Look, just because I’m here doesn’t mean I’m here for you,” I said, keeping my body turned forward. “This isn’t a date, Caleb.”

  I should have gone to Hellfire instead of coming here. That was on me.

  “Of course not,” he said with a smile. “I’m just happy to see you, Moira. And you look like you could use some cheering up.”

  “Why would you say that?” I raised a brow.

  “There’s a little line that forms between your brows when you’re upset and trying to suppress it.”

  “Is that so?”

  Jeff dropped off our drinks.

  “It is,” Caleb said, keeping his attention on me. “Would you like to talk about it, whatever is bothering you?”

  He sounded sincere.