Forbidden to Taste

by JC Harroway

  She sways in the doorway, her back to me.

  I step up closer, bend until my lips brush the silk of her hair. ‘You’re mine,’ I whisper.

  She shivers, her shoulders twitching. And then she spins to face me, slowly.

  I’m lost in the glow of her eyes, mesmerised. I raise my hands with care, cup her face like she’s made of blown glass. ‘You’re mine.’ I tilt her jaw and lower my mouth to hers, taking time for my words to sink in. For her to withdraw, if she wants to.

  ‘Yes.’ One tiny word. The smallest nod of her head.

  Our mouths touch, our lips finding each other’s as if equipped with a homing instinct. Because this is right. We are right. Nothing else matters.

  I lift her and carry her to the bedroom. She clings to me with arms and legs and lips and then we’re peeling away the layers of clothing that separate us, until we’re skin to skin.

  ‘Say you’re mine.’ I run my mouth over every inch of her I can reach as we head for the bed. I follow her down, covering her body with mine, blocking out any residual chill she might feel.

  ‘I’m yours, Drake.’

  She claws at me, impatient. But I want her certain. I want her exhausted by the weight of my love. Filled to the brim so there’s no space for doubt. I kiss her, running my hands over her body, laying claim. She’s equally possessive, her nails digging into my skin, her hands twisting my hair, her mouth leaving kiss after kiss, like brands.

  When I push inside her, I know I’m home. ‘Kenzie.’ I grip her face, direct her eyes to mine. ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you, too.’

  With our eyes locked, I rock us both over the edge, my cry the last thing I manage to speak against her arched throat. ‘You’re mine!’

  EPILOGUE

  Kenzie

  I COVER MY mouth and hide my giggles as I look down at Drake’s denim-clad backside, which protrudes from underneath the bottom of the Christmas tree.

  ‘How about now?’ he huffs, and the tree shifts a fraction to the left.

  It’s already perfectly straight, but I can’t help but string this out...get my money’s worth. Wind him up so I earn some delicious retribution.

  ‘A little to the right.’ I bite my lip and try not to drool at the way his butt clenches and his shirt rides up, exposing a strip of muscular back. How can I possibly want him again? We’ve only been up three hours. If Tilly wasn’t due in thirty minutes, I’m guessing we’d still be in bed.

  ‘Now?’ he asks, pushing the tree in the opposite direction.

  ‘Left a bit.’ I snigger.

  There’s a curse. More huffing. And then he emerges, his face dusky with exertion and some pine needles stuck in his hair. ‘Are you deliberately winding me up?’ Even while he admonishes me, sparks of heat in his eyes, he’s tugging me by the hips so he can press a kiss to my twitching mouth. He smells of Christmas. And Drake.

  ‘Mmm.’ I run my hands through his hair, scattering the pine needles to the floor as I press my hips forward, finding him hard. A pretty permanent state for my man—I’m not sure how he gets anything done...

  He breaks from our kiss, even as he’s walking me back towards the sofa. ‘Let’s just get one delivered from Harrods, already decorated.’

  I gasp, but he fills my mouth with his tongue as his hand slips under my jumper. I shove at his shoulders, my fingers curling into his shirt to stop him escaping too far.

  ‘We can’t do that. Decorating the tree together is a family tradition—Tilly and I did it with our parents and we still do this every year. We drink mulled wine, decorate the tree and then watch White Christmas followed by Love Actually. And now our family includes you, so suck it up, trouper.’ I flop onto the sofa, tugging him down on top of me. Right now I couldn’t give a toss if the tree is straight. Tills will sort it out when she gets here. She has an eye for detail.

  ‘How long do we have?’ mumbles Drake against my lips as he unbuttons my jeans and slips his hand inside my underwear.

  I glance at the clock, wishing we had a time machine parked in the garage beside the collection of luxury European vehicles I’m always teasing him about. ‘Not long. She’s always punctual...twenty minutes, tops.’ My words pant out because his fingers are between my legs and his kisses are working their way up my naked abdomen towards my breasts.

  He looks up, a grin of promise and eyes full of possession and heat, a look I’ve seen daily—no, hourly—in the last month. ‘I can work with that time frame.’ His hand starts sliding my jeans and underwear over my hips. There’s no way I could resist. I want him. Always. Insatiably.

  He’s mine. And I’m his.

  * * *

  Dare to read more sexy stories!

  If you enjoyed this story in the

  Billionaire Bachelor series from JC Harroway,

  read the first story:

  Forbidden to Want

  Out now!

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  Forbidden to Touch

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  Make Me Yours

  by Katee Robert

  CHAPTER ONE

  “HAVE I MENTIONED how much I loathe weddings?” Becka Baudin grabbed two champagne glasses and handed one to her best friend, Allie.

  “Only about half a dozen times—in the last hour.”

  She drained the glass and waited for her stomach to settle. Only then did she focus on her best friend’s amusement. “It’s not my fault. They give me hives. Even this one.” Especially this one.

  “Here.” Allie passed over the second champagne glass, her expression sympathetic. “You know you’re not losing her, right?”

  “Of course I know that. I’m not a child.” But she still glanced at her big sister gliding across the dance floor with her new husband. They looked like something out of a fairy tale, Lucy in a gorgeous white dress that hugged her lean form. It was overlaid with lace and gave a little sparkle with every move. Her dark hair was twisted in an intricate style that left her neck and shoulders bare except for the truly outstanding necklace Gideon had bought her.

  And Gideon.

  Lord, the man could wear a tux.

  But it wasn’t the clothes that made them the most beautiful couple in the room. It was the way they looked at each other.

  She sipped her second glass of champagne. “They seem happy.”

  “Yes, well, that generally happens on someone’s wedding day.”

  Becka rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m being an asshole. It’s not this wedding I object to—it’s the rest of them.” Weddings were nothing but false promises of happily-ever-after. They sold a dream most people never actually realized—more than half ended in divorce.

  She gave herself a shake and eyed her glass. “I think it might be time to start with the vodka.” She’d already done her duties as maid of honor, from the pictures to the people herding to the speech. Now it was just a matter of keeping her head down until it was time to see Lucy and Gideon off to the limo. Yes, a drink is exactly what I deserve for keeping my happy mask in place. If she didn’t do something to break the tension soon, she was liable to snap at someone and make an ass of herself, and end up on some Maids of Honor Behaving Badly list. She couldn’t do that to Lucy. Today was like playing through one of her personal nightmares, but Becka could do better than to act out like a spoiled child as a result. She was better than that. She had to be.

  Becka turned to the bar and froze.

  Blue eyes captured hers, rooting her feet in place even as her body tried to sway forward. Toward him. Square jaw, straight strong nose, sensual lips that quirked up as he gave her his own perusal. She straightened, suddenly glad that her sister hadn’t followed the shitty tradition of clothing her bridesmaids in the ugliest dresses imaginable. Her purple dress set off the rich blue color she’d settled on for her hair, and it hugged what few curves she had. The stranger wore a tux even better than the groom, his broad shoulders tapering to a lean waist.

  She’d never seen a more striking man in her life.

  “That’s Aaron Livingston.” Allie’s shoulder brushed hers, effectively grounding her. “He’s friends with Roman and sometimes business associates with Gideon, I think. I didn’t realize he’d be here.”

  Aaron. I like it. “I should go say hi, be hospitable...or something.”

  Allie snorted. “Yeah, sure. That’s exactly what you’re going to do.” She grinned. “Have fun. I’m going to go dance with my man.”

  “Yeah, yeah, rub it in that you’re deliriously domestically happy.” The words held no sting. She was happy her best friend had found the love of her life in Roman Bassani. Between Allie and Lucy, it was almost enough to convert Becka to a romantic way of thinking.

  Almost.

  Too bad I’m well acquainted with the downsides of romance. Hard to put on rose-tinted glasses when I’ve been up close and personal with everything that can go wrong.

  God, she was a mess. She needed to do something—fast.

  There was nothing quite as distracting as a man. The one currently staring at her as if memorizing every inch of her would fit the bill nicely.

  It’s just a Band-Aid.

  She shoved the knowledge aside and made her way to the bar, never taking her gaze off Aaron. He watched her but didn’t move from his spot. Letting her approach. Letting her set the tone. Smart man.

  Becka sidled up to the spot next to him and broke eye contact to order a vodka seven. This close, she could smell his cologne—something expensive that made her think of hot and dirty sex in the best way possible. Down, girl. If this wedding was for anyone else, she wouldn’t hesitate to haul him to a convenient closet or bathroom stall to silence the ugliness inside her, but she wouldn’t do that to Lucy. Her sister deserved the best on her wedding day, and damn it, Becka would make sure she had it.

  At least until Lucy got into the limo.

  Then all bets were off.

  “Maid of honor.”

  God, even his voice was wonderful, low and even with just a hint of growl. She twisted to face him. “Wedding guest.” He just raised his eyebrows, and she smirked. “Sorry, I thought we were throwing out labels.” She held out her hand. “Becka Baudin.”

  “Becka being short for Rebecka?”

  “Something like that.” No one called her Rebecka—not even Lucy. She certainly wasn’t going to hand out that name to this guy, no matter how magnetic he was or how he seemed to be so close to what she needed in that moment, it was a wonder she hadn’t conjured him into existence.

  But then, Becka didn’t believe in magic any more than she believed in romance.

  “I’m Aaron.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. His five o’clock shadow scraped against her skin, completely at odds with the softness of his lips. It would feel good to have him sliding his mouth along other parts of her. Better than good. Decadent and sinful and absolutely perfect.

  Not yet.

  She licked her lips. “I know.”

  “I see you’ve done your homework.”

  “More like your reputation precedes you.”

  “Can’t complain about that if it brings a woman like you my way.” He let their hands drop but didn’t release her. Aaron slid his thumb over the same path his lips had just taken, as if he had every right to seduce her with a single touch. His lips quirked into a smile and, damn it, it made him even more handsome. “Nice wedding.”

  Come on, Becka, you can do better than this. Stop staring at him like a lust-struck idiot. She cleared her throat and reclaimed her hand just in time for the bartender to deliver her drink. She turned to face the bar fully, needing some distance, even if it was only in her head. No matter what her plans for this man were, she couldn’t afford to lose focus until later. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe you should find someone less magnetic, less overwhelming, to lose yourself in. Even as she thought it, she knew she wasn’t going to. A few short minutes of conversation and Aaron Livingston had dropped a lure she couldn’t have resisted if she tried. Better to just let things unfurl on the path they were both obviously heading down.

  It’s only one night. Tomorrow I’ll go back to my life and it will be nothing but a fond memory.

  What had he asked her? Right. The wedding. Of course it was the wedding. That was all anyone had been talking about for months, and they were at the damn event right now.

  She downed half her drink. “It’s a wedding. They’re all flavors of the same thing.” Damn it, that sounded bitter. She took a careful breath and pasted a happy smile on her face. “It’s what Lucy wanted, and she’s happy, so I’m happy.” That, at least, was the truth.

  “I take it you don’t subscribe t
o the American dream that ends with a white picket fence?”

  Becka shot him a look, trying to gauge where he was going with that comment. Even if he shared her views on marriage and weddings, this was hardly the event to start bitching about how cynical they were. “We live in New York. We don’t do white picket fences here as a general rule.”

  “True enough.” Aaron’s blue eyes took her in, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that he saw too much. That if he looked deep enough, he’d be able to trace her aversion to the fictional happily-ever-after right back to her parents’ destroyed marriage and...

  Enough.

  Keeping ahold of her drink, she gave him her full attention. No reason to avoid pulling the trigger on this. If by some miracle she’d misread the situation, she still had plenty of time to bounce back from any rejection he dealt and move on to someone else. “You want to get out of here?” She waved a hand at her sister still on the dance floor. “I mean, after this dog and pony show has reached its natural conclusion.”

  His grin widened, just a little. “I wouldn’t say no to another drink somewhere quieter, where we could have a conversation.”

  A conversation? Hard pass. The conversation, the drinks, the quiet place... It was all just frills to fancy up the fact that they wanted to bang each other’s brains out. Whatever his reasons, he seemed just as onboard with this plan as she was. Except he wanted to talk. If he was anyone else, if the attraction was any more manageable... But he wasn’t, and it wasn’t. She knew her strengths, and while she didn’t believe in love at first sight, what she had with Aaron was definitely lust at first sight. Better for both of them to keep things simple and define clear boundaries from the start.