Forbidden Desires

by Roberts, Jaimie

  "It's so nice to finally meet you after so long. Owen speaks about you often."

  I raise my eyebrow as butterflies dance in my belly. "He has?"

  "You used to live in the city, did you not?"

  "Yes, that's right. Me and my mother."

  Mr. Flores frowns. "No father around? My apologies. I do tend to ask a lot of questions."

  We all laugh, and as we calm, our drinks are served. "No problem." I pick up my glass of wine and take a sip. The cool, sharp taste of the grape is welcoming. "I never met my father."

  "I'm sorry to hear that. Some men are just not cut out for the job."

  "It's okay. What I never had, I don't miss." A slight sadness in Owen's eyes causes a pang in my chest, but I ignore the ache it gives me and concentrate on Mr. Flores instead. "Owen tells me you've been married thirty years."

  Mr. Flores's eyes light up. "That's correct. Thirty-one next month."

  I salute my glass to him. "Congratulations."

  The waiter is back, asking for our order. Owen and Mr. Flores know what they want already, so I quickly order a Caesar salad, and the waiter is soon walking away, our menus tucked safely under his arm.

  "I have to say," Mr. Flores starts, looking over at Owen, "I never thought I would see the day where I would witness a wedding ring on this gentleman here. He's always been a bit of a rascal." Mr. Flores winks in my direction.

  "Oh, really?" I ask, looking at Owen for more information. "Did you have a girl at every port your cars came into?"

  Mr. Flores rolls up in laughter. "I like you."

  "He makes me out to be like some sort of predator. I was never that bad."

  Mr. Flores leans over, pointing a finger at Owen. "He would show up with a different woman to every charity event, ball, or party."

  My eyes widen at Owen. He looks at his drink sheepishly, and I nudge his arm to get his attention. "You must have had quite the reputation, Dad." My giggle causes Owen to smile and Mr. Flores to laugh out loud again.

  "Oh, yes," Mr. Flores states. "However, that's all changed now since he's found your mother. She must be one special woman."

  My laughter abruptly halts, sickness bubbling in my belly. I force myself to put on a smile. "That she is," I reply through my teeth. I'm not sure Mr. Flores heard me, but Owen certainly did. I’m rewarded with a raised eyebrow and a swoon-worthy smirk.

  We get to chatting about trivial matters before Owen and Mr. Flores begin talking about cars—which, I must admit, I tune out. Don't get me wrong, I love cars, but to the level of having to practically buy a house for them is too much.

  The food arrives in good time, and I'm glad. My stomach has been rumbling for the last two hours.

  "So, tell me, Savannah," Mr. Flores begins after a bite of his food, "how do you like working for Owen?"

  Owen turns his head expectantly. I guess he's eager for the answer too. "I love it," I answer truthfully. "Owen takes very good care of me." Owen detects the undertone in my voice. If it wasn't that, it was the seductive way I glanced toward him when Mr. Flores was taking another bite of his food.

  I'm about to say more when a hand slides up my leg and a finger delicately threads its way into my panties. When he finds my sweet spot, I jolt in surprise. My eyes flicker toward Mr. Flores, but he's luckily busy glancing at his drink to pick it up. I take that opportunity to glare at Owen, but all he does is offer me a shit-eating grin.

  Bastard.

  Knowing I need to say something, I place my hand under the table, smacking Owen's away. Taking the hint, he silently laughs.

  "The job came at a time when I really wanted and needed it, so I'm eternally grateful."

  Mr. Flores looks up and is about to say something when he spots Owen looking rather amused. "Have I missed something?"

  I try as hard as I can not to laugh, but it's no use.

  Owen bites his lip to suppress a smile. "Savannah has a tendency to make faces at me at the most inappropriate moments. It really is rather juvenile."

  My mouth parts, and I'm about to retort when Mr. Flores beats me to it. "Well, it would appear you think otherwise if you're reacting to it by laughing. It only offers to encourage the behavior more."

  Now, I feel like I'm five.

  "My mom scolds me, but Owen always laughs. That's why I can't help myself."

  I figure I may as well play along with this bullshit.

  Mr. Flores now laughing himself, shakes his head in amusement. "I would say you two were more like friends than stepfather and stepdaughter."

  My lips curve up at that. "I think you're right, but it's nice."

  Mr. Flores picks his fork up in salute. "Oh, I wholeheartedly agree. The added bonus of having family is also being their friend. Without friendship, all you have in common is the blood you share."

  I smile at the thought as we sit and finish off our meals. Once I've placed my fork down, I notice Owen and Mr. Flores have already long eaten there's. What is it about men being able to finish eating so quickly? Or is it just that I eat slowly?

  "I need to use the powder room," I say, getting up. Like the gentlemen they are, they both stand with me. I always see that in films, but have never actually had it done for me. It feels…strange, but nice.

  "I'll be right back."

  I walk off to use the restroom, and as I stroll right back and I'm about to sit down, an almighty ruckus sounds behind me. Gunshots ring out through the restaurant, and I duck. I turn to look at what's causing the chaos when a set of arms encases me, tugging me down to the ground.

  "Motherfuckers think you can fire me!" the man shouts, popping off a couple more shots. High pitched screams tear through my ears, then he shouts, "Shut the fuck up!" Another gunshot, then all is eerily quiet for a moment aside from the quiet sobbing of a child. My heart twists and fear like no other crawls up my spine.

  "It's okay, baby. I’ve got you." Owen's soothing voice, coupled with his body pressed against mine from behind me, soothes my erratic heart. He slides over a little to face me, cupping his hand around mine. "You're going to be okay, Savannah. I promise you, okay?"

  It's only when I nod I realize I'm crying. I feel like I might shit myself at any moment.

  "Give me the fucking money you owe me—now!" the man shouts, causing another scream to echo through the room. Another gunshot pings through the air, and I jump.

  "This is getting out of hand," Owen whispers. He closes his eyes, and once he opens them, he looks at me. "Do you trust me?" Without a thought, I nod, and that's when he tries to move.

  Stopping him, I grab his hand, vigorously shaking my head. "Owen, please. You'll get hurt."

  Owen smiles, stroking a finger under my chin. "I won't. I promise. I have to end this. I can't let him hurt you, or anybody else. Trust me, Savannah. It will be okay." He implores me with his eyes. With tears in mine, I reluctantly nod, letting him go.

  I glance up to where the gunman is, his long, unkempt hair under a baseball cap, dirty green jacket, and a gym bag, which he's thrown to the bar staff to unload all the money in. He's so busy watching them, he doesn't notice Owen creeping up behind him, his hand hooking around his back and pulling out a gun.

  Since when did Owen carry a fucking gun!

  Armed and obviously feeling more confident, Owen approaches the back of the guy, quickening his steps. When he's within reach, he digs the gun into the back of his head.

  "Drop the gun, motherfucker."

  All the air escapes from my lungs. I can't move. I can’t breathe. The room is deathly silent as the air around us turns thick with anxiety. Everyone freezes, including the gunman. Time seems to slow, breaths are held, a pungent metallic smell hangs in the air. A crippling fear for Owen’s safety has my heart thundering against my chest like a battering ram.

  I’m so scared.

  A violent roar punches through the air as the gunman spins, the gun poised to shoot. Screams ricochet throughout the room. My chest tightens. With lightning fast reflexes, Owen pistol whips the guy ac
ross the face so quickly and with such force, the man’s frame crumples, instantly hitting the floor within a fraction of time. Throwing himself on top of the guy, Owen wrestles the gun out of his hand. The grunting animal sounds from both have the captive and scared shitless audience unable to move. Body rigid, I can’t look away. Holding his arm in place, Owen thumps it on the hard wooden surface once, twice, three times before eventually the gunman lets go. From the corner of the room, another man with an apron tied behind him runs, kicking the gun away from the madman. Three more men come to Owen’s aid, helping to tie the gunman's hands behind his back. It all happens so fast, I’m barely able to take it all in.

  "Somebody call nine-one-one!" Owen shouts as everyone runs around like headless chickens.

  "I'm going to fucking kill you!" the man rants, trying his best to struggle, spittle foaming at the side of his mouth. I glance away, horrified, and remember Mr. Flores.

  Terror creeps down my spine. I spin around to find him on the floor, blood oozing from his left shoulder as he clutches it with his right hand.

  "Shit, Mr. Flores!" I shout, scooting toward him. His face contorts in agony, but at least he’s still conscious. It’s the gargling in the back of his throat that has my anxiety creep up a notch. "I'll get you help," I say, turning my head. "Owen, Mr. Flores has been shot!"

  Owen turns to me, his eyes wide. He says something to one of the men helping, then quickly makes his way to us.

  "Just keep your hand on the wound. That's all you can do for now." I nod, and Owen touches Mr. Flores's right arm. "Help's coming, buddy. Hang in there.”

  Mr. Flores tries a smile, but it's difficult. Instead, he nods his head. A distant wailing causes me to sigh my relief.

  Sirens.

  I never thought I would be so happy to hear them in all my life. As they grow louder, I close my eyes, the relief now immense. I want to cry, I want to breakdown, but I’m determined to be strong for Mr. Flores.

  "Thank you," he rasps, and I look down at him.

  Tears flood my eyes as I nod. "Don't mention it," I barely say back to him.

  He wraps his hand tightly round mine, pulling me down to say something. “If I die, tell my family I love them.”

  A small sob leaves my lips and I have to suck in some air in order to reply. “You can tell your family yourself. You’re not going to die, do you hear? Help is coming and they will mend you up as good as new.”

  A hint of a smile graces his lips, but when he chuckles, a painful groan comes out instead. “Do you think they can give me a few upgrades?” He manages to smile again, causing me to laugh through my tears.

  “I’m sure we can sort something out. All you need to do for me is hang in there.” He moans in response, his eyes becoming droopy. “Mr. Flores…Mr. Flores.”

  Panicked, I turn to find help, but upon hearing the sirens right outside the door, Owen, with several others, run outside to let the police know what happened and what the situation is now.

  One by one, a load of police pile in, followed by paramedics who rapidly scatter toward the injured. When I’m pulled out of the way for them to tend to Mr. Flores, the relief I feel is immeasurable.

  As they wheel Mr. Flores away, I take him by the hand and smile at him until we have no alternative but to let go. I take that opportunity to look around at the chaos and wished I hadn't. Families are huddle together, crying like the danger is still out there. He is, but is contained by several policemen and women, cuffing the guy and taking him away, screaming and shouting. There's blood. Lots of blood on the walls, floors…people. I don't know how many have been shot, but red coats so much space, it looks like there's been a massacre.

  That's when it happens. That's when I breakdown, letting the floodgates open. Luckily for me, Owen is there to rescue me, taking me into his arms and offering the comfort I need.

  "Everything's going to be okay, baby. You're safe now."

  I Hate Boys

  Christina Aguilera

  Present

  As I approach the stables, I take in Owen standing by them, dressed in a pair of tight-fitting jodhpurs, showing off his impressive taut, thigh muscles. Despite hating him for earlier, my body still betrays me as my eyes roam the contours of his legs. To add insult to injury, he's dressed in an equally tight jacket as he spins a riding hat in his hand.

  Be still my loins.

  Determined to act unperturbed by his absolute sex appeal, I take in a breath. "Pray tell, stepfather of mine, why are you here?"

  Owen smiles almost triumphantly as he motions to the barn. "You're going riding, right?"

  "Yes."

  "Well…I'm coming too."

  I step closer, but turn my head just in case Ethan is coming behind me. He's not here yet, but once he does arrive and spots his dad, he's going to be pissed.

  "Haven't you done enough damage already? Because of you, I'm going to have to try to find an emergency doctor on New Year’s Day. Great way to start off the year because I'm trying to avoid getting pregnant by my stepfather."

  Owen's jaw ticks. He moves closer—so close, the heat of his breath tingles against my lips. "Do that, and I'll fuck you bare again. I meant what I said, Savannah. You're mine, and it's always going to be that way. Whatever shit you have going with my son needs to stop. I mean it. You can't be alone with him."

  Anger in the pit of my belly manifests, but that's quickly extinguished the moment I spot something I have never seen in Owen's eyes before: fear.

  I take a step back. Owen shifts his gaze away from me, but it's too late. I already saw it.

  "What aren't you telling me?"

  "Are you ready to get going?"

  I jump at the sound of Ethan's voice and spin my head to face him. Ethan frowns at the sight of his dad, then glances toward me like I have the answers.

  "What's happening?"

  "We're going horse riding," Owen snaps.

  "I didn't know you liked horse riding," Ethan observes, his frown deepening in anger.

  "I don't. I'm just not letting you go off with Savannah on your own."

  "Shit, Dad. What the fuck do you think I'm going to do?"

  With his riding hat in hand, Owen takes a couple steps toward Ethan, pointing it at him. "You don't get to come into this house after what you did and think I won't have an issue with you going off alone with Savannah. When you're in my house, you abide by my rules."

  I don’t have a clue as to what the fuck is going on between those two, but this is the most they've said to each other in three weeks. I can't understand it. Ethan bullied someone years ago when he was in high school. Hasn't he paid for that by now? What does Owen think he’ll do to me—superglue my butt to Katrina?

  They standoff for a moment, and I wonder if Ethan will cancel the ride and go back to the house. I'm surprised when he grits his teeth and clenches his fists together.

  "Fine," he growls.

  Men!

  Ethan rounds Owen, stalking off toward the barn. When he disappears inside the door, I walk up to Owen’s side. "There's no need for this."

  Owen's nostrils flare with rage. "It's necessary."

  "Hasn't he suffered enough? You're his dad and all you've done since he got here is treat him like shit."

  Owen practically snarls, his teeth baring. "You obviously don't have clue as to what he's capable of. You certainly wouldn't be going horse riding with him on your own if you did."

  My brow creases with concern. How can him bullying someone in high school make me fear being alone with him? "So, he bullied someone and it backfired, getting him into trouble. I get it, he was an asshole and never should have done it, but I think he's paid his due. It's time he got his dad back."

  Owen laughs, but there’s no humor. He starts to walk away, throwing over his shoulder, "So that's what he told you."

  I'm about to ask what he means when he disappears through the door. I stay for a few seconds, closing my eyes and taking in a deep, frustrated breath.

  This is going to
be a long afternoon.

  Walking through the barn, I tend to Ralf, who is going to be Ethan's horse. Ralf is a very docile horse, perfect for a beginner like Ethan. Owen's already done getting his horse, Trojan, ready by the time I start on Katrina. I still roll my eyes at the name Owen chose for his horse. Of course it had to be something strong and masculine. It’s Owen all over.

  Once I have everything ready, Owen opens the barn doors, and one by one, we walk our horses outside. I show Ethan how to get on and hold on, explaining he should follow behind me, and if unsure, to holler at any moment he needs to.

  Throwing my leg over Katrina, I settle on her, pulling the reins. When I glance in Owen's direction, he's watching me intently, almost as if he's undressing me.

  Deciding to ignore him for now, I switch my attention to Ethan, who looks noticeably uncomfortable. "Are you good to go? If not, we don’t have to go." The last thing I want to do is force him to do something he's not into.

  "No, I'm fine. It's just strange right now. I’ll get used to it."

  I smile reassuringly. "You certainly will. Ralf is wonderful at keeping you calm. He's so docile. Such a sweetheart."

  "Well, that makes me feel better."

  Ethan flits me a smile, and I return it. A big, booming voice breaks through the bitter cold night air, interrupting our moment.

  "Are we going to get going or what? I would like to be back in time to watch the fireworks at least."

  I turn an annoying glare to Owen. "Yes, we're ready."

  I give Katrina a slight nudge with my foot, and she takes the hint, starting off on a very gentle stroll.

  "We'll keep a slow, steady pace at first, then we'll go to a trot. Let me know once you're comfortable with that."

  "I will," Ethan replies. "Thanks."

  "No sweat."

  Because I can't help myself, I glance at Owen to find him shaking his head. He doesn't want to be here—that much is obvious. But he feels it’s necessary…for whatever reason. Whether it's their stupid feud or that he's just so damn possessive of me, I have no idea. What he said a moment ago does make me wonder. Surely Ethan wasn't lying to me. Owen treats him with such disdain, my heart aches for him. I understand what it's like to have a parent reject you. It doesn't bother me so much now that I have other people who care for me, but when it was just me and Mom, it tore me up inside. When you're so used to insults instead of praise, cold shoulders instead of hugs, it weighs down on your heart, eventually crushing your soul.