Falling for the Forbidden: 10 Full-Length Novels

by Jessica Hawkins

  He glanced toward the house, avoiding my eyes. “It’ll show your dad what I’m capable of. That I’m more than some lackey on his payroll. That I’m good enough for you and can care for you—not just financially, but in every way.”

  “Oh, Diego.” I cupped his jaw, and he leaned into my hand. “He doesn’t doubt what a strong, smart, skillful man you are. He just doesn’t want me near any of this. It wouldn’t matter who you were.”

  He put his hand over mine, turning his face into my palm to kiss it. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “All of this. Worrying you about Maldonado and Calavera. I’m sorry you had to see my fucking pinche brother.” He brushed his lips up my wrist and forearm, smiling against my skin when I shivered. “I know how those memories of Cristiano affect you,” he said softly, “but I’m not going to let him anywhere near you.”

  Diego didn’t know. Not entirely. My nightmares were not limited to the horror of finding Mamá in a pool of her own blood. Cristiano had taught me that the gilded fortress I’d grown up in wasn’t as secure as I’d thought. He’d robbed me of my carefree childhood. I’d sat in the dark, my nine-year-old mind growing more and more paranoid I might never be found, trying to think of how I could reach the last rung of the ladder without the height or vision I needed. Even if Cristiano hadn’t killed my mom, I didn’t know if I could ever disassociate him with the fear he’d inspired or the lessons I’d learned too early in life.

  Trust no one.

  Never draw a weapon unless you meant to kill.

  Loyalty didn’t guarantee loyalty, even to your own blood.

  Anyone, even the most loyal disciple, could turn.

  And I had danced with him tonight, aroused by a possessive touch and menacing words that should’ve sent me running into Diego’s arms. I could’ve screamed like I’d threatened—but I hadn’t. What was wrong with me?

  I stood, pulled Diego up from the fountain’s ledge, and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Thank you for protecting me,” I whispered as I brushed my cheek against his. “For wanting more for us. For taking a bullet for me all those years ago. I love you.”

  “I only wish I could do more.” He slid his hands down my back, lowering his mouth but pausing before our lips touched. “I would erase that day for you.”

  I hugged him more tightly, breathing him in as he pecked me once. Twice. His tongue slid between my lips, tasting me. “My sweet Natalia,” he said on a moan.

  I loved how he said my name. Even as Diego and I had changed, as our relationship had grown and our devotion to each other had solidified, he continued to say my name the same way—as if he owned it. As if nobody else knew it like he did.

  I deepened the kiss. The world fell away, and we were just two people in love who hadn’t had enough chances to show it.

  His hands moved everywhere—searching, finding, claiming. He cupped my ass and pulled my hips against his, and I groaned.

  “God, I want you,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I don’t know how much longer I can wait.”

  In that moment, I felt the same. I’d preserved my virginity for him—that part was easy. But keeping it from him? I struggled to be good. I wanted to do right by my faith, act with grace as my mother had, and be a woman she would’ve been proud of. But sometimes I wondered if it even mattered since I would marry Diego no matter what.

  His hand dropped lower than it ever had, and the wrongness of being groped outside where anyone could happen upon us made something pull deep in my tummy. From behind, Diego cupped me between the legs and held me in place as he ground against me, rubbing a sensitive spot that made me moan up at the sky. “Oh, god. That . . .”

  “Hmm?” he asked, running his tongue along the shell of my ear.

  “That feels so good,” I breathed.

  “For me too. I’m getting hard, Tals.”

  Desire washed over me. This was still new territory for us. It wasn’t easy to talk dirty to my best friend over the phone when we’d only ever stolen a few kisses here, a few intimate touches there.

  “Tell me something too,” he said in my ear. “Are you wet?”

  I curled my fingers in his hair, taking two handfuls of honeyed downy strands. I hadn’t known a question like that would excite me so much. “I think I am now,” I said.

  He smiled against my cheek. “You’re pulling my hair.”

  “Oh—sorry.” I released my fists.

  “I don’t mind it. How about you?” Keeping one hand under my ass, he tugged on my curls with the other, causing a butterfly clip to fall out. “Or is it too much?”

  He’d been gentle, but I bit my lip as a passion we rarely got to explore warmed the space between us. “It’s not too much.”

  His eyes darkened. “Tell me you love me, Talia.”

  “You know I do.”

  “But say it, princesa.” He growled a little, in a way I’d never heard from him. “When I ask, that means I want to hear it.”

  I was taken aback by the tremor of frustration in his voice, especially because I couldn’t think of a time I’d ever denied him anything. That was one thing he and I had never experienced—a chase. We played the games that had been forced upon us by keeping our romance a secret, but maybe the hungry look in his eyes now meant Diego also wanted to hunt a little.

  What would happen if I didn’t give him what he wanted every time he asked for it?

  “No,” I said softly.

  “No?” He pulled me against him once more, bringing me to the tips of my toes. “Don’t keep your love from me, Talia. Ever.”

  He sounded angry, but his excitement was growing more and more obvious against my stomach. And something about refusing him was equally as exhilarating for me.

  I shook my head.

  “You don’t love me?” He nipped my earlobe. “All I want is to take care of you. Protect you. Love you. And you’ll deny me?” He took my face with one large hand, his grip rough but his dancing eyes boring into mine, challenging me in a way that sent a thrill down my spine. His hand under my buttocks crept lower and locked between my legs. He had me trapped, my face secure, while his fingers were centimeters from my most intimate spot. “Tell me how much you love me,” he demanded. “I won’t ask again.”

  With footsteps at Diego’s back, I jumped back as my heart launched into my throat. We’d let down our guards, which might’ve made our fondling more thrilling, but that was never smart around here. I hid behind Diego, adjusting my neckline, even though we hadn’t been doing anything.

  Diego turned just his head to the side. “Move along,” he called over his shoulder. “Pervert.”

  No response. I looked around him and swallowed at the skull in the shadows. One that both arrested my gaze and inspired my instinct to flee. Cristiano had found us vulnerable, away from the team that protected us. I wasn’t even sure if Diego had his gun. Cristiano could shoot me. Take me. Hurt me.

  But would he? Who was he now? How was he different from the protector I’d grown up with? I couldn’t even be sure that version of him was the same man who’d murdered my mother.

  If he had at all.

  Was I really questioning what I’d seen?

  God. Cristiano hadn’t even spoken yet, and he was playing mind games with me. His composure and coded words from earlier put a match to the embers of curiosity I continually tried to extinguish.

  Diego turned, standing protectively in front of me.

  The figure stepped into the moonlight. “You were going to take her out here for everyone to see,” Cristiano said with an inviting gesture. “Don’t let us interrupt.”

  I shivered at the thought, wondering how long he’d been watching.

  Diego put a hand back to stop me from reacting. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked Cristiano.

  Even Cristiano’s shrug was threatening. “I came outside to say hello to the brother I haven’t seen in years.”

  “You know what I mean,” Diego said. “Why are you in
town?”

  Cristiano turned his glare on me. “It’s time for you to go home.”

  And leave Diego alone? “No.”

  “You haven’t changed.” Cristiano’s eyes scanned my body, lingering on my breasts and hips. “And in some ways, you’re entirely different.”

  “Fuck off,” Diego said, moving to block me from Cristiano. “She has nothing to do with this.”

  “So send her away, as she doesn’t seem to listen to me. Never did.” A whistle sounded over our heads, and I jumped with its visceral bang. A burst of shimmering gold lit up the sky. Cristiano shook his head at me, as if disappointed. “I can see your fear from our last encounter has worn off, Natalia. What a shame.”

  I bit my tongue to stop from retorting what a shame it was that he’d lived to see anything at all. It was enough that Diego and I had his attention; it wouldn’t help to anger him.

  “Tell me,” Cristiano said, moving to see me better. “Have you learned how to shoot a gun yet?”

  When you aim, kill. “Hand me yours,” I said, “and let’s find out.”

  “Cuidado, Talia,” Diego said through his teeth. “Careful. You don’t know what he’s capable of. Go back to the party. I’ll find you.”

  I kept my eyes on Cristiano as his stayed on me. “What if he tries to hurt you?” I asked.

  “Not unless the traitor strikes first,” Cristiano said. “Go back to the house, and I promise you my brother’s safety.”

  A second firework sailed through the night sky and exploded blood red. “He’s not a traitor, and he’s not your brother. I don’t know what my father wants with you, but you’re not family.”

  I immediately wished I’d kept my mouth shut. Cristiano came closer, tilting his head as his black eyes took me in. “Natalia Lourdes,” he said, drawing out my full name in a way that made it sound sinful, like wisps of breath against a neck that didn’t belong to him, and dangerous, like sharpening a knife.

  With a sudden movement from Diego, Cristiano turned his head, focusing on his brother. “If you’re going to draw your gun on me like you did back then,” he said, “aim well. You’ll only have one shot, and this time, you’d better be willing to die for it.”

  Behind him, the shadows stirred. Two shapes with two sharp pairs of eyes took form. Were these the misfits Diego and Tepic had spoken of?

  Before anyone could make a move, voices from the lawn made me turn.

  Barto approached with two members of our security team. He looked between Cristiano and Diego. “Costa wants to see you both in the ballroom. Now.” Barto turned to me. “And you, Natalia. What are you doing here?”

  “I was just taking her back to the house,” Diego said.

  Barto frowned at him, shaking his head. “You’d do better with the truth, Diego.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Costa’s likely to be less angry that she snuck into the party on her own than that she came to spend time with you.”

  Diego licked his lips. “Had I been informed we were hosting a known murderer and rapist, I would’ve obviously sent Tali straight back.”

  Cristiano barely noticed the insult. Instead, he was watching me. Listening. He’d always been that way, taking in everything around him, processing it like a computer, keeping his observations to himself—to what end, God only knew. Was he plotting ways to terrorize me more? Reminiscing about the life he’d had here?

  Fantasizing about dancing in dark corners?

  Or worse?

  A small part of me couldn’t reconcile the human trafficker to the Cristiano I’d known before he’d fled. He’d been next to impossible to get to know back then, even putting aside our fourteen-year age difference. But having only ever been under his protection growing up, I’d never seen him as the vicious killer everyone else had.

  Until that day.

  Barto nodded at the brothers. “Costa is waiting. Tonight, he’s not feeling patient.”

  Cristiano and Barto exchanged an unfriendly look, which reminded me that before all this, they’d been close. They had come into the cartel around the same age and had risen in the ranks together. Barto, an important member of our security team even then, had been away on business with my father during Cristiano’s attack on my mom. Like Cristiano, Barto never said much, but I knew he constantly beat himself up over it.

  Barto had lost not only my mother—a member of the family he’d been hired to protect—but Cristiano too, his closest friend and comrade.

  “Send someone back to the house with Talia,” Diego told Barto.

  “It’s okay,” I said, even though Cristiano still hadn’t removed his eyes from me. “I don’t need an escort.”

  As Cristiano passed me on his way toward the house, he stalled. “I’ll see you to your bedroom if you like,” he said so only I could hear.

  The suggestive offer, not made out of graciousness, made me think of our tango. Or perhaps it was more appropriate to call it a mind game than a dance. It was becoming clear Cristiano liked to play. With Father demanding his presence and Barto watching on, I was safe. Instead of cowering at his suggestion, I called his bluff and offered my elbow as I would to an escort. “Let’s go.”

  “Let’s go indeed,” he said with a hint of a smirk before he walked off with Diego and Barto.

  Apparently, my discomfort amused him—but so did my fight.

  That didn’t surprise me.

  Cristiano would pinch a butterfly’s wings together just to watch her struggle.

  Natalia

  Aromas of coffee and cinnamon-raisin toast preceded the pop of a toaster as I entered the open, airy kitchen. Papá sat at the breakfast counter with a newspaper as Paz filled a mug with spicy café de olla from an orange enamel pot.

  “Buenos días, Natalia,” Paz said as she served him.

  “¿Cómo está?” I greeted, pulling my damp hair into a ponytail so it wouldn’t get my t-shirt wet. Despite my shower, I still had flecks of glitter embedded into my hairline and arms from the night before.

  Paz responded, nodded at my father’s half-eaten plate of eggs and pico de gallo, and asked if I was hungry. When I told her my stomach was still uneasy from the night before, she got me a warm can of Coke Light.

  “Good morning, mi amor.” My father held up the front page to show me a picture of himself with the governor and his wife. Lower down the page, Papá shook hands with the head Calavera himself. I couldn’t even bring myself to think the devil’s name. “You wouldn’t believe the morning’s headlines,” he said. “Everyone says it was a great party.”

  No mention of the murder within its walls? Whatever “journalists” had been in attendance should be stripped of the designation.

  “¿Hace mucho calor, no?” he asked as Paz set down his toast.

  With his complaint about the heat, she set to work opening the windows.

  Papá sipped his coffee as I stared at his scabbed knuckles and slightly swollen right hand, remembering how he’d gripped the gun. I knew he’d killed before as sure as I knew my own name. That was no surprise. But to see it with my own eyes, and so carelessly, like plucking an orange off a tree or tossing aside a piece of junk mail. No warning or word of acknowledgment.

  A breeze passed through the room, alleviating the heat. “I saw what you did,” I said.

  “Hmm?” He looked up at me. “What?”

  “Last night, at the party. I was there.”

  He stared at me a moment, then stood and carried his silverware and plate of eggs across the kitchen. He threw them in the sink with a clatter. “Goddamn it, Natalia.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  He turned to the maid as she tried to salvage the cracked dish. “Gracias, Paz.”

  She hurried from the room.

  When it came to me, my father’s bark was much worse than his bite. I stood my ground. “How could you let that monster back into our lives?” I asked.

  “I was going to talk to you today. I didn’t want you to find out that way,” he said. I knew h
is scolding frown all too well. “I told you not to go to the party. You defied me.”

  “If I hadn’t, I’d be reading lies for headlines.” I picked up his picture with Cristiano and thrust it toward him. “My father, shaking hands with my mother’s murderer? How were you going to explain this?”

  “With the truth.” He came back for his coffee, took the paper from me, and looked at the photo. “Cristiano is innocent.”

  “It’s impossible.” My voice broke, but I did my best to swallow down my grief. If I got emotional, his instinct to protect me would prevent him from sharing anything beyond the fundamentals. “Cristiano killed her, stole from us, and left me in a tunnel to rot.”

  “I should belt you for doubting me. My father would’ve,” he said without any conviction. From my grandfather, that threat would’ve scared me. He’d had a temper. My dad wasn’t like that, though.

  “Is he blackmailing you?” I asked.

  He put down the newspaper and slid his toast toward him. “No—”

  “Papá.” I pleaded with him. “Tell me the truth. What does Cristiano have on you?”

  “Nothing.” Leaning one hand on the counter, he took a bite, then tossed the remaining bread back on the plate as if he couldn’t stomach it. “And spreading a rumor like that makes me vulnerable, so watch your mouth.”

  “What is it then?” I asked, undeterred.

  He sighed into his coffee. “If you’d let me get a word in, I’d tell you. You’re like your mother, storming in here yelling at me for things I didn’t do.”

  “You shot a man in the head,” I cried. “I saw it.”

  Even as his color drained, he straightened up. “Cristiano has proven his loyalty, Talia. For the last decade, he’s done more than built himself a strong, successful cartel—”

  “How can you say that?” I fell onto a breakfast stool. “I’ve heard the kind of ‘business’ he runs, and it’s vile.”

  “His business isn’t anything you should worry about. All you need to know is what Cristiano has done for your mother. For us.” Birds chirped outside, and a sparrow landed on the sill. Papá shooed it away. “When Cristiano left here,” he continued, “he ruthlessly and relentlessly hunted your mother’s murderer. He made it his mission to find the motherfucker who entered my house—my bedroom—and took almost everything from me. I’ve had dark moments since learning this. I question Our Lady of Guadalupe for letting this stranger into my home, but I thank her you didn’t come into the room any earlier.”