Falling for the Forbidden: 10 Full-Length Novels

by Jessica Hawkins

  “No,” I force through dry lips.

  The doctor offers me an impersonal smile. “Take off your clothes and lie down on the couch, my dear.”

  I can’t move. I’m stuck to the carpet.

  “How long do you need?” Gabriel asks.

  “Twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll be back for her.”

  On his way to the door, he stops in front of me. “If he hurts you, I’ll kill him.”

  Dr. Engelbrecht chuckles over his open doctor’s case. “It’s not nice to make jokes like that.”

  “It’s no joke.”

  Gabriel says it with a smile, but his words send a shiver down my spine. He walks from the room, shutting me inside with the doctor.

  “Come now,” the doctor says, “I don’t have all day.”

  It’s embarrassing to undress in front of a stranger who knows my employer is going to fuck me. My whole body blushes as I kick off my trainers, push down my shorts, and peel off my top.

  He must see many patients at home, because he’s well prepared. A disposable sheet is already spread out on the couch. I keep my eyes fixed on the ceiling as I lay down, trying to go someplace dark in my head.

  He fits on a pair of surgical gloves. “Bend your knees.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Don’t worry, my dear, it’s just a pap smear. You’re supposed to do it every year. First time?”

  I nod. It’s not like I have money for doctors’ visits.

  He chats through the examination to put me at ease, but I’m tense, and when he takes the sample it hurts. He lets me get dressed before he takes my blood. He’s just about done when Gabriel steps back into the room.

  He walks to the couch where I’m sitting with my arm on the armrest while my blood runs into a vial. “How did it go?”

  It’s the doctor who answers. “Very well. I’ll have the results tomorrow.”

  I guess Gabriel wants to be sure I’m clean. Can’t blame him, seeing where I come from.

  “Depending on the hormone level results,” Dr. Engelbrecht continues, “I’ll drop off an oral contraceptive.” He removes the needle and gives me a cotton swab to press on the wound. After packing the samples in his bag, he removes the gloves, shakes Gabriel’s hand, and takes his leave.

  I stare at Gabriel when we’re alone, heat burning under the neckline of my top. “You could’ve warned me.”

  “It would’ve stressed you unnecessarily.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” I say, jumping to my feet. “I may be working for you, but it’s still my body.”

  “No, beautiful.” He gives me a calculated look. “I beg to differ.”

  I don’t have a reply. All I can do is rush past him, escaping the unsettling situation, and for now he lets me.

  * * *

  The hard physical labor is an outlet for my anger, frustration, and even a bit of my fear. As I don’t run into anyone while I’m cleaning, a false sense of calmness settles over me, but I start to stress again when I realize I can only manage the ground level in whatever time of the day is left. At least the house is immaculate. I can start with the first floor tomorrow. I won’t manage unless I work on a rotation basis, deep cleaning some rooms only every second or third day.

  I don’t stop for lunch, and I never had breakfast. By the time I walk into the kitchen at sunset, I’m famished, sweaty, and tired, but everything downstairs is sparkling clean. Marie is stirring a pot on the stove. The delicious fragrance of tomato and beef stew fills my nostrils. My treacherous stomach gives a growl. My body doesn’t understand pride or honor. It’s ruled by the simple survival needs of hunger and thirst. Taking a glass from the cupboard, I fill it under the tap and drink deeply.

  Marie wipes her hands on her apron. “I kept you a sandwich.” She motions at a plate under a fly net on the counter with a white envelope next to it. “Mr. Louw left your food allowance. He said you won’t leave the property before Saturday, but if you write down what you need, I’ll order it for you. We have a delivery service that comes every day.” Of course they do.

  Glancing at the wall clock, the housekeeper continues, “I’m off. The dinner is ready. Mrs. Louw is going out, tonight. Set the table for Mr. Louw and Miss Carly in the informal dining room. Make sure the kitchen is clean and the table set for breakfast before you go to bed. Mr. Louw usually sees to his own breakfast as he eats before I get on duty. I’ll be in at eight.”

  A soft meow sounds from the door. I look down into a pair of yellow eyes flecked with green. A gray cat, his tail and paws tipped with white, runs inside and rubs against my leg.

  I bend down to pet him. “Hello, you. What’s your name?” “That’s Oscar,” Marie replies.

  From her tone, I gather she doesn’t care much for him.

  “He’s Mr. Louw’s late grandmother’s cat.”

  Pleased with the attention, the tabby flops onto his side. He stretches when I scratch his chin.

  “Nothing but a nuisance,” Marie says with a click of her tongue.

  This makes me like her even less. I don’t trust people who don’t like animals. “He seems quiet enough.”

  She snorts. “Pisses everywhere. You’ll see how much you like him when you have to clean

  it.”

  “Has he been neutered?” I lift a back leg for a better look. Yep.

  A puff of air escapes her lips. “Like I’d know.” Marie takes her jacket and purse from a hook behind the door. “See you tomorrow at eight.” She shuts the backdoor behind her with a firm click.

  Curious, I tear open the envelope with my name on it and peer inside. I’m surprised to pull out eleven five hundred rand bills, five hundred more than my monthly wage. It’s a lot more generous than I expected. I contemplate refusing the money on the principle, but I don’t have a choice. Without an income, I can’t take care of Charlie and pay for my studies. Or eat. Feeling my hunger with full-blown force, I refill my glass with water.

  At the sound of the running tap, Oscar twitches his ears.

  “Are you thirsty? Where’s your bowl?”

  When I move toward the door, he jumps to his feet and scoots past me to the scullery. There, next to the dishwasher, are two porcelain bowls, one filled with water and the other with kibbles. It doesn’t take me long to locate the bag of pet food under the sink. It’s a cheap brand, one with more fiber than nutritional value. Typically, it’s manufactured to fill, but not to nourish. I top off the food, rinse the water bowl before refilling it with fresh water, and make myself at home on the floor next to Oscar where I feed him pieces of the ham and cheese I dig out of the sandwich. Not the healthiest meal for him, either, but at least it’s tastier than the cardboard they’re feeding him. The food makes Oscar my new best friend. As I set the table and bring the laundry in from outside, he stays by my side, stealing hopeful glances at me that I can only reward with caresses, at least until I have my own groceries.

  It’s late, but I’m worried I won’t have time to catch up with all the outstanding work tomorrow, so I fold the clothes I can and put the shirts and dresses for ironing aside. As I wait for the iron to heat up in the scullery, I hear sounds in the kitchen. Immediately, my stomach tightens. How, I don’t know, but I know it’s him. It’s as if the air thickens, making it difficult to breathe. I pinch my eyes shut and hold my breath, hoping he’ll leave, but the iron hisses and spits, giving away my hiding place.

  At the sound, Gabriel sticks his head around the corner. His eyes fix on me, and then on Oscar by my feet. It’s difficult to read him. He’s looking at me like he’s appraising me or trying to find fault. I hate that he makes me fear. I hate even more that he makes me curious. I try not to stare, but the scars on his face have a magnetic pull on my gaze. What kind of weapon creates such scars? What kind of man survives it? I can’t look away from the challenge in his stare.

  Finally, the harsh lines of his mouth soften a fraction. “You better serve dinner while it’s warm.” Abruptly, he turns and
leaves.

  I let go of the breath I was holding, my chest deflating as his presence fades and the air decompresses again.

  Carly sits at the table opposite her father, a smart phone in her hand, when I enter with a tray loaded with dishes. She doesn’t look up from texting as I place everything in the center of the table. In contrast, Gabriel’s eyes follow me around the room. I become intensely aware of my clothes and the state of my body. My skin is shiny with perspiration. I need a shower. To add to my discomfort, he inhales audibly as I sweep past him.

  When the tray is offloaded, he nods at me. “Serve us, then leave.”

  I lift the lid on the bowl of rice and carry it to Carly. “Rice, miss?” I try to hide my discomfort as I’m forced to grovel and bow to my brother’s enemy.

  No reply. Her head remains bent over her phone, causing her wheat-colored hair to fall in a veil around her face. I hover until the slam of Gabriel’s palm on the table make both Carly and I jump. The cutlery and glasses clatter from the force.

  “Put away your phone, Carly. If I see it at the dinner table again, I’ll confiscate it.”

  She glares at him with a cool, blue gaze. “Then I’ll have dinner at Mom’s.”

  A muscle twitches under one eye before he narrows both. “You’re welcome to, but since I pay your allowance, your phone stays here.”

  She throws the phone down on the table, the mobile hitting the wood with a thud. “Fine.”

  “Valentina asked you a question.”

  She looks at me as if I’m the reason for their argument. “What?” “Rice, miss?” I repeat, keeping my face void of emotion.

  “For God’s sake.” She sighs with an exaggerated eye roll. “Call me Carly. I hate to be called miss.”

  “Rice, Carly?” I say flatly.

  She steals a glance at her father and mumbles, “What the hell ever.”

  Gabriel’s knuckles turn white around the stem of his glass. I can’t get out of there fast enough. The atmosphere is so thick with tension I want to choke. I return to my ironing and listen, but there’s nothing but the clanging of their cutlery and the clinking of their glasses as the meal progresses in silence.

  By the time they’re done, so am I. All the shirts are folded to perfection, a hated curse pressed into every, neat line. The dining room is empty when I clear the table. Loud music comes from upstairs. I don’t want to contemplate the difficulties of Gabriel’s relationship with his daughter. I don’t care.

  When I get to my room, there are towels and a heap of linen on the bed, together with my purse. In the cupboard, I find three black maid’s dresses in my size. There’s no key in the lock and no chair or other piece of furniture I can push against the door, not that it will do me any good. I made a deal with a monster, and the only way to survive is to honor it.

  The first thing I do, is extract my phone and call Kris.

  She answers immediately. “Tell me you’re all right.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At Gabriel Louw’s house.”

  “Did he…?”

  A flush works its way up my neck. He will, but I can’t tell Kris. She’s got enough on her plate. “No. How’s Charlie?”

  “He was upset when I fetched him, but he’s calm, now. He’s watching television.”

  “Thank you, Kris.” I blink away the moisture in my eyes. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

  “You did the right thing to call me. I was worried sick about you.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I tried your phone several times. Why didn’t you answer?”

  “I was working.”

  “Doing what?”

  I clear my throat. “Maid.”

  “Maid or whore?”

  “Kris, please.”

  “Val, you’re worth more than that.”

  “I’m doing what I have to.” A sudden wave of tiredness washes over me. “Can you please keep Charlie until the weekend? It’s a lot to ask, but I’ve got no other options. I’ll come visit on

  Saturday, and we can talk.”

  “Okay.” She gives a relieved laugh. “I thought you’re a prisoner or something.”

  “Can I say hello to Charlie?”

  “Of course. Hold on.”

  She calls my brother’s name. A second later his sweet voice comes onto the line.

  “Va–Val?”

  “Hey, how are you doing?”

  “Bu–burgers.”

  “Kris made burgers?”

  “Ye–yeah.”

  “You’re going to stay with Kris for a while. I have a new job, and it requires that I stay in.”

  “Wi–will you vi–visit?”

  “Every week.”

  “Whe–when?”

  “Saturday.”

  “Sa–Saturday.”

  “Don’t worry about a thing. I’m going to take care of you.”

  “Ta–take care.”

  “I’ll see you on Saturday, okay?”

  “Sa–Saturday.”

  “I love you, and remember to be brave.”

  “Lo–love you, to–too.”

  I hang up and stare at the phone for several seconds, battling to process how quickly our lives have changed. It’s no use crying over things I can’t change. I’ve gotten through bad situations before. I can get through this.

  Exhausted, I make the bed and have a quick shower. I try not to think about the fact that it’s his water or that I have to sleep in a bed that belongs to him, between his sheets, under his roof. Too weary to dry my hair, I pull on my nightgown and get into bed. My thoughts dwell on Charlie and Puff as my head hits the pillow. I want to say a prayer for them, but I’m so tired I fall asleep halfway into it, only to be jerked awake to a familiar and threatening presence in the room.

  Chapter Three

  Gabriel

  My new toy wakes with a soundless gasp. Purposefully, I let her fall asleep first.

  Disorientated, her defenses will be down. It makes it easier to see the truth. For the moment, the only truth is the fear in her eyes.

  It’s not so easy to see the truth in myself, because I don’t know what I feel, except for the physical. Her intoxicating smell dominated my dining room and hardened my cock. I don’t know what it is about her that brings out my lust. I only know I want her like I’ve never wanted a woman.

  Straightening from the doorframe, I prowl to the edge of the bed. She watches me with her big, murky eyes, her chest rising and falling to the rhythm of my steps. Gripping the sheet, I pull it down slowly. She clings to the fabric, but after a second she lets go, surrendering to the inevitable.

  It’s the chase. That’s what I want to tell myself. It’s not that I need to lie to myself. It’s just hard to find the truth in the fucked-up slush I call my heart. Maybe I simply want the things I glimpsed in her, the bravery and the love that made her strong enough to take this–– what’s happening right now––and nine more years of it for the sake of her brother.

  My mind tends to be overactive. It rarely shuts down, not even in sleep, but all of my logical thoughts still as I stare down at her body. She’s laid out stiff and straight on the white sheet, her hair fanning over the pillow. I reach for the button of my collar. As it pops through the buttonhole, she gulps. Her fingers dig into the sheet. If her body tenses any more, she’s going to snap like a twig.

  I’m many things, including a killer. I know I’m a scary son of a bitch. I own mirrors, and I’m not afraid to look in them. I see what she sees in her eyes. They’re wide and moist in the light that falls from the scullery. The room isn’t cold, but she shivers in her nightgown. Inexplicably, this touches me. The women I usually fuck don’t shiver. To soften it for her, I turn the scarred side of my face away when I switch on the light of her room.

  With the sheet discarded at her feet, I take the hem of her nightgown and move it up over her body, exposing her thighs, cotton panties, and her full breasts that, like her eyes, are too big f
or her body. She’s perfect. Her calves are toned and her ankles tapered. I can see her pubic bone beneath the humble fabric of her underwear, and even the sight of the simple cotton hardens my cock. Careful to tamper my lust down a notch, I take my time to study the swell of her stomach and the way her breasts slightly flattens to the sides. Her nipples are a dark pink, exactly like I prefer. For the moment, those peaks aren’t contracted, but I know how to remedy that, despite her fear. I’ve had enough partners to accurately read a woman’s body and give her what she needs.

  To ease the tightness in my chest, I undo two more buttons, letting the cool air wash down my torso. When I climb onto the foot of the bed, the first sound leaves Valentina’s lips. It’s something between a sob and a gasp. I much rather prefer a moan. I fold my hands around her narrow feet. She jerks as if I shocked her with a stun gun. Slowly, I run my hands up her legs, over her hips, and up her ribs. Goosebumps break out over her skin. Careful not to touch any erogenous zones, I reverse the path, keeping the touch light. My cock twitches in the constraints of my pants, pushing painfully against my zipper, but this isn’t about me. It’s about setting her at ease and bringing her pleasure. After a long time of stroking her like this, she’s still incompliant, but her muscles are less tense. With each caress, I move closer and closer to her breasts, until my fingertips skim inches away from her nipples. Even as they finally contract for me with the tips turning into little pebbles, she fights it, pursing her lips almost as hard as she’s squeezing her knees together. She’s holding back, watching my every action, trying to contemplate my next move instead of giving over to the feeling.

  “Close your eyes, Valentina.”

  “Are you going to rape me?”

  I chuckle. “No.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “Getting to know your body.”

  “You’re not going to fuck me?”

  “Eventually, yes. When you beg me.”

  Her eyes glisten like cold tiger eye gemstones. “That will never happen.”

  “You talk too much. Close your eyes and shut your mouth, or I’ll be forced to blindfold and gag you.”