Falling for the Forbidden: 10 Full-Length Novels

by Jessica Hawkins

  “It’ll stay here for a while.”

  “What are you doing, Gabriel?”

  He cups my cheek. “Looking after you.”

  When he pulls my head to his chest, I can’t resist. I can only melt against him, letting his erratic heartbeat seduce me into thinking he actually cares about more than my body.

  * * *

  From the careful menu planning it’s obvious that Tuesday night’s dinner is important to Magda. She chooses a caviar mousse starter followed by salmon and spinach crumble with sweet pastries for dessert. I pay special attention to the cooking, ensuring I do nothing to jeopardize our deal. I twist my hair into a neat bun in the nape of my neck and scrub my nails, which are stained orange from the curry I often cook with. The mousse has just set when Magda rings the bell for me to serve. Balancing a tray on one hand, I push the swing door to the dining room open with my shoulder. Looking up, I freeze on the spot. The man sitting opposite Gabriel is the one from Rosebank, the one with the Ferrari. Next to him sits a pretty redhead with freckles on her nose.

  “Valentina!” Michael jumps to his feet and holds the door for me to pass.

  Gabriel goes rigid. Magda’s mouth turns down, her Pit Bull eyes drooping in the corners. “You know each other?” Gabriel asks, his ice blue eyes narrowed on me.

  “We met on Sunday.” Michael takes his seat again. “She wouldn’t give me her number.” He takes the redhead’s hand and smiles. “Seems the fairy godmother of fate is still doing her job.”

  “Valentina isn’t available,” Gabriel replies coldly. He turns to me. “Where exactly did you meet?”

  I clear my throat. “In Rosebank.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  What I do with my free time is none of his business, and his jealous attitude is unwarranted and unreasonable, but Magda can still put a bullet in my head for back chatting or dropping a spoon, so I answer obediently. “I went to El Torro to buy the chorizo.”

  “I went to El Torro to pick up a bottle of Magda’s favorite wine,” Michael says. “You see?

  Divine intervention.”

  “She’s below your class,” Magda says. “We picked her up in Berea.”

  I walk around the table, serving the people who talk about me as if I’m not in the room. I want to dump the mousse on their laps. Charlie. Think about Charlie.

  “I don’t care where she’s from,” the woman says. “We’re not snobbish that way.”

  She has a rock of a diamond on her ring finger. She must be Michael’s wife. Are they into threesomes? I can’t get out of the room fast enough. In the kitchen, I inhale and exhale to control my anger. I’m sick of being looked at as a piece of meat.

  For the rest of the dinner, the stress mounts every time I step into the dining room. Michael gawks openly while his wife pays me compliments on my physical appearance. Magda is red in the face with annoyance. The one who scares me most is Gabriel. He’s quiet. Quiet is never good.

  By the time I serve the pastries in the lounge, my stomach aches with tension. My hope of escaping is squashed when Gabriel calls me back as I’m about to exit.

  “Valentina.” There’s authority in his voice. “Come here.”

  Four sets of eyes are watching me. Magda sits on a single chair at the short side of the coffee table. Her stare is both scornful and hopeful. She hopes I’ll disobey. The consequences should be fun to watch. Michael looks on with open curiosity while his wife has a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. My gaze locks with Gabriel’s. In silent instruction, he takes a cushion from the armchair and throws it on the floor next to his feet. I don’t have a choice. I walk over to him, the tightness in my stomach growing with every step. As I’ve done so many times before, I sit down next to him. A smile of approval warms his face. He looks at me as if he sees no one else. He cups my cheek and tilts my head to rest on his thigh. Then our brief, private moment is over. Gabriel continues his conversation in a businesslike manner while playing absently with my hair.

  Magda looks like a puffed-up dragon about to spit fire. Michael and his wife are obviously used to this kind of behavior. My posture on the floor while Gabriel pets me doesn’t take up more of their attention, except for the occasional envious glance Michael shoots Gabriel.

  While they’re discussing a lease contract for new business premises, Gabriel feeds me sips of champagne. When the tray with sweet pastries is passed around, he takes his time to study the selection and chooses a mille-feuille that he pops into my mouth. His thumb lingers on my tongue. After I’ve chewed and swallowed, he wipes the icing from the corner of my mouth before licking his finger clean, giving the action his full attention. There’s a smile in his eyes as he looks down at me. Again, we’re sharing a moment the other three people in the room aren’t part of.

  After the dessert, he swaps the champagne for whiskey. I’m not a big drinker. Already buzzing from the champagne, I shake my head when he presses the glass to my lips, but his fingers tighten in my hair, pulling back to arch my neck. He takes a drink from the glass and brings his mouth down to mine. I only understand his intention when he spears my lips with his tongue, forcing them open, and feeds me the whiskey straight from his mouth. I gulp and swallow in shocked surprise. He keeps my head in place to drag his tongue over my bottom lip, licking it clean. Only then does he let go of my hair. My face is ablaze with embarrassment. If

  Mr. and Mrs. Michael find it shocking, they don’t show it. Only Magda shifts around on her seat. When Gabriel brings the glass to my lips the second time, I open without argument. Being forcefed in front of his mother and friends isn’t an experience I’d like to repeat. It’s as if Gabriel is making a point by demonstrating his ownership of me.

  At the end of the evening, and three glasses of champagne and a whiskey later, I’ve gone from a buzz to feeling tipsy. I’m aware of what’s happening around me, but I’m seeing double, and my nose is numb. I’m also extremely lethargic. I’m grateful when Michael gets to his feet and announces their departure.

  He saunters over to us. “May I kiss the lady, Gabriel?”

  Gabriel puts a broad hand on my shoulder. “You may not.”

  He makes a face of mock disappointment. “I understand. I would act the same if she was mine. You make me long for a sub again.”

  “She’s not a sub,” Magda bites out. “She’s property.”

  Michael sighs, barely sparing Magda a glance. His eyes find mine. “Even better.”

  His wife crosses the floor to lean her head on Michael’s shoulder. “If you ever grow tired of her, Gabriel, let us know. I’ll be happy to offer her a position.”

  “That won’t happen,” Gabriel says through thin lips. “She’s too valuable to me.”

  “You mean her debt is too high,” Magda corrects, her glare communicating something with Gabriel I don’t understand.

  Michael pats Gabriel’s shoulder. “Well, goodnight my good man. Next time dinner is at our place.” He looks at me. “You should bring your…” Property. Toy. Four hundred thousand rand-asset.

  “Maid,” Magda says.

  Gabriel gets to his feet. “I’ll walk you out.” He addresses me with a single command.

  “Stay.”

  While Gabriel and Magda see their guests off, I remain as Gabriel ordered. My head is spinning, and I’m not in the mood for punishment tonight. When they return, Gabriel’s shoulders are tense, and Magda’s mouth is pulled into a hard line.

  “Goodnight, Magda,” he says pointedly.

  Magda isn’t that easily dismissed. “You embarrassed me. I won’t tolerate this kind of behavior in front of our guests.”

  Gabriel smirks. “They didn’t seem embarrassed to me.”

  “I’ll remind you this is my house.”

  “You insisted we live here.”

  “For security reasons. There are a hundred or more people who’d have your head on a plate.”

  “Agreed. It’s easier protecting us all under one roof. That doesn’t mean you can tell me w
hat to do. As you said yourself, I’m not twelve any longer.”

  Her nostrils flare. “Are you dealing with what we talked about?”

  “I am.”

  “How long?”

  “Soon.”

  She regards him for a moment in silence. I’m half relieved when she stalks from the room. The other half of me tenses now that I’m alone with Gabriel. His mood is dark. Is he going to punish me? He offers me a hand and pulls me to my feet. My legs are stiff from sitting in the same position for hours, and I stumble, crushing into his chest.

  “Sorry,” I mumble. Oh, God. My tongue is slurring.

  He sets me on my feet with his hands on my hips, testing my balance before he lets go. When I manage to stand without falling over, he steps aside and points at the door. Interpreting it as my cue to leave, I take a few steps, but I have to hold onto the furniture to walk straight. I don’t make it to the sofa before his hands stop me. With one arm around my shoulders and the other under my knees, he scoops me up and carries me to the stairs.

  “The kitchen,” I protest, pointing in the opposite direction.

  His chest rumbles with his deep voice. “The kitchen can wait.”

  In front of his bedroom, he fumbles with his doorknob. When the door swings open, he carries me inside and kicks it shut. The medical equipment is still there. I vaguely wonder when the doctor is going to send for it.

  Lying me down on the bed, he undresses me and then himself. His body is hard and rough, the broken lines and deep scars adding to his masculine, forbidden beauty. He climbs over me, pinning my arms above my head. The alcohol loosens my inhibitions. This is not a good idea. I may do and say things I’ll regret in the morning.

  “Gabriel.” His name comes out as a needy gasp. “I think I’m drunk.”

  “Good. A drunk woman never lies.”

  He moves down and takes my nipple in his mouth. I arch up, crying out as pleasure ripples through my body.

  He licks over the pebbled tip. “Do you find him attractive?”

  His raspy tongue sends goose bumps over my skin. I strain my neck to look at him. “W–what?”

  He licks the other nipple before sucking it deep into his mouth.

  “Ah, God! Gabriel.” I fall back, panting.

  “Michael. Do you find him attractive?”

  He grips my wrists in one hand and moves the other between my legs, parting my folds and stroking my clit. My hips lift to him, but he removes his touch.

  “Answer me, Valentina.”

  I gasp as he presses the pad of his thumb on my clit. “Yes. Yes, he’s very pretty.”

  His face contorts in a mixture of hurt and acceptance, as if he knew the answer but wanted to punish himself by hearing it. It’s an unusual display of emotion. He’s an open book as he stares down at me, maybe because he believes I’m incoherent, but the alcohol sharpens my awareness and senses. Strangely, my fear retreats to the far corners of my mind, leaving me perceptive to everything else, to the feelings flowing between us and especially to his fingers as he parts me and slips one digit into my wetness, taking me slowly with his finger.

  “Would you like him to fuck you?”

  I frown, trying to imagine Michael in Gabriel’s position. The idea of any other man touching me fills me with distaste. “No.”

  “You can be honest. I won’t punish you for the truth.”

  I clench my inner muscles, trying to take his finger deeper, and grind my sex against his palm. “Don’t you understand what you’ve done to me? I want you, Gabriel.”

  The pain in his eyes doesn’t ease. There’s relief, but grief still sets his face into hard angles that emphasize his harsh features. The shadows of the room hide the scar tissue on his cheek, but not the somber light of his ice blue eyes as he stares at me. To me, he’s perfect. I love the stark lines that define his unusual masculine beauty and even the sorrow that’s permanently etched on his face. Needing to touch him, I pull on his grip, but he tightens his hold.

  “Please, Gabriel.” I beg him with my eyes, my voice, and my hips.

  He groans as I rotate my lower body, trapping his hand between us. Slowly, the squeeze of his fingers on my wrists relaxes, allowing me to lift my hand to his face. I cup his cheek and brush my thumb over the devastating map of scars. It’s frightening to look at him, but when you find the courage to look, to really look, the power of the beauty that lies underneath the physical destruction is blinding. I’ve seen the beauty inside of him, too. He’s a good father to Carly, and he gives me much more than he takes, even if I’m nothing but property to him.

  “I only want you,” I whisper.

  For a moment, he leans into my touch, brushing his scarred cheek over my palm, but then he turns his head away, angling his face to the darkness.

  “Gabriel.” I moan in protest.

  He pushes my legs open wider, positioning his cock at my entrance.

  “Gabriel.”

  I say his name, trying to bring him back to me, to catch the moment we’ve lost, but he braces himself on his arms, putting more distance between us. The only connection between us is his cock that slams violently into my body. An ache spreads inside of me. He pulls back and does it again, stretching and burning me with that dull pain that tells me he’s too rough. He fucks me so hard my body shifts up to the headboard. Over and over he pounds into me, and all I can do is wrap my legs and arms around him, holding on while I give him everything I’ve got. With every thrust he growls, keeping his face turned away from me. He’s never taken me this brutally before, and even as it hurts, my soul revels in his possession. For now, I don’t care that I’m property. I don’t care that I’m a price tag and an empty body. I just want to be his.

  “Only you,” I say.

  He lances into me harder, his grunts louder, punishing me for something I don’t understand. The rougher he treats me, the softer I mold my body around him.

  “Only yours.”

  He snarls, driving into me with such force I’m scared he’ll break me.

  “Damn you, Valentina. Don’t you dare lie. Not about this.”

  “I want to be yours.”

  He grabs my face between his palms and jerks his head toward me, putting our noses inches apart without slowing the hard pace of his hips. “Look at this face. Look at me!”

  “I am looking.”

  Angers pulls his features into a fearful mask. His nostrils flare, and moisture brims in his eyes. “Stop it.”

  “Yours.”

  He utters a raw cry and grinds his groin against mine. Throwing back his head, he clenches his teeth and bites off the sounds as liquid hotness fills my body. He shakes with his release, his body slick with perspiration. I need him. He made a hole in my heart, and only he can mend it. Snaking my arms around his neck, I pull him down for a kiss, but he untangles my wrists and arranges my arms next to my body. He only rests his forehead against mine for the briefest of moments before he lifts up on one elbow to look at me. Our eyes remain locked as he lets his cock slip free to fill the empty space with his fingers. Using his release, he lubricates my clit and brings me to a quick orgasm, all the while watching me.

  When the aftershocks subside, he takes me to the shower and washes me. Too weak to stand on my feet, he sits on the bench with me straddling him, my head resting on his chest. The water stings my private parts, and I flinch when he soaps me down there. He towels us dry, carries me back to his bed, and then he disappears into the bathroom again. When he returns, he hands me a glass of water and a tablet.

  I look at the white pill. “What’s this?”

  “Paracetamol. You’ll need it if you don’t want to wake up with a headache.”

  He puts the pill on my tongue and makes me drink all the water. The bed dips as he settles behind me, pulling me to his chest.

  “I should leave,” I say sleepily.

  “I set the alarm for five.” He kisses my shoulder. “Rest.”

  I snuggle closer, enjoying the warmth of his embrace. Eve
n if it’s only for a few hours, I’ll take what I can get. I’m used to living off scraps.

  I’m almost drifting off when his voice pulls me back from my sleep.

  “There was this cat.”

  I lie still, waiting for him to continue.

  “It was a kitten. Nothing special. Just an alley cat, but to me she was beautiful. She had a soft pelt, black as the night, and eyes like yellow moons. The cat showed up out of the blue at my best friend’s house. He called her Blackie. From that day on, Blackie always followed my friend around. She stayed in his room and slept on his bed.”

  His chest expands with a breath. “I was jealous of him. I wanted the cat to come to my house. I wanted her to follow me, but she didn’t, so I smuggled pieces of fish and steak to his house, luring her through his bedroom window. She ate the food, but still wouldn’t follow me home. One day, when my friend was at rugby practice, I went to his house and took the cat. I locked Blackie in my room, hiding her from Magda and our maids. I made a bed for her in my closet, and I fed her treats my friend could never afford to give her. I kept her closed in for two weeks. By that time, I reckoned she would have accepted her new, more luxurious home.”

  “What happened?”

  “The day I let her out, she ran straight back to my friend’s house.” He strokes my arm for a while, then says quietly, “He thought she’d run away, like strays do.”

  “Did she continue to live with him?”

  “I don’t know. I stopped being his friend after that day.”

  “Why?”

  “I couldn’t bear to look at that cat.”

  What is he trying to say? I turn in his arms to look at him.

  He kisses my lips softly. “If you set something free, it doesn’t come back to you, no matter how well you treat it.”

  A deep sense of uneasiness settles in my gut. Is he telling me he won’t let me go?

  “Sleep.” He kisses me again, the gentle act conflicting with the soreness inside my body that acts as a reminder of his earlier roughness. “You’ll be tired, tomorrow.”

  I close my eyes to hide my turbulent emotions from him. His story shocks me. It tells me three things. One, he’ll take whatever he wants. Two, he believes himself undeserving of love.