Page 5 of Illicit

In about two minutes when I have her all to myself, I plan to learn everything.

I unfold from the booth but don’t turn to the patrons behind me. Instead, I take one lap around The Carousel. When I make the final turn, I see in the flesh what Taylor confirmed digitally.

It’s her.

It’s fucking her.

Not that I questioned it but seeing her for the first time in almost two years in a position like this fucking pisses me off.

How can someone be one of the most familiar people in my life yet look like a complete stranger?

Her hair doesn’t hang down her back like I’m used to. It dusts her shoulders and falls around her face, framing the deepest and darkest eyes I’ve ever experienced. Her warm skin is fairer than I’m used to, which confirms what I already know. She hasn’t had time to laze in the sun.

It also confirms what’s been relayed to me by more than one person—she’s too busy to go home.

Or, what no one knows but me, she’s avoiding home.

Because of yours truly.

I should feel like an ass, which I usually do, but right now I’m too pissed.

The rest of her is the same. The same slight build. The same long, toned legs from years of running track through high school and on scholarship to help pay her way through her high-priced private university. The same curve of her hips, her small tits, the column of her neck, and darkest hair I’ve ever touched.

All things I’ve become obsessed with in my mind.

And shouldn’t be.

Because she’s off limits.

She’s like an illicit drug formulated just for me.

That’s the difference between illegal versus illicit.

Illegal is forbidden by law.

Illicit is just forbidden.

Improper.

It goes against social norms and values.

So, unlike the rest of society, she’s only illicit to me.

“Please.” Watching those dark eyes beseech the monster across from her makes me want to tear the fucking place apart. “I need to find my grandfather, and I need your help.”

“Stella.” The name rolls off my tongue as smooth as a rusty hacksaw.

It takes a second, but when those dark eyes shift to me, it’s her turn to see a ghost.

Her pink lips part as she sucks in a breath. I narrow my eyes and give her one quick shake of my head, allowing my hardened expression to be enough of a warning before I ease into a fake smile when Jules turns to see who she’s gaping at.

“Who’re you?” Jules goes on the defensive when he turns back to her. “You said we were meetin’ alone.”

“I … yes, um…” Her meaningless words trail off as I get closer and don’t look at the man sitting across from her.

I have two goals.

One, for Robichaux to understand the beauty sitting across from him isn’t up for negotiations in any way, shape, or form.

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