Page 1 of Twice as Forbidden

Chapter one

Georgia

Isitacrossthekitchenisland from Noah in his father’s luxurious home, watching him throw back a beer.

“Are we going to talk about this?”

He opens another bottle before answering me. “What do you want to talk about? You said you don’t want to be with me.”

“I said I think we need a break.”

“Same fucking thing.” He slams the beer down on the granite counter, the sharp sound echoing through the room. Shoving back, the legs of the barstool screech against the marble floor. He stands, gripping the back of his neck. I knew this would be a mistake. I shouldn’t have come home with him.

When Noah’s father offered him a paid internship at his company, extending the same offer to me, it seemed like a no-brainer. I was free for the summer and in need of extra cash. I thought maybe we could work things out, convinced myself it could be worth it…

I should have known better.

There is no fixing us.

Noah and I met during our first year of college. Athletic, intelligent, funny, too-hot-for-his-own-good, we hit it off right away—a.k.a. slept together within five hours. Classic college move, right? I can’t say it was the most spontaneous thing I’d ever done, but with enough booze, well… shit happens. Thankfully, what could have turned into a regrettable walk of shame ultimately led to a full-fledged relationship.

Our entire first year together, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. It was hot. Crazy. Nothing I’d ever experienced.

But outside of sex, Noah and I couldn’t have been more different. Our similarities, rooted in damaged family lives, shared secrets, and a void we desperately tried to fill, should’ve connected us. Instead, they became the things that drove us apart.

Now, I’m stuck in an unfamiliar town, about to start a job for a man I don’t know, with someone I’ve just broken up with.

Great.

Good work, Georgia.

I meant every word when I said we needed time apart. Sex was never going to fix what’s broken between us. He’s controlling, manipulative, and when things don’t go his way, he turns ugly. We fought the entire drive from Iowa back to Chicago, his words harsh and cruel, each insult landing harder than any physical blow. By the time we made it home, I knew I’d finally reached my breaking point.

Noah hadn’t always been like this. In the beginning, he was attentive, funny, sweet, incredible in bed, easy to love. But as time passed and he grew more comfortable, his mask began to slip, revealing a man with more demons than I could handle, fueled by a pain he stubbornly refused to acknowledge. Perhaps it was the burden of abandonment and longing to be loved the way he needed to be. We shared a similar ache, both having lost a parent at a young age. Maybe that’s why we clung to each other so fiercely—two broken souls desperately trying to fill an empty void.

“Fuck this. I’m going to bed. You can come with me or sleep wherever you want. There’re a million rooms in the house.”

“Noah, are you serious?” I ask in disbelief. Instead of replying, he grabs another beer from the fridge and leaves me alone at the kitchen island. Part of me feels like I should follow him, but there’s nothing left to say, and finding a spare room to be alone with my thoughts is easier. I watch his back as he vanishes down the hallway and up the stairs. I’m not ready to lie next to him and allow him to convince me I’m wrong. I know this is the right decision. I love him, but I’m not the one who can fix him.

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and roll it over my forehead, allowing the coolness to ground me for a moment. Perhaps it’s not too late to return to school, find a roommate, and secure a summer job. My sister would love it if I came home, and I should. She needs me. The weight that I carry, worrying about her alone in the house withhim.

But going home is not an option. I’m not on speaking terms with my mother, let alone the reason I left in the first place. My stepfather is a real winner. A heartless asshole who thinks hitting a woman is okay. Shaking it off, accepting the predicament I’ve put myself in, I grab my bag and head upstairs to find a spare room. The house is massive—far too big for one person.

I make my way down a long hallway, the bass thumping through a closed door that I assume leads to Noah’s room. I continue on, pausing at the last door on the right. When I push it open, the bold scent of cologne teases my senses. A king-size bed takes up the center of the room, silver sheets shimmering under the light, tempting me to feel how luxurious and soft they are. I take in the tall dresser and a lounge chair tucked neatly in the corner, then my eyes drift to the en suite. The door is slightly ajar, offering a glimpse of a spacious shower enclosed in pristine glass.

“Are you lost, or is this my lucky night?”

I spin around so quickly that I nearly lose my footing. Before I stumble, a large hand catches my arm, steadying me. A tremor ripples down my arm. I look up, and even in the dim light, it’s impossible not to notice how stunning the man is. His features are magnetic, taking my breath. For a moment, I forget how I ended up here in the first place.

“No, I’m sorry. I was just looking—”

“And you thought you would find it in my bedroom?”

His lips press together as his eyes drift over my body. My breasts tighten under my lace bra, the sensation sparking a need I can’t ignore.

His bedroom.

Noah’s father.

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