Page 21 of Forbidden Love Still Blooms

“Not long,” I say casually.

Jordan's hand snaps forward before I can react. His skin is warm on my wrist—he tugs me forward, and I throw my arm out, forgetting to try and cover my nakedness. He isn't looking at any of that. His eyes are fixed on my hand as he brings it nearer.

“What are you doing?” I gasp.

“You're a terrible liar,” he whispers thickly.

I swallow, tug at his grip, but he doesn't relent. I'm incredibly vulnerable in this small room with this huge man who wants to keep playing twenty-one questions. Jordan is more interested in me than I can make sense of. He shouldn't care why I'm waiting for his son, even if it seems strange. It's none of his business. Nothing I do is.

His tongue drags over his bottom lip. I watch it, my heart racing. Droplets of water in my damp hair fall to the floor; one drips from my elbow onto his sneaker. “I'm not a liar,” I say.

He stares right at me—straight through my skull to my brain. I'm terrified he can somehow read my mind. It's impossible, I know that, but Jordan vibrates with a dominating energy that makes me question what he's capable of. Slowly he flips my palm up. His other hand drags lightly across my skin, tracing my lifeline. “You're wrinkled like someone who spent hours sitting in that tub.”

I'm already shaking my head in denial. “It wasn't that long.” I pull again—Jordan doesn't let go. I yank harder, voice getting sharper on the edges. “Hey, you know what? Maybe I did wait for an hour in the tub. Maybe I waited all day! Do you want an award for sussing that out? It doesn'tmatter.”

“It does,” he says simply.

“Why?”

“That's what I'm working on. There's something happening here, Lorikeet. I'm not a stupid man.” He finally releases me; I pull my arm to my body, rub my wrist. He watches me,and I notice, again, how he's avoiding looking at my breasts or anywhere else.

His indifference is a little insulting. It's his accusations I need to deal with, though. “I'm not up to anything,” I scoff. I almost wrap my arms over my chest on impulse to cover myself. Instead, with a mild smirk, I drop my hands to my hips, spread my feet, arch my back a bit. “I'm just another one of Dez's fuckbuddies.”

Jordan flinches when I throw that line back in his face. It thrills me after being on the receiving end of his overpowering presence. He's treating me like he has a right to the answers he's seeking. He has noideawhy I'm in his house, and I'm definitely not about to tell him.

Laughing, I bury my fingers in my thick, wet hair. “You don't like it when I stop being meek and shy, do you? You look so uncomfortable right now.”

Jordan is placid as a lake without a ripple.

“My god, you're going to blush, huh?” I taunt, thrusting my breasts in his direction. I wiggle my hips—he'sstillnot budging. Barely breathing. “Go on, say something. Do it. Speak up or get the hell out of here, Jordan.”

He moves like a whip—arcing outward, recoiling in again, his limbs a blur. One hand is in my hair, pinning my fingers in the tangles, forcing my head back. His other arm moves, too, but I can't see what it's doing. I can't see anything but his black pupils that swallow me whole.

“You should never provoke me, sweet bird,” he whispers across my lips. My lower belly stirs from a surprising wave of heat. All the air in my lungs gets blocked by my swelling heart taking up the room in my chest. I'm so close I can see the small hairs along his chin and jaw, the eyelashes over his consuming stare.

My brain is firing warning signals, screaming that I'm a fool for messing with a man like Jordan Hartford. I don't know him—didn't realize this was his fucking house even—and in his grip my fight or flight activates. But I'm a flightless bird with no strength to attack back.

The wicked heat in my pussy creates a full-body tremble that reminds me I'm naked, exposed, in the hands of this man. I was chilly from the cold bath before. I'm not any longer.

Fluffy cotton swaddles my shoulders, drifts down to my hips. Jordan lets go of my hair and retreats a step. Confused, I look down to find the towel hanging off my body. That's what his other hand was doing.

“I'll be downstairs,” he says.

I swallow, try to speak, but my mouth isn't working yet. It doesn't matter because he's gone out the door and left me in a puddle of water. I'm not shivering anymore, but I hug the towel around my body like it's a heated blanket.

I can't quit staring at the empty doorway. Part of me expects him to come back, and I wish he would—I'd like a do-over of this whole scene. Getting caught nakedinside his housewhen I didn't have a clue it belonged to him, it's just—fuck. I'm flushing crimson again. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the sink confirms it. The shade matches the color of my lipstick that I thought would tempt Dezmond into a watery grave. What didn't wash away is smudged into the corners of my mouth.

I fucked up.

My reflection doesn't nod, but it doesn't have to. I know it's true.

Jordan knows, too.

My plan to come here and quietly erase Dezmond blew up spectacularly. Flashes of shame start in my guts. They grow, twist, the more I remember how Jordan thrust his way into the room to discover me lying in wait. Naked from top to bottom.

The look in his eyes … the way he questioned everything I did, that I said, that Iam.He's much smarter than his son. Stronger, too—powerful enough to wrap me in his steel grip. He trapped me the way I was sure I would trap Dez tonight. But I didn't, and it all went to shit. Nowhe'swaiting for me downstairs.

Covering my face in the towel, I scream.

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