Page 24 of Forbidden Love Still Blooms

“Lorikeet,” he rasps, “I have a secret to tell you.”

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.“What?” I manage to ask. My calves are cramping from holding my position, but I don't risk moving, still transfixed on his erection.

I hear him swallow overhead. His chuckle is a mix of sin and sadness. “When I told you to sit down earlier, I was hoping you wouldn't listen.”

“You wanted me to resist? Why?”

“Because—” The sound of his phone ringing ends him mid-sentence. I can see it vibrating in his pocket next to his thick shaft. When he reaches down to get his phone, the spell I’m under is broken. Wobbling upright, I grab onto a chair so I don't collapse. None of my muscles can hold me up. My bones are all rubber, too.

I can see his face again, but the mysterious animal he allowed to the surface is gone. Jordan has his phone to his ear, eyes pointed at a far wall away from me. His focus is on the caller. It's such a sudden shift I could pretend I imagined all of it.

But evenmyimagination isn't that good.

Jordan lets out a loud, forceful breath through clenched teeth. “I understand. I'll be right there.” Hanging up, he punches the phone into his pocket, his forehead a wall of grooves. “Fuck.”

“What is it, what happened?” I ask nervously.

He shoots me a side-eye. Yes, the lust is all gone. He's back to being a glacier. “Go home, Lorikeet.”

“No, I told you …”

“It's a waste of your time. Dezmond won't be back tonight.”

“I don't understand.”

Jordan strides towards the coat rack by the front door, swipes the navy blue coat and pulls it on, explaining, “He got into another fight. Something about starting a brawl at a bar, I don't know the details yet. He's drunk enough that the cops offered to let him sleep it off until morning.”

Fuck!Gritting my teeth, I fumble through a maddening sensation of failure tinged with relief. I didn't want to kill Dez, I really didn't, but it was my only option. If he's in jail all night I won't have a shot. Tomorrow he'll show up at the parade, propose to me, and that's it. I'll no longer be invisible. Fuck.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I shoot my head up, blinking. “Fine,” I insist. “Just worried about him.”

Jordan frowns mildly as he straightens his coat. “He'll be okay. Hungover tomorrow at most.” He pauses, then adds, “The parade … you asked if I'd be there. Will you?”

“Mom and I work the shop until right before it begins. After that, we usually go watch.”

“Then that's a yes.”

I nod, though I don't explain that I don'twantto be there. Jordan clutches his keys, opening the front door, waving for me to follow him. “I need to go pay Dezmond's bail. Let me walk you to your car.”

“I'm parked right in your driveway,” I say, laughing lightly. “I'll be safe. Unless there are roaming bands of car-jackers at the top of the cliffs that I don't know about.”

Jordan holds the door wide for me. His body doesn't retreat to give me space—as I slip by, my hip grazes his leg light as a bee landing on a flower. Subtle, and normally, forgettable. The sparks pop through my skin, aiming for my core and landing true. It's pure heat. I stumble, grabbing the railing to hide my reaction.

He doesn't respond at all. Not that I can tell. Jordan watches me descend the wooden steps to the flat, sandy area in front of his house. The waves below the nearby cliffs pound on the rocks as if they want to knock the world down.

But over that roar … I hear a simple sound.

Air rushing into Jordan's nose.

He was holding his breath as I walked by.

Chapter 9

Twentyminutesuntiltheparade begins and the asphalt is already a colorful sea. The street is saturated with flowers, people rush along the sidewalks carrying balloons or boxes, some of them have been camped out in chairs since sunrise. Has the parade always been such a big deal, or does it only seem that way because of what I'm dreading?

Blockades are strategically arranged to allow cars with special permits to zip through for last minute issues. I watch one now honk its horn and flash its lights to warn everyone not to try and cross. No one will. Locals know better, and tourists are too distracted by taking photos of the decorations strewn on every light post.

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