Page 38 of Forbidden Love Still Blooms

“Alright, alright. Guess I shouldn't be outdressed by this old asshole,” he says, shooting a cold smile at his dad. Folding his hands behind his head, he strolls toward the hall that leads to the basement. I faintly hear footsteps as Dez descends, then the insulation deadens anymore noise.

Jordan walks deliberately down the steps. His eyes remain glued to me as he moves. We aren't alone, there's staff flying in and out of the house, but I don't feel safe. I've tasted his lips. I know how quick he can make my pussy thrum. My body aches for a single breath from his mouth to my ears.

I'd say something changed in me with our kiss,but I think it happened before that.

Did he mean what he said? He'll do whatever he wants to me behind his son's back?I size Jordan up as he approaches. He smooths his tie, fingering the metal clip that fastens it to his shirt. He's incredible looking; no amount of shower, shave, or change of clothes would let Dez hold a candle to this man.

“Hello again,” I say, keeping my voice aloof. “What were you doing upstairs this whole time, sharpening your fangs in the mirror?”

Jordan's chuckle is deep and warm. “You must have been so lonely without me.”

“Hardly. I had your army of caterers to keep me company. Thanks for leaving me in charge of deciding where everything goes, by the way. Why did you order so much crab dip? IknowDezmond doesn't have that many friends.”

“He told me we needed food and drink for twenty people.”

“Twenty?”I gasp. “Who the hell is coming?”

Jordan gives a light shrug, looking over the room, then out the window facing the driveway. The ocean is out there, too, but the trees block it at this angle. “Dezmond didn't give me a list. Just a number. I'm assuming he invited some of the scum he wastes his time with.”

“Chico's group,” I say. Thinking about the last time I saw those guys I shudder. Jordan squints at me, noticing my reaction. “That has to be it.”

“They've been here before,” he says, frowning mildly. “Not often. Dezmond knows better than to bring those scum under my roof. I'll tolerate them today because of the occasion, but that's it.”

“You really don't like his friends, huh?”

“They disgust me,” he mutters.

I believe him—I remember the rage swimming in his eyes when he found me in the bathroom, thinking I was someone else. “I'm surprised Dez respects you enough not to fill this house with his pals. This place is a perfect party house.”

“He doesn't respect me.Theyfear me.” Jordan stares down his nose at me, adding, “With good reason. I once caught one of his friend's shooting up heroin in the basement. I dragged him out the backdoor by his throat and threw him down the slope onto the rocks. He was bloody by the end of the fall … lost a tooth, but looking at his mouth, the meth-rot did worse damage than me.”

“Holy shit,” I whisper.

“Don't look at me like that,” he says darkly. “The lunatic nearly started a fucking fire when he was cooking that awful junk. He'd packed a sauté pan with newspaper, lit it like he wanted to make s'mores. Even disabled the smoke alarm to hide what he was up to. If I didn't discover him passed out on Dez's floor, thick clouds of black filling the room, he'd be dead, and thisentire housewould be nothing but ash.”

The tendons in the backs of his hands stand out the longer he speaks. I can't stop myself; I reach over, give his hand a light squeeze. He stares down at my fingers as I say, “Hey, I get it. You don't need to justify it to me.”

He keeps looking at our hands, not speaking, just … contemplating.

The photographer shoves through the front door, an umbrella light-stand under each arm. I rip myself away from Jordan, tucking my hands behind my back like I'm a kid stealing from the cookie jar.

“Hey!” the man says, coming to us. “Where should I set up for the future bride and groom's photos?”

“Backyard,” Jordan answers.

“Can you show me? I'm Peter, by the way.” He struggles to hold the stands while offering a hand to me. “You're the fiancée?”

I make myself nod. “Lorikeet, nice to meet you.”

Peter smiles so big his brown eyes squint. There's a gap between his front teeth. I'm trying to guess his age, I think maybe a little older than me, at most. “And you're the future father-in-law?” he asks Jordan.

He doesn't bother faking a smile; Jordan jerks his head towards the back hall. “Follow me, I'll show you where to arrange everything.”

Peter withdraws uncomfortably. “Yeah, thanks, I want to be all prepped for when this thing starts. Should be any minute now.”

Any minute now?I swallow down some bile. Jordan leaves with Peter, the two of them chatting as they go. Or Peter is talking, at least—Jordan is dead quiet.

Alone again, I fold my arms across my chest, walking away from my little corner. It didn't hide me from anybody anyway. The caterers are gone. They did their job and did it well. I weave around the kitchen table, then over to the granite island, eyeing the overflowing platters of food. I haven't had anything to eat today except a mug of coffee I made for myself before I drove to meet my mother. Muscles in my gut contort, hugging angrily at the gaping hole.

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