Page 72 of Forbidden Love Still Blooms

Stepping into the hall, I crane my neck to see Jordan and my mother sitting at the round table near the kitchen. The single room houses everything, similar to Jordan's home, just more cramped and far less stylish. Quaint is the word company would use when my mom invited them over.

Jordan is the first company we've had in a very long time. Somehow, he manages to sit in the wooden chair with his yellow coffee cup in hand, steam wafting over his nose, like he belongs here. He draws attention to him with just his presence. My brain flashes warnings that insistI'mthe one who doesn't belong here. This ishishouse now.

“There she is,” Mom chuckles. “Good to see you cleaned up. You have trouble sleeping? It's already seven.”

“Morning, Mr. Hartford,” I say.

“Good morning,” he says smoothly, like we barely know each other. Meanwhile my whole heart swan dives into my empty stomach from hearing his voice.

Keeping an eye on him, I walk into the kitchen. The coffee pot hisses when I lift it off the hot plate to fill my own mug. “You should have woken me sooner, Mom. We'll need to leave to open the store in twenty minutes. Sorry you came all this way to do wedding chat when there's no time for it, Mr. Hartford.”

“I'll go handle things, Lori,” Mom says. “You stay here with Jordan.”

Hot coffee dribbles on my wrist—I flinch, setting the pot down, wiping up the mess with a cloth towel hanging off the stove. “Oh? Are you sure you don't need me?” I ask.

“It's fine. And Jordan came all this way.” She gives him a tender smile, crossing one leg over the other. “I'd feel terrible to waste his efforts.”

Jordan returns her smile. Then his eyes glide to me; he's ready to pounce. The counter between us isn't enough protection. Nothing is. He says, “I appreciate that, Iris. We'll message you with any big developments or questions.”

“Things like picking a date?” she chuckles.

Sipping the bitter coffee, I hide my frown. I hadn't picked a date for the wedding because there would be no wedding. Not if I could help it. “If you're sure,” I say, “I guess it's okay. But call me the second things get too busy or you need help.”

“Always looking out for me,” she says, smiling indulgently. “Yes. I'll call.” Finishing her coffee on her walk to the kitchen, she passes me, set the mug in the sink. Giving me a back-cracking hug, she sighs dramatically. “I should go. Tell me everything, especially if it has to do with flowers. That's the one thing I know I can help with. Imagine the arrangements, a big arch over the altar? Beautiful!”

I nod with a tight smile.

Grabbing her car keys from the tray on the table she waves at us, making them jingle loudly. Jordan gestures with his cup of coffee, saying, “Nice to see you again, Iris. Thanks for the coffee.”

“Have a good day, Mom!” I shout.

The door closes behind her. Through the window we see her jog to her car, the engine coming to life. Rubber tires crunch over dirt as she reverses down the drive, finally rolling along the street until she's out of view.

The house is dead quiet.

Jordan shifts in his chair, looks at me. I tense up where I am. Gently he sets his mug on the table, like it could shatter from a feather-impact. The sound still manages to explode in my ears. I'm fully awake, aware of how his jeans scrape together as he stands and walks towards me. How his own skin sounds as he drags his palm over the hairs on his jaw.

He reaches me in the kitchen. It's all I can do to remain where I am. “Hi there,” I whisper.

“Hi.”

“Should I give you a tour? It won't take long.” I smile wryly.

Jordan takes my coffee cup, puts it on the counter beside the sink. “The only tour I want is of your gorgeous body. And that could, and should, take hours.”

Excitement dances through my blood. Lifting my face towards his, I stare at his lips, then his eyes. “I haven't even had breakfast yet.”

“Don't worry, Lorikeet. I'll feed you.”

He bends his head to kiss me. I beat him to it, my fingers cupping the back of his firm neck, feeling where his hair fades from thick down to the shaved nape. Jordan rests his weight against me, pinning me between him and the counter.

“Fuck, I missed this,” he says down my throat.

Thrilling at the vibrations of his voice, I scrape along his spine through his simple black t-shirt. He's rarely so under-dressed. The only time I saw him this casual was when he caught me in his tub after jogging. “It's been barely a week since we last kissed,” I tease him.

“Any minute without this is too long.”

"And you've been blowing up my phone non-stop with dirty messages." I don't mind those, of course. They assist me when I'm rolling beneath my blankets in my bed at night, fingers weaving in my soaked pussy.

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