Page 7 of Pucking Forbidden

Vanessa quit college and stopped talking to me.

Jamison started drinking. A lot.

I devoured every news article about Jordan, desperate for any semblance of connection. I feel like I’ve just been drifting for thelast five years, trying to hold everything together. But it hasn’t been together since that damn fight. Not for me. And certainly not for Jamison, either.

When he finally cracked four months ago and admitted that he’d lied and that Jordan should have hit him, it felt like the world was crashing down around me again. For five damn years, he maintained that lie. He ruined Jordan’s life. He ruined mine. I think he ruined his own, too. And for what?

I still don’t know. I still don’t understand.

All I know is that everyone thinks my brother has it all together, but he doesn’t. He drinks all the time. He never goes out. He’s bitter, full of self-hatred. And I’m certain it’s because he did something awful.

“Son of a bitch,” Jordan growls when he finally spots me standing in front of the truck like a human roadblock halting his escape plans. He flicks a glance up at the sky as if to ask for patience, and then those steely gray eyes lock with mine. “Move, Sutton.”

“No.” He may intimidate the hell out of half the world, but I’m not one of those people. I know what he hides behind the ink he wears like armor and all those muscles. He’s always been aggressive on the ice, but off it, he was never cruel or dangerous, especially not to me. He may hate me now. He may be mad as hell. But he still isn’t capable of hurting me. I know it instinctively.

He mutters a soft curse and slams the door of his truck before stalking toward me, moving with the same lethal grace that always captivated me. Someone as big as him shouldn’t be able to move the way he does, but he’s like a lion slinking through the grass. Hunting without a sound.

My nipples harden, heat flowing through me. It’s a familiar reaction; one I’ve felt a million times since meeting him when I was seventeen.

I knew nothing about desire until the day my brother brought him home. That was the first time I ever felt anything like I felt looking at him. He was this hot, tattooed Viking just standing in my living room like he belonged there. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. All I could do was stare at him.

I fantasized about him so much when I was alone in the dark.

It felt so damn wrong…and so damn right. He was ten years older than me, off-limits in every way. But I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted him. Desperately.

Istilldo.

He stalks right up to me, stopping when he’s so close I smell his aftershave. I feel his heat engulfing me. The toes of his giant boots touch my ballet flats.

“Move, princess,” he grits out.

“No.”

He stares at me for a protracted second and then sighs softly. Before I can even react, he wraps his hands around my waist, his touch searing into me. I gasp as he lifts me from my feet as if I weigh nothing.

We both know that’s a lie, though. I’ve never been a small girl. My whole life, I’ve been thick and curvy…and not in the hourglass type of way, either. I’m round where I shouldn’t be. It never bothered me much. It never seemed to bother Jordan much, either. He never treated me like the guys at school did, like I was beneath them because of my weight.

“Jordan!” I cry, flinging my arms out to wrap them around his neck. “Put me down right now.”

“Plan to. Just as soon as your infuriating little ass is out of my way.” He stalks several feet away, his arms steady around me. I feel his body moving against mine with every step. Every delicious inch of him is pressed against me. God, he’s even bigger than I remember, as if he’s spent the last five years exorcising his demons in the gym.

He plunks me down on my feet in the middle of an empty parking spot two rows from his truck, and then steps back with a satisfied grunt, his expression completely level. “Don’t follow me, Sutton.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Harassment is against the law. So is stalking.”

“Yeah? Well, so are kidnapping and assault,” I remind him, annoyed and turned on at the same damn time.

His lips actually twitch like I’m amusing him. “I didn’t kidnap or assault you. I moved you out of the way so I didn’t run you over.” He shoots me a hot, irritated look. “I just bought the truck. It’d piss me off to dent it.”

I splutter in outrage and then scowl when his lips twitch again, a sort of wild amusement glinting deep in his eyes. “I’mnotharassing or stalking you.”

As far as retorts go…that one sucks. But it’s the only one I can come up with when he’s staring at me like he isn’t sure if he wants to spank me, fuck me, or run in the opposite direction.

He glances around the parking lot with this who-do-you-think-you’re-kidding expression—one brow quirked, his eyes intentionally wide, and his lips quirked sideways. And now I’m not sure if I want to strangle him, fuck him, or stomp away in the opposite direction.

Who knew Jordan Silvestri could be so damn irritating?

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