Page 35 of Forbidden Desire

“Ha. She wishes.” She looks reminiscent.

“Were you a handful?” I ask.

“Still am.” She shrugs.

“What do they think of your new job?” I ask.

“They haven’t asked.”

“Oh.”

I look down at my menu, wanting more, but not wanting to look too eager to know more about her.

“I don’t talk about work with my parents. It’s not something that interests them because it’s something that disappoints them.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I didn’t fall in the footsteps they laid out for me,” she replies quietly.

We sit in a lull of silence as I soak in what she’s telling me. I realize this paper means more to her than I had realized. For her to go against her parents’ expectations and find something that was completely her own, forgetting about the money and the limelight that comes with being the daughter of a billionaire, it must mean she really loves what she does. I admire that about her.

“Let’s order, shall we?” she says.

“Let’s.”

I don’t even know what I order because I’m too busy thinking about what she said and this new information I’ve found out about her. It’s like I’ve found one more reason to be intrigued by her. I wonder if Jacob had been right with what he said at the ball last week. Maybe I do have it bad for her. It feels like I’m falling for her, and that’s not something I’m used to. I don’t even know what that feels like, but maybe this is what it is.

And it’s not just the way she looks, or the fact that I’ve spent a night discovering just about every perfect inch of her. I still have parts memorized. The rosy shade of her nipples. The freckle on her inner thigh. The indents in her lower back. Yes, I would love to sleep with her again. I crave it in a way that’s entirely distracting from work, from sleep.

But it’s also the way she speaks her mind. It’s her stubborn resolve. It’s her passion. It’s the way she doesn’t give a damn who her father is or what she could gain from her last name. I’ve never met anyone like her. Most women I know are all about what they can gain, which is why my anonymity has benefitted me through the years. Yet, here is Erica, a woman who could have it all, but chooses not to. She rejects it.

Now I just want to know more and more, as I hang on every little word she says that peels a layer back about who she is. Even though we’re moving at a glacial pace, I feel like I’m getting somewhere with her. I hope I am. If we could just get to a place of friendship, with maybe a side of benefits, that would be enough for me. At least, I think it would.

Chapter 19

Erica

As Marco pays for lunch, I stretch my shoulders back and sneak a glance his way. I can’t help but notice his long, slender fingers as they carefully pull out his platinum business card and place it in the leather bill the waiter left. I remember the way they left their impressions on my skin. He’s so calm and collected in everything he does, moving smoothly in one of my favorite suits on him. The navy one with the notched lapel. It pops against the stark white of the pinstriped button-down that makes him look even tanner than he is.

I tear my eyes away and place my hand on my very full stomach. I ate far too much, but everything had been so delicious. From the crostini to the risotto to the branzino. Marco insisted I get anything I wanted. I figured the more food, the less conversation, and fewer opportunities I had to find his every word interesting. But I was wrong.

So many courses meant more time together and the more my walls I had carefully built began crumbling down. Our lunch ended up being almost three hours long, and the conversation was just as good as the food. I should have known that it would be. He’s charming. Interesting. Stupidly handsome. All reasons why I should have told him no to today’s outing, but at the end of the day, he’s my boss. I can’t exactly tell him no, except when he makes a move on me.

Which he doesn’t. There isn’t even an accidental brush of the knees under the table, and I find myself tingling in anticipation for one. I think I scared him off with my resignation letter, which I’m relieved for because sitting across from him at this intimate booth, and feeling his eyes graze down my face to the neckline of my blouse, I may as well be naked. Something he’s seen before. He makes me feel wanted in a way I’ve never experienced before. I wish I hated it, but part of me craves it.

I also crave to know more about him. Over lunch, he shares with me how he got started with his company and how it turned into something so much bigger than he ever anticipated. He reminds me a little of my father, his work ethic and determination, but he’s not cold or boisterous. I found myself wanting to know more and couldn’t stop asking questions. It felt like our night at the jazz club, except now he was the one talking. I wonder if we had just both been honest that night, if things would have been different. There’s so much we have in common.

It doesn’t matter,I remind myself.

He’s my boss. I’m his employee. He’s the father of my daughter, and he is blissfully unaware of that fact. I have to keep it that way. Chalk this up to a business lunch and get out of here.

It’s hard to ignore those eyes, though. I feel like I’m getting lost in their darkness as they remain steady on me. I have to look away. I reach for my purse.

“We should probably get back,” I say, feeling my walls come back up, knowing these thoughts racing through my head are dangerous.

“Right,” he agrees with a solemn nod.

We take a cab back to the office, the ride quiet as if all our words were left back at the table in the restaurant. When we get upstairs, it’s nearly 4 p.m. The workday is almost over, and besides making a dent in my word count, it feels like I’ve done nothing. It doesn’t even feel like today was a work day, which makes me feel guilty for being away from Josie while she’s at daycare.

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