Page 72 of Forbidden Confessions: Vol. 2
Yes, I’m a bent bastard, and I’m going to hell.
In my defense, everything about her seems older than seventeen. Maybe it’s her quiet sense of responsibility, or the dignified way she handled her flighty aunt skipping out on her duties as guardian. Havana has an old soul and a pragmatism that can only come from hard work and loss.
I clear my throat.
She turns, glancing at me with a sleepy smile that makes my chest tight. “Morning, Mr. Garrison.”
“Morning.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend. I need coffee. And about ten feet of distance between us.
“I didn’t hear you come in last night. I waited up for a while, just in case.”
In case…what? I was injured again? Instead of cozying up to my son, her supposed boyfriend, she worried about me?
“You don’t have to do that, Havana.”
She shrugs. “I gave up about two-thirty.”
It’s not even seven yet. I frown. “That’s not enough sleep when you have a full day of school.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m just glad you’re okay.” She turns back to the machine, spooning what looks like half a bag of sugar into her mug. “Ready for some coffee?”
“I’ll get it.” I move to the cabinet, trying not to notice how the hem of my shirt barely covers the curve of her pert ass. “Jesus, how much sugar are you putting in your cup?”
She laughs. “Enough to make it taste like candy.”
“That’s not coffee. That’s liquid diabetes.”
“Says the man who drinks his black as tar.” She turns to face me with a teasing smile as she leans against the counter, elbows braced on the edge. The position pulls my shirt tight across her breasts, and I force my gaze to her face.
But I just find myself staring at her mouth.
“Yes,” I say. “I like it black, like my soul.”
She shakes her head, studying me with perceptive eyes. “That’s not true. You’ve been very kind to me.”
Because I’m desperate to fuck you.
But I’m also brutally aware that isn’t the only reason. I want to hold her, protect her from the savage world I know is out there. My instinct is both irrational and goddamn dangerous.
I need to change the fucking subject—now.
I clear my throat. “Did you get a hold of your aunt?”
Havana’s legal guardian threw her out weeks ago when one of her flaky boyfriends came onto the girl. How does the goddamn woman think a high schooler with no job skills is going to support herself and stay in school? I’d love to throttle some common sense into the bitch. But if I lay eyes on her, I’m unlikely to control my need to retaliate.
Havana hesitates, then shakes her head. “She’s blocked me everywhere. Sorry.”
The last of her family has shunned her, and the girl is apologizing to me? “Don’t be. It’s fine.”
As long as I can resist taking the girl to bed.
But seriously, how can any adult—family, no less—simply fling Havana aside like she’s trash? Since she’s a sensitive soul, I know the rejection hurts her on some level. And the fact I’m dying to take her pain away isn’t good.
Silence falls between us, broken only by the dripping of the coffeemaker and her soft breaths. While we wait, she looks at me with her sultry golden eyes under thick black lashes. Is that…desire I see in her eyes? Yes, and it’s not my imagination.
“Havana,” I say quietly. “I’m warning you. Stop now.”
She frowns with an innocence that can’t be real if she’s sleeping in my son’s bed. “Stop what?”
