Page 83 of Forbidden Forward

Creases form in his forehead. “What are you talking about?”

I wave a frantic hand between us. “This. Us. What we have is physical. Nothing else.” There’s a whine in my voice I don’t like.

He lets out a mirthless chuckle that chills me. “Because you haven’t been willing to let us be. All of a sudden, with less than two weeks left in the season, you decide we need to tell your brother right now.”

I stubbornly stick to my course. “The writing’s on the wall, Colby, and I can read. What we have is physical. You’ve had your fun, and now you’ve backed off from telling my brother.” I swallow to keep my voice from shaking. “And if this was something real, if you trusted me, you’d be willing to let me in on what happened with your sister. You’d be willing to let me meet her.”

Through clenched teeth, he says in a warning growl, “It’s not just physical, and leave my sister out of this. She’s got nothing to do with it.”

“What are you afraid of?”

He slams the lid on the pot only to yank it off again and drop it on the counter, where it makes a metallic clatter. “Why the hell can’t you just let it go? I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

“And when do you suppose that will be? Colby, I’m in love with you, but you’re shutting me out. I don’t know what to do with that.” I’ve laid myself open, and he just stands there like a statue. My survival instinct kicks in, and my anger rises like a geyser. “You know what? Never mind. I think we’re done here.”

Shock twists his features. “Wait. What does that mean?”

I’m a bundle of ping-ponging emotions, and my brain short-circuits. Confrontation has never been my strong suit, and right now I’m zigging and zagging. I’ve lost track of the points I was trying to make. Hell, I don’t even know what they are right now.

“I like order. You like chaos.” That’s what I come up with.

His voice gentles, and his features smooth out. “That makes no sense.”

He’s right. He walks toward me and pulls me into his arms, laying a soft kiss on my hair. “I’m a dick. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He holds me away from him. “Jackie, I wouldn’t be here if this was only about the physical stuff between us.”

My expression must shift because his eyes float down to my chest, and one side of his mouth kicks up—as if I’ve given him permission to go there. His stormy gray eyes lift to mine once more, and he whispers reverently, “Although I’d be lying if I said the physical stuff isn’t a powerful incentive. Being with you isn’t like anything I’ve felt before. You make me nuts.”

We’re not done here, but my fury fizzles. “Good nuts? Bad nuts? Peanuts?”

“Yeah.” His head drops, and his soft mouth lands on mine. The kiss that follows is slow and sensual and soulful, and I feel it all the way to my toenails. The way he pours himself into it makes me believe this is real.

Breaking the kiss, he moves his mouth over my neck, my collar bones, up to that spot behind my ear that sends chills skittering along my limbs.

“If you’re trying to distract me,” I practically moan, “it’s not going to work.”

A hiss sounds from the kitchen, and Colby releases me. “Shit! The pasta!”

He dashes for the kitchen, and I’m on his heels. “Anything I can do?”

Turning off the burner, he gives the pasta a stir. I stand beside him, and he shoots me a quick sidelong glance. “Yeah. Stay just like that for dinner.”

I look down at myself. “You mean topless?” I scoff.

“You’re not completely topless,” he points out. “I haven’t taken that sexy bra off you yet.” He pours the steaming pasta into a strainer. “Although if you’d be more comfortable that way …” His eyebrows bounce up and down his forehead.

“You mean like earlier? Is this now your favorite outfit?”

He shakes his head, a deliciously lustful glint in his eyes. “Nuh-uh. My favorite look is you decked out in your birthday suit. Spread-eagled on my bed. Or bent over the table. Or with your hands against the shower. Or—”

My skin flushes pink. Now he is distracting me, and I cover his mouth with my fingers. “I don’t want to lose track of what we were talking about earlier.” When his eyebrow arches, I add, “About us? About Donovan?”

His eyes close for an instant, then laser into mine. In a low, whiskey-smooth voice, he murmurs, “Can we table that discussion for later? I’d like to enjoy this dinner with you, and talking about your brother will definitely kill my taste buds.”

I nod in agreement. “Later, then.”

Later never comes.

Chapter 38