Forbidden Hunger (Forbidden series Book 3) Page 2

  So that’s what I do. When it’s my turn, I execute a series of flawless pirouettes across the floor, my head snapping around at the last instant to find the spot I’m staring at once more. Madame Ellis doesn’t say anything, but I can feel her silent approval.

  I get through the rest of my classes the same way. Ruthlessly blocking out my worries, I only let in the demands of technique. Leaping, bending, twirling, mincing en pointe across the floor, I throw myself into practicing as if my life depends on it.

  Because it does.

  This is all I’ve ever wanted. Since I was three years old, and my parents took me to a local production of The Nutcracker, this has been my dream. I’ve given up everything else to get here, and my parents have done everything they could to help me, never wavering in their support.

  If I lose this, I have nothing. I am nothing. Letting myself down, letting my parents down … it’s unthinkable.

  Usually this is my favorite place on earth, and the day goes by in a blink because I love what I’m doing so much. Today, I’m relieved when classes are finally over. As I follow Eden outside, the facts I’ve been avoiding all afternoon start tying my stomach in knots.

  “This will be fun,” Eden says as we climb into the car. “We’ll be able to see each other whenever we want.”

  I summon up a smile. “Because we don’t see each other all day long already,” I tease her.

  “Yes, but then we’re working. This will be like an extended slumber party.”

  I keep smiling, hoping it’s not too obviously fake. I’m grateful to Eden for asking if I could stay with her and her father. Without that, I’d be homeless tonight.

  But part of me would rather sleep on the streets.

  I don’t know what I’ve done to make Mr. Drake dislike me, but it was plain as day that he didn’t want to say yes. The whole time we were eating lunch, he kept watching me, with a brooding expression that set my nerves on edge.

  Does he think I’m not good enough for Eden? I’m not, of course. Mr. Drake has his own high-powered law firm, tending to the rich and powerful people of the city. I have nothing to offer his daughter but loyalty.

  I’ve never gotten that impression from him before, that he looks down on me. But there’s no denying that having me live with him is not exactly high on his list of things to do.

  Shoving my dark thoughts away, I comfort myself as I often do, watching the city while the car makes its way through the traffic. Even after all this time in New York, I’m still dazzled by it.

  I love my family, and I miss them. But in some ways, New York feels more like home than home ever has.

  Soon, we arrive at the Drakes’ apartment building. “I’ll give you the passcodes,” Eden says. “You need to memorize them, though, not carry them around written down.”

  “Right. Will do.” I follow her inside, still trying to figure out some way around this arrangement.

  My parents are barely hanging on after an early frost damaged their crop, so they can’t help. If I tried to work an outside job, my dancing would suffer, which would defeat the whole purpose of being at the Institute.

  I don’t see any way I can afford another place of my own, even if I found another roommate. And after my experience with Heidi, I’m not exactly eager to trust another stranger.

  I’ll just have to make the best of it, and somehow persuade Mr. Drake that I won’t be a burden.

  As we go into the apartment, I look at it with new eyes. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the city, original art on the walls, rich upholstery fabrics, hand-woven rugs … this is how the other side lives. How I’ll be living, now.

  The apartment doesn’t scream money; it whispers it, with the confidence that comes from not needing to flaunt anything. It’s huge, too. The tiny apartment that Heidi and I shared would fit into one small corner of the living room.

  At least having this much room should make Mr. Drake easy to avoid. If I can stay out of his way, maybe he won’t resent my presence so much.

  “I wonder what Carole left for dinner,” Eden says, and I trail her into the kitchen, where she opens the fridge and peeks inside a covered dish. “Mmm, chicken stir-fry.”

  My stomach rumbles, and she laughs. “Let’s get this warmed up before you keel over.” I pull out the brown rice next to the stir-fry, and we put it all in the microwave.

  Eating right is essential to peak performance, but it hasn’t been easy on my budget. I feel a flash of guilt that I’m looking forward to having delicious, healthy meals courtesy of the Drakes.

  While the food warms, Eden and I set the table. “Will your father be joining us?” I ask.

  “Oh, yes, I think so. He’s almost always here in time for dinner, and he lets me know if he gets tied up at work. I haven’t heard from him, so he should be home any minute.”

  I don’t answer. My system is a jangle of nerves at the thought of facing Mr. Drake. It’s bad enough he doesn’t want me here.

  It’s infinitely worse that I want him.

  I’ve tried my best not to feel this way. He’s my best friend’s father – and even if he weren’t, he’s so much older, not to mention totally out of my league. But every time I’m around him, it’s the same.

  My mouth gets dry. My heart starts to pound. And a warm pressure builds between my legs until I’m squirming.

  Not that that’s all I feel. Mr. Drake is smart, and strong, and a good dad. The more I learn about him, the more it deepens my admiration – and my physical attraction.

  Before I can shove my feelings into the deep, dark hole where I keep them locked away, he comes through the door. His eyes go straight to me, and my heart jolts. I fix a smile on my face while Eden greets him. “Hi, Dad. How was your day?”

  As soon as his attention shifts to her, I drop my gaze and scurry around finishing the place settings, my pulse skittering.

  Dammit.

  A whole city full of men, and he’s the only one who gets my engine revving.

  I risk a glance at him. He’s tall, his broad shoulders filling out his suit, his features almost classically handsome, but with a sensual air that’s given me endless late-night fantasies.

  Between school and dance, I’ve never had time for relationships. Now that I’m at the Institute, the only guys I’m around are other dancers, and dating any of them doesn’t seem smart. Not that I even want to.

  They’re boys. Talented, good-looking, even, but boys. Ashton is all man.

  The thought of being with him that way fills me with a mixture of nerves and exhilaration.

  He takes off his coat and hangs it in a closet while Eden gets our dinner from the microwave. His face seems drawn, as if he’s had a rough day. Without thinking about it, I move to the wet bar along one wall.

  I notice everything about him, whether I want to or not, including what he likes to drink. Moments later, the glass is in my hand and I take it to him. “Scotch on the rocks, right?”

  “Yes.” He takes it from me, but there’s a strange look on his face. “Thank you,” he adds belatedly.

  Crap. Now I’ve made things even worse by presuming to take care of him. We sit down at the table, and I’m careful to choose the chair across from him, as far away as I can get.

  “Hang on,” Eden says. “I’ll be right back.” She hurries off to her bedroom, and I busy myself with putting rice and stir-fry on my plate when Mr. Drake offers me the dishes, giving him a tight smile but no words.

  Fortunately, she’s back in no time. “You can use my old phone,” she says, setting it next to my plate. “We just need to get it activated.”

  The screen is cracked, but it’s still a lot newer and nicer than the one I had. Before I can thank her, Ashton says, “What happened to your phone?”

  He’s frowning, no doubt irritated by how much of a bother I am. I look away. “The landlord locked her out of the apartment before she could get her stuff,” Eden explains. “She lost everything – all her clothes, family photos, her extra dance out
fits, everything.”

  A muscle moves in his jaw. He mutters something under his breath that I can’t catch and takes out his wallet. “Here.” He tosses a credit card on the table. “Buy whatever you need.”

  I stare at the AmEx like it’s a snake. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”

  His eyes narrow. “It sounds like it is necessary.”

  Eden’s giving him a weird look, but doesn’t say anything. It’s obvious he’s ready to make an issue of it, so I gingerly pick up the card. “Thank you,” I murmur, and set it by Eden’s phone.

  I have no intention of using it; I just want to avoid an argument.

  After dinner we clean up the kitchen, and then Eden shows me to my new bedroom. It’s big enough to contain my old apartment, with its own view of the city, a queen-sized four-poster bed, a walk-in closet, an attached bathroom complete with sunken tub, and a desk in one corner.

  “We can share my laptop,” she says. “I’ll bring it in and you can email your parents, let them know what’s going on, and give them your new phone number.”

  “Okay.” I touch her hand as she turns to go. “Thank you, Eden. For everything. Really.”

  She gives me a hug. “I know you’d do the same for me. I’m just glad you don’t have to leave; I can’t imagine being at the Institute without you.”

  I sink down on the bed to wait. The mattress is like a dream. The windows are thick enough to block out all the sounds of the city.

  I almost miss the noise.

  3

  I go from sleep to wakefulness in an instant. The clock on my nightstand says 5:59 a.m. Shutting off my alarm, I roll out of bed.

  When I come out for breakfast, Tori’s already at the table. She has on a pair of pajamas that I gave Eden last Christmas … and no robe. But the PJs are comfortably loose, so my cock twitches but doesn’t stand at attention.

  I can’t help feeling a twinge of irritation, though. It’s been three days since I gave her my card, and she’s still wearing my daughter’s clothes. It bothers me more than I can put into words that she has almost nothing … but even more disturbing is the way I want to give her everything.

  Since she moved in, I’ve been doing my best to avoid her, but it hasn’t helped. With every day that passes, I want her more. Knowing how wrong it is doesn’t change my feelings one bit.

  There’s food on the table: scrambled eggs, bacon, sliced avocado, and whole wheat toast. I grunt my thanks at her. We eat in silence until Eden joins us, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  My girl’s a night owl, always has been. She blinks at the food. “Did you cook?” she asks me. I shake my head and she turns to her friend. “Thanks!”

  Tori hitches her shoulder in a half-shrug. “I was up.”

  I’m tempted to ask her if she’s sleeping okay, but stifle the impulse. Once I’ve eaten, I clear my place and then go into my home office. Booting up my desktop, I check the balance on the credit card.

  As I suspected, there haven’t been any charges. Stubborn girl. I go back to the kitchen. Eden’s disappeared back to her room, and Tori’s washing dishes in the sink.

  I get another flash of irritation. “We have a housekeeper.” Tori stiffens, but doesn’t respond. I try to lighten my tone. “If you keep doing her job, she’s going to get a complex.”

  She finishes rinsing the last plate and sets it carefully in the drainer. “I’m used to doing things for myself.” Her voice is soft, but I don’t hear any trace of apology.

  “Please come see me in my office before you go.” I don’t trust myself to say anything else. Instead of getting ready – because I know she’ll slip out if I give her the chance – I go back to my office and do some work, waiting.

  She joins me a few minutes later, dressed for the day, looking for all the world like she’s been called in to see the principal. In an instant, the image fills my mind: Tori lying across my lap, her ass bare, her skin turning pink from my hand.

  That’s all it takes for my cock to come roaring to life. Good thing I put a robe on over my own pajamas. Forcing my mind back on track, I say, “You haven’t used the card.”

  “No, sir.”

  The sir only feeds the fantasy I’m desperately trying to suppress. “I told you to call me Ashton. Why haven’t you used the card?” She doesn’t answer. “Why, Tori? I know there are things you need.”

  “Mr. Drake.” Her voice is very soft now, but I don’t miss the determination in it, or her deliberate use of my surname. “I’m not going to do anything to make you resent my presence here any more than you already do.”

  “Resent it?” Even though I know it’s my own damn fault, the accusation rankles. “That’s not true.”

  “We both know it is. That you only said yes for Eden’s sake.” She hesitates, then goes on. “I know you don’t like me. I’m not sure why, but I can only promise you I have no intention of taking advantage of you, or Eden, or this whole situation.”

  God help me, I want to grab her and show her just how wrong she is. “You’ve misunderstood me.”

  Her chin comes up in silent defiance. Fuck, she’s magnificent. She pulls the card from her pocket, lays it silently on my desk, and goes out.

  I watch her ass move and wish I could call her back. A few minutes later, she and Eden go by, and then they’re gone and I’m alone in the apartment.

  What can I do to convince Tori she’s welcome here? Not as welcome as I’d like to make her, but enough that she can start to relax and feel at home … and stop acting like she has to earn her keep by cooking and cleaning.

  At the edge of my desk, the card catches the light. If Tori refuses to buy herself what she needs, then someone’s going to have to do it. She’s left me no choice.

  Messaging Shane and my admin that I’ll be a few minutes late, I grab the card and go to get dressed. There are several boutiques, between here and work, where Eden likes to shop. I’ll just pick up a few things on the way.

  4

  When I get back to the apartment in the late afternoon, I’m worn out. I’ve been pushing myself extra hard at the Institute these last few days. There haven’t been any more comments from Madame Ellis, but the exertion has taken its toll.

  Eden stayed behind to meet another friend for coffee, and Mr. Drake isn’t home yet, but Carole is still here. “Baked salmon for dinner,” she tells me with a smile. She accepted my staying with the Drakes as it if were no big deal, and I appreciate her matter-of-fact attitude.

  “Sounds delicious,” I tell her. “Thanks, Carole.” I head for my bedroom, ready for a nice hot bath before we eat.

  I take one step inside and stop dead. “Carole? What is all this stuff?”

  She comes to the door and joins me in staring at the huge pile of bags and boxes piled on my bed. “All those deliveries came for you earlier today.”

  “For me? But I haven’t bought anything. Are you sure they’re not for Eden?”

  “Not unless she’s changed her name to Tori Smith.” She nudges me into the room. “Go ahead, try them on.”

  I shoot her a suspicious look, but she’s already on her way back to the kitchen. I pick up one of the boxes. Sure enough, my name is on it, handwritten on a slip of paper.

  The lid comes off to reveal a cute, stylish, but comfortable pair of shoes. I know the brand; it’s one Eden favors. These shoes aren’t cheap.

  Half reluctant, half excited, I try them on. They fit perfectly.

  With that, the dam breaks. I open the rest of the packages quickly. Pants, tops, dresses, pajamas, even lingerie. Almost all of it fits, even the bras and panties. And almost all of it is in colors I like.

  Eden must have done it. I don’t know how, since she was in classes with me all day, but no one else knows me that well and would be so thoughtful. Arranging all the new items neatly on the bed, I take my bath, luxuriating in the warm water.

  When I get out, I pick up some of the lingerie, and it hits me that the tags are gone. I lift a bra to my nose and sm
ell laundry detergent. Carole’s washed everything already!

  Feeling ridiculously spoiled, I let myself pull on a bra and panties, a pair of leggings, a chunky knit sweater in a shade of green that goes great with my coloring, and the shoes. When I hear Eden’s voice talking to Carole, I bounce up off the bed and hurry down the hall.

  “You really shouldn’t have,” I tell her, giving her a hug. “But thank you.”

  “What are you talking about? You look amazing, by the way.”

  I pull back to look at her. She seems genuinely puzzled, and I know practical jokes aren’t her style. “You didn’t buy me all this stuff?”

  “All what stuff?”

  I drag her down the hall and show her my bed. Her mouth drops open. “It wasn’t me.” She leans close to me and says, sotto voce, “You didn’t use Dad’s card?”

  “No; I gave it back to him this morning.” A frisson of unease trickles down my spine.

  Surely he didn’t … no. He wouldn’t have. Couldn’t have.

  “Good evening, Mr. Drake.” Carole’s voice from the kitchen makes me want to peel off my new outfit, but before I can follow through, Eden grabs my hand. Now she’s the one dragging me, back to the kitchen where her father awaits.

  “Hi, Dad. Doesn’t Tori look adorable?”

  Mr. Drake takes in my appearance. He only gives a half-smile in response … but there’s something in his eyes that makes my breathing go shallow.

  Crossing to me, he hands me a brand new phone. It’s in my favorite color – purple. “You deserve better than a cracked screen.”

  That can’t be a coincidence, on top of all the other purchases. It’s true, then. It really was him who bought me a whole new wardrobe.

  Mr. Drake knows my favorite colors. And he selected the lingerie that’s hugging my skin right now.

  My face goes hot. I try to hand the phone back to him, but Eden grabs it away from me and starts programming it. “Now I’m jealous,” she says as her fingers fly across the keys. “This model only came out a week ago.”

  “One for you too,” he says, handing her an identical phone, but in red.