Undeniably Forbidden

Owen

Jack: Sorry for messaging so last minute. I won't be able to make it tonight. My connection out of Newark was canceled and I can't get a flight into Boston until tomorrow. Hope you're still able to enjoy a kid-free night out without me *Devil smile emoji*

A smirk curlsits way up my lips, and I wipe it away with my thumb as I read the last line of his text. As one of my best friends growing up, all through our residencies, and the birth of my daughter Rory who is now six, Jack knows if I'm not at the hospital or with my family, I'm with her. My nights out are sporadic at best. But now I find myself in the unique position of sitting alone at a bar in Back Bay completely childless since my little sister Wren has graciously taken Rory for the night.

Still, I was looking forward to seeing him tonight.

Me: Too bad. Will you back in time to introduce me to this new nanny you're telling me is perfect for Rory?

Jack: Asshole, it's Eddie, and you've met her like a million times. She has been working as a live-in nanny for the last seven months in London and she loves kids. Just meet with her. That's all I'm asking.

Right. I know all of this, and I do know Eddie. Well, sorta. I haven't seen Jack's little sister since she was a kid. She's about twelve years younger than us and has been living abroad for art school for the last five years.

Eddie isn't so much the problem. I'm sure she's great. I trust Jack and I trust his family, and he swears once I meet her again, I'll love her, but more importantly, Rory will love her. My problem is that I'm having a hell of a time digesting the idea of a live-in nanny, though I know at this point it's what Rory and I need.

Me: I'll meet her and I'm sure she'll be great. Safe travels and I'll see you tomorrow.

I stare at the screen of my phone, thinking this all through. It's difficult for me to admit that I need more help but with Rory starting first grade, and my insane work schedule, she needs more consistency and routine in her life than me shuffling her around between my family members.

"Another?" the bartender asks, and I stare down at my bourbon on the rocks and debate this. I could go home and get a full night of sleep—something I rarely get—and perhaps even sleep in before I pick up Rory. Or I could call one of my cousins who I don't get to hang out with nearly as often as I'd like and see what they're up to.

Or, better still, I could stay and see where the night takes me.

Even if it won't go beyond tonight.

My mental debate doesn't take long. I slide the glass back toward the bartender and lift my chin. "Two fingers, please."

She gives me a smile, the sort of appreciative smile I'm interested in. "Sure." That smile grows as her head dips, and she gazes up at me through her thick black lashes as she dutifully fills up my glass and slides it to me. "You're Owen Fritz, right?"

And just like that, my interest dies as ice floods my veins, freezing over any warmth or possibility I had been building myself up to. That. That fucking bullshit.

You're Owen Fritz.

Yeah, I am.

It's why Rory still doesn't have a nanny even though we desperately need one for her. It's why it's been far too long since I've ventured out and sought to meet a woman even for a one-nighter. It's why the only people I surround myself with are my family. Recognition as a Fritz, a celebrity family of billionaires who more or less own Boston is a more effective cock block than my little girl.

"Not tonight, I'm not," is my only reply. One she doesn't comprehend as her eyebrows slant inward and she stares bewilderedly at me. Her lips part as if she's about to question me when mercifully the other bartender calls her name. She gives me a wistful look and then reluctantly gets back to work.

I pull out my phone, deciding maybe a night hanging out with my cousins is the better option when movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. A delicate hand wraps around my glass and then lifts it. I turn in my seat, staring incredulously as my glass touches the full red lips of the petite woman on my right. She drinks about half of it, licks her lips, and then sets the glass down, her focus entirely on her phone that's in her other hand.

I blink at her, stunned. "That was my bourbon you just drank half of."

Her head whips in my direction as if she had no clue someone was sitting beside her and when her large, blue-green eyes meet mine, I nearly fall off my chair. Holy hell.

"This drink?" She holds up the glass in question and examines it. "What makes you think it's yours and not mine?" she retorts with an artfully curved eyebrow and a slight upturn to her red lips. I'm having trouble breathing. And remembering basic English. I might also be having a heart attack with how my heart is suddenly racing in my chest.

"I'm sorry, what?" Inwardly, I cringe. Has it been this long since I've been in the game or spoken to a beautiful woman who isn't a patient's mother? Yes. The answer is immediate. Yes!

Except she's so much more than simply beautiful. She's exotic and wild, which is normally not my thing at all, but on her… damn. Long, brown hair, so dark it's almost black with swirls of pink and blue underneath, and aquamarine eyes with an elegant curve and fan of natural black lashes. Her petite nose, which feels like such a contradiction compared to her kissable, plump bow-shaped lips, has a diamond stud in it. She's wearing a black halter top that shows off her narrow shoulders, smooth, tanned skin, and a sexy hint of cleavage from her large tits. Her ripped jeans hug her shapely hips and thighs.

She's small but perfectly fucking curvy, and hell, am I here for it.

The slight smirk she had been giving me curls into a full smile at my blundered retort and owl-eyed mystification, and if I thought I was having trouble breathing before, that's got nothing on what her smile is doing to me now.

I used to be better at this. So much better. Hell, I was fucking good at this once. I had a smile and swagger that could get a woman's panties off without even having to touch her. Now after a shitty divorce and far too much time spent in the hospital treating sick kids or staying in with my own, I've lost my game. Thank God Jack and my cousins aren't here. I'd never hear the end of this.

"You said this is your drink," she answers my inane question. "Not possible. I ordered a Knob Creek on the rocks. That's what this is. Trust me, I know the difference in my bourbons enough to taste it." Her delicate fingers swirl my glass around in a circle, the remaining amber liquid and ice going along for the ride. "You might want to work on your material. The old, that's my drink line has been used by men the world around."

I clear my throat and get my shit back together. Especially when her bit about that as a pickup line makes me chuckle. "I also ordered a Knob Creek on the rocks. And I believe"—I reach across the bar in front of her and tap the glass near her other hand—"this is your drink."

Her head slingshots and once she sees I'm right a melodic laugh bursts from her lungs. "Well, look at that." She turns back to me, a slight flush on her cheeks. "Oops. Sorry. So… that wasn't a pickup line then?"

I shake my head. "Not a pickup line."

"Thank God." She wipes imaginary sweat from her brow. "Even though you're gorgeous, that was an automatic turn-off for me. I can't stand cliché men."

I drag my thumb across my bottom lip, fighting my grin. "You prefer unexpected men instead?"

"Always." She assures me as if that should have been a foregone conclusion. "What woman doesn't?"

My jaw tingles with a smile I'm forcing myself to contain. "Like stealing someone's drink kind of unexpected?"

Her lips twitch and her cheeks flush again and I'm utterly captivated. It's rare, if ever since Angelica walked out on Rory and me three years ago that I've been drawn to anyone, but one look and a few sharp words and that's where I find myself.

She holds up a hand, her expression earnest. "I swear, I wasn't trying to be a drink thief. I was just a bit distracted by a text that came in. Let me buy you another round since I doubt you want to finish the one I just drank half of."

She moves to signal the waitress, but the last thing I want is for the waitress to return and start hitting on me again. Not when I have this woman's undivided attention and she called me gorgeous.

I reach for the glass still in her hand and when our fingers brush, a warm shockwave zings along my skin making my palm tingle. I hear her sharp intake of breath as if she too felt that. With my eyes locked on hers, I take the glass from her, bring it to my mouth, and polish off the rest of it.

She sits back and folds her arms over her chest, appraising me. "It's going to be like that then, huh? Swapping spit with me before I even get your name."

I lean in, taking a deeper inhale when I catch the hint of her subtle fragrance. "Technically you swapped spit with me first since that was my second drink in the same glass. And who says I was going to give you my name?"

She arches a challenging brow. "I think we both know you want to give it to me." She picks up her glass, takes a sip of it, and then hands it to me to do the same. I smile, a real fucking smile that feels so rare on my lips I let it linger even as I take a sip from her glass.

"What's your name?" I ask as I hand it back to her.

"Estlin."

"Estlin. That's… different. I'm not sure I've heard it before."

"Don't ask the origin. It's not a story I enjoy telling."

I smirk, tapping my thumb against the edge of the bar. "Then I won't ask."

She brushes her hair back over her shoulders, more of the pink and blue popping out and playing with the black. "I told you mine, now it's your turn to tell me yours."

And the fact that there's no mocking or hint of recognition in her eyes or voice has me saying, "Owen."

"Nice to meet you, Owen. Do you do this often? Come to bars and pick up women with overused lines?"

I chuckle lightly. "Hardly ever actually. I'm not a man with a lot of free time. What about you?"

"I haven't picked up a woman in a bar in years."

A laugh bursts from my lungs. "Oh. Is that your not-so-casual way of saying I'm barking up the wrong tree?"

"Not even a bit." She drops an elbow on the bar and leans her head into the palm of her hand as she faces me. "But that doesn't mean I'm not already someone's date tonight?"

"Are you?" I throw back at her, liking how her eyes glitter and her nose ring sparkles in the dim lighting as she boldly flirts with me.

She dips in until our faces are inches apart. "Want to know a secret?"

My hand hits the back of her barstool and I inch in close enough that I can practically taste my bourbon on her lips. There is no stopping the conspiratorially playful note in my voice as I say, "Tell me."

"I got stood up tonight."

I pull back enough to let her see my shock. "You? Impossible. What man would be stupid enough to stand you up?"

"My brother and it wasn't quite his fault."

"I got stood up tonight too."

"Impossible," she parrots teasingly. "What woman would be crazy enough to stand you up."

"Not a woman. Just a friend."

"I guess that means we're both alone tonight."

"Not anymore." The hand on the back of her chair finds a lock of her silky hair and I run my fingers through it. She shudders ever so slightly, and I smile, moving until my knee brushes against hers. She hasn't moved away or asked me to stop. She's enjoying this as much as I am.

My mouth slides along the side of her face until I whisper in her ear, "Estlin, would you like to have another drink with me?"

She makes a noise in her throat when she feels my hot breath on her skin, and I pull back, noting the resulting flush on her cheeks again. I can't help but wonder if all of her blushes so prettily.

"Yes. I'd like that. But this round is on me since I drank your last one."

"I've never had a woman who isn't family buy me a drink before," I admit. "I'm not sure how I feel about it."

She rolls her eyes at me. "We can fight about the patriarchal and archaic notion that a man has to financially take care of a woman over the drink I'm buying you." She half stands up, waving at the bartender all the way down on the end. She holds up two fingers and points to each of our glasses. He throws her a wave of acknowledgement and then she sits back down.

"It's not me being patriarchal. I believe women rule this world and do a better job of it. It's called being a gentleman."

"You're one of those guys? Hmm." The male bartender comes over and refills both our glasses and immediately she hops off her stool and picks up her glass. "I tell you what. If you beat me at darts, I'll let you pay for my drink. If I beat you, you let me pay."

I rub my jaw, eyeing the empty dartboard she's indicating. "You sure that's fair? I'm pretty good at them."

She tilts her head, her expression taunting. "I thought you wanted to buy me a drink? Now you're tipping your hand?"

Touché.

"Okay. You're on."

"I'll be back in a few, Matty," she calls to the bartender with a wave.

The bartender winks at her and then she saunters off toward the dart board without waiting on me, already knowing I'm going to follow her.

Who the hell is this woman? And what is it about her—other than her looks—that has me so goddamn intrigued. I honestly don't know, but something about this ocean-eyed beauty has me anxious for more. Maybe it's the smart, no-bullshit sharpness of her tongue or her boldness or youth—since I can tell she's quite a bit younger than me—or the fact that I am so very out of practice with this.

Whatever it is, she has me on my toes, making me feel that even though she's within my grasp, I'm going to have to work my ass off to get her.

I've always liked a challenge and I definitely want to keep this going so I can see where it will hopefully lead for the rest of the night. So I guess it's game on.

"Matty?" I question as I come to stand beside her about six feet from the dartboard.

"We went to high school together. Take these." She hands me three red darts while she holds the green ones.

I decide not to question it. The less I know about her the better. There is only tonight for us. No tomorrow and certainly not the next day. Not with my life.

"Have you played before?" I ask, rolling the darts back and forth between my palms.

"Once or twice, but I don't recall it being all that difficult."

"All right. Ladies first." I wave her to take the lead and she shoots me a side-eye.

"Didn't we discuss that already?"

I point to my chest. "Gentleman, remember?"

She puffs a breath but relents and throws her dart, hitting the outer ring of the nine.

"Yay. That's good, right?"

I smirk. "That's good. Go again." She throws two more times in a row, hitting just outside the bullseye and the inner ring of twenty.

I squint at her. "Why do I get the feeling I'm being hustled?"

She smiles like an angel up at me since she's a solid foot shorter than I am. "I don't know what you're talking about. Who hustles at darts?" She goes over to the board and pulls out her darts and then comes and stands right beside me.

I throw my darts and hit the inner ring of the twelve, the inner ring of the twenty, and the inner ring of the nineteen."

"Oh darn. You are good at this."

I stare down at her. "You're totally hustling me."

"You're paranoid."

I give her a dubious look. "Right. Sure, I am. You realize since I won that round, I just bought your drink."

Her hand lands on my chest and I can feel the heat of her palm seeping through the thin material of my black T-shirt. "Don't get mad at me."

I laugh. "Mad at you? Impossible."

"Good. Because I get free drinks here. Matty owes me from a thing a while back, so he simply added your drink to mine. The game was just a fun diversion."

"Hustler," I play, snaking a hand around her waist and dragging her in tighter to me. My fingers trickle up until I find the smooth, bare skin of her back, warm and soft beneath my touch. My cock starts to thicken in my jeans, and if I shift a little to the right, she'll feel it for sure.

She rocks up on the balls of her feet until her chest presses to mine, her full, soft tits squishing tantalizingly into me. "I totally am. I'm killer at darts. I let you win because I'm generous like that."

"Maybe. But maybe not." My face dips. "If you say you let me win then you won't object to upping the ante, right? How about we play for something real since you already bought me my drink?"

Amusement tilts up her lips into a fearless smile. "What did you have in mind?"

My gaze washes over her, following the lines of her body and then back up to her lips. Sweet, full lips I want to devour and hear moaning my name. I meet her eyes. "If I win the next round, you get a hotel room with me for the night."

Her hand slithers up my chest, past my shoulder, to the back of my neck where she plays with the ends of my hair. "That's rather bold of you, Owen."

I don't bother pretending otherwise. "But it's exactly what I want."

"A hotel room though, huh? Are you hiding a wife or girlfriend at home?"

"I'm as single as it gets. A hotel room is just more convenient." I never bring women home and I have no plans to start now.

She considers this for a moment and just when I think she's about to tell me to fuck off, she surprises me with, "And if I win the next round?"

I search around the bar, moderately crowded for a Friday night in this part of the city, and then back to her. People recognize me here. Everywhere I go in this city, people recognize me. It wasn't so long ago that my face was plastered over every tabloid out there. So if I kiss a random woman in public, it will end up somewhere I don't want it to be.

Somewhere my daughter could see it. Even worse, somewhere my grandmother could see it and then she'll start in on me with getting married again because that's what she does.

To that end, I should go, but I'd like to take Estlin with me.

"Lady's choice." Because I have no intention of losing.

She grins wickedly. "Okay. You're on."