Free Forbidden Fruit by Eden Bradley

a gift.”
    “But you mentioned she’s gone now, your grandmother.”
    “Yes.”
    “That’s got to be hard on you.”
    Mia nodded. “I still miss her every day. But she left me her house, her roses. I suppose I like to think of her as still being there with me. Silly of me, I guess.”
    “Not at all. You feellcloser to her there.”
    “Yes, exactly.”
    “We’re all sentimentalists, inside, when it comes to that kind of thing.”
    “Do you think so? What are you sentimentallabout?”
    “If you’re done eating, I’ll show you.”
    She nodded, and he got up, came around to hold her chair for her as she stood. He took her hand and led her into the living room. Next to the fireplace were wide wooden shelves, deep, like shadow boxes. She’d noticed them earlier, the collection of pottery, small sculptures, and art books there. And on one shelf was a guitar. It was art in itself, done in light and dark wood, the frets inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
    “It’s beautiful.”
    “My dad gave it to me when I was eight years old. I was still young enough that he had hopes I’d follow him into music. It’s an incredible instrument. Too much for a child. But he wanted me to have it. I never even wanted to play the thing, but just knowing he’d given it to me was huge. Even at that age, I knew what it meant to him. It represented his hopes and dreams for me, you know?”
    She wanted to touch it. To feellthat satiny wood beneath her fingertips. And she wanted to touch him.
    But that was nothing new. What was new was this side of him, all cockiness gone, just Jagger being himself, opening up to her.
    “You never wanted to play,” she said quietly, “and yet you’ve held on to this. I understand that. How it’s important.”
    Jagger nodded, his face somber as he ran a hand over the curve of the guitar, gently, as though it were a woman’s body he was caressing. Mia shivered.
    He turned to her, the mood breaking when he smiled.
    “Come on. You’re going to love dessert.”
    He walked back toward the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Go ahead and sit down again and I’ll bring it out.”
    She went back to her place at the table. It was only a few moments later when he came back with a covered plate and set it down in front of her, stood beside her chair.
    “Close your eyes, Mia Rose.”
    “What? Why?”
    “Because I want you to really taste this.”
    She started to shake her head.
    “Come on. Just do it.”
    His tone was teasing, yet still held that air of command that made her insides feelllike liquid heat.
    He was smiling at her now.
    “Do it, Mia Rose. You know you want to.”
    She laughed a little selfconsciously, but she closed her eyes for him.
    For him.
    Stop it.
    She heard a little rustling, then Jagger told her, “Open your mouth.”
    She did, feeling a bit foolish. Then he touched the tip of a fork to her lips, and she let him slide it in.
    Chocolate mousse, rich and coollagainst her tongue, followed by something tart and sweet at the same time. Whatever it was, she wanted more.
    Wanted it all over her skin. And it was him feeding this to her. As though they were lovers.
    God.
    She let the chocolate melt on her tongue, squeezed her thighs together, trying to ease the ache there.
    She did not want to admit that the lust raging through her was as much about the food as it was about her attraction to him. That it was the combination that made her want to explode.
    “Jagger—”
    “Shh. Keep tasting. One bite isn’t enough.”
    The fork against her lips again, and this time she opened right up, trying not to groan aloud. Sugar suffused her mouth, desire suffused her body. And then he touched her lips with his fingertip.
    “You have a little of the raspberry here…”
    She opened her eyes and looked up at him. He was bent over her, his face only a few inches from hers, his gray eyes gone dark and hazy. He pulled his hand away, licked the drop of sweet red sauce from his fingertip.
    She was shaking.