Darling Villain (Forbidden Fruit #1)

Chapter 19

Adrien

M y father was a strict man, all about discipline and control. He not once showed Sylvia and me affection, let alone love. Raphael Leroy only loved one person who ultimately led him to his downfall. My mother, a tiny Italian woman with the warmest smile and the most infectious laugh, was the light of his life. She was the first and only person he showed his softer side. He often said that she was the reason he pushed so hard for us, for success and wealth. He strived to give her the life she deserved, but his inability to be there when it mattered most cost him everything.

I still remember my father’s returns from business trips, how he would clutch large bouquets of flowers and gifts in his arms, an apology for his absence. My mother would wait for him, at the door with a smile that could light up the darkest room, accepting his gifts and assuring him that everything was alright as if she did not spend the time he was away haunting the house and crying herself to sleep.

Once, I gathered up the courage and asked her why she was so sad whenever my father left.

“I’m homesick, my love,” she told me with a sad smile. “And your dad takes a piece of my heart with him every time he leaves.”

I wondered what it felt like to miss someone so deeply that it felt like your heart was tearing apart. How deeply can one miss another to find comfort only in their company?

Homesickness.

The concept used to seem abstract and distant, something made up by overly emotional people, but now, since I left for United Kingdom, it’s become a tangible thing. It’s etched in my being, a constant ache that reminds me of all I’ve left behind. It reminds me of her .

It’s like a deep-seated disease that has infected my body and soul, one that has taken root in every part of my being. It clings to me like a parasite, exposing my weakness and my lack of control.

Returning to my holiday getaway home after a mere day and a half trip feels far too good. The minute I step into the house, my mood improves exponentially. Everything seems brighter, and more cheerful. The gloomy mood I’ve been in since my arrival in London seems to have lifted, and I find myself involuntarily smiling.

The deal with Pierre is nearly complete. Soon I will be a major shareholder in his real estate company, diversifying my portfolio and securing a profitable partnership.

From the moment I met Pierre, I knew he was a smooth-talking bastard who would do whatever it took to get what he wanted. He is like my old man in that aspect—ruthless, efficient, and fearless when it comes to investments—exactly what I look for in a business partner. Pierre’s messy personal life is another plus, and I will use his weaknesses to my advantage if something goes south.

Now all that’s left is to remove Dean Carter from the equation, and my life will be perfect.

As soon as I enter the house, I make a beeline for my bedroom, eager to take a quick shower and get into bed. Of course, my excellent mood is completely destroyed by the sight of Daniel standing in the living room, staring at me like he’s in the fucking Twilight Zone.

“What happened now?” I don’t even bother to hide my irritation.

I’m not interested in whatever issue Daniel is dealing with, but I suspect it likely involves—

“It’s Tiffany.”

“What about her?” An unexpected wave of worry wells up in my chest, catching me off guard. Daniel’s solemn expression makes me think that something bad has happened.

“You realize how dangerous this is, right?” Daniel asks, his voice heavy with disapproval.

“Give me a break, Daniel,” I brush off his concern, trying to focus on why I was so concerned about Carter’s little heir. Lust and desire are one thing, but worrying about Tiffany’s safety is another matter entirely. “I don’t have time for your paranoia. If you have something to report, do it before I reach my bedroom,” I tell him, barely paying attention to his lectures.

Daniel follows me, saying, “Dean’s brat has been rude and insolent. She’s been poking around in your personal business and prying into things that don’t concern her.”

“Thank you, Daniel, for your detailed report,” I tell him as I unlock my bedroom door. “But let’s wrap it up and—”

Before I finish my sentence, my bedroom draws my attention.

Tiffany is lounging on my bed, engrossed in a book, looking like an angel who has fallen from heaven. Her skin radiates under the soft light and her blonde curls cascade over the pillows. But what stops me in my tracks is what she’s wearing—a blue T-shirt of mine, loose and flowy on her petite frame. It covers just enough but also leaves plenty exposed for me to admire her curves.

I bought her a bunch of new designer clothes, but instead of wearing them, she chose to lounge in my T-shirt.

Tiffany glances up when she hears the door open.

“Hey,” she beams. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

Daniel’s gaze is locked on her naked long legs. My jaw clenches.

“Leave,” I order, my eyes trained on Tiffany.

She sits up, her lips parted in an innocent smile as she pushes the book away.

“Yes, I told that brat to leave, but she wouldn’t listen,” Daniel says. “She had the nerve to order me around and—”

“I’m talking to you, Daniel. Get out. Now.”

“But—”

“I’ll handle it,” I cut him off with a glare.

Daniel opens his mouth like he intends to argue, but then he seems to think better of it. He nods before turning on his heel and leaving.

The silence becomes overwhelming the second Daniel closes the door behind him.

Tiffany lowers her eyes, pretending to be engrossed in her book while I stand staring at her, not knowing what to do with myself.

“You’re wearing my clothes.”

Her face reddens, and she pushes her hair behind her ears.

“Do you like it?”

“I’d like it more if it was for my eyes only,” I say. “Did you not like the new clothes?”

“I did, they’re great.” She grimaces. “They’re just not really my style. Too elegant and chic. I prefer a more laid-back and colorful style. The long green dress is perfect for a lovely date or a picnic in a park—I adore it. I can imagine myself wearing it during a meet-cute with the love of my life. You know—walking down the streets, talking about books and movies and—“

For a moment, I’m rendered speechless by her ramblings. It’s hard to believe that the woman in front of me is related to Dean Carter.

“Date? Meet-cute?” I ask, almost choking on my own words. I’m not sure whether I should laugh or be angry. “And who is this love of your life?”

“He doesn’t exist yet,” Tiffany says, all flushed and shy. “But I’m hopeful. I always believed that I would meet my Prince Charming and the moment our eyes would meet, he would sweep me away. He would be someone kind and gentle. He’d love kids and adore me, of course.”

The thought of Tiffany and her Prince Charming together just doesn’t sit well with me.

To be frank, it completely infuriates me.

My lips curl in disdain. “You want kids?”

“Of course.” Tiffany pushes her book to the side. “I want lots of kids. I always dreamed about a big family. My sister and I grew up in a big house with lots of rooms and sometimes it was quite lonely just for the two of us. I want my children to have lots of love and affection around them. I want them to be happy and well taken care of.”

My great mood is now completely shattered. Tiffany’s absurdly idealistic dreams irk me for some reason. She clings to the idea of a Prince Charming, dreaming of white picket fences and romantic strolls under the moonlight in the park. It’s like she believes everything will magically fall into place and she’ll get everything she wants. But fairytales don’t come true in real life. Picture perfect happily ever afters don’t exit.

“And what if your Prince Charming doesn’t exist, or he’s not the kind and gentle man you think he is?”

Why should I care if she gets married and has babies? I have no desire to be part of her life. And I don’t want her to be a part of mine. I’ll be happy to finally be rid of her annoying sunny smiles, her puppy dog eyes, and her naiveté.

I unbutton my shirt before tossing it into the laundry basket and turning to face her.

Tiffany stares at my chest, her cheeks flushed red. When she sees me watching her, her eyes widen, and she quickly glances away.

“You look... annoyed,” she says.

“I never get annoyed.” It’s only a partial lie. In my line of work—both the legal and illegal side of it—showing emotions is a weakness. I can’t even recall the last time anyone around me could tell how I truly felt.

It’s worrying that Tiffany thinks she has that ability.

“Your narrowed eyes and your clenched jaw say differently. Is everything okay? Something happened, didn’t it?” Tiffany’s blue eyes search my face with concern.

Her attention feels right. Her eyes should always be on me .

I take a few steps back, trying to distance myself from the irresistible temptation that is Tiffany Carter. Every little thing about her gets under my skin—her smile, her touch, her kindness. Even her scent has the power to drive me mad.

It’s ridiculous.

“You think you have any right to know what happens in my life?” I tilt my head, a sharp edge in my voice. “Do you think we’re friends? Or lovers?”

“No,” Tiffany says. Even her voice sounds like music. She’s like a siren, luring sailors to their doom. “Of course, not. I’m just worried about you. I don’t know what’s going on and—”

“When would you be entitled to those answers?” I cut her off. “I don’t owe you anything.”

A flicker of hurt passes over Tiffany’s face. I can’t stop myself from my urge to reach out and comfort her, even though I’m the one causing the hurt.

In a few long strides, I close the distance between us and take her face in my hands, our eyes locking.

“You’re the only reason I’m here,” Tiffany whispers. “If you don’t me asking about your life, let me go, and live your miserable life in a tower of solitude.”

“I’ve been too soft with you,” I mutter, my thumb tracing her delicate cheekbone.

Tiffany shakes her head, her eyes closing and her lashes fluttering.

“No? You don’t think so?”

She shakes her head again, her golden curls falling around her face and tickling my hand. I dug my fingers into her hair, tilting her head to the side and exposing her neck to my hungry gaze.

There’s a long moment of silence between us.

Tiffany doesn’t move, her eyes fixed on mine, pupils dilated and her breath coming in short and quick shallow gasps.

I twist my fingers in her hair, the subtle scent of her shampoo tickling my nose. I pull her soft strands harder and harder, watching her eyes flutter and sparkle. A mixture of pain and pleasure. I want to taste her, to take her and make her my own.

“I’m not a gentleman, Tiffany. I’m not the love of your life. I’m not your Prince Charming, but you’re still trembling beneath my touch,” I whisper. I cannot stop myself from touching her. I want to feel her tremble and moan under my touch. At this moment, she’s all I can see. “For a nice girl who dreams of nice and kind men, you sure like it rough and dirty.”

I grip her hair tighter and press her body against mine, kissing her passionately. My tongue explores her mouth, savoring the sweetness of Tiffany Carter.

She tastes like sunshine, like promise, like hope. She tastes like honey and wine, like sweet innocence and the most delicious sin. She tastes like everything I have never had and everything I could ever want.

When we break apart, her gaze meets mine, and she looks debauch, her lips swollen and glossy.

“You’re being rude,” Tiffany’s voice is throaty and husky as she scrutinizes my expression.

“I’m being honest, angel.” I caress her face, neck, and tiny waist. I wrap my arms around her, caging her against my body as I press my lips to hers.

I ache for her: for her blonde curls, blue eyes, and soft skin. I want to lick and bite her neck, to run my hands over every inch of her body, to taste every part of her.

Tiffany sighs, her arms wrap around my neck, pulling me closer.

The moment our bodies touch, Tiffany makes me feel alive, like there’s more to life than this soulless existence I lead.

She makes me want to be a better person, to become someone I am not. Someone who is good, who makes a difference, and who is worth fighting for.

This wasn’t how my plan was supposed to go, not at all. I only wanted to gather the necessary information, figure out why she was at the restaurant, and then release her once we put our plan to destroy Dean in motion.

I wasn’t supposed to want her. Really want her. I wasn’t supposed to be running to find her as soon as I got home. I wasn’t supposed to think about her pouty lips and her bright smiles during business meetings. I wasn’t supposed to cut my trip short just because I felt like a hormonal teenager with his first crush. And I shouldn’t be kissing her like this, with my fingers tangled in her hair, my body pressed against hers like a dying man clinging to life and wishing for a second chance.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Tiffany’s whisper is shaky, her eyes unfocused, and her cheeks are flushed.

I pull back and finally take her in. Her face is a picture of confusion and desire, her eyes heavily lidded, pupils dilated, her lips slightly parted and red. Her hard nipples are poking through the thin fabric of my T-shirt, her cheeks flushed and I know what she wants me.

But does she really?

With every ounce of willpower, I break away from her, gently but firmly, pushing the overwhelming desire and passion back into check.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to take a shower.”

Tiffany blinks and opens her mouth like she wants to say something, but she stops herself and bites her lip, casting her gaze downwards.

My hands fly to my face as I stop in my tracks, letting out a frustrated growl. “I’m not playing our usual game of kidnapped-and-unwilling-victim today, Tiffany. If you want something, you need to ask for it.”

She swallows hard.

“I’ll be back in five minutes,” I say, walking towards my bathroom. “If this is not what you want, then you need to leave my bedroom before then.”