Page 50 of Forbidden Heart

“It’s a huge deal,” I wail.

“No, it’s not.” He pulls me into his arms.

“Tate’s going to hate me,” I cry against the Beast’s solid, muscular chest. “He’ll make me leave. And I’ll never see you again, and...”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Charles says, letting me go. He grabs the nearest chair, sits down, and pulls me onto his lap. “No one’s going to make you leave, and Tate’s not going to hate you.”

“Yes, he is. I broke his guitar. And you guys just bailed me out because of the jewelry box. Plus, you’re letting me stay here, and you bought me all those clothes and all the food and— ”

“It’s fine,” Charles interrupts, pressing me into his hard chest and enveloping me in his huge arms.

I suddenly become aware of each hard, bulging muscle, and a wave of heat spreads through me. It’s followed closely by a wave of guilt, because how can I possibly be thinking such a thing after all the ways I’ve screwed up today?

“How about I call the music store and have them deliver another guitar?” Charles asks.

“You can’t just have someone deliver a guitar!” I scramble off his lap and turn to face him. “It’s not like getting takeout...”

“Why not?” Charles frowns, pulling me right back onto his lap again. He feels so warm and solid and comforting, none of which are things I deserve.

“Guitars are all different, Charles.” I mumble against his warm, hard chest. “We have to find one that’s the right size and color and finish.”

“So we’ll do that.” Charles shrugs his broad shoulders.

“Tate will still be able to tell. And what if it’s sentimental? What if Tate doesn’t want another guitar?”

“Then we’ll get this one fixed,” Charles says triumphantly. “And while we’re at it, you should pick out a guitar of your own, too. You’ll need something to play while Tate’s is being repaired.”

My mouth falls open, and I scramble off Charles’s lap for a second time. “You want to buy me a guitar?”

“Sure.” Charles shrugs like it’s no big deal.

I don’t know how I keep forgetting how rich he is. He has a private plane. He bought me a laptop. He didn’t even bat an eye at the jewelry store. And yet, I can’t seem to wrap my mind around him being ‘buy Roonie a guitar on a whim’ rich. And I definitely can’t accept it.

“Charles, no. I’m grateful for all the stuff you got me so far, I really am. But I can’t let you keep buying me things.”

“It’s no big deal.”

“It is a big deal. I don’t need a guitar. And I’ll find a way to pay to fix Tate’s. It was my mistake, Charles,” I add when he looks like he’s about to argue. “I need to fix it myself.”

“If you insist.” Charles grabs my hand and pulls me back onto his lap. Then he places his hands on my waist and lifts me, so I’m sitting astride his thighs. I gasp.

I don’t think he means to continue our guitar-buying conversation, and the way his eyes zero in on my lips confirms it.

“I can’t say no to you, Roonie,” he groans, his breath grazing my lips.

“What?” My lips part, and Charles covers them with his.

Kissing Charles is like drowning in hot lava. It’s like being consumed by fire. It’s like being devoured by a hot, overwhelming beast.

His lips take control, caressing mine, and he puts everything he has into the kiss.

His huge hands latch onto my hips, pulling me closer, holding me, then rocking me against the thick bulge in his pants. I moan.

My entire body responds, but Charles doesn’t try to take things any further. He just keeps rocking his hips, giving me pleasure as he focuses on our kiss.

His lips consume my own as his tongue slips in and out of my mouth, over and over again. I thread my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, silently begging him not to stop. He can’t stop. I don’t think I could bear if he did.

This is all Tate’s fault, too. It’s entirely his fault, because last time we kissed, he kept pulling away. He kept leaving me wanting more.