Forbidden (53 page)

“Sophia?”

I want to answer but my throat is cracked and dry. I become aware of myself and force a swallow. “Um … why is your brother’s hand on my chest?”

The hand is swiftly removed, and Raph’s face appears next to Michael’s.

“Hiya, Sophia.”

“Hiya, Raph.”

Gabe’s face slides into view next to his brothers’. “Sophia, glad you could make it back.” He gives me half a smile, so I give him half of mine.

Raph and Gabe step away so Michael and I have some privacy. Michael slumps with relief, blue tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I almost lost you,” he whispers. “You were so far gone. It took all three of us to …” He chokes up, and I tenderly brush away his tears. I want to pull him closer for a soft kiss, but I know we must keep our feelings secret—now more than ever.

Michael senses my emotions and cups my face, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb. Desire plays in his eyes, and we grin like lovers.

“You know I love you, Sophia.”

“Yes, Michael.”

“And you love me?”

“Yes, Michael.”

“Sophia?”

“Hmm?”

“You have a lot of ’splaining to do.”

“Yes, Michael.”

The End But not in the way you might think.…

Find out what happens to Sophia, Michael, and Dante in
Awaken
, book two in The Soulkeepers trilogy.

To my family, Eddie, Danielle, Sierra, Dakota, and Romeo

Acknowledgments

This book would not have been possible without the unwavering faith of my family. Eddie, my husband, true guardian and soul mate who painstakingly read every version with an eye on my unique spelling habits. My daughter Danielle, whose insight rivals Gertrude Stein’s. My youngest daughter Sierra, my IT go-to girl who helped me navigate my computer without rolling her eyes, much. And Dakota, my golden inspiration who was constantly at my side, under my feet, and forever in my heart.

I would like to thank my mom, Joan, whose addiction to reading infected me in the best possible way. To my dad, Gene, a man of few words who taught me quiet strength and perseverance. To my old friends in the Saddleback writing workshop, who trained me, waaaay back in the day, to believe in myself. Thanks to my good friend Barbara Brennan, who believed in me before I did. To my new friends and followers at Wattpad, whose extravagant compliments burst my writer’s heart and boosted my confidence. Thanks for begging for more. To my mom-in-law, Carol Adams, my personal cheerleader and bragging aficionado.

An exclusive thank-you to my editor, Sue Grimshaw, for her excitement and insight for book one, and her enthusiasm and patience while I nervously pitched my vision for
the entire series
. Thanks for looking through my eyes. To Gina Wachtel, for telling me “We’re going to do great things” and making my tummy shiver. Thanks to the wonderful team at Random House: April Flores, Kim Cowser, Matt Schwartz, and Alison Dobson.

And a special thanks to the audio influences of some amazing bands who inspired and pumped me up.
The right songs are as important to my writing as the right words
.

~Aerosmith: “Dude Looks Like a Lady,” “Walk This Way”

~Lynyrd Skynyrd: “Sweet Home Alabama”

~AC/DC: “Back in Black,” “Highway to Hell”

~Noah and the Whale: “5 Years Time”

~Rev Theory: “Hey Yeah”

~Gavin Rossdale: “Love Remains the Same”

~Mötley Crüe: “Saints of Los Angeles”

~Black Rebel Motorcycle Club: “Beat the Devil’s Tattoo”

~Decyfer Down: “Fight Like This”

~TobyMac: “The Slam”

~My Chemical Romance: “Famous Last Words”

~Fuel: “Angels Take a Soul”

~Matt Nathanson: “Come On Get Higher”

~Two Steps from Hell: “Master Of Shadows,” “Freedom Fighters”

And to Chelsea King. Forever Seventeen. Thank you for your Light.

B
Y
L
ORI
A
DAMS

Forbidden
and
Coming Soon:
Awaken
Unforgiven

Photographer: Yuen Lui Studio

Lori Adams is originally from Oklahoma but now lives in Southern California with her husband and two daughters.

loriadamsbooks.com

@LoriAdams33

Read on for an excerpt from

Switched

by Cassie Mae

Available from Flirt

Step 1:

Pick Your Target

(And that target is, like, sexy defined!)

I love my best friend’s boyfriend. But I swear, I saw him first.

Gravel was digging into my butt as I sat on the asphalt of the elementary school playground, my bike, like, five feet away in a big heap of twisted metal. I cursed that bike. And my pants, because I’d been trying to yank them up as I was pedaling so I didn’t moon half our neighborhood. I’d squeezed the brake a little too hard and gone flying.

My knee was gushing rivers, but it didn’t really hurt. I think at that point it was just numb. I sat in the gravel and stared at the swings, wishing I had the energy to get off my butt and ride home.

That’s when I was first introduced to that oh-so-cute boy who lived a few streets away. He sat down next to me, looked at my knee, and said, “Awesome!” Then he showed me his own scar from falling off his bike. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. He was the cutest boy I’d ever seen, with his blue eyes, football jersey, and spiky black hair. He shook my hand and helped me back on my bike, and I watched him jog away.

It probably goes down as the best moment in the history of Kayla.

After Talon Gregory told me his name, I didn’t speak to him again until our senior year, when he smacked my best friend, Reagan, in the back of her head with a football. And yay for me, I’ve been a fumbling mess around him ever since they started dating a year ago.

I sort of lose my grip on my pen when he walks into our econ class. He gives a few of his college football buds fist bumps and high fives as he passes them. I love how big his hands are. And no, it’s not because of that stupid saying about the bigger the hands, the larger the package or penis or whatever. (Though, that does give him bonus points.) But because they’re strong and callused and oh so manly. I bet he could squish the life out of me if he wanted to, but he wouldn’t.

His gaze turns to me and I do a mental checklist of my facial expression. No drool, I don’t think … but my mouth is definitely open and that’s not good, so I snap it shut. I’m sure my cheeks are bright red, but there’s nothing I can do about that.

He waves, and I wiggle my shaking fingers back, internally sighing at this little tradition we have every day. He comes in, says hi to all his teammates, then chooses to wave to me, smile, and slide into the seat next to mine. This is college, so we’re not assigned desks. This is significant.

There’s only one small—I mean, seriously minuscule—problem in this routine, which is that before Talon sits down, he settles his hand on top of the desk behind him, moves his amazing smile, eyes, and lips away from me, and turns them toward Reagan. When their lips meet, even for the shortest of seconds some days, I want to leap over my desk, shove Reagan out of the way, and fight to the death for the affection of this perfect, perfect specimen.

I had my eyes trained to Talon Vision ever since that day at the park. Then, of course, I was too chicken to actually talk to this piece of sexy till he became my best friend’s boyfriend. Since then, I’m sure I’m known as the space-case idiot who’d be the third wheel if it wasn’t for—

“Hey, wipe the drool from your chin. You have an audience.” Wesley kicks my foot with his Vans, and I quickly wipe my mouth. Okay, he has a point. I was a little wet.

I still kick him back, knocking his shin harder than I meant to.

“Ouch! I was just trying to keep you from looking like a water fountain.”

I lean over and drop my voice so Talon—or Reagan—won’t hear. “You could’ve been quieter about it.”

He rolls his hazel eyes, then starts drumming his pencil on his book. Just like I’m part of the dating-Reagan deal, Wesley came with Talon. The tagalong best friend who is hopelessly in love with someone who’s unavailable. He makes up the fourth side to this love triangle we’ve got going on here. I know that makes no sense, but it’s complicated. Let’s see if I can put it in one sentence.

Talon likes Reagan, Reagan likes Talon, I like Talon, Wesley likes Reagan. Notice how many
Reagans
and
Talons
are in that grammatically incorrect sentence? Because it’s complicated! We’re the two who are in love with our best friends’ significant others. But apparently he’s a lot less obvious about it, since he’s not wiping any drool from his lips when he sees Reagan walk into the classroom.

“Kayla?”

I zap my eyes from Wesley to Talon and his deep, guttural voice, which screams,
I’m a good boy who wants to be bad
. But I have to keep myself under control because Reagan is
right there
.

“Yeah?” Okay, sighing is not “under control.” Wesley chuckles next to me, and I want to sock him one.

“Did you finish the last essay question? It’s the only one I didn’t get.”

I glance back at Reagan, who’s spinning her gum around her finger, listening to her iPod with one earphone in. Gross. I love the girl, she’s my best friend, but how does she have both guys in our triangle/square relationship wanting her?

“Weren’t you and Reagan doing homework last night?” I ask, trying to sound innocent, but really I’m wondering if Reagan lied to me when I called to see where my roomie was and she said she was with Talon finishing up a paper.

Talon flashes his muscle-melting smile and scratches under his semi-scruffy chin. “Well, we, uh, got distracted.”

Reagan smacks his buff arm as if she’s mad that he’s being too vocal about them making out or kissing or whatever, but her smile when she leans back and plays with her gum tells me she’s anything but mad.

“Oh, uh …” My face is totally red, I know it. I’m not going to verify any story when it comes to them ever again. “I finished it. Here.” I hand over my notebook and ignore the way my skin prickles when he touches it.

“Thanks.” He smiles, and I sigh again. It’s totally involuntary.

Wesley starts hacking something nasty, and I shoot him an evil glance because he’s completely faking it just to make fun. Then Reagan leans over and says, “Hey, Wes, you okay there?”

I know she’s pouring the full force of her smile on him. It causes his Adam’s apple to move up and down with a large gulp, and he
actually
starts coughing. I give him one good smack on the back, and when he composes himself, I immediately start our note passing for the day.

Not so smooth yourself, huh?

He grunts when he reads it and scribbles over the already crumpled paper right as the professor walks in.

At least I’m not letting her copy my paper
.

Since I can’t think of a witty response, I whisper, “You ass,” and shove the note in my bag. I won’t spend my only class with Talon arguing with Wesley. I’ll sit here and stare at perfection instead.

*  *  *

His fingers grasp the football, settling between the threads as the tendons in his wrist ripple. He’s saying something to me, but all I can think about are those sexy man hands.
Delicious!

“You got it?”

“Um, what?”

He laughs, and it sets my body ablaze. Oh, his laugh. It’s like the second-best sound in the world, the first being when he says my name.

“You see the way I’ve got my hand positioned?”

Definitely
.

“Pull back to right below your ear, and then when you let go, the football will spiral. Takes practice, but your fingers need to be right here.”

I nod again, and without any real warning, he tosses the football into my shaky hands.

“Okay, show me what you got.”

He jogs a few feet out, and holy hot butt! He’s wearing these gym shorts that hang a little low on his hips, but not enough for me to see anything. His tight T-shirt hugs his back muscles, and I think it should be illegal for someone to be so freaking hot
and
nice. I should write him a ticket, or book him. In my room. Handcuff him to my bed and—