**WATTPAD HQ EDITOR'S PICK Nov/Dec 2021**
BOOK ONE in the STEAMY FORBIDDEN ROMANCE series
Coralie Watson, a British thirty-year-old living in San Francisco, has a tormented past with men. Physical and mental abuse, abandonment issues, incompatibili...
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♫ Get it, say it, I'm your type I know you been all this time So get it right... to get around me ♪ (BANKS—Gimme)
The longer she tuned in to Ryan's voice, the more Coralie felt her spirit transport her back to her London days. With every message he sent, she envisioned their adventures in the Tube, their long walks to rehash details of arguments with significant others, their movie nights at his place, their secret sips of alcohol at hers.
"Seriously, I could listen to that voice all day," said Delilah, nursing her third glass of wine, kicking back in the plush carnelian chair near the TV. Her half-eaten experimental meal was growing cold on her plate, and she'd crossed her legs, staring at Coralie as if she were the afternoon's entertainment.
"Same." Coralie replayed Ryan's latest message.
"We were sort of circling around each other after you left, weren't we? I recall a few... conversations."
Coralie's eyes widened. "Fuck. He's acknowledging it!" She couldn't sit still, and bounced back and forth on the couch, sending a cushion flying off dangerously close to her glass of wine.
She pressed the record button, and spoke. "Yes, we were, actually. And we never really discussed it, did we?"
Delilah nodded as she took a sip, fist-pumping in encouragement. "Yes, it's time you guys talk about that. Shit, you said that was in two-thousand-and-nine, right?" She set her drink down and got up to put her iPhone on the speakers, turning on her favorite Thursday playlist. When BANKS' "Gimme" song came on, she squealed and flipped around, pointing at Coralie. "That is a sign! You know you love this!"
Though her legs yearned to stretch, begged her to get up and join in on Delilah's dancing, she had to stay seated. She'd be spending the evening running behind the counter to serve thirsty and annoying patrons, and needed her strength.
The phone pinged.
"You're correct, we didn't. You know... I have to admit, when you left for California..." He cleared his throat, and the sound was so sexy Coralie's stomach clenched. "It devastated me. I wanted to run to the airport and stop you, tell you that... I didn't want you to leave. Because I... well, I had feelings for you, Cora."
Despite her frantic—but always on rhythm—dancing, Delilah heard his words and fell in front of Cora, grasping her knees.
"Oh. My. God. Did he... did he just confess his love to you?"
"Holy shit." Coralie couldn't move. Her feet were planted to the carpet, her calves locked against the couch, her thighs stuck to the velvet fabric. She dropped the phone and covered her face with her hands. "I mean... wow. Wow."
Had he admitted it? The thing she'd fantasized over for ages, the emotions she'd hoped, deep down in her core, that he felt, that he'd hid, that he'd craved to tell her about? Had he divulged the very thing she'd been desperate to hear him divulge for over ten years?
