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  Copyright © 2020 by Maeve Williams

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Forbidden Encounter

  College Encounters I

  By Maeve Williams

  Before you begin reading!

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  Contents

  Forbidden Encounter

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Special Thanks

  “There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable.”

  — Mark Twain

  Chapter 1

  Ariana

  “Ariana Melinda Hartley, what on earth are you doing with your life? When will you make up your mind?”

  As I walked around the campus of the Bernard College of Arts and Sciences (BCAS for short) I could still hear my mother’s voice in my head. I could see my father as he sat in his favorite chair with the newspaper, looking over his glasses silently as he waited for my response, which was the same as always.

  “I’m still trying to figure it out, Mom.”

  “Figure what out? You’ve done so many things! You’re so gifted and talented and exposed. You can do pretty much anything you want to do. Yet you’re doing nothing. For heaven’s sake, pick something!”

  My father had put away his newspaper and chimed in. “Your mother is right, dear. I can’t think of any other twenty-one-year-old who is as well-rounded as you are. I mean, you’ve done so many things. Art and music, construction, architecture, dance, athletics…”

  “Don’t forget that gap year after high school to tour Europe. We thought you would at least come back with some focus or decision for a career path.”

  My father had continued to tick off his fingers. “Then there was Biochemistry, Advanced Math, Foreign Languages – am I leaving anything out, dear?” He had looked questioningly at my mother.

  My mother had thrown her hands up in exasperation. “You’re about to be a sophomore, Ari, a college sophomore. Which means you’ve completed an entire year of college. Yet you still haven’t declared a major. Everything seems to be a minor or some experiment. I would love at the end of these three years to see just one piece of paper that declares that you have completed your studies in this area or that area. Just one. Please.” She had given that exaggerated sigh as if the world was on her shoulders. “You know we love you and we want the best for you, honey. You’re too bright to be shuffling along like this.”

  I had struggled not to roll my eyes and be disrespectful to my parents. I had instead looked down, shrugged, and said, “I’m going to try to make a decision this year. I promise.” The pressure was real. And so, August found me back at school a day before classes began. I checked my schedule as I started my campus tour.

  I deliberately ignored the admiring glances I drew from the males I passed. The attention was familiar. I had inherited my mother’s Swedish looks – her wheat-colored hair, clear skin, and delicate bone structure. My curls were pulled back from my face and imprisoned in a ponytail which hung halfway down my back. My bright blue eyes, which I got from my father, usually got a double-take, as they seemed unreal. I had been questioned often as to their origin. As a child I had always played one type of sport or another, so my physique was well-toned and my limbs were supple. Since I’d also done ballet and gymnastics for more than half my life, my natural gait was one of grace and precision.

  I didn’t have to ask to know what they were thinking. I had faced this stereotype for most of my high school years: typical pretty dunce or dumb blonde. It had been no different when I had come in as a freshman the year before. The fact that I was a year older than most sophomores appeared to confirm this notion. Who was I to correct their faulty assumption? I left my abilities to demonstrate themselves when I ran circles around my fellow students in terms of both academic and technical prowess. I had concluded long ago that I was a Jill of all trades and a mistress of none. There was one thing that was for sure; anything I put my hand to was certain to come up smelling like roses, even if that thing was a load of crap.

  As I walked around, I checked the eclectic schedule I had thrown together. I found the various departments and classes. Dutifully I mapped out the routes I would have to take to get from one room to the next. Even as a sense of excitement at the prospective courses took over, I could not help but feel a bit restless as my nomadic spirit kicked in. Why did I even have to decide on a path? Could not I be one of those people who just – lived? I took a seat on the steps of the college quadrangle in the center of the campus and looked out over the buildings as I did some serious reflection and introspection.

  My parents were right. I had been a bit helter-skelter in my experiences. One would have thought that those experiences would have given me some direction. Nope! If anything, they had made me more adventurous and open to different things. I looked at the schedule in my hand and the way nothing blended. Wasn’t school the place for experimentation and exposure? Why was I being forced into a box? Why did I even have to choose? But I was going to choose, and this was the year for it.

  As I got up and stretched, my t-shirt rode up slightly, showing off my toned abs. I brushed some imaginary dirt from my backside and pulled my shirt down. A quick flip of my wrist released my ponytail, and the blonde waves rolled down my back. I retrieved my aviators from the small backpack I carried and perched them on my nose. A check of my phone showed that I had been walking around campus for close to four hours. Where had the time gone? I felt my stomach growl slightly and recalled that I had only had a smoothie and a bagel for breakfast. That had been at nine o’clock, and it was now close to one. I trotted down the steps and headed for the main entrance to the campus. It was time for a walk with a purpose.

  My feet inevitably took me in the direction I always headed in, even when my mind wandered, and before long, I was pushing the door into Wayling’s bubble tea shop. I put my aviators back into my bag and joined the line, which almost stretched back to the door. The lunchtime crowd was a tight one, and I inched up bit by bit. I made myself as small as I possibly could so as not to encroach on the limited space or hinder anyone’s free movement. This didn’t have much effect. A crowd was a crowd and could only cease to be a crowd when persons left the area. But the other persons crammed into the shop were as undeterred by the masses as I was. Though I was halfway to the counter, the line behind me still stretched on. I waited patiently and shuffled forward automatically. Feeling a bead of perspiration trickle down my back, I reconsidered the wisdom of having taken my hair down. I reached up and pulled it back up into a slightly messy bun and secured it with the rubber band on my wrist. Once it was off my neck, I was fine. Then the unthinkable happened.

  As I was about to put my hands down, the person in front of me lurched to the side, colliding wit
h someone who was attempting to leave the shop with two paper cups of bubble tea held high. I watched in horror as the cups tilted. The covers came off, and the thick liquid came pouring down on me, soaking my shirt. Instinctively I bent over as far as I could so as not to let it run down my leggings and into my sneakers.

  “Hey! Look what you did!” I held the soaked garment away from my skin as my eyes flashed angrily. Persons around me attempted to move away from the scene of the accident, without success.

  The offender attempted to pat me dry with the handful of napkins she held as I continued to sputter angrily. I whirled as I felt a hand come to rest on my shoulder. I found myself looking up at a tall good-looking guy. He was about six feet tall—or, at any rate, he seemed plausibly six inches taller than I was. He was muscular. Maybe he spent time at the gym; maybe he was just a fitness buff. His coffee-colored brown hair was close-cropped. His bright green eyes had a calming and mesmerizing quality, and instantly I felt my anger dissipate. He squeezed my shoulder gently before removing his hoodie.

  “What’s done is done and cannot be undone. Take this and get out of that wet shirt.”

  Suspiciously, I narrowed my eyes at him. A worker appeared out of nowhere. The crowd parted as best as it could to facilitate the cleaning up of the mess.

  He sensed my hesitation and smiled. He extended his hand with the hoodie again.

  “That shirt must be uncomfortably sticky.” His voice dropped. “And it’s become a bit transparent, showing more than I think you want to reveal to all and sundry. You can’t walk around like that. I won’t allow it. Please, take the hoodie and change. You’ll feel much better.”

  I looked down in horror and realized he was right. The white shirt was completely transparent. The stickiness was also becoming very uncomfortable, as he had pointed out.

  I quickly took the hoodie and pushed my way through the customers. When I got to the bathroom, I thankfully found an empty stall. I quickly whipped the soaked shirt over my head and found to my dismay that my brassiere was also soaked. I dug into my backpack for some wet wipes and got rid of as much of the stickiness as I could. I was thankful that it had not touched my leggings, and there was just a tiny splatter on my sneakers from where it had splashed on the floor. I used a bit of tissue to dab at a damp spot here and there before shrugging into the hoodie and zipping it up. I sniffed the collar appreciatively. I liked a man who smelled good. I wrapped my wet clothing carefully and shoved it into my backpack, then exited the cubicle. I gave a little jump to check my chest jiggle and ensure that my bareness would not be detected. All was intact. I was usually quite conservative. It was times like this I thanked my lucky genes for lift and firmness.

  I examined my reflection. The black hoodie was a good fit: it was just a smidgen large on me, but quite suitable. I rubbed my finger over the embroidered logo on the left breast; it was a silhouette of a dog. The red thread had a slight sheen and was a perfect contrast to the black backdrop.

  I redid my bun and washed and dried my hands before making my way back to the crowded store. As I stared in dismay at the line I would have to rejoin, I contemplated giving up my bubble tea fix for the day. When I saw someone waving over the crowd I smirked, wondering who would be able to see anyone in the crowd. I had almost made my way to the door when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I whirled and found myself face to face with the guy who had given me his hoodie.

  “I guess you didn’t see me waving at you. I saved your space in the line. Come on.”

  He put me in front of him as we pushed our way back through the crowd. Stepping in front of the person who was holding his space, he pulled me into the narrow gap he had created. Immediately I felt enveloped by his body heat as the scent I’d noticed on his hoodie washed over me.

  Silently I continued inching towards the counter until, finally, I placed my order.

  “May I have a large strawberry, please, and a pretzel?”

  “That will be five seventy-five.” I dug into my bag for my wallet only to see a strong forearm stretch over my shoulder. I caught a hint of aromatic aftershave as my hoodie savior leaned over me to hand the cashier a black card.

  “Could you add one large taro to that bill along with a chocolate éclair, please?”

  I closed my mouth as the exchange took place. I was one college girl who was not going to quibble over being five dollars and seventy-five cents richer.

  Chapter 2

  Ariana

  I stepped to the side as he paid for our order. The crowd had started to thin somewhat as the lunch hour crowd dwindled.

  “We’re number 673,” a husky voice whispered into my ear. I turned and smiled at my hoodie savior.

  In this close proximity, it was easier to see just how handsome he was. His eyes were emerald green with hints of hazel around the pupil. His hair had a luxurious sheen and a touch of waviness. He wore a black t-shirt that clung to his torso and showed off his lean figure perfectly. His arms were strong and muscled, not in an unsightly way. I allowed my glance to drift downward as the shirt skimmed his flat stomach. His long legs were snugly encased in a pair of black jeans. Black running shoes completed his ensemble. I smirked. Black seemed to be his color.

  I took a deep breath and inhaled his scent yet again as my gaze crept back up. I saw his lips moving. They were beautiful and firm and full. They widened in a grin, and I got a glimpse of his even beautiful teeth. Then he laughed. As he put his hand on the small of my back, I felt the heat of his palm. It was warm even through the cotton fabric of the hoodie. He bent to speak.

  “Are you with me? You zoned out a bit there. I was saying our order is ready and we can move down.”

  Blushing furiously at being caught ogling, I dipped my head as far into the collar as I could while his hand propelled me forward. We collected our tea and pastry at the end of the counter. Miraculously we found two recently vacated seats, and I found myself sitting across from him.

  “I hope I’m not imposing on your time,” he said. “Are you in a rush? Do you have somewhere to be? I just assumed you would be able to sit awhile.”

  I shook my head. “My affairs for the afternoon came to an end when I got here. Nothing is more important than bubble teatime.” I took a long sip of my tea and closed my eyes, moaning. “Now that’s some good bubble tea!”

  He laughed. “You love your bubble tea, that’s for sure.” He took a sip of his tea and gave an ecstatic moan like mine. I covered my mouth and giggled.

  “Wayling’s does have the best bubble tea, that’s for sure.” He extended his hand. “You’re wearing my clothes, and we’ve been conversing for a while, and I still haven’t introduced myself. Forgive my manners. I’m B.B.”

  I extended my hand likewise. “Your lack of manners is forgiven only if you forgive mine as well. Ari.”

  His palm was warm against mine, and I gave a slight shiver. It felt as if electricity flowed from his fingers into mine. His grip was firm and his handshake solid. He held my hand just a little longer than necessary and gave it a slight squeeze. I would have gladly held his hand for the rest of the afternoon, but I had to retrieve it to continue my meal. I took a bite of my pretzel and another sip of tea.

  “So. B.B. That must be short for…?” I arched an eyebrow.

  “Benjamin Buckley.” He rolled his eyes slightly as I stifled a giggle. “I know. Not quite the name for someone my age, right? Blame my parents. And Ari is short for?”

  “Ariana. Ariana Hartley.”

  He smiled and treated me to the winking of a dimple at one corner of his mouth. “Ariana. That’s a beautiful name. It suits you.”

  I smiled and looked at him from beneath my lashes. He smiled back, and for a moment we just stared at each other. He was the first to break the spell.

  “So, Ari. What brings you here in the middle of the day for bubble tea?”

  “I had a busy morning, and this seemed like the thing to hit the spot.”

  “Busy doing?”

  I tilted my h
ead as I took another bite and sip. “Just trying to figure my life out, I guess.”

  “Figure your life out? Aren’t you a bit young to be worrying about life?”

  “Try telling my parents that. They think I’m too freethinking and aimless.”

  “How so?”

  “How much time do I have?”

  He stared directly into my eyes, and it felt as if time had stopped. “I have nowhere to be except where I am right now.”

  I dropped my eyes, breaking the spell cast each time we looked at each other. “For starters, I took a year off after high school to tour Europe. I dabbled in a few things here and there.”

  “What are some of these things?”

  “I took a six-week art class in Spain, entered a design in a fashion show in Paris, wandered through Germany and a couple of breweries, and made authentic pizza in Italy.”

  “Whoa! You weren’t kidding when you said you dabbled.”

  “And that’s just a part of the gap year.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You mean there’s more?”

  “Well, before I graduated high school, I had quite a bit going on. In my sophomore year, there was an architecture bug that bit me, and I sort of kind of by accident entered a competition to redesign a nursery school, and I sort of kind of won. It was epic! I mean, I was up against all these other people who studied architecture, and my design won.” I put my chin in my hand and smiled at the memory. “That was a good year. The next year was even better. I got the chance to help bring my design to life. While my friends were chilling and relaxing for the summer, I was in a hard hat and steel-toed boots. It was quite rewarding.”

  B.B. looked me up and down. “I can’t quite imagine you in a hard hat and steel-toed boots. No offense. You look like the super-girly type.”

  I tilted my head and smiled coyly. “Looks can be deceiving.”