Forbidden To Touch
His eyes narrow, his mouth thinning, as if by reminding him of his father’s wishes I’ve asked for double his original offer.
‘I know what’s best for my family and my company.’
I nod. ‘Yes. And I know what I discussed with Graham, and what he wanted.’
His eyes narrow but there’s respect and heat layered in his irises. ‘Quite spectacularly ruthless, aren’t you?’
The way he enunciates every word makes me acutely aware of my body, my every heartbeat and breath—who knew sparring with him would be so...invigorating? Now he’s thrown down the gauntlet, I can’t resist. I scoot closer.
‘You’re right—I’m not too shoddy at negotiations, and I know what I want.’ We’re so close, his glittering eyes haze out of focus. His warm breath gusts over my tingling lips, lips I’m aware are parted to emit the rapid pants of my fired-up breathing.
Time passes. A thrilling face-off neither of us seems to want to lose.
I want to kiss him. The thought slams into me from nowhere.
At that second the office door swings open, snapping our attention from our intense staring contest. Our heads swivel in unison to the new arrival, the swing of my ponytail glancing off the side of Reid’s face—that’s how close we were.
Graham Faulkner stands in the doorway, his face wreathed in a smile of welcome and recognition. ‘You two...’ He waggles his finger, an indulgent grin on his face. ‘Looking cosy.’
‘Dad.’ Reid jumps to his feet. ‘What are you doing here?’
I follow, grateful to emerge from the sexual fog.
‘I just popped in to collect a file.’ Graham raises his eyebrows suggestively. ‘Don’t let me interrupt you two lovebirds.’
My face flames. Is that how we appeared? Was our chemistry obvious to anyone with eyes, despite the face-off that was taking place? Adversaries, more like... But now Graham is here, we can clear up this mess.
Graham grips my shoulders and presses a kiss to my cheek, catching me off guard. Last time we met it was handshakes and professional praise, albeit layered with the warmth of our longstanding personal relationship.
Reid slides me a look and then winces. ‘No, Dad. This is—’
‘Sadie, good to see you again,’ says Graham, his smile warm. ‘I’m so looking forward to your engagement party.’
Sadie...? Reid’s ex-wife. Engagement party...?
I glance to Reid, my face draining of blood. ‘It...it’s good to see you again, Mr Faulkner,’ I say. What the hell is going on?
Reid looks ashen, his smile brittle for his father. ‘Dad...this is—’
‘Now, now, Sadie,’ Graham interrupts, ‘I’ve told you before—we’ll have none of that Mr Faulkner stuff. You’re going to be my daughter-in-law. Call me Graham.’ He hugs Reid and bustles back out of the room, muttering something about preparing for a meeting, which takes Reid’s complexion from pallid to waxy.
At the threshold Graham pauses and spins, pointing at Reid. ‘Bring Sadie for lunch on Sunday.’
‘But—’
‘I insist.’ Graham holds up a hand, silencing Reid’s protests. ‘I want to get to know your future wife better.’
Beside me, Reid stiffens.
I step up alongside him, close but not touching, offering solidarity for this bewildering conversation, which renders me both speechless and sets my stomach in knots.
Graham’s stare slides my way. ‘What do you say, my dear? Reid’s brothers will be there—it’s a family tradition.’
I smile, caught between rational and sympathetic responses. Graham Faulkner clearly has no idea who I am or how he knows me. No idea that he taught me to play chess as a girl or gave me business advice when I left university. My stomach turns—something is clearly very wrong. This isn’t the man I’ve known half of my life, a man my father considers a long-time friend, a man who has often treated me like the daughter he never had.
Reid’s tension is a force field of repressed energy. I shift on my feet, a tangle of responses blocking my throat. What do I say? Should I remind him who I am and run the risk of upsetting or embarrassing a man I have great respect for, or simply play along with his confusion?
At my baffled silence, Graham’s face drops, his bewildered eyes becoming glazed as they dip to the carpet.
‘Please, just go along with it,’ whispers Reid.
I swallow past my dry throat and nod. ‘Absolutely. I’d love to. Thank you, Mr Faulk—Graham.’
His beam knocks ten years off his age, and, no matter how worrying this turn of events and how weird Reid’s request, I’ve done the right thing.
‘Fantastic—it’s all arranged. See you Sunday.’ He leaves, his whistle echoing through the distant offices.
In his wake, a vacuum sucks all the air from the room.
I stand frozen to the spot beside Reid, my mind whirring over what just happened. Why did Reid ask me to go along with Graham’s misunderstanding? And what does all this—Graham’s obvious confusion—mean, not only for his health, but also for my contract to renovate the Faulkner? I flush at the selfishness of my thoughts, my gaze falling to the carpet. I’ve just spent so long picking up the scant pieces after Josh left, I’ve been counting on this contract to finally put a line under my past. To move forward, alone. Stronger. Independent.
Reid shifts beside me, looks down, wariness clouding his stare. ‘Thank you.’ His breath gusts from him in a long exhale, and I have the crazy urge to reach out and comfort him by touching his arm. But touching Reid Faulkner has always been forbidden.
‘What for?’ All I did was gape and smile and pretend I’m his ex-wife.
‘For playing along.’ He scrubs a hand over his face, his eyes suddenly tired, fires off a text and slips his phone into his pocket.
‘I... No problem.’ My mouth opens and closes, the words springing to mind inappropriate in the muddle of my mind. ‘Is Graham...is he okay?’ Reid and I have never shared confidences, given I’m closest in age to Kit, but Graham was always kind to me growing up, even encouraging my career dreams when my own family considered them an act of childish rebellion and mere frippery.
Reid turns to face me, shoulders back and hands slung in his pockets, wariness at the edges of his stare hinting at his vulnerability. ‘He will be,’ he says, shutting down the line of conversation.
Goose pimples prickle along my bare arms. What now? Do I walk away from my deal? Settle, again, for less than I deserve? Forget the contract I worked hard to secure when Graham Faulkner seemed to be a different man?
As I look at the lines in the corners of Reid’s eyes, my heart thumps and my stance softens. Whatever is happening to Graham, it’s taking a toll on Reid.
‘I thought Sadie was your ex,’ I whisper, my chest tight. I’m torn. Part of me wants answers, even though I know they’ll signal the end of this lucrative, hard-won deal. And the other part—the part desperate to prove herself after the Josh debacle—wants to wallow in ignorance and simply start the job for which I’ve been hired. I swallow past the lump in my throat, telling myself Reid’s personal family problems are not my concern.
But I can’t ignore his look of uncertainty any more than I can ignore what this might mean for Graham.
‘She is.’ He clenches his jaw, his mouth a grim line.
Is that it? Don’t I deserve a little more explanation after lying for him, albeit to save Graham from embarrassment?
‘Is he...? He seemed confused. Is it temporary?’
Medication-related? A result of a blow to the head? The Graham I know was so supportive of my company and so enthusiastic for the renovations to the Faulkner.
Reid’s lips press tighter together. I’m clearly not to be trusted with personal information. And that’s fine. It reminds me that, chemistry or not, we’re barely family friends, whatever Graham might have thought when he walked in.
I search for Reid’s earlier vulnerability, but it’s nowhere to be seen. I’m about to speak, to offer some appropriate platitude—clearly something major has happened since I last saw Graham—to tear up my contract and bill him only for the hours I’ve already put in, when he speaks first.
‘I have another meeting now.’ He scrubs at his stubbled jaw with one large hand. ‘I suggest we reschedule for nine tomorrow in the boardroom. Let’s see if we can’t negotiate a middle ground—’ he pins me once more with that hard-to-read stare, ‘—one that, as you said, satisfies us both.’
The way he utters the word ‘satisfies’ brings to mind all kinds of lewd scenarios featuring Reid—not the younger version, irresistible enough, but this older man who no longer intimidates me. I nod, my head still woolly and doubts over our working relationship lingering. But if a temporary illness has befallen Graham, do I really need to walk away from this deal? Won’t he expect the work to continue, regardless?
My mind races through various practicalities—I’ve already employed contractors and secured supplies. I collect my bag and move towards the door, my steps in no way as certain as when I arrived.
‘Blair.’
I turn, but his face is unreadable with the exception of a flare of heat in his eyes, which my erogenous zones latch onto.
He swallows. ‘Thanks.’
He turns away and I leave, every certainty I brought here in crumbs underneath the soles of my heavy feet.
CHAPTER THREE
Reid
I STAND AS Sue ushers Blair into the smaller of the two boardrooms at the Faulkner offices, the slug of heat her appearance brings surging through my muscles and making me feel taller, as if anything were possible. It’s an amplified version of what seeing her yesterday sparked, which tells me Blair Cameron and I may have unfinished business beyond hotel renovations.
Damn, I hoped I’d be over it today; instead, I note how her green dress accentuates the glow of her skin and brings out the same shade in her eyes. Her hair is down, the tousled swath casually draped over one shoulder, exposing one side of her neck and one earlobe, which is decorated with a dangling pearl.
Why do I have the highly inconvenient urge to suck on that earlobe and tongue the pearl, perhaps undoing the professional and put-together Blair, who I am certain has brought her promised negotiation skills to the table?
Sue leaves us, silently closing the door. I step closer, extend my hand towards my worthy adversary, almost looking forward to our spar.
Blair’s fingers clasp mine, the heat in my palm increasing as if we’re a chemistry experiment, our skin-on-skin combination creating our own energy source. With reluctance I drop her hand and pull out one of the seats around the conference table, more excited than I should be for today’s negotiations.
She could have reacted very differently to last night’s farce in my office, but she managed the whole affair with discretion. Drake and Kit and the lawyers agree—we’re bound by her contract, and her designs, while modest to date, are good. Graham was clearly in sound mind when he contracted Cameron Interiors. I need to find a way to honour both the contract and his wishes, while, of course, getting what I want, too.
And where this woman is concerned, what I want has become somewhat...murky, at least physically. Damn, I almost kissed her yesterday just before we were interrupted by Graham. Her exquisite, previously forbidden closeness, her fiery, take-no-prisoners attitude, her eyes both excited and determined—I couldn’t resist.
Blair Cameron is a potent and tempting package inspiring intrigue, fascination and respect. I tell myself it’s my desire to draw a satisfactory line under this mix-up. I wait for her to settle before removing my suit jacket and sliding into my own seat, at right angles to her, swallowing the surge of lust. The family business comes first, and she’s chosen the wrong challenger if she thinks this is all going her way. The table is long, rectangular, with places for twelve, but at this proximity I can see the flush of her skin, hear the soft intake of her breath and catalogue every nuance of her body language, which speaks for her. She has nowhere to hide—a perfect position of negotiating strength. Nothing to do with how fantastic she smells or how I’m drawn to those sparks of fire in her eyes. No, it makes sense to keep my enemies—or, in her case, someone whose professional motives could be considered ruthless—close. The last time my personal life encroached on the family business, I almost lost everything. And, although it will in no way be a chore, I intend to keep a very close eye on Ms Cameron.
And what of her personal motives? Could she possibly reciprocate my interest...?
She glances around and then pours herself a glass of water from the carafe on the table between us. ‘I thought you were joking about the boardroom.’
‘Why would I joke? I take business very seriously.’ She really doesn’t know me, but that could be rectified.
She nods, shuffling her papers and giving away her nerves. ‘As do I. So let’s discuss that first.’
A surge of blood pounds in my dick at her words. First implies a second... And if not business, then perhaps pleasure.
Blair continues, ‘I have discussed it at length with Graham, and of course I’ve been there many times over the years with my father, but why don’t you tell me about the Faulkner?’
I oblige, certain my patience for the second agenda item will be rewarded. ‘As you know, the Faulkner is our oldest and smallest hotel.’ I recite some basic media-style facts by rote while my mind contemplates how enjoyable it will be to keep a close eye on this intriguing woman. ‘It’s something of an iconic landmark in Chelsea these days, and more than a business, more than a hotel, as I’m sure you understand—I grew up there.’
‘Of course.’ Her smile thuds my heart harder. ‘Graham and I have discussed the hotel’s sentimental value to your family in great detail. He even showed me some old photographs of the place when he first purchased it.’ She pauses, taking a delicate sip of water. ‘My designs are sympathetic to the heritage of the Faulkner. And I only have one major structural renovation to suggest.’
I bristle, feeling my overprotectiveness for my childhood home and concern over the changes my father may or may not have sanctioned rising up. I have no idea what state of mind Graham was in when he contracted Blair, but I know one thing: ‘major’ suggests delay, which means greater costs. The more these renovations are dragged out, the longer the hotel is out of business and the bigger her bill.
The reminder of a time when the roles were reversed, when it was my mistake with Sadie costing the Faulkner Group money, and my father had intervened to financially and emotionally bail me out of my marriage, stiffens my resolve to keep control of every inch of this project. I won’t be hoodwinked again.
‘Which is?’ I swallow bile, wishing I’d been present at the initial discussions. The idea my father might have been vulnerable, made decisions he might not have contemplated a year ago, leaves me jittery with guilt, shrinking my dick quicker than a lapful of ice. Not that Blair necessarily took advantage of Graham, but she must have rejoiced when the call came. Renovating a Faulkner hotel is a major coup for anyone, least of all a small company.
‘I plan to knock down the south wall behind the current reception desk in the foyer.’
I hold in my splutter of outrage and offer a cool stare, so she continues with her justification.
‘There’s just dead space behind—a cloakroom and storage room. And without that wall you’ll achieve so much more natural light into an area that’s a little gloomy, currently.’
‘Hmm, I’m not sure I like the sound of that.’
Over my dead body springs to mind, but I’m the first to admit my knee-jerk reaction is all about preserving the hotel’s heritage and looking out for my father.
She raises her eyebrows, a confident smile tugging at her pink-glossed lips. ‘Trust me—I know what I’m talking about; you’ll love the results, and opening up that space will improve the options for the foyer. You can have a separate concierge desk and a seating area.’ She’s showing her passion again, her excitement, or perhaps it’s the ruthless streak that she might have the upper hand causing the sparkle in her eyes.
I rub my chin, drawn to every move she makes, my mind returning to the reel of fantasies I’ve had about Blair Cameron in the past eighteen hours. The idea of her in control is not an unwelcome image. That hair wild as she rides me, and those shapely legs gripping my waist, while I explore the sensitivity of those nipples I see peeking through the fabric of her dress. I spread my thighs a fraction under the table to accommodate the burgeoning tightness in my trousers.
Blair pulls out her tablet once more and slides it over the table. ‘Take a look at the concept plans—try to visualise the end result.’
I glance at the images on the screen, still unconvinced.
My reticence wobbles her confident spiel, but she rallies. ‘If it’s the guest bookings that are concerning you, we can minimise delays by staging the renovations—close off one floor at a time to redecorate the guest rooms and then finish with the ground floor and the communal areas. Surely you can accommodate the minimal disruption by housing guests at your other hotels?’
She’s determined to make this work. ‘Searching for wiggle room to satisfy us both?’ I say, my respect for her persistence and flexibility growing.
She flushes as though I’ve hit a nerve, leaving me curious about what exactly is running through her mind and if it in any way correlates to the pleasurable distractions in mine.
‘It makes good business sense that we’re both happy—repeat work from satisfied clients forms a large part of my business, so I would, of course, aim to give you everything you want.’
Her words, and the double meaning my brain interprets, make my blood pound harder.
‘Ruthless and accommodating—admirable.’ My smile seems to bring a delightful flush to her skin, but the bitter tang in my mouth reminds me that I’ve fallen prey to such ruthlessness before—never again, no matter how appealing the package. And ensuring Dad hasn’t fallen prey to Blair’s charms, her radical changes, will be my top priority going forward, no matter how good her designs.
‘Yes...’ she says, ‘well...running my own business has taught me it’s the only way to stop unscrupulous people taking advantage.’ Her stare dips to the table. Perhaps because she’s just intimated I’m unscrupulous and not to be trusted. If only she knew the lack of trust is totally reciprocated.
‘Well, ruthlessness in a business setting is a worthy skill. One we share.’ Best she understands from the start I’m not simply going to roll over because she waves her contract or cites our family connections. My suspicious mind hasn’t abandoned all its wild theories—she could have cornered Graham at the golf club, played on his confusion, and now she’s here to pick over the bones, for all I know. Perhaps she plans to sabotage her father’s main competition by painting my beloved hotel lime green...
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