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Forbidden To Touch
JC Harroway


Contracted for work…and play? Thigh-clenchingly hot Reid Faulkner has long been my deepest desire. Now I am contracted to redesign his hotel. Only I want more. Like a second contract where Reid fulfills my filthiest fantasies. But could burning the sheets lead to heartbreak?







From bestselling author JC Harroway comes the third book in the Billionaire Bachelors series!

She made the rules. But he’s changing the game...

Within thirty seconds of meeting Reid Faulkner again, I’m reminded of exactly why I had a crush on him for so many years. That confidence, that effortless control, that thigh-clenching hotness... Only, this time I’m not little Blair Cameron, sexually frustrated teenager. No, now I am an adult woman reliving every filthy fantasy I’ve ever had about him...

His dark, sexy stare is filled with naughty promises. Promises of sex. Great sex.

But I’m here to work for him. I have a contract, and I won’t let any man—no matter how delicious—underestimate me again. So I am proposing a second contract. An unofficial one, where we explore my every desire. It’s the perfect no-strings arrangement—all sex, no emotions. The only problem is that I made a concession: to play by his rules.

Now we’ve crossed that line and tasted the forbidden. It started with only a touch. But will a man who controls everything protect his heart at all costs...even if it means breaking mine?

Sexy. Passionate. Bold. Discover Harlequin DARE, a new line of fun, edgy and sexually explicit romances for the fearless female.


Lifelong romance addict JC HARROWAY lives in New Zealand. Writing feeds her very real obsession with happy endings and the endorphin rush they create. You can follow her at jcharroway.com (http://www.jcharroway.com), Facebook.com/jcharroway (https://Facebook.com/jcharroway), Instagram.com/jcharroway (https://Instagram.com/jcharroway) and Twitter.com/jcharroway (https://Twitter.com/jcharroway).


Forbidden to Touch

JC Harroway






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-08705-6

FORBIDDEN TO TOUCH

© 2019 JC Harroway

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




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To Mel, for helping me to wrangle the Faulkner

brothers into shape, and to Pete, IT genius—a knight

on a shiny hard drive.


Contents

Cover (#u0b2f1731-e86f-5a95-a5f5-bd4db1c4c829)

Back Cover Text (#ua7d16b6a-a803-5f5a-ba9f-bed4d5f9a806)

About the Author (#u16b5fbff-722d-5517-a321-a0b73e06e029)

Title Page (#ubdf17179-9064-5872-b940-895de01b04ab)

Copyright (#u3396616b-eaa7-5e78-ad53-a6a198153c4b)

Note to Readers

Dedication (#u74ae07cc-d88f-55bb-98db-30fc97100fc6)

CHAPTER ONE (#u5f966fcf-9dc2-53e4-b462-b1c6c9bd7a96)

CHAPTER TWO (#uf777cffd-0bff-5263-9413-d876ba7bf8eb)

CHAPTER THREE (#u5d115e8b-a42c-559d-91ee-b7225af68b23)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE (#u0d4ea72a-5b11-5335-985d-fdcad71044fb)

Reid


THE WORRY ON my brothers’ faces tightens the shackles of my role as eldest and head of the Faulkner Group, but it’s a role I was practically born to, so I hide the concern from my own expression and layer my voice with reassurance.

‘The doctor said the best thing for Dad is to maintain his current routine. Let’s keep him on the golf course or at his club until we know more about his prognosis.’

Drake and Kit nod. A Mexican wave of shudders seems to pass through all three of us, an unspoken acknowledgment that our newly retired parent may no longer be in command of all his faculties and what this means for the chain of luxury hotels that forms our family business. Our old man is only sixty—the experts calling his recent periods of forgetfulness early-onset dementia.

‘And I’d like a second opinion, which I am happy to organise,’ I say. ‘Try not to worry. We’ll take care of this.’

I’ll take care of it.

Dad’s always been there for us and for me in particular. This office, the biggest with the best views of London, used to be his office. I glance at the city, at the slice of the Thames, which is shrouded in a sheer curtain of haze at the record-high spring temperatures. How I’d love to play hooky, to shake off my business suit and head down to Chelsea marina...take a boat out, all four of us—me, Dad and my brothers—as we used to when we were teens...

The memories of happier times cement how signing out is not an option. I’ll do whatever it takes to help Dad, just like he’s always done for me.

A knock at the door heralds my assistant, Sue, with fresh coffee. She places her offerings on the table and begins to collect the old, half-drunk ones.

‘You can’t take on everything,’ says Kit, his eyes a little tired. ‘It’s peak tourist season—we’re all busy.’

I wave away his concern. I’m divorced—I have room in my life for extras, and the buck stops with me now. Dad taught me the ropes from the day I first accompanied him to work as a boy. And of the three of us, I owe him the most. I inwardly cringe, recalling the crappy end to my marriage and how he’d bailed me out of the subsequent close call for the Faulkner Group, one that could have been avoided if only I’d gone for a pre-nup...

‘Sue, can you locate Harley Street’s best neurologist and make Graham the earliest appointment available, please?’ I look to my brothers, already raising my hand mentally to accompany him. ‘I’m happy to go with him, or all of us could attend.’

‘Absolutely,’ says Drake, and Kit nods.

Sue hovers at my elbow.

I raise my eyebrow in question.

‘Um...is Mr Faulkner popping in today?’ Her eyes, which are laced with sympathy, dart between me and my brothers. We’re a tight-knit company, our staff longstanding and loyal. Dad’s episodes of confusion prior to his retirement won’t have gone unnoticed.

‘No—he’s at his club today, I believe,’ answers Kit.

Sue frowns. ‘There’s um...someone in Reception who claims to have an appointment with Mr Faulkner. Will you be taking it, Reid?’

‘Appointment?’ Unease stiffens my neck—my father has no more official Faulkner engagements. Drake’s and Kit’s blank faces tell me they’re equally clueless, but it’s not a feeling that sits well with me.

‘Does she have an appointment?’ I ask Sue, a growing sense of frustration clipping my tone. Dad entrusted this company to me, Drake and Kit. I won’t tolerate cock-ups on my watch.

Sue returns to her desk in the outer office, and all three of us follow.

‘Yes.’ Sue shoots me an apologetic look. ‘There’s an entry on Mr Faulkner’s schedule for a meeting with an interior-design company at twelve.’

‘Why would Dad have engaged an interior designer?’ says Drake.

I hide my wince at this unforeseen twist. It’s my job to know everything that goes on at the Faulkner Group. My job and my personal preference to keep a tight rein on the company entrusted to me—a company Dad spent his life building from nothing.

‘Do either of you know what this might be about?’ I ask my brothers, compassion for my father flaring anew. He worked long hours for forty years to leave a legacy for his sons, steering the Faulkner Group to success and prosperity. This slip-up, albeit insignificant, provides further evidence of how he might have lost control towards the end.

‘We did discuss renovations a board meeting or two back in your absence,’ says Drake, ‘but I thought we’d shelved the idea for now.’

Kit nods. ‘Yes. We never actioned anything.’

Sue’s voice takes on a rarely heard flustered cadence. ‘I’m sorry, Reid—the appointment must have slipped past unnoticed, what with Mr Faulkner’s retirement. Should I...reschedule?’

‘No need,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘Ring down to Reception and have this woman shown up to our waiting area.’ I could cancel, but that level of unprofessionalism isn’t typical for my tightly run ship. The sooner I see this woman, the sooner I can send her on her way.

I head past Sue’s desk, ushering my brothers out. ‘You two have enough on—so, usual drinks Friday?’

My brothers nod, reassured. I watch them walk away, pride that they’ve both recently found happiness—Drake in the first stages of love and Kit weeks away from becoming a father—affirmation that all will be well. Aside from walking in Dad’s very large footsteps, steering the family business for my brothers and the generations of Faulkners to come is a privilege. We’re going to be okay. Dad’s going to be okay. I’ll make sure of it.

The minute they’re out of sight, my mind works on the newest problem to be solved. I turn to Sue. ‘What can you tell me about this company?’ I check my watch. I won’t have time to do extensive research, as I prefer. But going in blind... Never a good idea. But could Graham have sanctioned major changes at one of the hotels without my knowledge? Has his confusion reached levels where he’d behave so...erratically and out of character?

My efficient assistant is already nodding, typing away. ‘I’ve just sent you through a link to their website. I’m sorry, Mr Faulkner. It must have slipped past Graham’s old PA.’

‘No worries, I’m sure the mix-up can be easily rectified, but can you please ensure Graham has no other meetings on the horizon?’ I rub a spot above my eyebrow at my mounting sense of irritation. What else has gone unnoticed? What else have I missed before recognising the extent of Dad’s confusion went beyond pre-retirement pulling back of his workload? If I’ve been remiss, overlooked my usually competent father’s decisions these past months, the ‘t’s need crossing and ‘i’s dotting.

I shrug into my suit jacket, an expectant brow raised at Sue.

‘The company is a small boutique business,’ she says, scrolling down her computer screen. ‘There’s a news story—C&L Interiors, as it was then, winning some prestigious industry award in the small-spaces category.’

I nod, mind whirring. ‘That’s all? No big-name commissions?’ Why would Graham choose a company with no track record for hotel renovations?

Sue shakes her head, looking apologetic.

My shoulders relax—whatever accolades C&L Interiors holds, they’re small fry and in no position to undertake renovations on a Faulkner hotel. ‘Send a companywide memo to Kit and Drake and the other heads—all new business requires my sign-off.’ I ignore Sue’s hastily concealed look of horror. I’ve allowed Dad’s diagnosis to distract me and now I have this unscheduled meeting cluttering up my lunch hour.

‘This mix-up will be dispensed with in ten minutes, tops. Why don’t you take your lunch break now?’

I head for the waiting area through the open-plan offices acquired around the same time the Faulkner Group bought its third hotel. Until then, my father operated out of a converted suite at the Faulkner, our first hotel and the place Drake, Kit and I grew up.

I walk a little taller, remembering the day I joined the family business. As a naive twenty-year-old, I assumed I’d be sitting behind a desk, a carbon copy of my father’s, with my business degree framed on the wall. Instead Graham took me downstairs and introduced me to the housekeepers. I spent my first month changing sheets and cleaning bathrooms, my second trailing the concierge staff and another month working on Reception. He was right to teach me from the bottom up—he’s taught me everything I know, which is our hotels inside out, especially the Faulkner.

I exit the admin offices, my resolve primed to undo whatever Dad has discussed with C&L Interiors. I smooth my tie—calling on my slightly rusty charm, anticipating victory.

I come to a halt on the threshold of the waiting area.

Blair Cameron sits on one of the leather sofas, her familiar face severe with concentration as she focuses on a tablet in her lap. I conceal my shock as my pulse hammers with the surge of attraction I’ve spent years ignoring.

Blair’s family and mine go way back. The daughter of my father’s friend, business rival, albeit a friendly one, and fellow golf crony, she grew up in similar circles, although she’s closest in age to Kit, and it’s been years since we’ve personally had any contact.

I straighten my tie and approach, scoping the length of her body, down spectacular legs, which I can tell, even from this distance, are bare. She’s wearing a fitted red dress, her hair caught up in a high ponytail and sunglasses perched on top of her head, as if she’s casually pushed them there on entering the building and perhaps forgotten their presence.

Heat stirs in my veins. Despite our ten-year age gap, her beauty has always caused a flicker of appreciation. I might have had my fingers burned by my money-grabbing ex-wife, but a woman like Blair is hard to ignore. A cool blonde—smart, classy, almost untouchable.

Still, appreciation is all it ever can be.

I arrange my features into something approximating a warm welcome and announce my arrival. ‘Blair—it’s been a while.’

She stands, her surprise that I’m not my father turning into a smile of greeting as she accepts my handshake with a flush. Her smile, slightly lopsided and pinching one cheek into an adorable dimple I recall she hated as a teenager, and the mildly taken-aback delight I spy lurking there, turns this morning’s debacle into a minor hiccup.

‘Reid. It’s been years.’ She laughs, a throaty sound that slides over me as surely as the glide of her palm as she disengages from our handshake. A fresh surge of heat pounds through me at her subtle coconut scent. Why didn’t I greet her more fondly? Touch my cheek to hers, a woman who, because of our age gap, has been off my radar? For some inexplicable reason, I glance at her left hand—the last thing I heard from Dad, she was engaged—but there’s no ring, only long, elegant fingers capped with red nail polish.

Interesting, but what am I doing?

I tuck my hand into my pocket and drag my head back into the game, noting the art satchel at Blair’s feet. I vaguely recall her sidestep from working for her father, who owns a hotel in direct competition with the Faulkner, my suspicious nature kicking into overdrive and dampening the flare of attraction to Blair. Is that why she’s here? To use Graham’s forgetfulness and vulnerability as an opportunity to scope out the competition?

Fuck, I’m jumpy. Just because Sadie, my ex-wife, cured me from trusting members of the opposite sex, I shouldn’t condemn her for industrial espionage just yet. I clear my throat, my suspicions beneath me.

‘Well, this is unexpected.’ I stretch out one arm, indicating she follow me back to my office.

‘Yes—I was expecting Graham.’ Her sideways glance, a sweep of those pretty eyes down the length of my body, forces my shoulders back a notch and fills my stride with swagger.

I nod as we walk side by side, the air tense with my new awareness of this woman. Has she ever looked at me with interest? I scour my memory for the last time I saw her, calculating I was still married and she was in a relationship with a guy she’d met at university.

At my office door, I pause so she can enter first, my smile concealing the cogs working in my mind on a revised game plan. How much of Graham’s diagnosis should I reveal? She’s no stranger. But my natural inclination is to play my cards close to my chest, especially when it comes to my father’s uncertain health and the business it’s my job to safeguard for my family. Yes, she’s a family friend, but Graham may not want his medical condition bandied around, gossip fodder for London’s hospitality sector.

‘After you,’ I say, lapping up the way colour heightens her high cheekbones as she passes me in the doorway. Her feminine scent wafts my way, reminding me of exotic beach holidays and tropical cocktails. But before I enjoy the mild flirtation I’m sensing, or offer a confidence by explaining the situation, I want answers.

Inside, she spins, taking in the empty room and then looking to me, but not before another quick tour of my torso. ‘Will Graham be joining us?’ Her long ponytail swings over one shoulder as she tilts her head and waits for my answer.

Hmm, I’ve still got it—but Blair would be the last woman I’d have thought would look at me that way. I’m way too old for her, and I definitely don’t need a distraction as sexy as her with everything else that’s going on.

I remove my jacket and hang it on the hook just inside the door. ‘No. Didn’t you hear? Graham has recently retired.’ The first-name basis reminds me why she’s here and how I’m very likely going to have to disappoint her, family friend or not.

Dad, what have you done...?

I wince, the reminder of what I owe him a lash across my back. Not only has he raised me and my brothers and built up our growing business, but also it wasn’t so long ago that Graham Faulkner was there to financially bail me out of a disastrous marriage. But the sappy idiot I was soon learned that so-called love leads to misplaced trust, which leads to having your insides ripped out, picked over by vultures and vital parts of you taken as trophies. My stupidity, my naivety almost took down the Faulkner Group, almost took down my family. I needed him then and he needs me now.

A flicker of hesitation dulls Blair’s pretty eyes. ‘Yes, I was aware he’d retired. I just assumed.’ She offers me another wide smile, not perturbed by the change of Faulkner.

I indicate she take a seat on one of the sofas near the window, my interest in the way she elegantly slides into a chair way too acute. What’s wrong with me? Of all the days to have my head pleasantly distracted.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ I can’t deny she’s the whole package. Striking. One of those women people double-take in the street. I wonder again if she’s single, cursing my lack of curiosity about her in recent years, not that I plan on changing my own relationship status any time soon. But perhaps something could be salvaged from this deal after all. At the very least I should take her out to lunch...

‘Some water, please,’ she says, tucking those long, slender legs together. I deposit her water and take a seat opposite. Now I know who I’m dealing with, tension eases from my muscles. Whatever she wants for C&L Interiors I can dismiss while I figure out if our flicker of chemistry is shared. That could certainly be indulged, as long as she understands its temporary nature.

‘So why interiors? Didn’t you already have a job for life in hospitality?’ The Camerons are a large family and Blair is the youngest. Something in her eyes shifts. Instinct tells me I’ve touched a soft spot—excellent. Having a business opponent, even a beautiful one, on the back foot, is always advantageous. She’s broken away from working with her family—is there a rift? Or is she still on the payroll? That control-freak part of me, the part screwed over by Sadie, again wonders if she’s here to mess with the competition.

‘I wanted to forge my own path, and I’ve always loved the creative aspects of my job. I’d be stifled in an office. And I offer the family a discount as compensation.’ She lifts her brows, a mocking glint in her eye.

We chuckle together, but there’s a thread of steel through her words. She hasn’t taken the easy route, preferring to strike out alone rather than sit back on her laurels. And while she’s young for a sole business owner, I can tell she’s not a pushover. She’s clearly a savvy businesswoman or she wouldn’t have made it into my office.

I slide my eyes over the entire Blair package, caution warring with intrigue. The way she carries herself, the way she’s dressed for a boardroom and her handshake are all clues that this woman values her business. The sky-high heels and the whimsical way she’s simply pushed her sunglasses up onto her head tell me she’s particular, but not rigid, at least when it comes to her own appearance.

I breathe my first sigh of relief—I have no time for high-maintenance women. Perhaps this is a chance to dust off that rusty charm, use it to my advantage, dispense with this misunderstanding and suggest that lunch.

‘So, shall we start?’ she asks, jerking me from pleasure and back to business.

‘By all means.’ I quash the flicker of sexual interest, my divorce having cured me of anything...romantic. Sex has become something I slot into my diary along with the gym, dental check-ups and haircuts, although perhaps a little more regularly.

When I don’t initiate any conversation, Blair reaches for the art case and pulls an A3-sized board from it, laying it on the coffee table.

‘I’ve sent through digital files of the technical work I discussed with Graham, but I also brought a mood board to give you an idea of the finished look.’ She looks up, her fingers gliding over the fabric samples and paint swatches stuck to the board. ‘Interiors are three-dimensional. Tactile.’ Her eyes spark with enthusiasm, doubling her attractiveness and sharpening my powers of observation where she’s concerned.

She continues. ‘I prefer to feel something under my hand, to test its durability, to luxuriate in its texture, to imagine what it would feel like to lie upon, or walk upon barefoot...’

Her passion, her zeal, does something to my already heightened awareness—a fresh stirring below the belt. Would she trail those elegant hands over my bare chest the way she’s caressing the fabric swatches?

I snap my attention back to what she’s saying. Until this mistake is cleared up, my libido will have to take a back seat.

‘Interiors are sensory, something you experience with your entire body. You can’t appreciate these facets on an iPad.’

Her mouth is sensual. Mesmerising. My cock twitches in payment for my arse-over-tit priorities. I nod, her enthusiasm shifting something inside a dusty, neglected corner of my chest. She loves her work. I’ll be sorry to disappoint her.

‘I can appreciate that.’ I shift in my seat, directing my frown to the swatch of fabric under my fingertips.

A blink, a sniff and my focus returns. Not to her passion or her rocking body, but the reason she’s here. I abandon her mood board. Time to nip this in the bud. ‘Excuse my confusion—I’m playing catch-up a little here. What exactly did you and Graham discuss?’

Her face falls a fraction, a hint of uncertainty entering her eyes, which seem to change colour in the light—are they blue or green? I can’t decide. And why have I never noticed before?

‘Well...he wanted me to start as soon as possible. I’ve managed to reschedule a few other projects, so—’

‘Start what?’ I brace myself for confirmation of what I’ve already guessed, my fingertips gripping the armrests.

Her brows cinch, a tiny crease forming above the bridge of her nose. ‘Renovations. On the Faulkner.’

Damn. I knew it. No way.

‘You are joking?’

Confusion wrinkles her brow. ‘No. Why would I joke?’

My enamel creaks from the tension in my jaw. ‘I don’t need to tell you it’s peak season—the hotel is booked solid for the next three months.’ I keep my face neutral while my mind whirrs at how much it might cost us financially to extricate ourselves from whatever Dad has set in motion, and how much it will cost me personally, in my time to...deal with Blair Cameron, which, outside of this cock-up, isn’t a wholly unpleasant reality.

‘Yes, I did question the timing.’ She shrugs one shoulder. ‘But Graham was adamant.’

I stroke my chin, contemplating my next move. No matter how gorgeous she is, no matter how, under different circumstances, I’d welcome dealing with this beautiful, passionate woman, there’s no way she’s laying a single elegant finger on my fucking hotel. The feeling that I’m a caged lion builds, an urge to quash this quickly and at all costs.

‘I’m sorry, but Graham...’ I clear my throat, my natural inclination to hedge. ‘Let’s just say he’s currently indisposed.’ No need to go into details of his health with a woman whose family, at least professionally, I could consider rivals. If she’s unaware of Graham’s health issues, the family friendship can’t be that strong. My stomach pitches at the reminder of those health issues—I’d love to blank them out, pretend they’re just a bad dream.

Her stare widens with sympathy. ‘I’m sorry to hear that—I didn’t know. I hope it’s nothing serious.’

I incline my head, neither confirming nor denying, while my stomach knots with frustration that there’s little I can do on that score currently. I focus on the easier to solve—and easy on the eye—predicament sitting opposite.

‘So I’m afraid whatever arrangement you might have had...’ I wave my hand over her colour-coordinated and detailed mood board ‘...is no longer required.’ I slide the offering back along the table.

Her face registers quickly concealed shock. Her stare bounces up from the ‘teal’ and ‘taupe’ swatches and hardens, an expression I’ve never seen her wear before.

‘Arrangement?’ Her luscious mouth lingers over the word as she takes a slow sip of her drink, her lips caressing the rim of the glass, a distraction my libido in no way needs. She stares directly at me, as if I’m suggesting something illicit.

I’m tempted, and I have plenty of other illicit distractions if she’s up for a brief fling.

But the look in her eyes tells me I face an admirable adversary. And I put business first. Always.

‘We had no arrangement,’ she says.

For a second a weight on my shoulders lifts at this easily rectified situation. ‘Great—that’s all sorted.’ I smile—now seems like the perfect time to switch on the charm, to salvage something from this serendipitous meeting, to get to know the stunning Blair Cameron better. ‘Perhaps you’d allow me to take you out for lunch, so we can catch up properly.’

My offer, layered with my usual confidence, seems to do the trick. Her pupils dilate, blocking out most of the blue-green hologram of her irises, her pulse picks up, thrumming rapidly in her neck, and her legs shift, presumably as she presses her thighs together. She’s turned on by my suggestion, her mind perhaps imagining the same satisfying outcome, although her scenario is probably a little less graphic than the one rendering me stuck in the chair by the beginnings of a hard-on.

I lounge back against the leather. Who knew that what, only ten minutes ago, felt like a thorn in my side would end so...gratifyingly? That she doesn’t seem perturbed by our age difference? And if it’s just a fling, why should it matter?

My mind shuffles through my engagements for the rest of the afternoon, my dick stuck on the fact she didn’t turn down my offer of lunch flat. There’s nothing that can’t be...reprioritised.

Then she sits a little straighter and tilts her head. ‘Another time perhaps.’ The eyes are back to flinty, although her pulse still trills nineteen to the dozen. ‘Why don’t we keep this about business, for now?’

For now...? Promising.

‘You see, what Graham and I had was beyond an arrangement.’

The hairs at my collar stand to attention as the worst is confirmed.

‘We had a contract.’




CHAPTER TWO (#u0d4ea72a-5b11-5335-985d-fdcad71044fb)

Blair


REID FAULKNER’S DECADENT lips thin, but he manages to keep his expression free of the irritation I’m certain he feels. He’s not a man to be side-swiped, his reputation for dominating every aspect of the Faulkner Group well known. But I too have learned a few ruthless skills this past year, although none that can help me with my most pressing question—why does he have to still be so thigh-clenchingly hot?

Within thirty seconds of meeting him again, while I’d drooled at the way he fills his immaculate suit, I’d recalled his permanent air of supreme confidence, every stupid, misplaced and sometimes downright filthy fantasy I’d ever had about him roaring back to pulse-pounding life. Of course, back when I first noticed the eldest Faulkner brother was a bona fide fully grown sex god, he seemed permanently out of reach, and I finally abandoned my long-held crush when he married. But now...? With the way he’s sliding that sexy stare over me, I have the urge to resurrect those fantasies. Funny how eighteen and twenty-eight seemed an insurmountable and naive dream, but twenty-five and thirty-five has...delicious possibilities.

I sit a little straighter, ignoring the way that, despite trying to wriggle free of our deal, he makes me feel a little more invincible. After all, this is business. My first priority. I wait for him to process my bombshell, while my own eyes burn with the pressure of maintaining his searing eye contact.

‘A contract?’ His expression hardens even as his stare lingers on my mouth so I almost feel the brush of his lashes. The cut of his voice—commanding, confident, seductive almost—makes my breath catch and leaves me wondering if I can’t have the best of both worlds. Flex my professional muscles on this deal with an adversary as worthy as Reid Faulkner and explore what I’m pretty certain is a mutual attraction.

And why shouldn’t I?

I’m no longer a besotted eighteen-year-old. Our chemistry, if kept separate from business, needn’t be an obstacle. In fact, the opposite. Now I’m close to nursing Cameron Interiors back to full health, perhaps Reid Faulkner is the perfect reward I deserve...

I swallow and brace my entire body to combat the swirls of excitement twitching my muscles in response to our showdown. My pulse ricochets between my nipples and my pelvis, reminding me of my long year of celibacy, until I mentally slap myself and focus on pumping blood to my brain—the only part of me required for this particular encounter.

I open my tablet and, after a few swipes, offer him the screen for proof, but he bats me away with one large hand, which is big enough to leave me wondering how much of my waist it would circle and if it would swallow my entire breast...

Ignoring my soaring temperature, I clench my jaw with determination. I won’t be dismissed, for all his years of business experience, and he wouldn’t be the first person to underestimate me. As the youngest sibling in a large family, I’m used to fighting to be seen and taken seriously. Even my university professor cautioned me against trying to run before I could walk, to pay my dues at a big, well-established design firm, but I’ve always known I’d rather put in the hours and work hard for my own company, not someone else’s. And if Reid Faulkner thinks I’m walking away from my first major deal since Josh and I parted ways, he can think again.

‘Is there a problem?’ I try not to allow the lurch of my stomach to register on my face—it’s like a roller coaster in there. I secured this contract alone, fair and square, despite the competition. I won’t be side-swiped for a second time.

‘Nothing that can’t be rectified.’ His stare narrows as if dissecting me. ‘But you should know we decided to shelve the Faulkner renovations until some time in the future.’

Panic flutters in my throat but I swallow it down. ‘I wasn’t party to that information.’ I breathe, choose my words carefully, willing to fight but happy to remind him of his professional obligations, despite our family’s connections. ‘And I’ve already committed considerable hours to the Faulkner project. I’ve delayed other work to give it my full attention, as it deserves.’

I don’t add that I’ve funnelled all my energy into secretly rebuilding my decimated business this past year—I won’t be sidetracked by another man, not even a sexy suit who happens to make me feel eighteen again.

‘The way I see it, Reid, we need each other.’ I hold my breath. Even simply saying his name aloud leaves me achy and distracted, and the reminder we’re more than business acquaintances flashes sparks in his eyes. But the bite of his tone puts him firmly back in charge.

‘In what way?’

I hide my frustration behind my neutral facial expression—he’s being deliberately obtuse. ‘You have a hotel in need of renovation, and I have an interior-design business and a contract for those renovations. Plus, my commission is highly competitive—great news for the Faulkner Group. Surely there’s only one outcome here that satisfies both of us.’

I feel the weight of his assessment to the tips of my toes. I can’t work out if his mind lingers on business, where mine should firmly reside, or pleasure, a place I’m lured to every time he looks at me? The shiver of goose pimples along my bare arms tells me I’m struggling to ascertain which I want more, that I’d welcome the change of tack, once we’ve cleared up this misunderstanding.

Chemistry can be indulged or ignored. And the chemistry between us seems to have matured over the years like a fine vintage wine.

At his continued silence, my defensiveness kicks in. ‘Is it an...experience concern? I assure you I’m more than capable of this contract. I’d be happy to provide you with references.’ I should have known he’d underestimate me, see me as someone to be easily ignored and dismissed, just like many others have in my past. But I’m done being naive. No way will I ever put my business in the hands of anyone else. Especially not a man who, physically at least, does it for my poor, neglected body.

Reid narrows his steely eyes. ‘It’s not a question of experience.’

I ignore the way I feel naked under his scrutiny and how much I like it. ‘Good, because interiors are personal—it’s crucial you and I have a close working relationship.’

‘Oh, we will,’ he says on a husky promise that leaves me floundering to guess if we’re still talking about interior design.

He brushes a speck of lint from his trousers, completely at ease. ‘Nothing happens at a Faulkner hotel without my seal of approval. But, as you’ve brought up the size of your company, don’t you think C&L Interiors is reaching a little far with a hotel of the Faulkner’s calibre?’

‘Cameron Interiors. I dropped the L.’

I ignore the jibe I’ve heard before. Yes, I’m young, my company small, but I work hard, even harder this past year. Ambition isn’t a crime. I sit up taller—faking it. I can’t confess, but his reticence is justified—Cameron Interiors isn’t making waves, and, thanks to my hateful ex, who stole all our big clients despite promising we could still work together even though we were no longer a couple, hasn’t grown in proportion to the amount of work I’ve personally invested. All the more reason I intend to walk out of Reid’s sumptuous office with a start date agreed.

‘What happened to the “L”?’ His eyes spark.

Of course, he would ask the one question designed to throw icy doubt on my assertions I’m capable of running the business I’ve taken a year to rebuild single-handed.

I cross my legs, force my facial muscles to relax, showing him I’m here to stay. ‘Mr Lyle left the company. Now it’s just me—better and stronger alone, and, as I’ve already pointed out, competitively priced. So why don’t you let me worry about the details? I assure you that you’ll be happy with the final outcome.’ I ensure my posture matches my words in oozing confidence, when the reminder of my commitments if Reid insists on delaying the contracted work would crush me into a snivelling ball.

His stare turns flinty as he pushes his hand through his hair, which is dark with salt and pepper at the temples. My eyes follow the passage of his fingers, marvelling at how, even frustrated, he’s in control, still sexy and still throwing up roadblocks to my most lucrative and prestigious contract since Josh pulled the rug from under my feet.

‘Mmm...’ he murmurs, a sexy sound which reverberates through my entire body. ‘What are we going to do with each other?’

My heart leaps, every thrum a thrill of excitement. Does that mean what I hope it means? Does Reid Faulkner finally see me? Can I have everything I want here? My contract honoured and my ego massaged through a little...fantasy fulfilment with Reid, of all men? Of course, the two will need to be completely separate—I learned my lesson from mixing business and pleasure with Josh.

The buzz of warning shudders through me—head to toe. I fully intend to win the battle for my contract, but can I walk away from the promise behind Reid’s dark, searching eyes? A promise I once longed to see?

The promise of sex.

Good sex.

Great sex, even.

My libido’s been dormant since Josh and I split, but Reid’s interest swoops along every nerve ending, jerking me back to life. While I’ve toiled over my business, rebranded and reinvented while scraping my dignity back together, I’ve been oblivious to members of the opposite sex. How can this man change all that? Make me recall every second of my teenage infatuation? Make me want to indulge a sorely neglected area of my life?

Then my brain floods with images of my ex getting hot and heavy with his friend on my beautiful Italian leather sofa, and I close my eyes, breathing through the acidic burn in my chest. Seeing my fiancé’s deceitful mouth on another man’s had been shock enough, my sofa desecrated for ever, but it was the later betrayal, the professional one, which stole my tattered peace of mind, along with my pride and my clients, that lingers to this day, still shaping my decisions, still tainting my life.

Well, no more. Starting today as a bare minimum, I’m setting Cameron Interiors back on track to the big league. I open my eyes and look up at Reid, sucking in a breath, the contrast between the chill of my memories and the heat of his stare leaving me weirdly exposed.

‘Look, I’m sure you’re as busy as I am. So let’s put this to bed, shall we?’ I slide my palms down my skirt, fighting the heat at my chosen turn of phrase. ‘All I need is your sign-off on my designs and the name of someone you nominate to oversee the project...’ I smile up at him now things are finally going my way ‘...and I’ll be out of your hair.’

Your sexy dark hair that’s calling to my fingers...

His strong thighs spread, owning his space in the way of self-assured men, his elbow propped on one arm of the sofa while he strokes his chin as his eyes rake over me, slowly and with thorough sensuality, a move that lends him a roguish air completely at home on his angular face. ‘If we’re going to be working together, Blair...’

The way he says my name in a low, husky tone I’ve heard a thousand times in my late-night fantasies makes me wonder how he’d sound first thing the morning after—sleepy and sexy, his vibrating voice dragging my every nerve to delicious awareness... I flush warm all over, cursing my hormones.

‘...we should get to know each other a little better.’ He stretches out one arm along the back of the sofa, a move that tugs his shirt open a fraction at the neck where he’s loosened his tie, affording me a glimpse of dark chest hair. ‘Why are you no longer engaged?’

The roar of blood in my face scalds. ‘That’s a personal question.’

‘Yes, it is.’

I consider ignoring it, reluctant to confirm how my relationship ended. I know Josh’s change of heart, his confusion over his sexuality, is no reflection on me personally, but trusting him with our business even after I discovered him cheating, allowing him to steal most of our major clients—for that I’ve no one to blame but myself.

I hide my shudder behind a massive swallow of iced water while I consider that Reid already knows my sorry tale and has brought it up to throw me off my game, distract me from my contract and expose my naive lapse in business judgement, one I’m sure he’d never have made with all his years of experience at the helm of the Faulkner Group.

‘Why are you no longer married?’ I counter. Two can play at his game.

He laughs, tilting his head with a nod of respect, but stays resolutely silent—that subject is clearly out of bounds. Like mine, his one foray into matrimony seems to have cured his hunt for hearth and family.

I sigh, keen to draw a line under the personal veer of the conversation. ‘It didn’t work out—personally or professionally. Hence dropping the “L” from C&L.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Amusement leaches from his eyes, which now carry genuine dismay, telling me I might have judged him a little harshly. ‘His loss.’

I accept his compliment with a tilt of my head. ‘Yes, well, I dare say we’re both better off.’ I lean forward and deposit my glass on the sleek coffee table between us, new determination taking hold. I lift my chin, feigning confidence in my solo skills, and remind Reid of my credentials. ‘And, luckily for the Faulkner Group, you get my undivided, award-winning attention. The reason, I think, why Graham selected Cameron Interiors.’ I need to remind us both why I’m here. As far as I’m concerned, Graham’s unfortunate illness, while upsetting, shouldn’t affect the renovations. ‘Why don’t I show you some concepts I discussed with Graham—I’d love to hear your thoughts?’

With the personal stuff successfully navigated, he waves his hand for me to continue.

I stand and walk round the coffee table, settling beside him on the sofa and swiping at the screen of the iPad to bring up the images I want. Sharing the device necessitates closeness. That’s what I tell myself as I’m buffeted by more Reid Faulkner than I can handle, at least half of my energy absorbed with maintaining a slow, even breathing rate this close to him, when all I want to do is lean in for an indulgent sniff.

‘So this is a concept for the hotel entrance and foyer.’ I hold the device in his direction, fighting the urge to scuttle away from or move closer to his body heat and tantalising masculine scent as he leans in to look, the slight rise of his eyebrows the only indication he’s in any way interested or impressed. Now I’m free for a few seconds of eye-roaming, taking in the dark stubble on his chin, the harsh line of his jaw and the strong tendons in his tanned neck.

I collect myself, remembering I’m a grown woman with a business to run, and swipe to the second image. ‘This is a selection of modern light fittings to replace the chandelier in the foyer—Graham was adamant he wanted a fresh, contemporary look throughout.’

When I look up he’s staring at me, not the iPad. I smile, shift a little, my pulse pounding in my head at the way his eyes dip to my mouth every few seconds. For several beats he gives no indication what he thinks of the concepts I’ve painstakingly worked on for the last month. Then he blinks and the shutters fall, breaking the sexual tension, which had lifted every hair on my arm closest to him.

I cling to my control of the situation. ‘If there are any changes you’d like to make—’

‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You of all people know peak season isn’t the best time for major works.’

I stare, fighting the urge to allow my jaw to hang open with shock. He can’t rescind my contract. ‘Well, yes, but Graham was adamant.’

Reid continues as if he’s deaf to my every argument. ‘Of course, loss of business for us is good for competing hotels.’ He swivels to face me, leaning into the small space that separates us, a space now tense with professional mistrust and the fizzled-out sparks of that physical connection I’m now wondering if I imagined, leaving me hot and cold in the space of the same heartbeat.

‘What are you suggesting?’ How could I get carried away with my reawakened attraction to him, when all along he planned to veto the project? Assuming we were both on the right track for the renovations while indulging in our frisson of chemistry? Well, if he could ignore it to play dirty, I could ignore it to win.

Reid’s eyes narrow a fraction. ‘It’s a double win for you—Cameron Interiors and your family’s hotel benefit while the Faulkner is out of action. And, despite what Graham might have agreed to, now really isn’t a good time.’

I force myself to remain calm. ‘I only care about Cameron Interiors, and Graham didn’t agree, he insisted—not that either is relevant in light of my contract.’

The tightening of his mouth should appease me—he’s over a barrel, although icy trickles of doubt snake down my spine. If he chooses to contest, I can’t afford much in the way of legal representation to fight him, just as I couldn’t afford to hound Josh for the stolen business, neither financially nor in the humiliation stakes.

Reid’s eyes have gone from blue to silvery grey. Hard. Unyielding. ‘You can’t deny there’s considerable gain here for Cameron Interiors.’ He has the decency to look away, but only temporarily.

‘As there is for the Faulkner. I don’t see why our mutual benefit is of any consequence. There’s a transactional element to any contract, otherwise why else would we bother?’

‘Perhaps Graham jumped the gun.’ His mouth twists, as if he’s tasted something unpleasant, and I wonder what’s really going on here. Why is he so keen to dispense with the renovations and me? ‘I’d be happy to offer compensation for the inconvenience and for your time.’

Part of me is tempted by his buy-off. What better way to put a lid on this whole sorry episode and move on to fresh, more welcoming clients and to get away from his...addictive potency? Away from the lure of living out my teenage crush and embracing the inconvenient sexual attraction to Reid Faulkner?

But then I’d be no better than Josh. Deceitful. Taking something I hadn’t wholly earned. No. I can handle this man, our chemistry irrelevant. I drag in a shuddering breath, bolstering my resolve, which had clearly been knocked off balance by the rage of my hormones. Whatever his motives, I’m here to stay.

‘And your father’s plans for the future of the Faulkner... You don’t want to respect those?’ I know what Graham wanted—to leave the Faulkner, their oldest hotel, in pristine condition—his last act as head of the company, future-proofing the jewel in the Faulkner Group crown for his sons.

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 (#u0d4ea72a-5b11-5335-985d-fdcad71044fb)

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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