Buch lesen: «Forbidden To Touch»

CHAPTER ONE
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.’