Forbidden To Touch

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.