The Dare Collection August 2019. Christy McKellen

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

      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