Forbidden To Touch. JC Harroway

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