Once Forbidden, Twice Tempted

by Karen Booth

  She was just about to close the binder when something caught her eye—a detail so essential it would have been impossible to miss—the orientation of the buildings on the site. It could be windy down by the water, and the city had been specific with what they wanted.

  Tara could’ve sworn that the original spec information had said they wanted buildings facing to the northwest. But this said southwest. She flipped back and forth, between the pages from the city and the small-scale renderings Clay had done—all of which faced the northwest, the wrong direction.

  Tara shot up out of her seat, grabbed her phone and marched down the hall. She’d worried that something could go wrong with this project at any moment. She just hadn’t expected it would be now. Six fifteen in the evening on a Friday, with only a week until presentation day. The office was eerily quiet. Almost everyone had gone home. She wound her way around to Clay’s office, hoping this was all a mistake. Maybe the drawings in the binder were old. Except that didn’t make sense at all. Everything had always been to the northwest. Her original concept had been that way. Was this all her fault?

  She knocked on Clay’s door, but there was no answer. She rattled the doorknob and it was locked. Her heart was pounding, her pulse racing so fast it made it hard to think. But she had to do exactly that. Sandy. She pulled up her assistant’s number, but it only rang once before going to voice mail. “Dammit.” Tara looked to her right and then to her left. The light was still on in Grant’s office. He was her only hope.

  She drew in a deep breath and steeled herself for his reaction. She had wanted so badly for this project to go perfectly. She had wanted Grant to see her as fully capable, not just the woman who’d had a sizable chunk of a company land in her lap. This would have been an easier conversation a month ago, when she and Grant were still enjoying the warmth of their friendship. But everything had gone cold, all because of sex.

  * * *

  Tara barged into Grant’s office like a tornado in heels. “We have a problem.”

  Yes, we do. Grant nearly uttered the words out loud, but he knew better. He was having little luck getting used to the idea of them being nothing more than colleagues. It had been three weeks of that exercise, and Grant felt as though he was experiencing the slowest, most painful death possible. It killed him to be around her. It killed him to keep her at a distance, but that was what was required. “I was just about to head home. Maybe we can talk about this on Monday?” He shuffled papers on his desk so that he wouldn’t have to look at her. He’d damn near perfected the art of avoiding the vision of her. In meetings where she was present, he’d stare at documents, and when she dropped by his office, he typically resorted to directing his attention to his computer. Anything to avoid looking at what he couldn’t have.

  Tara dropped a large binder on his desk with a thud. Grant jumped. He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t like her to be so forceful. The cover of the folder said Seaport Promenade. “Grant. I’m serious. We have a crisis. And I need you to look at me. We need to talk. Now.”

  He begrudgingly did as she asked, his sights traveling from her hands and up her toned arms, to her sculpted shoulders, graceful neck and ultimately to that face. The one he had no answer for. He didn’t know why looking at her made him feel so powerless, but it did. Her lips were ridiculously kissable right now, even when the corners were turned down with an expression that spoke of nothing but being unhappy. “Yeah. Okay. You have my full and undivided attention.” Even if it kills me.

  “I made a mistake with the Seaport project. A big one.”

  “So fix it. You still have a week. This stuff happens all the time. It’s always a fire drill when you’re at the finish line.”

  She shook her head slowly from side to side, as if she could tell him how deeply serious this was by sending wafts of her perfume his way. If only she knew how distracting it was. “You don’t understand. I misread the site orientation. Our entire plan needs a ninety-degree turn.”

  Grant then realized why she was so deadly serious. This was indeed a major gaffe. “You can’t do that. You’ll have to rethink the entire project.” His mind went to elevations and utilities. The placement of exterior doors and the flow of people. “There’s no way there’s enough time to get it done. Clay’s gone for the weekend and I can’t call him in. He took his daughter up to Anaheim to do the theme parks for her birthday. I promised I wouldn’t even send him a text.” Maybe this was for the best. If Grant couldn’t have Tara, he might as well keep control of Sterling. Astrid and Miranda would likely recant their support of Tara’s idea when they found out about her error and that it might cost them the project.

  Tara slumped into one of the chairs in front of his desk. “I messed up. Big time.” There was a small quiver in her voice, one that was rarely there. In fact, Grant hadn’t heard it since the day of Johnathon’s accident.

  “I don’t understand what happened.”

  “I don’t either. I swear I went over the city’s requirements a million times. So did Sandy. There must have been a miscommunication along the line somewhere.”

  Grant didn’t want to tell Tara that he’d warned her that working with the city could be a very big pain, even when her problem was solid evidence of that very fact. “Maybe this wasn’t meant to be, Tara. I’m sorry.”

  “I can’t just give up. I’ve put so much work into this. So has Astrid. And Clay. We have to at least try to save it.”

  “Sometimes we put a lot of effort into something and it doesn’t work out.” This was an apt description of his situation with Tara. He’d tried to let her know that he wanted more, but at every turn, she was trying to push him away.

  “Don’t treat me like a first grader. This isn’t a school project. This is millions of dollars. This is me proving my worth.” Again, her voice wobbled, but this time the falter was much more dramatic. She got up out of the chair, seeking the refuge of the window, where she could turn away from him. Where she could hide. Again.

  “Hey. It’s okay to be upset. I won’t hold it against you if you cry.”

  “I am not going to cry.” There was a determined sob hiding behind the word not.

  “You don’t have to be so tough all the time. It’s okay to allow yourself a human moment, even when we’re talking about work.”

  “You don’t understand.” She sniffled. “This is me basically proving Johnathon’s theory about why I shouldn’t be here. He was convinced I would make a big mistake and it would be impossible for him to reprimand me because of our marriage. Now you’re being soft on me because of our friendship. Well, what’s left of it.”

  “Don’t say that.” Grant got up from his seat and approached her slowly. This was so much like their meeting a few weeks ago, it felt like a déjà vu. Once again, she was doing everything to keep him at arm’s length, even when there was some small part of her that was willing to admit that she needed him and his help. “What can I do?”

  Tara shot him a look over her shoulder, then turned her sights to the floor as she began pacing. “You know you don’t want to do anything. You were against this project from the very beginning. You’re probably happy it’s turned out this way. It’s a prime example of you being the person who should be in charge and me being the person who’s running to try to catch up with you.”

  Yes, it was absolutely against his best business interests to help Tara. If he was smart, he’d leave her to deal with her own mess and he’d quietly claim victory. But he didn’t have it in him. There was this voice in the back of his head that knew two things—he could not be like Johnathon and push her aside, and he could not ignore the feelings he had for her, even when he’d lied and said he was fine with them being nothing more than colleagues. “Don’t talk about yourself that way. None of that is true. Even though you have a lot of experience in this world, you’re still learning. It’s okay to make mistakes.”

  She shot him a pitiful look that
stopped him dead in his tracks. This blunder might take down tough-as-nails Tara. “This is the dumbest mistake ever. Only an idiot would make it.”

  It didn’t make sense that someone as thorough as Tara would make a flub like this, but perhaps she’d let her enthusiasm get the best of her. “I’ve made far worse.”

  “Name one.”

  Carrying a torch for her came to mind, but once again, he kept his thoughts to himself. “Look. Do you want my help or not? Because if you don’t, I’m going home for the weekend.” He walked back behind his desk and powered down his computer. Silence seemed to swell in the confined space of his office. He could easily imagine her saying no. She likely already regretted that she’d allowed herself such a moment of weakness.

  “No. I do want your help.” She took a step toward his desk. “If you truly want to help me, that is. I would understand if you just let me deal with this on my own.”

  He drew in a deep breath through his nose and mustered the courage to look at her. The sun through the window was showing off every inch of her delicious curves in silhouette. It made his hands twitch to think about touching her. He wanted to do it so badly. “Your mistake is Sterling’s mistake. And the reality is that a lot of our competitors are in this hunt. They all know we’re in it, so saving face is a worthwhile investment. We can’t show up at the presentation with the wrong orientation. We’ll look incompetent, and I certainly don’t want that.”

  “If you’re trying to cheer me up, it isn’t working.”

  He laughed quietly. “I’m saying that I do have a reason to help you. And more than anything, I don’t want to see you fail.” There was only one solution to this and it was staring him in the face. He was duly torn by what he saw as a logical answer—part of him wanted to have so much time with her. And another part of him knew how much it hurt when she tore herself away. “With Clay out of town, you and I are the only ones who can fix this. Which means we’re going to have to work all weekend.”

  “How can we possibly do it without an architect?”

  “I don’t do renderings and site plans anymore, but I am still licensed. We can at least come up with a workable plan to bring to Clay on Monday morning. We’ll just have to hope that he can pull it off by next Friday.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  In an instant, he wanted to say. “I’d do it for the firm. As I said, I don’t want us to look bad in front of our competitors. I’d rather squash them like a bug.”

  “This means so much to me. Truly. It means the world that you’d want to help. How do you want to do this? Should we set up a space in one of the conference rooms?”

  Grant then saw that this might be a glimmer of what he thought he might not get again—one more chance with Tara. “No. We’ll work at my house. All weekend.” He was pleased with the fact that he’d come out with it with so much confidence. That wasn’t what he was feeling, at all. Still, he knew that this might be his final opportunity with her. He stood a much greater chance of showing her that they could work together in more ways than one while they were at his place. And he was far more likely to finally come clean with the things he’d been hiding for a decade if he’d at least had a glass of wine or two.

  “The two of us? Alone? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “It was different a month ago. The office atmosphere was still shaky after Johnathon’s death. I think we’ve all started to come to terms with it.”

  “Okay then.” She nodded eagerly as she took the binder from his desk. “I’ll run home and change before I come over.”

  “And pack a bag, Tara. I have a feeling you’re going to want to stay over.”

  Thirteen

  Despite having designs on Tara, Grant refused to be obvious in setting the stage for romance. He couldn’t handle any more rejection from her. No, if he was going to have the chance to kiss her again, and perhaps take her to bed, he needed it to happen of its own accord. He might give it a nudge here or there, but it would ultimately be something that happened between them because they both wanted it wholeheartedly. No more reservations. No more second-guessing whether it was a good idea.

  He knew what a dangerous line he was walking. Tara and the other wives still held all of the cards when it came to Sterling. If they wanted him out, they could make it happen. But here he had a chance to play a role in the Seaport proposal. At worst, he could make the case that he’d done everything to save Tara’s pet project. That had to earn him at least a few brownie points with the wives.

  Grant had set up a work area at the table in his informal dining area next to the kitchen. He opened one of the sliding glass doors to let in the ocean breeze. This was one of the most spectacular views on his property—tall frameless windows showed off the windblown landscape of his backyard—palm trees and a seemingly endless stretch of bright green grass, which dropped off to the Pacific below.

  He’d stood out near the edge of that cliff many times and thought about Tara, across the bay in Coronado. He’d done it when he had women with him. He’d done it when he had women in his bed, waiting for him to return. Perhaps it was just that Tara had always felt like unfinished business. They had an unbelievable connection, and for so long, Johnathon had been in the way. Now that was no longer true, and he really didn’t want the business of Sterling Enterprises to be the roadblock anymore. If he and Tara were not meant to be, he could accept that, but only if it was because she couldn’t return his feelings. He was tired of letting other factors stand between him and a glimmer of happiness.

  Tara arrived a little after eight o’clock, looking absolutely breathtaking in a pair of jeans and a turquoise top that clung to every curve. It was a nice and casual counterpoint to her usual businesslike demeanor. “I’m freaking out,” she said, breezing past him.

  He closed the door and followed her through the foyer, down the central corridor to the back of the house where the kitchen and great room were. “Don’t panic. All we can do is try.”

  “I appreciate that, but I’m still panicked. Miranda and Astrid are going to wonder what in the world I’m doing.”

  “That’s between you three.” Once again, he wasn’t about to let anyone else stand between Tara and him. “For now, I think that saving yourself and your pet project is the right call. Plus, Clay has sunk a ton of hours into this already. We can’t let all of that go to waste.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “Do you have any wine?”

  Grant was so relieved he hadn’t had to offer. “Of course.”

  Tara took a seat at the kitchen island while he pulled out a bottle from the fridge. “White okay?”

  “Yes. Red gives me a headache sometimes.”

  “We don’t want that.”

  “Not tonight, that’s for sure.” She smoothed her hand over the white marble countertops, looking all over the room. “I forgot how incredible your house is. I haven’t been here in so long. Eight years, maybe?”

  “Sounds about right. I don’t think you’ve been here since you and Johnathon got divorced.” He offered her a glass. “I’d like to propose a toast. To fixing mistakes.”

  She smiled and clinked her glass with his. “It’s really sweet of you to do this.”

  “Please don’t start with the nice-guy routine.” He rounded the kitchen island so he could stand next to her.

  “Oh, I won’t. The guy who wants to squash the competition like a bug is definitely not a good guy.”

  He and Tara sat at the table and got right to work. She went over the site limitations, the city’s requirements and the plan as it was. She and Clay had made quite a lot of changes since Grant had last been in the loop several weeks ago. Even though she was in a trouble spot with the deadline looming, once she started talking her way through it, he could see exactly how capable she was of doing this job. Hell, she could run Sterling if she truly wanted to do that. It made Grant sad to thi
nk that might end up being the case, and he would fight for his rightful place at the company, but if he had to lose to someone, Tara would be a hell of a victor.

  After an hour or so of discussion of possible changes, Grant took out a large pad of drafting paper and began working on a rough sketch of the new layout. It would ultimately take far more detail than what he was able to create here. For now, he and Tara were concerned with the flow of pedestrians and bicycle traffic, along with ample handicapped accessibility. There were noise issues to think about with the live music venue they were proposing, and then there were the aesthetics—the way it would look from both the water and the city sides of the project. In truth, it was a mountain of work, and Grant was truly burned out by one in the morning.

  “I don’t know if I can work anymore tonight,” he said, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms high above his head.

  Tara finished off her glass of wine. “Do you think this is feasible?” She tapped the stack of sketches he’d done so far. They were incredibly rough and would take some explaining to Clay, but they were a solid start.

  “I do. I mean, you and I need to figure out the elevations since some of the structures have had to be moved out of the previous order. But we have tomorrow. And Sunday.”

  It was Tara’s turn to sit back in her chair and stretch, showing off the lithe lines of her beautiful body. Everything in Grant’s body went tight. Even under the strain of sheer exhaustion, he wanted her.

  “You and I make a good team. I’m sorry that this project had to be so adversarial,” she said.