Forbidden to Touch

by JC Harroway

  ‘I’m meeting my family for lunch. They’re moments behind me.’ He looks down at my hand hanging by my side, and I wonder if he intended to reach for it but stopped himself. My fingers twitch, the entire limb taking on an awkward, alien quality as if I’m a shop mannequin that’s been posed in an anatomically impossible position, because I wish he’d taken my hand.

  Of course. It’s Sunday. Faulkner family tradition.

  I look past him, my stomach trying to outrun my heartbeat. His family—Graham, his brothers—they’ll be here any minute. See us together. Will they be able to tell what we’ve done? To see that we’ve crossed the line, left it far behind in the rear-view mirror? Will they think less of me? Still see me as the once mopey teen who’d traipsed after her father and mooned at the eldest Faulkner brother from afar? Will Kit and Drake doubt my capabilities, having known me as a youngster?

  ‘How is Graham today?’ His eyes are clear of the vulnerability he wore when he told me about Graham’s diagnosis and his split from Sadie, so I mentally cross my fingers that Graham is having a good day.

  ‘He’s fine, I believe.’

  But there’s no time for further discussion because the Faulkner clan arrive en masse—Graham, Reid’s brothers and two women I assume are their partners, the hotel foyer at once full of easy chatter.

  I busy myself, closing my laptop and stowing it in my bag, while the family, all casually dressed but still elegant, assemble around Reid. But I can’t hide for long.

  ‘Blair—how are you?’ Kit recognises me immediately and swoops to kiss my cheek, his arm possessive around a striking, heavily pregnant brunette. ‘Mia, this is an old friend of the family, Blair Cameron—you’ve met her father, James.’

  ‘Lovely to meet you.’ Mia pushes the hair from her flushed face, glowing in the way only a pregnant woman can.

  We’re joined by Graham, and I search his still handsome face for signs of confusion or recognition with a heaviness in my chest. Will he know who I am today? Reid and Kit seem to stiffen in unison.

  ‘Good, so we’re all here—let’s head into the restaurant.’ Graham smiles at me and clasps my shoulder with a warmth that leaves me floundering.

  I glance at Reid and clutch my laptop bag before me, my feet itching to shuffle towards the exit.

  Drake, Kit and the others head towards the hotel’s restaurant and Graham places his hand in the centre of my back and encourages me to follow.

  My mouth opens and closes without my saying anything. What should I say?

  Reid leans close and whispers, ‘Are you free? Care to accompany us for lunch?’

  ‘I...’ I stare, my eyes hopefully conveying my indecision. Am I being included as Sadie, or Blair, and won’t the rest of the family think my presence odd?

  ‘Of course she’s coming. She’s going to be joining the family soon,’ says Graham.

  So Sadie it is.

  It’s a beautiful day, but goose pimples form on my exposed arms as we enter the sun-filled dining room. Reid must sense my hesitation because he winks at me and smiles.

  ‘Don’t be nervous—if he remembers who you are, he’ll still be delighted you’re here. Come on—it’s lunchtime. We can’t have you working too hard.’ He grins, drawing out my answering smile.

  Graham heads to the table and pulls out a seat for Mia. I grip Reid’s hand, stalling. ‘What will Drake and Kit think about me being here?’

  He frowns. ‘They won’t care either way. You’re a family friend who’s also working for us.’ He smiles then—not the polite, open smile of acquaintance or friend, but the secret, intimate smile of a lover—and I follow him to the table, reluctantly accepting my fate.

  Reid pulls out the seat next to Mia, who smiles my way.

  ‘When is the baby due?’ I ask.

  Mia collapses back in her chair as if she finds the mere effort of thinking about the baby’s arrival in this heat exhausting. But she smiles, accepting the attentions of Kit, who kisses her and fills her water glass. ‘Two weeks. I’m totally over it. So, tell me about your plans for the hotel? I love the old-world charm of the Faulkner, but I can’t wait to see the place modernised.’

  On my other side, Reid leans in, joining the conversation. ‘I’ve already vetoed the lime-green paint.’ His hand settles on the back of my chair, the intimate gesture making me freeze—one, in anticipation of his touch, and two, in case anyone else at the table notices. Reid offers me a playful wink, but from the corner of my eye I catch Kit’s startled expression and the wide-eyed look he shares with Mia.

  Heat creeps up my neck, my stomach griping with embarrassment so my appetite completely vanishes. Has Reid discussed our sex-only relationship with his brothers? Do they disapprove? I’m younger than Kit. I’m probably younger than Mia. I know we joke, but is it really a problem for him? And does Reid share his brother’s reservations now he knows how foolishly trusting I was in my relationship? What would he do if he found out I was just as naive with my business too?

  My body floods with the shame of a thousand stares.

  I fake-bristle at Reid’s comment to keep the conversation light and away from questions on the nature of our non-relationship relationship. ‘Lime green, or chartreuse, as it’s properly known, makes an excellent statement colour and can look stunning in a bedroom when teamed with fuchsia and orange.’ I cast Reid a pointed look. ‘But you’re right, it is a more...youthful choice.’

  Mia smiles, in no way trying to hide her amusement at Reid’s expense, not that he seems in the least perturbed that we’re mocking him—in fact, he’s grinning. ‘I love chartreuse,’ she says. ‘I’ll have to invite you over when you’re free—we haven’t had time to decorate the nursery yet, not that I’m worried because babies can only see a foot in front of their face for the first few weeks. Perhaps while you’re there, you could look over the entire house—I’d love to knock down a wall or two in the living space to let in more natural light, and Kit has a serious love affair with beige.’ She offers Kit a sickly sweet smile, which he simply grins away, an indulgent look on his face.

  I give Mia a nod of encouragement, wondering how much Reid has told his brothers about my designs for the Faulkner. Do his comments on paint colour hide a veiled truth? Does he really hate my designs, and why do I care when I didn’t a few days ago? Unease and doubt build, crushing me until I feel small, an outsider in this room full of people who love and accept each other and have their lives all worked out.

  Why am I here? Why did Reid invite me? And why has sex changed everything?

  I struggle through the rest of the meal, exhausting my supply of small talk, although the Faulkners make easy companions.

  We’re just finishing a dessert when the thing I’ve most been dreading happens.

  ‘So, Reid,’ asks Graham, ‘are you taking the beautiful Sadie here to the LHA gala next weekend?’

  A collective hush falls over the table as everyone realises Graham’s mistake. My stomach twists and I’m frozen, my dessertspoon hovering in the air. My skin crawls and my heart clenches for him, because the damage is done. Graham looks around the table at the expressions of his family, his own face turning dusky and a stricken frown of bewilderment dipping his brows.

  Drake recovers first, prompting the conversations around the table to resume. ‘Reid hates the London Hoteliers Association functions, Dad, as well you know.’

  Reid shifts beside me, but I pipe up. ‘That meal was delicious, Graham. Thanks so much for inviting me. I...um, I noticed a chessboard in the foyer—would you like to play?’

  Graham nods, his face brightening. ‘Of course, I’d love to.’ Graham winks at me, and I feel Reid relax. ‘I’ll set up the board, my dear.’ He leaves the table, still fit and agile and the apparent epitome of health.

  I stand too, my heart heavy for the Faulkners.

  Reid catches my wrist. ‘Thank you.’ The sombr
e look on his face, mirrored in both Kit’s and Drake’s expressions, is difficult to witness. I nod, too unsettled to speak, and wander out in search of a bathroom.

  While I wash my hands my head replays the past hour, my concern for Graham’s condition and Reid’s obvious worry, which was evident in the number of times he slid his eyes his father’s way during the meal. The uncertainty over Graham’s prognosis and his bouts of confusion are taking a toll, perhaps the reason Reid seems both distracted and overprotective of the Faulkner. But at least I can help with the latter, manage the renovations as smoothly as possible and to the agreed time frame, releasing Reid from at least one burden. It’s the least I can do and, although we’ve never been friends, perhaps we can be when this is over.

  From the little I know of dementia, it’s a progressive condition, so Graham is unlikely to improve. He’s so young. Will he forget his sons as he’s forgotten his ex-daughter-in-law and me? What will happen if he worsens and can no longer live alone?

  I emerge from the bathroom minus any answers and head in the direction of the foyer to find Graham. Halfway there, I’m drawn to a halt by familiar voices coming from a quiet seating nook just outside the dining room. Nothing good ever comes of eavesdropping, and I’m about to walk on when I hear mention of my name.

  ‘Blair Cameron—what’s going on?’ says Kit.

  There’s a pause filled only by the sound of my blood whooshing through my head and the metallic taste of apprehension.

  ‘Dad saw her in the foyer and invited her to lunch.’ Reid’s voice—measured. Careful. ‘They’re quite close, by all accounts.’

  I blink, my eyes hot. We are. Were, when Graham could remember me.

  ‘I’m not talking about that. Are you seeing each other?’ asks Kit.

  Drake chuckles. ‘Sleeping with the competition—didn’t know you had the balls, big brother.’

  I cover my mouth to stifle my gasp. Is that how Reid sees me? An adversary? Someone not to be trusted? Someone out to ruin his beloved hotel with lime-green paint? I’d assumed that was a joke. I know he’s been hurt by Sadie, but the confirmation he expects so little of me and Cameron Interiors feels like a slap in the face after the vow I just made to ease his worry over the renovations.

  Reid’s growl of irritation echoes through the wall. ‘Since when have you cared who I sleep with? It’s none of your damned business—either of you.’

  ‘Hey,’ splutters Kit. ‘Don’t get defensive—we’re just surprised that it’s her, of all people.’

  ‘Why? Because she’s so much younger than me?’ says Reid, with only the tiniest pause before he continues. ‘Aside from what she does professionally to our hotel, my relationship with Blair Cameron has nothing to do with either of you.’

  He, like me, must have seen the look of judgement on Kit’s face earlier at lunch. Perhaps he’s embarrassed to be caught out by his brothers. Perhaps he thinks someone younger can’t be professionally as successful. And personally? Does he see my naivety with Josh as a barrier to taking me seriously as potential relationship material? Not that we’re going there, but neither do I want or need a pity fuck.

  Drake’s voice turns sober. ‘We’re not prying into your private life, but since when have you brought someone to lunch? It’s...heartening.’

  ‘Don’t read too much into it.’ Reid’s bored tone grates on my eardrums, and I want to interrupt and tell his brothers not to worry, that the eldest Faulkner is a great lay and I’ll be sure to put him carefully back on the shelf once I’m done with him.

  ‘So what about the renovations?’ Drake’s voice. ‘Is everything on track? Are you finally happy she can deliver on time or will you be watching her like a hawk, controlling every move she makes?’

  Despite their reassurances, I’ve heard enough. The younger two Faulkner brothers may not approve of my sexual relationship with Reid, but maligning my business is another matter. One I won’t tolerate, from anyone.

  I miss not only what Reid says in answer to Drake’s question, but also my opportunity to interrupt and set the Faulkners straight, because at that moment Graham rounds the corner, presumably in search of his chess partner.

  I struggle through a brief game of chess, accepting my defeat at Graham’s hands while I formulate another battle plan. The sex was my idea. Reid and I are not in a relationship. He owes me nothing, least of all loyalty. But we agreed to keep the work separate. If we’re off course before the work on the Faulkner has even begun, this is over.

  I ignore the pinch in my stomach, which feels a lot like a mini version of Josh’s betrayal, take my leave of the Faulkners and head outside into the late-afternoon sunshine. Have I made another mistake? Am I being naive where Reid is concerned? Have I wrongly assumed we’re on the same wavelength, both physically and professionally?

  Well, I know one thing: next time I have Reid alone I’ll know whether our brief, sex-only fling is make or break.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Reid

  I EXIT THE hotel and jog down the street, guilt and adrenaline charging my muscles with enough energy to run a marathon. What a fucking idiot. How could I have been so stupid, so thoughtless as to discuss Blair with my brothers where she might overhear? One look at her closed expression as she thanked Graham for lunch and bade us all farewell told me she’d not only overheard, but probably wanted to tear a few well-deserved strips off me too. And she’d have every right. Not only did she play along again with my father’s mistake, something I know cost her, if the quickly concealed flash of hurt in her eyes was any indication, but she also showed how close she is to Graham and how invested she is in her relationships with all of us. She chatted to Mia and Kenzie, getting to know the newest two additions to the Faulkner clan, she teased Drake and Kit in the same way she’s taken to teasing me and she even graciously lost a game of chess to Graham, even though I’m sure she has a hundred better uses for her Sunday afternoon.

  She was relaxed and comfortable around us right up until I spoiled it with my thoughtless lack of tact.

  I round the corner in time to see Blair unlocking her car door. A wall of relief slams into me and I slow to a brisk walk, allowing myself time to recover from the fear I missed my chance to make this right, but the fear that I’ve inflicted too much damage lingers, turning my blood to ice. I refuse to probe my motivations too closely—with anyone else I’d put up less of a fight, but for some reason, with her, I’m not ready to walk away. Blair is a breath of fresh air in my life I can’t, and don’t want to, ignore. And, whether I’ve sabotaged this or not, she deserves an apology.

  I take a hard swallow and try to slow my breathing as I come to a halt at her side.

  ‘Don’t leave angry with me—let’s talk it through.’ My voice carries a pleading undercurrent that feels both alien and justified. The idea I’d get down on my knees, if that’s what it takes, comes out of nowhere and takes root.

  She turns, lazily lifting her gaze from the screen of her phone, as if she was fully aware I was pursuing her the whole time. ‘I’m not angry. And I’d welcome the opportunity to discuss it with you in private—I’m not doing this in the road outside your family’s hotel.’

  I allow my lungs the barest recoil of relief that she hasn’t shut me down. Yet.

  ‘Perhaps a walk, then, or my place is just around the corner.’

  She locks her car with a click of the remote. ‘Okay—let’s walk.’ She sets off and, just like every time she’s within arm’s length, I want to reach for the hand closest, which swings by her side. Instead I shove my own hand in my pocket and curse my stupidity anew. She’s smart, caring, funny and kind. I talked about her as if she meant nothing to me, insulting both of us, because that’s not true, despite my divorcee’s caution.

  ‘I overheard you, Drake and Kit talking,’ she says, aiming straight for the heart of the matter in her no-bullshit way.

  I scrub a hand th
rough my hair as my fear is confirmed. ‘I guessed as much and I’m sorry. Sorry for being indiscreet and talking about you at all.’

  She nods, but I’m still wriggling on the hook, the set of her full mouth tells me. ‘I didn’t want to eavesdrop, but when I heard my name I kind of wanted to know what you’d say. I accept overheard conversations can be misconstrued,’ she says, ‘so let me make my position crystal-clear.’

  My respect for her, for her professionalism and maturity, ratchets up to new levels when I thought I’d reached the ceiling.

  ‘I know you don’t owe me anything—that all we’ve shared is a couple of orgasms—’

  To hear the evening we’d spent together reduced to mere biology rather than the astounding night of connection it truly was, at least for me, stings like all-over nettle rash. But Blair isn’t finished.

  ‘I understand you may have trust issues—’ A momentary flash of pain blazes through her expressive eyes, gone as quickly as it arrived.

  I touch her arm, tug her to a standstill. ‘It’s not personal. I do have trust issues. A hangover of my divorce. In fact, I’m a suspicious old git, I’m afraid.’

  She nods, not arguing and refusing to take the bait and tease me again about my age, and she continues as if I haven’t spoken. ‘But I’m a hard-working professional. I take my work very seriously. I’d never do anything to take advantage of you, your father or your hotel. I, perhaps naively, assumed your initial reticence for the renovations was down to it being sprung on you. And I thought we’d struck a deal that we wouldn’t allow the sex to affect the work...’

  She leaves the last dangling like a question, although it’s very much a statement and it’s as if our ages were reversed and I’m a schoolboy again, standing in front of the head for flinging insults at some bully who dared to pick on Kit or Drake. I want to rewind the past few hours, to walk into the lobby of the Faulkner again and show every scrap of the delight I felt at finding her there. To invite her to join us for lunch myself, not wait for Graham to do the honours. To whisk her out of there within minutes of the meal being served, take her home and lose myself in her again, because those impulses were strong, and now I can’t think of a single reason I fought against them.