Once Touched, Never Forgotten

by Natasha Tate

  “Thank you, Masters, for your comprehensive overview of the coming transition, and thank you, Renaissance employees, for agreeing to meet with me today.” He smiled, a stunning flash of white teeth, while his newest batch of employees quieted to a stunned silence. At six foot four, and dressed in an immaculate navy silk suit, Stephen oozed confident command and tempered sexuality from every pore. It was no wonder they all gaped at him like he was a pagan hunter brought in from the wild.

  “Please,” he said, as effortlessly comfortable before a crowd as he’d always been. “Be seated.” This had to be some sort of a dream. He couldn’t be here. He was supposed to be in London.

  London.

  Stephen scanned the audience with his encouraging smile while Colette, unable to move, remained frozen in place until his gaze caught hers and held. For a breathless moment in time the world halted on its axis, the abrupt shift from present to past jarring her heartbeat into stillness.

  “I realize this may come as a bit of a shock,” he said without breaking eye contact. “But I want to reassure you all that for now, at least, your positions are secure.” His voice, that same deep voice that had haunted her dreams since she’d fled London, left no room for doubt in her quailing heart.

  He was real. Very, very real.

  “Your job descriptions might change a bit,” he continued, “but Masters has assured me that you are each valuable employees who will be willing to meet me halfway. Unless you prove otherwise, you can expect to remain on the payroll indefinitely.”

  Stephen was in New York. Here. The world launched back into its dizzy, perilous spin, sending rivulets of shock through her veins.

  “In return for this job security, however, I will expect flexibility and loyalty from each of you.” Demanding and fierce, his brutal slash of mouth, high cheekbones and icy blue eyes bore mute testimony to his insistence on making his own rules and exacting obedience from all within his realm. Thick hair the color of onyx and an angular jaw that appeared to be hewn from granite intensified his aura of power. Only his eyelashes, curling and long enough to tangle at the edges, lent any hint of softness to his commanding expression. “You best know now that I will not tolerate dissention within the ranks.”

  Dissention within the ranks? Her reawakening pulse ricocheted through every disbelieving cell, while his grim expression, intense and hard where before it had been warm, made icy fear clutch within her chest.

  “I am willing to listen to your concerns and consider your input, but I advise you to prepare yourselves for change. The Renaissance must be brought back into profitability if it is to survive the next decade. We will have to work together to make updates in a timely fashion. If we do not, Masters’ legacy will fail.”

  A corner of her brain registered that Henri had tugged on her arm, trying to reclaim her attention. But she remained ensnared in the web of Stephen’s gaze, unable to move while he continued.

  “Toward that end, I will maintain an open door policy so that we can build a working relationship as we move forward together.”

  She needed to escape. Now. Except with Emma in tow where would she go? Her stomach seized in denial, her throat closed up, and a tremor claimed her hands.

  His eyes narrowed to slits of glinting blue. “Do you have a question?” he asked her, an edge of ice underlying the velvet smoothness of his tone.

  A murmur of curiosity rippled through the seated staff and they turned as one to stare at Colette. Suddenly aware that she was still standing, she dropped like a guillotine into her chair, her limbs too numb to check her descent.

  “Colette?” whispered Henri as he gripped her forearm. His warm brown eyes darkened with concern. “What is it? You are pale as un fantôme.“

  “I’m fine,” she managed to say. Her pulse careened as her thoughts raced frantically. Did Stephen know about Emma yet? Did he suspect the truth? Bill was such a gossip, he’d probably told Stephen about her status as a single mother. What if Stephen tried to take Emma away? Feeling trapped, she closed her eyes and hauled in a steadying breath. Panicking wouldn’t help anything. She had to be calm. She had to think.

  Maybe she was overreacting. Stephen wasn’t the type to be interested in his staff’s lives outside of work. He might not have even recognized her across the crowded conference room. She wore her hair up now. Motherhood, sleepless nights and worry had stripped her of her youthful blush. And it had been five years since he’d seen her.

  Besides, even if he had learned about Emma, he had no reason to suspect she was his daughter. They’d used protection every time without fail. He’d seen to that. He’d made it very, very clear that he never intended to have children.

  She didn’t need to worry, she told herself while struggling to calm her thudding pulse.

  He wouldn’t want her again. And he certainly wouldn’t want Emma.

  Wasn’t that why she’d left in the first place?

  The rest of the meeting passed in a blur. Stephen’s speech, outlining the schedule of pending renovations and his vision for the future of the Renaissance, barely penetrated the turmoil of her thoughts. But when he announced the schedule for supervisor meetings the following day, her panic kicked back into gear.

  “I’ll meet with the lobby supervisors at eight a.m.” he said, “followed by housekeeping at nine, Doux Rêves and dessert management at ten, guest services at eleven, maintenance at noon, and La Tour d’Or management at one. If you cannot attend for any reason, please notify me as soon as possible so that I can make alternative arrangements.” He closed his binder and scanned his seated employees a final time before thanking Bill and adjourning the meeting.

  Everyone stood to leave, their low murmurs rising like the hum of bees moving to a new hive. Colette joined them, grappling with her reaction to his announcement regarding personal meetings. Blending in with an anonymous crowd of employees was doable. But maintaining her poise in a face-to-face interview would prove far more difficult, especially when she didn’t know how much he knew.

  “Do you think he’d want to renovate me?” whispered one of the new girls from the front desk as they congregated in the aisle.

  “If you’re lucky,” giggled her friend as she fanned her face and stole another covert look over her shoulder. “Did you see his eyes?”

  “Eyes?” commiserated yet another. “I was too busy fantasizing about those shoulders, that hair, and those big, strong hands.” Two of the students shared a joint sigh of agreement while the third girl continued, “Can you imagine how a specimen like that would perform in bed?”

  “Tiffany!” they scolded with shocked gasps of titillation. “What if he hears you? He’s our new boss!”

  The pretty coed didn’t even blush. “So? I’d be happy to trade in my position for one that’s a little more … unprofessional with a man who looks like that. Wouldn’t you?”

  Colette ducked her head, feeling her own face heat. She’d thought the same thing when she wasn’t much older than these girls. And she’d paid the price for her foolishness.

  If she were a better person, she’d warn the girls away from him before they got hurt.

  But they wouldn’t listen. Why would they? She certainly hadn’t.

  She’d nearly reached the exit when the gossip around her decreased in volume. An air of expectancy rushed to fill the silence and the fine hairs on Colette’s arms rose.

  “Miss Huntington,” Stephen called. The edge of command carried the same immutable force of will as it had five years ago. “A moment, please.”

  Stumbling forward as if she hadn’t heard, she continued toward the door without glancing back.

  The shock of Stephen’s warm fingers at her elbow, recognizable even after all this time, sent a shiver of awareness coursing through her veins. Awareness she couldn’t afford to feel, yet felt all the same.

  “Miss Huntington,” he repeated, more sharply this time.

  Fear, hot and sharp and irrational, leaked from her lungs into her muscles and nerves and
skin. Fighting the fear, she lifted her chin and turned to face him as if his touch impacted her not at all. “I’m sorry?”

  His eyes narrowed, whether in amusement or anger she couldn’t tell. “I wish to speak with you.”

  Feigning surprise, she lifted both brows. “Now?”

  A wintry smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes revealed a flash of white teeth. “Yes.”

  She felt the weight of her coworkers’ regard, sensed the murmur of gossip they’d leave in their wake. “Why?”

  “Perhaps we should adjourn to my new office to discuss it.”

  Panic raced down her spine, but she forced a bland note of polite courtesy to her voice. “I’d be happy to oblige you any other day, Mr. Whitfield. Today, however, I have a prior commitment.”

  Her curious colleagues stalled in their mass exodus, their ears and eyes trained on the merest hint of scandal involving their new boss. Stephen raised his gaze to his nosy employees, his expression exuding an unmistakable authority. “Is there a problem?” he intoned, and the subtext of his words couldn’t have been more clear.

  Dismissed with nothing more than a polite question, her coworkers jumped as if they’d been jolted with a cattle prod. Within seconds the double doors of the conference room had clicked closed and Stephen and she were plunged into muffled silence. The pulse rushing in her ears formed the only sound, her serrated breath its only counterpoint.

  CHAPTER THREE

  STEPHEN’S nostrils flared, though his smile remained fixed in place. “Now, what was it you were saying about a previous commitment?”

  Colette swallowed nervously and avoided his eyes. “I said I couldn’t stay today. I have an appointment.”

  Still tall and broad, he wore his power as easily as his designer suit. The inscrutable expression he wore possessed the same seductive persuasiveness it always had. “Cancel it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Of course you can. Anything can be rescheduled.”

  “True,” she improvised, unwilling to renege on her promise to Emma. “But I’d prefer not to.”

  When he didn’t respond, she raised her eyes to his, only to find his blue gaze glinting with challenge. “Is this really how you wish to play it?”

  She felt her neck tighten defensively. “Play it?”

  “Colette,” he scolded with a patronizing smile. “You know me. I know you. And you’re far too intelligent to think I’m interested in these games.”

  Up close, he was even more beautiful than she remembered. Except, like a faded photograph that had been brought out into the light too many times, her memory of him was softer. More gentle. Now he looked inaccessible in a way he hadn’t before. Strong, remote and polished. He made her wonder if any of his grim smiles ever contained the warmth of her memories.

  “It’s not a game. This is my only day off, and my schedule is impossibly tight.” She made a show of checking her watch. “I’m late as it is.”

  “Then meet me after you’re done.” The quiet command, delivered in a low, dangerous hum, resonated through her body, reminding her of the way he’d dismantled every barrier she’d ever thrown up. No wall, no door would ever keep Stephen Whitfield out. Once he saw something he wanted, he went after it with a single minded purpose no defenses could protect against. Surrender, no matter how short-lived, was guaranteed.

  “No,” she blurted, withdrawing from the heat of his nearness until her heels bumped against the closed door. “We already have an appointment tomorrow morning. I’m sure anything we have to discuss can wait until then.”

  He arched a brow. “There are a few items in your personnel file we need to address. Items I’m sure you don’t want Henri to hear.”

  A fresh wave of panic flooded her chest. Had Bill written something in her file about Emma? “What items?”

  “Your file indicates that you’ve been here for four years.”

  “Yes,” she hedged, studying his eyes for any hint of what he already knew. “So?”

  “So where were you for the year between London and here?”

  I was having your child. “Does it matter?”

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of what matters and what doesn’t?”

  She inhaled as she cast about for reasonable excuses, knowing she navigated a fine boundary between placating him and raising his suspicions. “The job market was tight when I first returned. It took me a while to find a position that fit my skills.” And my childcare schedule.

  “Perhaps you should have asked me for a reference.”

  She let the statement pass without comment.

  His gaze flicked over her body, managing to be both dismissive and unnerving at the same time. “How did you manage to acquire the Renaissance position without any documented work history?”

  “Who knows?” She shrugged. Licked her suddenly dry lips. “Perseverance? Luck? Pounding the pavement for long enough that Masters took pity on me?”

  Narrowing his eyes in speculative assessment, he flattened his mouth into a grim line. “Right. Masters pitied you enough to hire you despite your apparent lack of experience.” He paused, the accusation beneath his words as clear as if he’d spoken it aloud. “Why do you suppose that was?”

  Defensive without having any reason to be, she hitched her chin. “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “I did,” Stephen admitted smoothly. “He claims he took a chance on you. A chance he seems to be quite proud of taking.”

  “Well, it has nothing to do with what you’re thinking,” she insisted. “He just likes to support the locals.” “The locals?”

  Uncomfortable with her slip, she bit back a silent curse.

  “Yes.”

  “Since when are you local?”

  She exhaled noisily through her nostrils. “Since I was born.”

  His brow hitched high. “How did I not know that?”

  There’s a lot you don’t know.

  When she didn’t answer, he moved closer, crowding into her space and forcing her to tip her head back to maintain eye contact. “You never did tell me much about your past, did you?”

  She felt her body flush hot and then cold. “No, I didn’t, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  Challenge flashed in his expression, firming his mouth and making his jaw bunch. “I’m not surprised. And I suppose you’d like to pretend we don’t know each other as well, right? Pretend to be strangers when we’re anything but?”

  “Of course,” she blurted, grappling for a tone of normalcy despite her racing pulse. “It’s been five years. We’ve lived on different continents, led separate lives. I think it’s safe to assume we’ve both moved on.”

  “And yet here we are. Together again.”

  “We aren’t together,” she corrected with a thin, brittle voice, while both hands wrapped tightly around the strap of her purse. “We’re simply boss and employee. Nothing more. I don’t see any reason to acknowledge we have any history together at all.”

  His gaze flicked to her knotted hands and strained expression before he leaned even closer. Close enough for the safe distance she’d shored up between her heart and the pain of leaving him to vanish in an unwelcome surge of heat. “So you’re … comfortable … pretending we never had an affair?”

  Too unnerved to form a reply, she simply stared up at his achingly beautiful features, trying to make sense of his sudden reappearance in her life. Why wasn’t he in London? At the Whitfield Grand where he belonged? “Of course,” she finally managed. “Our … involvement … is hardly something I’ve been proud of, and hauling it out for inspection now, five years after the fact, will only complicate matters for everyone.”

  His expression, as hard and inscrutable as granite, didn’t change as he stared at her for a long, tense moment. “For everyone? Or just for you?”

  A flash of pique washed over her, sharpening her tone. “I was the subject of malicious hotel gossip because of our … whatever it was we had, and I’ve no desire to repeat the experience
. I’d ask that you respect my decision to keep my personal life private this time around.”

  “This time? I’d say privacy is a permanent state for you, Colette.” The sultry pitch of his voice called up memories she’d spent the last five years trying to eradicate. It made her skin buzz with awareness and brought a terrifying weakness to her knees. His gaze dipped to her mouth, her throat, the scalloped neckline of her dress. “It took me months to excavate even the tiniest crack in that shell of yours.”

  Heat burned a fiery path from chest to hairline, and Colette swallowed in an attempt to regain her composure, to quell her body’s response to his nearness. “Yes, well, I let my guard down with you when I shouldn’t have,” she said, clearing her throat. “What we shared was … temporary. We were on a fast track to nowhere. You knew it as well as I.”

  His eyes reclaimed hers. “While you made sure we had no detours along the way, didn’t you?”

  She hated the accusation in his tone, the unwelcome sting of guilt his words wrought. “Why are you even here, Stephen? You own the Whitfield Grand, and a place like that doesn’t run itself.”

  His mouth tipped into a cold, grim curve. “Did I imply it did?”

  “You’re not there. What else am I supposed to think?”

  “I only own fifty percent of the Grand. And ever since the family’s economic downturn, several other partial owners have taken a renewed interest in its day-to-day operations.” His nostrils flared with palpable annoyance. “I find I don’t like sharing the wheel.”

  She stared at him in surprise, unable to envision the Whitfield Grand with anyone but Stephen at the helm. “Surely they’d want you to remain in charge, given how successfully you ran it before?”

  “You’d think so, but you’d be wrong.” His controlled expression only hinted at his carefully corralled temper. “The Whitfields and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things and it’s proven … interesting, to say the least. Fortunately I’ve spent the past few years expanding my holdings beyond the Grand, and I’ve been able to disengage on occasion.”