Once Touched, Never Forgotten

by Natasha Tate

  “Genevieve,” the woman intoned, flicking her gaze over Colette’s body and then dismissing her without so much as a smile. “I understand you want to update the bakery and pastry shop here?” she said to Stephen. “Have you a vision for what you want?”

  “Yes,” he said. Colette turned to find Stephen’s eyes fixed on hers. “And Colette here will be your main contact for the job.”

  Genevieve’s gorgeous mouth pursed with a pout. “But I thought—”

  “Why don’t you two set up a few times to meet this week while I go fetch my car?” He offered a farewell smile to the disgruntled designer, pulled back his sleeve to reveal a thin platinum watch that undoubtedly cost more than she’d earned in the last six months, and then returned his gaze to Colette. “Will five minutes suffice, or do you need more time?”

  I need more time.

  Used to be one sultry look from Stephen and Colette would cancel her plans, push any appointments she’d scheduled, and drop everything to be with him. Nothing had mattered more than time with Stephen. He’d trumped it all.

  But not now. Not anymore. Now she only agreed to be with him under duress. Under the guise of business. She’d do the job she’d been paid to do, and when she was done she’d go home to Emma and her real life. She’d go home to a world that had no place in it for the one man she couldn’t afford to want.

  “Colette?” he said, reminding her that he awaited her response.

  “What? Oh. Right,” she blurted. “Five minutes. I’ll meet you downstairs as soon as we’ve compared calendars.” “Excellent. I’ll be at the front.”

  Colette turned back to find Genevieve glaring daggers at her. “Don’t delude yourself into thinking you have a chance with him.”

  As if she needed the reminder.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  STEPHEN congratulated himself on his stroke of genius the moment he saw Colette exit the elegant entrance to the Renaissance and stride toward him. The bright sunlight caught in her hair and kissed her glowing skin, making her look like a harvest goddess brought to life. She wore her hair up again, exposing the long line of her neck and making his fingers itch to unpin all those tawny curls. Tall, beautiful and vibrant, she looked better than every memory he’d ever had of her. And he had her all to himself for the afternoon.

  “Did you find some times to meet with Genevieve?” he asked as he opened her door and gestured her forward.

  “Yes,” she said in a guarded voice. Her gaze flicked from the interior of his silver Maserati to his braced arm and she stood immobile for a moment, hesitating as if she stood on the edge of a perilous cliff.

  “Relax,” he told her, moving his free hand to graze the base of her spine. “I’m a safe driver.”

  She lurched away from his touch and dropped into the cream leather seat without further urging, then reached to buckle her seatbelt. A hint of bare leg flashed before she tucked her skirt over her bent knees. Her spine was so tense it barely touched the back of his low seat.

  Watching as she tried to hide from him, he felt a sudden urge roar through him to drag up her prim skirt and chart the constellation of new freckles he’d glimpsed.

  He held himself in check, his muscles tightening to stone. He was not an unprincipled beast. He could control his baser instincts.

  So Stephen closed her door with a soft click and dragged in a steadying breath, forcing his desire for Colette into submission. God, he wanted her. Despite everything, he still wanted her. He wanted her smooth skin, her mouth beneath his, her soft cries of completion. He wanted to watch her throat work while he pleasured her, to seat himself so deep between her thighs that neither of them knew where one ended and the other began.

  He rounded the car and then slid into his own seat. The interior smelled faintly of her, of vanilla and a warm, spicy note of some tropical flower. Putting the car into gear, his big hand close to her bent legs, he eased out a breath as he inched his way out into the New York traffic. They drove in silence, he checking his GPS and she clutching her purse, until they arrived at the hotel housing Antoine’s, the small, intimate French patisserie. After leaving his car with the valet and escorting her to the boutique café, he directed her to a corner table for two that offered an unobstructed view of the display case.

  “So, Colette,” he said, after ordering a sampler plate and espressos for them both. “You still haven’t told me why you left London.”

  The fork she’d been fingering clattered to the table while a delicate flush painted her cheeks. Pressing her lips together and avoiding his eyes, she surveyed the small cafe and its clustered clientele. “The seating is a bit cramped, don’t you think?” she finally asked. “It feels like we’re sharing a table with twenty people instead of just two.”

  He remained silent, waiting to see what other diversionary tactic she tried.

  She collected her napkin from the table and smoothed it over her knees before bending to look at the menu. “But the menu’s excellent. It offers a good variety of choices and has a wonderful layout.”

  “Impressive.” He allowed himself a small smile.

  She cast him a questioning look without straightening from her perusal of the menu.

  “I wouldn’t have thought it possible to be better at avoidance than you were five years ago.”

  She inhaled sharply and then dropped her focus back to the menu. “I thought you wanted my opinion on the competition.”

  “I do.” He leaned back in his chair, studying the off-center part of her tipped head. It was as if all the work he’d done breaking down her barriers five years ago didn’t matter. He had to start all over. Again. And the hell of it was, he had no idea why. Something had changed. Something big. Something that filled her eyes with nervous apprehension and made her act like a skittish mouse to his hawk. “Among other things,” he added.

  She stiffened while fresh color seeped into her cheeks. “This is supposed to be a professional outing. Remember?”

  “Yes,” he said as his gaze traced the line of her brow, her cheek, the narrow bridge of her freckled nose. “But I believe in multitasking. Surely you recall that about me?”

  “And you wonder why I was reluctant to accompany you,” she muttered.

  Amused, intrigued, and more interested in her explanation than he probably should be, he leaned forward and splayed his hands atop the middle of their small table. He remembered their last night together in her bed, the only time she’d allowed him in her small, intimate apartment. After finally gaining her trust enough for her to let him in, he’d felt like celebrating his triumph. He’d finally cleared the last hurdle of her defenses. He’d gone to sleep with a smile on his face, both of them spent and their damp limbs tangled in her twisted sheets.

  Then something had spooked her. Something that had sent her scurrying away like a thief in the night.

  “Are your reasons really so confidential that you still can’t tell me after all this time?” he asked.

  She fidgeted beneath his stare, pleating and unpleating the linen napkin in her lap. “Why would you even care?”

  “Call it a loose end.”

  “A loose end?” A scowl flitted over her features and then just as quickly disappeared, piquing his curiosity even more.

  “Would you prefer I call it something else?”

  She pursed her lips in obvious frustration, and then lifted her defiant gaze to his. “The only reason you want to know is because I left you instead of the other way around. Had I waited until you returned from Paris, and given you another few weeks to break things off yourself, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

  “I had no plans to break things off with you, Colette,” he corrected her. “You just assumed I did.”

  “With good reason, given your past history,” she insisted.

  “You were nothing like the lovers of my past.”

  “Even so, you had no interest in anything beyond what we had.”

  “I seem to remember you sharing that interest.�
��

  “You’re right,” she admitted, though it didn’t sound like she believed her own assertion. “So why the inquisition, when we promised no questions?”

  He lifted on shoulder in a deliberately casual shrug. “I’m curious.”

  “No. You accuse me of wanting control, but you’re just as bad. Something doesn’t end the way you want it to, and you can’t leave it alone.” “Humor me.”

  “Fine,” she said on a sharp exhale. “You want to know why I left? I left because I was no longer interested in a go-nowhere relationship.” Her voice dared him to deny her claim, to rewrite the history he’d replayed again and again. “I was bumping up against your internal relationship deadline, and I saw no need to postpone the inevitable.”

  It stung more than he cared to admit, hearing how she thought of him and remembering the way she’d discarded him without a moment’s hesitation. Yes, they’d set up their relationship that way initially, but he’d been open to renegotiation. “I don’t have an internal relationship deadline,” he countered, and he heard the defensive note in his voice.

  “No?” She laughed, and it was a brittle, dismissive sound. “Then tell me the name of even one woman who’s maintained your interest for longer than six months.”

  He might have bought her edge of cynicism, might even have reacted to the note of accusation in her tone, had he not seen the infinitesimal flash of pain in her hazel eyes. But he did. He saw it. Felt it. And he grappled with the crazy impulse to haul her into his arms and promise never to hurt her again. Which made no sense, because he wasn’t the one who’d hurt her. She’d been the one to leave, the one to give up on them before he had a chance to convince her otherwise. “You left because you thought I’d get bored?”

  “Of course! It was only a matter of time before you tired of me,” she said. “I had a month. Two, tops. Before someone new caught your interest.”

  He stared at her for a long, silent moment before asking, “What makes you so sure?”

  “You made me sure. Remember? You never once indicated that you wanted anything long-term, and I didn’t see the point of waiting around for the other shoe to drop.” “Colette—”

  “No. You’re a Whitfield and I’m just a nobody who worked in your kitchen.”

  “I never thought of you as a nobody.”

  “But it’s the truth nonetheless.” She blew out a sigh, looking oddly deflated. “Look. I’ll never deny that I had a wonderful time for the five months I spent with you. But it wasn’t a real relationship.” Her mouth curved into a sad crescent filled with regret and apology. “What kind of fool would I have been to behave as if it were?”

  Hearing her bald delivery of the truth rankled, unearthing an uncomfortable blend of irritation and irrational guilt. She was right. They’d never claimed to want more than the pleasure they brought each other’s bodies. That was one of the reasons he’d liked her so much. Her willingness to expect no more than he could give, her total lack of pressure, had been liberating. Exhilarating. “Are you telling me you wanted more, but were too afraid to ask?” he queried.

  Her features softened into something horrifically close to pity. “No, Stephen. I’m telling you that we were over.”

  He cleared his throat and pulled his hands from the table, remembering the surge of excitement that had gripped his chest once he’d realized he’d stumbled upon Colette again. Embarrassing, really, how quickly she’d burrowed beneath his skin, how quickly he’d fallen back under her spell. “So that was it?” he clarified. “You wanted to spare yourself the pain of my rejection, and decided to take matters into your hands? To end things on your timetable so I wouldn’t have to.” “Yes.”

  “Well, thank you for telling me,” he said in a flat voice. “For clearing up the mystery at last.”

  She studied his carefully blank expression, her brows notched in confusion. “I’d think you’d be grateful I didn’t cling to you, wailing out my heartbreak and begging you to stay,” she said, as if trying to soothe his stinging pride. “Unlike all your previous lovers, I spared you the discomfort of a messy, emotional scene.”

  “You’re right.” He forced a smile as their sampler plate arrived, an array of bite-size morsels of lemon cake, coconut tuiles and hazelnut cookies he no longer had any interest in consuming. He lifted his espresso cup and tipped it toward her in a silent toast. “You did us both a favor, leaving me without a backward glance.”

  Her face paled just a bit in the early afternoon light, her freckles suddenly more pronounced than they’d been before. “Yes,” she agreed with a slight dip of her head. “I did.”

  Report to my office. Now. Two days later, Stephen’s delivered message sent worry spiking through Colette’s chest. She didn’t want to report to his office. She didn’t want to report to Stephen ever again.

  It was too hard feigning indifference when he made all her senses come alive.

  Knowing he could still turn her emotions inside out, she took several deep breaths, ordered her heart to beat normally and her body to remain calm.

  He was waiting for her when the elevator doors slid open, looking far too authoritative, controlled and male for her comfort. Watching his black pupils flare as his gaze skimmed her body, she wished she’d worn something less form-fitting than her brown Capri pants and a coral sleeveless sweater. It was easier to negotiate when she wasn’t so aware of him as a man. Or when she wasn’t so aware of herself as a woman.

  “You’re late,” he said.

  “I just got your message two minutes ago.”

  He ushered her past his secretary and into his office, gesturing her toward his desk and the comfortable chair placed before it. She stopped at its polished mahogany edge, not willing to sit down.

  “I met with Genevieve this morning,” he said, his expression inscrutable.

  Inhaling past her irritation, Colette braced her shoulders and said, “I figured as much.” She’d expected him to be impatient with the lack of progress they’d made. The woman’s hourly rate couldn’t be cheap, and so far they’d found little to agree upon in the pastry shop’s design plan. “She was quite upset when she left.”

  “It seems you’ve been quite inflexible regarding how the Doux Rêves should look and feel.”

  She angled her chin up. “If you don’t want my input, I’m happy to step aside.”

  “Are you?” he murmured, his eyes fastened on hers.

  Annoyance simmered within Colette’s chest, but she kept her voice calm. She knew Genevieve had complained to Stephen, and, given Colette’s lack of experience and training in interior design, she was fully prepared to have her ideas shot down. But defending herself simply because she had a different opinion was not what she’d agreed to. “Yes. You can let Henri deal with her and I’ll just return to my baking.”

  “That’s your solution?” he asked with an amused smile. “Sic Henri on her?”

  Colette pressed her mouth into a grim line. “Why not? If Genevieve thinks I’m inflexible, she’s in for a surprise.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” A slow smile gathered behind his eyes, warming the blue and making her stomach flip in response. “But I don’t think it’s necessary to take such extreme measures.”

  She glared at him. “Don’t patronize me.” “I’m not. I fired Genevieve half an hour ago.”

  Rendered speechless by the pronouncement, she could only gape at him as he moved close enough to curve his large hand around her bare upper arm.

  “I trust you, Colette, and I value your opinion.” He squeezed her arm, imparting his support and his willingness to stand by her decisions. “I suspect she knew that, and felt threatened by you.”

  Her arm tingled beneath his touch, sending rivulets of awareness down to her stomach and legs. “That’s ridiculous,” she said, striving for a calm, unaffected tone.

  “Is it?” His lifted brow belied her words. “I’m sure it took her all of one second to figure out that there’s something between us.”

  “The
re’s nothing between us.” There can’t be.

  He ignored her as if she hadn’t spoken and his thumb idly brushed the skin along her arm, perilously close to the swell of her breast. “I can’t work with people who allow their personal insecurities to interfere with what’s best for my business.”

  She swallowed, exquisitely aware of that steady back and forth sweep of his thumb. “You slept with her, didn’t you?”

  Amusement flickered in his eyes. “Why do you always assume the worst of me?”

  Her cell phone buzzed within her back pocket, making her jump. Since Janet and Henri were the only people who knew her number, and neither of them would call in the middle of the day unless it were important, she winced and reached for the phone. “Do you mind?”

  The phone buzzed again, and Stephen arched a brow as his hand fell to his side. “Do I mind that you’re accepting personal calls during a business meeting with me?”

  She held up a finger while her eyes flicked to the phone’s screen. Janet. Without thinking about the consequences, she accepted the call, turned her back, and pressed the phone to her ear. “What is it?” she asked. “Is everything okay?”

  Janet’s tinkle of laughter sounded in her ear. “Of course it is! Everything’s fine, dear. I just wanted to let you know we’re going to the park for a bit of playtime and I didn’t want you to get worried if you called and we were out.”

  Janet refused to carry a cell phone, stating that she had no head for any of those newfangled gadgets. Closing her eyes, Colette decided she was going to make it a condition of her employment from here on out. She cupped her hand over her mouth, straining for privacy though there was none to be had. “Thank you,” she said in a low voice, cursing Janet’s poor timing but unable to fault her for the call. “I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Don’t forget sunblock,” she added in a whisper. “You’re talking too softly, dear. I can’t hear you.” Colette bit back a frustrated groan. “Sunblock,” she repeated a little louder. “Don’t forget.”