He keyed in the current iteration of the rotating eight-digit password that would unlock the door. As Liam stepped into the house, his phone buzzed again. The perfect timing of that let him know that she was tracking him, so he checked the screen, expecting the next piece to whatever puzzle she’d designed. Instead, it was just a simple text.
I’m upstairs.
He knew he should be pissed that she’d managed to bypass his security. Not just blow it up, but reset it, and all without his knowledge. And he was. But much like the first night he’d laid eyes on her, he was impressed, too.
That was the thing about AJ. She’d gotten into his brain as well as his blood.
She could tease him all she wanted about his history with supermodel socialites, but none of those women had ever affected him like she did.
Liam’s heart was in his throat as he took the steps that led toward his bedroom. But when he turned the corner, expecting to see her standing there, fake-admiring his hallway art in a pantomime of that first night, his expectations were subverted yet again.
The doors to the master suite were thrown wide open.
What he saw when he stepped inside stole his breath.
AJ was standing at the window with her back to him. She wore fancy lingerie—not her usual cotton. This was exquisite black lace with some kind of patent-leather harness thing, a sexy bra-and-panties combo that seemed to hide as much as they revealed, tricking the eye with shadows, making him wonder what was skin and what was lining. Apt, he supposed, that even now, almost naked, he couldn’t quite figure her out.
In total contrast to the tease of that, she wore her scuffed-up black Doc Martens. A riding crop dangled from her right hand.
She was desperately, quintessentially AJ right then, standing in front of the window part dominatrix, part warrior, and all defiance.
Liam leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb.
“I assume the boots are symbolic of the way you stomped through my security.”
A wry smile touched her lips as she turned to face him. She was so fucking beautiful. His abs clenched like he’d been punched in the stomach.
“You know I can’t resist a challenge. Putting a kick-ass security system in front of me is basically a giant dare. As for the boots—” She shrugged. “I just like them.”
Liam pushed away from the door and walked toward her. Every part of him wanted to lose himself in her, to not ask the question he needed to ask, but he realized that would get them nowhere, so he stopped, leaving distance between them so that wouldn’t happen.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I’m here because you were right. I run when things get hard. And I was hiding behind Max. But I finally realized that if I keep doing that, if I don’t let myself be part of the world again, then I’m going to miss out on all this amazing stuff. Like annoying snooty salesgirls and telling off shitty moms.”
Until that moment, Liam hadn’t thought it was possible to love her more than he already did.
“And I don’t want to miss any of it. So I broke into your house and I, uh... I took off all the layers for you.” She looked down at herself, then back at him. “Basically, I’m standing here in some slutty underwear with a riding crop to tell you that you make me want things. Good things. Like cunnilingus. And sex in a bed. And to stay the night.”
He couldn’t stay away from her for another second. She was like a magnet, pulling him forward. “Well, I don’t like to brag—”
She arched a contrary eyebrow. “Yes, you do.”
“I mean, sure, a little. But I heard it’s not bragging if you can back it up,” he reminded her. “And I figure if I can knock off all three items on your list by tomorrow morning, that’s got to count for something, right?”
To his surprise, her face turned serious. “Did you mean what you said at the party? That you’re falling for me?”
Liam shook his head. Giving in to the urge to touch her, he rested his palms against the flare of her hips. “Sometimes, it’s a smart business move to hedge your bets, leave a little wiggle room. Understate things a little so you can exceed expectations.”
“So lie?” she asked with a knowing look.
“Not lie, just bend the truth a little. Like in this case, I said what I meant. I just played a little fast and loose with the verb tense. Because I’m not falling in love with you, Alyssa James. I already fell.”
Her wayward smile did funny things to his pulse. “Well, that’s pretty fucking embarrassing for you, isn’t it?” She poked him in the chest with the riding crop. “What will the supermodel socialites say when they find out?”
“Uh-uh. You don’t get to joke your way out of this one.” Liam tugged her a step closer. “After everything we’ve been through, don’t tell me this is where your courage deserts you.”
She licked her lips. Met his gaze. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
Liam grinned down at her. “Prove it.”
AJ kissed him as he hoisted her up his body so she could wrap her legs around his waist. But as incredible as it felt to have her in his arms again, it was nothing compared to the look in her eyes when she pulled back.
“I love you,” she said simply.
“I love you, too.” Liam tightened his arms around her, but when he tried to capture her lips, she wouldn’t let him.
“I feel like I should probably make it clear that if we’re really doing this us thing—”
“Oh, we’re definitely doing this us thing,” Liam assured her.
“—that I’m gonna fuck it up so many times in so many ways. But if you’re willing to be patient while I work through some of this baggage, I promise I’ll do everything I can to make it worth your time.”
“You’re worth everything to me,” he said solemnly.
AJ kissed him again, but this time with a heat that wouldn’t be denied. Liam let the flame consume him as she shoved his jacket off his shoulders. He did his best to help her out, pressing her back against the window so he could let go of her with one arm, then the other, until the Italian wool slipped past his wrists and fell to the floor. She was already tugging at his tie, but after a couple of attempts, she ripped her mouth from his so she could see what she was doing.
“The pretentious douchebaggery of your three-piece suits is really getting in the way of you getting laid right now, you know that, don’t you? Man, and you accuse me of hiding under layers.”
He reached up with his right hand and with a practiced pull, the blue silk came free. “And you accuse me of talking too much, but now you’re the one who won’t shut up.”
She set to work on the buttons of his shirt. “Guess you’ll have to make me then.”
Liam’s grin felt downright wicked. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
* * *
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Forbidden to Touch
by JC Harroway
CHAPTER ONE
Reid
THE WORRY ON my brothers’ faces tightens the shackles of my role as eldest and head of the Faulkner Group, but it’s a role I was practically born to, so I hide the concern from my own expression and layer my voice with reassurance.
‘The doctor said the best thing for Dad is to maintain his current routine. Let’s keep him on the golf course or at his club until we know more about his prognosis.’
Drake and Kit nod. A Mexican wave of shudders seems to pass through all three of us, an unspoken acknowledgment that our newly retired parent may no longer be in command of all his faculties and what this means for the chain of luxury hotels that forms our family business. Our old man is only sixty—the experts calling his recent periods of forgetfulness early-onset dementia.
‘And I’d like a second opinion, which I am happy to organise,’ I say. ‘Try not to worry. We’ll take care of this.’
I’ll take care of it.
Dad’s always been there for us and for me in particular. This office, the biggest with the best views of London, used to be his office. I glance at the city, at the slice of the Thames, which is shrouded in a sheer curtain of haze at the record-high spring temperatures. How I’d love to play hooky, to shake off my business suit and head down to Chelsea marina...take a boat out, all four of us—me, Dad and my brothers—as we used to when we were teens...
The memories of happier times cement how signing out is not an option. I’ll do whatever it takes to help Dad, just like he’s always done for me.
A knock at the door heralds my assistant, Sue, with fresh coffee. She places her offerings on the table and begins to collect the old, half-drunk ones.
‘You can’t take on everything,’ says Kit, his eyes a little tired. ‘It’s peak tourist season—we’re all busy.’
I wave away his concern. I’m divorced—I have room in my life for extras, and the buck stops with me now. Dad taught me the ropes from the day I first accompanied him to work as a boy. And of the three of us, I owe him the most. I inwardly cringe, recalling the crappy end to my marriage and how he’d bailed me out of the subsequent close call for the Faulkner Group, one that could have been avoided if only I’d gone for a pre-nup...
‘Sue, can you locate Harley Street’s best neurologist and make Graham the earliest appointment available, please?’ I look to my brothers, already raising my hand mentally to accompany him. ‘I’m happy to go with him, or all of us could attend.’
‘Absolutely,’ says Drake, and Kit nods.
Sue hovers at my elbow.
I raise my eyebrow in question.
‘Um...is Mr Faulkner popping in today?’ Her eyes, which are laced with sympathy, dart between me and my brothers. We’re a tight-knit company, our staff longstanding and loyal. Dad’s episodes of confusion prior to his retirement won’t have gone unnoticed.
‘No—he’s at his club today, I believe,’ answers Kit.
Sue frowns. ‘There’s um...someone in Reception who claims to have an appointment with Mr Faulkner. Will you be taking it, Reid?’
‘Appointment?’ Unease stiffens my neck—my father has no more official Faulkner engagements. Drake’s and Kit’s blank faces tell me they’re equally clueless, but it’s not a feeling that sits well with me.
‘Does she have an appointment?’ I ask Sue, a growing sense of frustration clipping my tone. Dad entrusted this company to me, Drake and Kit. I won’t tolerate cock-ups on my watch.
Sue returns to her desk in the outer office, and all three of us follow.
‘Yes.’ Sue shoots me an apologetic look. ‘There’s an entry on Mr Faulkner’s schedule for a meeting with an interior-design company at twelve.’
‘Why would Dad have engaged an interior designer?’ says Drake.
I hide my wince at this unforeseen twist. It’s my job to know everything that goes on at the Faulkner Group. My job and my personal preference to keep a tight rein on the company entrusted to me—a company Dad spent his life building from nothing.
‘Do either of you know what this might be about?’ I ask my brothers, compassion for my father flaring anew. He worked long hours for forty years to leave a legacy for his sons, steering the Faulkner Group to success and prosperity. This slip-up, albeit insignificant, provides further evidence of how he might have lost control towards the end.
‘We did discuss renovations a board meeting or two back in your absence,’ says Drake, ‘but I thought we’d shelved the idea for now.’
Kit nods. ‘Yes. We never actioned anything.’
Sue’s voice takes on a rarely heard flustered cadence. ‘I’m sorry, Reid—the appointment must have slipped past unnoticed, what with Mr Faulkner’s retirement. Should I...reschedule?’
‘No need,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘Ring down to Reception and have this woman shown up to our waiting area.’ I could cancel, but that level of unprofessionalism isn’t typical for my tightly run ship. The sooner I see this woman, the sooner I can send her on her way.
I head past Sue’s desk, ushering my brothers out. ‘You two have enough on—so, usual drinks Friday?’
My brothers nod, reassured. I watch them walk away, pride that they’ve both recently found happiness—Drake in the first stages of love and Kit weeks away from becoming a father—affirmation that all will be well. Aside from walking in Dad�
�s very large footsteps, steering the family business for my brothers and the generations of Faulkners to come is a privilege. We’re going to be okay. Dad’s going to be okay. I’ll make sure of it.
The minute they’re out of sight, my mind works on the newest problem to be solved. I turn to Sue. ‘What can you tell me about this company?’ I check my watch. I won’t have time to do extensive research, as I prefer. But going in blind... Never a good idea. But could Graham have sanctioned major changes at one of the hotels without my knowledge? Has his confusion reached levels where he’d behave so...erratically and out of character?
My efficient assistant is already nodding, typing away. ‘I’ve just sent you through a link to their website. I’m sorry, Mr Faulkner. It must have slipped past Graham’s old PA.’
‘No worries, I’m sure the mix-up can be easily rectified, but can you please ensure Graham has no other meetings on the horizon?’ I rub a spot above my eyebrow at my mounting sense of irritation. What else has gone unnoticed? What else have I missed before recognising the extent of Dad’s confusion went beyond pre-retirement pulling back of his workload? If I’ve been remiss, overlooked my usually competent father’s decisions these past months, the ‘t’s need crossing and ‘i’s dotting.
I shrug into my suit jacket, an expectant brow raised at Sue.
‘The company is a small boutique business,’ she says, scrolling down her computer screen. ‘There’s a news story—C&L Interiors, as it was then, winning some prestigious industry award in the small-spaces category.’
I nod, mind whirring. ‘That’s all? No big-name commissions?’ Why would Graham choose a company with no track record for hotel renovations?
Sue shakes her head, looking apologetic.
My shoulders relax—whatever accolades C&L Interiors holds, they’re small fry and in no position to undertake renovations on a Faulkner hotel. ‘Send a companywide memo to Kit and Drake and the other heads—all new business requires my sign-off.’ I ignore Sue’s hastily concealed look of horror. I’ve allowed Dad’s diagnosis to distract me and now I have this unscheduled meeting cluttering up my lunch hour.
Wicked Pleasure Page 17