inside me. ‘I can imagine, although being self-employed isn’t easy—that’s quite a burden of responsibility. At least I have Kit and Drake, and Graham taught me everything he knows. You’ve completely sidestepped from your family, branched out alone.’
I don’t need the reminder of how irrelevant what I’m doing is to my large, self-absorbed family, who, as I’m the youngest, have always completely underestimated me. ‘Well, it’s all about scale, isn’t it? You employ hundreds of staff. I have an office manager and a list of subcontractors. And Graham helped me out, too.’
‘He did?’ His surprise turns to what looks like awe. And I smile for their father-son bond. Of course, Reid and Graham must be close, working together all these years.
‘Yes. I’ve always valued and respected his opinions—he’s given me some valuable advice over the years.’
‘Such as?’
I stall, dozens of memories crowding my mind, most of them linked in some way to the man sitting beside me. ‘He always seemed to have time for me, even when he talked business with my dad—he once spent an hour explaining the way the stock market works to a fifteen-year-old me. When I earned a place at university he sat me down and told me to chase my passions, whatever they were, even if it was the path less travelled. He even came to my graduation ceremony—did you know that?’
Reid’s eyes widen. He seems shell-shocked, as if I’ve told him something about his father’s warm and giving personality that he didn’t previously know.
I continue. ‘When I qualified, I started work for a big company in the city—I hated it; I was creatively stifled and felt trapped. I’d chosen this career, against my own family’s advice, and for a moment there, I thought I’d have to admit they were correct and go back to Dad for a job with my tail between my legs. Then I talked to Graham about the idea of starting C&L Interiors. Of course, he knew little of the creative aspects, but he offered plenty of sage business-related advice, put me in touch with a great business-mentoring organisation and was so enthusiastic and encouraging I felt I couldn’t fail. But then, I’ve always found him generous like that.’ I swallow hard at the sickening reminder that, of course, I could fail and almost had.
‘Yes. Yes, he is.’ Reid looks at me as if with fresh eyes. ‘I was unaware you two were that close. I guess I’ve been a little out of the loop, socially.’
I can’t hold back any longer—I have to ask, for my own peace of mind. ‘Is Graham’s confusion likely to be temporary?’ The backs of my eyes burn and I have to swallow repeatedly to keep myself in check.
Reid glances out of the window at the passing traffic, perhaps looking for a distraction. ‘The doctors say it’s dementia.’ He turns back to face me, his sculpted jaw tense. ‘We’re awaiting a second opinion.’
I cover my mouth in shock, my mind racing with the implications. ‘I’m so sorry, Reid. That must be very hard for you, Drake and Kit, and, of course, Graham.’ My eyes burn anew as I recall all Graham’s kindnesses and considerations over the years. ‘He’s a lovely man.’
I want to pry some more, to ask about Graham’s prognosis and what it means for him and the family. But the car pulls to a halt, ending our conversation and giving me a few seconds to pull myself together.
Reid exits and I follow, my hand still nestled in his. With my head reeling after what he’s just confessed, I’ve barely found my balance on the pavement, when he steps closer, backing me up until my backside hits the car door and our chests collide. My breath hitches as all thought except of the man towering in front of me ebbs away. His warm, hard body pressing against mine from chest to thigh reminds me how decadent touching him feels. How forbidden even the idea of him has been for so long. How, after fighting and striving to make it alone, this past year has drained every sexual impulse from me, and the idea of handing over control to this man—albeit just in the bedroom—leaves me giddy with relief and anticipation.
I look up, achingly aware of his height, his broad chest, every spectacular masculine inch of him.
His arms encircle me, our entwined hands settling in the small of my back as he crushes me to his chest.
‘Thank you.’
‘What for?’ His shirt smells fantastic, and I want to rub the scent all over myself so I can wake up tomorrow and relive tonight.
He pulls back and I’m left deprived of his heat under my cheek. ‘For telling me how my father helped you.’ The flash of uncertainty which momentarily crosses his features is so out of place, I almost convince myself I didn’t see it.
‘You’re welcome.’ I’m dying to ask questions. To press him for his confidence, but instinct tells me he’d disappear behind that controlled veneer quicker than the snap of a mousetrap. And the selfish, horny part of me is grateful I kept my mouth shut when I catch the intense look on his face a split second before his mouth descends and he kisses the air from my chest.
I cling to the sleeve of his jacket with my free hand as I kiss him back, any thought beyond how good it feels to be able to do this with him abolished.
He breaks away first, his chest heaving. ‘Fuck, I’ve wanted to do that since you stepped out of your front door.’ His lips brush mine again and he grins, almost apologetically. ‘I’d planned to draw out the anticipation, but you’re too irresistible.’
I laugh, all my nerves forgotten, and wipe the smear of my lip gloss from his mouth.
‘Thanks.’ He peels his body from mine and I almost hear our combined sigh of regret as we head inside. He guides me ahead of him, his hand in the small of my back. His fingers slide to the top of my arse, caressing, sending snakes of delight down to the backs of my knees.
I exhale through pursed lips as I settle myself in our discreet, booth-style table. Reid sits close enough that our thighs brush, his touch doing something wonderful to fan every flutter of excitement inside me so I’m desperate with anticipation. Not content with this, he spreads his legs in that way men sit, so now we’re touching hip to knee and I’m left deliciously curious as to how much space he needs to create between his thighs. My mouth dries and he presses his leg against mine in a very deliberate move.
‘Hungry?’ he asks, his thumb idly swiping back and forth on my bare shoulder where he’s casually slung his arm around my back.
I shrug, the keg of lust inside me filling to capacity. ‘A little.’ How can he do this to me, inspire so much lust with just a look and minimal body contact? Clearly a year without sex is too long. Clearly my fantasies were spot-on and the long wait to have them fulfilled was worth every second of yearning.
His stare hits me—seductive, bold, a challenge. ‘Did you get my text?’
I nod, my brain fried by his heated eye contact, the scrape of his commanding voice and the reminder he wanted me bare and I willingly, almost giddily, complied. He’s taking my fantasies and adding layer after layer of extras until I’m certain I’ll combust from desire.
His eyes dip from my face, travelling at a snail’s pace over my breasts and down into my lap, where my hands are clutched. ‘Good, because I’m ravenous.’ His eyes meet mine, and the flames in my belly reignite.
I forget how to breathe, revelling in the beam of his attention, just like this morning, when any other Faulkner employee could have disturbed us. My blood roars so hard, I completely miss the waiter asking
