Forbidden to Want Read online

  He doesn’t add that I’m the reason sales are down, or that I’ve lost my drive where growth of my business is concerned. World domination of the luxury travel and recreation marketplace is no longer of interest. He doesn’t need to—I’ve made my peace with the things I can and cannot control, preferring to focus on the former.

  Of course, the most satisfying of those easily commanded areas of my life is sex. My eyes dart to the intriguing Mia.

  Reid’s voice softens a fraction. ‘Both Bounty Events and the Faulkner chain will benefit.’ Even now he’s looking out for my business and reminding me of my responsibilities to the family, the brothers who stand by my side.

  Another surge of futility erupts beneath my skin, forcing tension into my hands. I straighten my fingers, although I want to give rein to the fists this new twist inspires. The last thing I need is a distraction as appealing as Mia, and the timing will bite me in the arse.

  I lean close, a last-ditch attempt to sway things my way with the minimum of effort. ‘We don’t need her,’ I say under my breath. ‘I don’t need her.’

  Mia’s snort reaches us across the room, a fuck you to the subtlety I’ve tried to maintain for her sake.

  She shows her steel. ‘I can hear you, you know.’ Reid and I both turn Mia’s way but she looks directly at my brother. ‘Temperamental you said, not rude.’

  Reid sighs as if slapped in the face with those stained Y-fronts we’ve aired. So she’s been pre-warned about poor widower Kit.

  She flicks her attention my way, ebony-hard eyes blazing challenge. ‘As of thirty minutes ago, Mr Faulkner, I’m under contract—all signed and sealed. Unless I fail to deliver the promised product, I expect the balance of my fee on receipt of the final, approved material.’ She smiles that dazzling smile, her eyes laced with defiance.

  I sigh, turning away from my brother in disgust. If she’s here for three weeks to do a job sanctioned by me, one that will get my brothers off my back, I can’t even fuck her. 92 messy. Not that she’s shown any sign of sharing my physical interest.

  My stare settles on the curve of her full mouth, the hint of pink tongue behind straight white teeth... On second thoughts, perhaps I could. Perhaps that’s the quickest way to get rid of her. We’ll have a good time. She’ll realise I’m an arsehole she can’t change and want nothing more to do with me.

  Reid moves, snapping the soupy tension that coils across the room, connecting this enigmatic woman and me like tentacles.

  ‘Well,’ he slaps my shoulder, ‘my work here is done.’

  I shoot him a look that promises retribution. I must imagine the residual flicker of concern on his face because Reid casts me the smug grin of someone who’s not that fond of his teeth. ‘Don’t forget the theatre tonight—’

  ‘I’m well aware of my professional commitments.’

  Although I could do without them today.

  Reid nods. ‘Give my regards to Mr and Mrs Sanchez.’ He strides to Mia, who stands and shakes his hand with another of her knockout smiles. Already there’s a warmth to their leave-taking that adds another convoluted twist to my knotted intestines.

  Reid’s parting shot ends any hope of my day panning out the way I’d planned—getting through, alone, with only my dark thoughts for company.

  ‘Perhaps Mia could accompany you to the theatre tonight?’ He tosses a malicious grin over his shoulder, so reminiscent of teenaged Reid, who enjoyed flexing his superior strength over his younger brothers.

  Bastard.

  He looks to Mia for her nod of approval. ‘She doesn’t officially start work until tomorrow,’ he adds, ‘but... I’ll leave you two to work out the finer details.’ With one last smirk he departs, optimistically closing the door behind him.

  If he were any sort of gentleman, he’d have held the door open—the fascinating foreigner currently staring at me as if trying to figure me out won’t be staying that long. I turn to the woman I can’t fuck or fire, a tight smile on my face.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mia

  THE MINUTE WE’RE alone the pressure in my lungs builds to screaming point and my pulse thrums stronger. I slowly release the air trapped above my diaphragm through pursed lips to conceal my conflicted urges—either to run from Kit Faulkner or kiss the arrogant smirk from his tempting lips. A wise woman would grab her beloved camera and race back to Heathrow, just to escape the fog of sexual tension and other un-named undercurrents filling his swanky office.

  Instead, I lift my chin and return his stare—I never back down from a challenge.

  Kit’s big, brooding size owns the room—feet planted wide, broad chest on display, hands casually slung in his pockets, his eyes peeling away my layers. Another injection of stubbornness raises my eyebrows in his direction. He can male posture as much as he likes—my cage isn’t easily rattled.

  The need to prove I’m more than he no doubt sees is easy to ignore. I’ve never belonged in a box and I’m not about to conform simply because Kit Faulkner is the sexiest man I’ve ever met.

  Whew, I wasn’t expecting sparks when I arrived at the Faulkner offices. Shame he’s an arsehole.

  Ignoring the trickle of excitement raising the hairs on my arms, I settle back, forcing my body to relax into the leather and my mind to remember all the reasons I’m happy being single. My corneas protest, the scalding intensifying until my eyes start to water. Only my competitive nature stops me from getting lost in the stare down. Lost in the centre-of-the-earth-deep navy-blue eyes of his. The annoyance he displays in their inky depths awakens my reckless side, which is never far from the surface.

  Let’s play, Mr Faulkner.

  ‘So, your day isn’t going as planned...?’ I cross my legs and swing my foot in time with my heartbeat while I wait for him to fill the stilted atmosphere Reid left behind. Whether his irritation is directed at me—an unexpected stranger forced upon him—or at the handsome, more personable older brother is unclear. But my direct question works. I’ve definitely poked the bear awake.

  His mouth thins—a travesty, because it’s full and lush and surrounded by sexy stubble. ‘You could say that.’ Still no smile, but his teeth scrape his bottom lip as if he’s thinking dark thoughts behind those dark eyes, which harbour the unmistakeable flicker of interest.

  I evaluate what I know, what’s been hinted at and what I’ve deduced. He’s single, hot as and probably highly sexed. And rude. Don’t forget rude. I glance at the outer office. That probably explains the missing assistant.

  Despite the brief heads-up from the charming Reid—my brother goes through lots of staff, don’t take it personally—I’m clearly not immune to Kit’s conventional, almost cruel, good looks. His hair is a little long and too dishevelled to match the elegant perfection of his older brother, but when teamed with the devil-may-care scruff on his chiselled face and the intense fuck-off vibe in his brooding stare, the look packs a punch like a blowtorch to a cobweb. Because it screams sex. Dark, intense, dangerous sex.

  Dangerous because there’s a kind of anguish that radiates from behind those eyes in gloomy waves like the sheets of drizzle soaking London today, disarming me to the point that the fleeing-back-to-Heathrow option looks increasingly tempting.

  But then, where’s the fun in that...?

  I smile, showing him I’m not perturbed by his frigid reception ‘Well, thanks for this opportunity.’ I’m just here to do my job, not to dig into this uptight English dude’s psyche. But perhaps I should show more graciousness.

  ‘I’m really looking forward to this commission.’ Landing this prestigious contract with the Faulkner Group will not only fund my next trip to South America, it’s also allowed me to visit my brother, who moved to London two years ago to marry the love of his life.

  ‘I think we’ve established your appointment was nothing to do with me. But perhaps we can make the most of it.’ Kit plants himself in the seat
opposite, his elbow propped on the chrome armrest and his thumb and forefinger rubbing at his bottom lip as if he’s formulating a plan. A plan to deal with me?

  I squeeze my thighs together, my imagination like a moth trapped inside a lampshade. Why does he have to make this so...enticing? To stop myself drooling, I look away from his ridiculously handsome face and focus on London’s iconic cityscape behind him.

  ‘Great—it’s my first trip to London. I travel a lot but I’ve never been here.’ The buzz of excitement for exploring a new a city runs through my veins.

  Perhaps that buzz is the reason Kit Faulkner’s stare seems to penetrate my clothes, even my skin, his tortured interest a slither of electricity swooping over to join the persistent throb between my legs.

  From looks alone, a quick game with Kit Faulkner is something I’d normally consider. And if that hint of danger in Kit’s aura grows any bigger, burns any brighter, I’m doomed.

  I uncross my legs while I breathe through the flutter of my pulse in my throat. I won’t go there. He’s too intense. Too...damaged. Too...consuming.

  I don’t do relationships, so I have a radar for people only interested in casual. Instinct and the delicious thrumming between my legs tell me I’d walk away from Kit Faulkner’s bed not only saddle sore, but thoroughly mind-fucked too.

  It’s those eyes...

  Risk is stamped all over him—not the physical, adrenaline thrill I’m always up for, but the temptation to get sucked into those fathomless pools and the turmoil they conceal. That’s not me. Caring that much is the role of a long-term lover or a girlfriend and I’ve never been either.

  I swivel my hips a fraction, pressing the seam of my jeans where I want it to stop me from becoming a cliché and succumbing to the dark, seductive stare thing he has going.

  I force a polite, professional smile, willing my body to stand down from this unforeseen attraction to my new client. He’s still staring, brooding intensity and heat in his eyes even while he tries to intimidate me with his silent perusal.

  My smile stretches. Does he expect me to crumble because he’s displayed how inconvenient he finds my presence? My lips twitch, controlled by a sense of perverse devilment.

  I lift my eyebrows. ‘I am free tonight, by the way, and I love the theatre.’ A lie. I have nothing in my backpack I could wear to the theatre. I’m not the theatre type. I’m outdoorsy, sporty, adventurous—my parents’ generation would have labelled me a tomboy. But we don’t do labels in our family. Despite being older than most parents, mine are progressive, liberal and non-judgmental. The perfect parents for a couple of kids who don’t fit into any mould and who no one else wanted.

  Kit works his jaw, ignoring my attempts to steer the conversation back to the job he’s paying me handsomely to complete. ‘Tell me, Mia...’ My name vibrates in his deep English voice. ‘Have you seen much of the city? Had time to explore?’

  ‘No. I arrived yesterday, and I’ll see enough of London while I work for you. I’m staying with my brother and his husband in Camden until I complete this contract, and then I’ll be moving on.’

  Keep moving. Keep exploring. Keep free.

  A blunt knife burrows between my ribs—old, rusty, predictable.

  The prickle of restlessness that travelling normally helps me outrun returns. The irony that my job has brought me here, to a city of millions where one person, somewhere, is related to me by blood, twists my insides.

  I breathe through the feeling, reminding myself that travelling the world beats putting down roots. A bird’s world view, not an oak tree’s.

  Kit’s fathomless eyes still project a dichotomous vibe that veers from mild hostility to overt interest. Why is he angling to get rid of me? Does he dislike his perfectly amiable brother so much? Or perhaps he’s taken an instant dislike to my quirkiness. He needs to pick one emotion and stick to it, though. His indifference I can handle, but his seductive stare, which promises one thing and one thing only, grows harder to resist.

  But resist I must.

  ‘Hmm...’ he says. ‘Well, perhaps I can pay the outstanding balance of your fee. You can leave today. Spend time with your family. See the sights London has to offer.’ He smiles then, for the first time, as if my acceptance of his generous but bizarre offer is a foregone conclusion. As if he’s used to getting his own way.

  I bet he is. Well, some of us aren’t easily controlled.

  I almost laugh, but I’ve already sniggered at his attempts to chase me off twice, so I’d best not push my luck. A Faulkner recommendation is worth more than it costs me to ignore Kit’s attitude. Intrigue adds to the other unexpected emotions that meeting him has unleashed.

  What is he afraid of? What is he hiding?

  Energy coils inside. I expected this job to be fun, but Kit’s added layer after layer of excitement to the mix until I’m practically trembling from the adrenaline in my bloodstream.

  I shake my head slowly, a small smile dancing on my mouth. ‘I’m a professional film-maker, Mr Faulkner, with a reputation to uphold, a product to create and deliver. You and your brothers brought me in for a reason.’

  No matter how much my libido wants this uncompromising Englishman, I’m no pushover. But he’s making this too easy, too much fun. I sit up straighter in the chair, all ready and raring to tackle Kit Faulkner head-on.

  ‘Fuck.’ He mutters under his breath, looking away. His fingers massage his brow as if seeking inspiration through telepathy and his jaw muscles bunch. At this rate he’ll have no enamel left. I take pity on him, my body’s reaction to the unforeseen chemistry between Kit Faulkner and me softening my response.

  ‘Why don’t you discuss the project with me, go over the Bounty Events company ethos, provide some creative pointers for the film?’

  Instead of trying to sway things your way.

  I have the brief Reid emailed to me memorised for today’s meeting: the Faulkner chain of small boutique hotels is synonymous with high-end luxury; lacking the grandeur of the big London hotels, they offer top-of-the-range luxury, exquisite catering and, if you can afford the services of Kit Faulkner’s partner company, Bounty Events, a menu of unique, once-in-a-lifetime experiences, overseen by the edible man still staring at me with impenetrable eyes.

  Whatever he hopes to achieve with that look, the resultant effect is the trickle of heat through my blood, the rush usually reserved for when I’m airborne with my action camera strapped to my head.

  ‘I have a meeting now.’ He rises, dismissing me and makes his way to his uncluttered desk. ‘Your arrival this morning was...unscheduled.’

  Controlling, arrogant...and grinding my usually laid-back gears. ‘Not for me. And not for your brothers.’

  He focuses on his laptop as if deaf to my comeback, the epitome of eye candy if you’re into the haughty, crisp businessman type. The suit trousers fit him like a bespoke shield of armour, cupping his muscular arse and thick thighs. The shirt, although a little creased where he’s sat in his executive leather chair, is expensive enough it could probably walk around this office on its own and he emanates power, wealth, culture, as sure as the outright aloofness he’s wafting my way.

  My tapping fingers pick up the pace—my worst habit, one that tells me I’ve been sitting for too long and need to get moving. I press them flat, cross my legs and force myself to enjoy his plush leather armchair, prolonging the showdown.

  A battle of wills...?

  Well, if you insist, Mr Faulkner.

  He must sense his brush-off hasn’t achieved the likely intended goal—me scuttling from his office like a frightened mouse. He turns from his laptop screen, looking at me over one broad shoulder.

  ‘So I can’t persuade you to take the money and run?’

  If this were any other city, if Kit hadn’t tried to control this from the outset, I might have been tempted to take his offer. I arch a brow in his directi
on. ‘I’m here to stay until the work is complete.’

  With one last sweep of his eyes along the length of my body, a look that dismantles every scrap of my resolve to find him unattractive, Kit turns away.

  ‘If you’re determined to complete this project, it will be under my full direction.’ He taps some keys on his laptop, once more gifting me a view of his sculpted back and arrogantly broad shoulders.

  I smile. The Kit effect fosters my defiance and my curiosity to probe just how deep his control goes. I won’t be put into a box, despite my body’s instant physical attraction to him.

  ‘I prefer full creative control of my work. We can discuss it further tonight.’

  End of conversation.

  I stand and he gives me his full attention. His energy leaves me jittery, vibrating, as if I’ve stepped into his force field and any minute now I’ll be reduced to a cloud of excited molecules. It’s more of an enticement than a deterrent and I step closer still.

  His lip curls. ‘Do you own suitable attire for the theatre?’ He looks me over, heat back in those eyes, like the blue at the centre of a Bunsen flame. The haughty attitude says one thing, but his baby blues give him away.

  I embed my feet in his impractical carpet, hoping the soles of my shoes are grubby from the wet streets outside. ‘It’s not a jeans kind of affair?’ I widen my stare, all innocence, biting the side of my tongue to prevent a smile escaping when he all but rolls his eyes. I’m certain he finds me lacking. Unlike the crisp, sophisticated women I met downstairs, I care little about make-up, manicures or fashion.

  ‘Sadly, no. Is that all you’ve travelled with?’

  I shrug. ‘Most of my baggage allowance was taken up with my filming equipment.’ I live in clothes hardy enough to weather lying on the ground or climbing over fences, all in pursuit of the perfect shot.

  His mouth tightens, and once more I have the crazy urge to kiss him. To push him back into his expensive chair and straddle him while ruining what’s left of his overlong hairstyle, just to prove that his body is interested in the woman wearing jeans currently cluttering up his immaculate but sterile workspace.