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  ‘Some water, please,’ she says, tucking those long, slender legs together. I deposit her water and take a seat opposite. Now I know who I’m dealing with, tension eases from my muscles. Whatever she wants for C&L Interiors I can dismiss while I figure out if our flicker of chemistry is shared. That could certainly be indulged, as long as she understands its temporary nature.

  ‘So why interiors? Didn’t you already have a job for life in hospitality?’ The Camerons are a large family and Blair is the youngest. Something in her eyes shifts. Instinct tells me I’ve touched a soft spot—excellent. Having a business opponent, even a beautiful one, on the back foot, is always advantageous. She’s broken away from working with her family—is there a rift? Or is she still on the payroll? That control-freak part of me, the part screwed over by Sadie, again wonders if she’s here to mess with the competition.

  ‘I wanted to forge my own path, and I’ve always loved the creative aspects of my job. I’d be stifled in an office. And I offer the family a discount as compensation.’ She lifts her brows, a mocking glint in her eye.

  We chuckle together, but there’s a thread of steel through her words. She hasn’t taken the easy route, preferring to strike out alone rather than sit back on her laurels. And while she’s young for a sole business owner, I can tell she’s not a pushover. She’s clearly a savvy businesswoman or she wouldn’t have made it into my office.

  I slide my eyes over the entire Blair package, caution warring with intrigue. The way she carries herself, the way she’s dressed for a boardroom and her handshake are all clues that this woman values her business. The sky-high heels and the whimsical way she’s simply pushed her sunglasses up onto her head tell me she’s particular, but not rigid, at least when it comes to her own appearance.

  I breathe my first sigh of relief—I have no time for high-maintenance women. Perhaps this is a chance to dust off that rusty charm, use it to my advantage, dispense with this misunderstanding and suggest that lunch.

  ‘So, shall we start?’ she asks, jerking me from pleasure and back to business.

  ‘By all means.’ I quash the flicker of sexual interest, my divorce having cured me of anything...romantic. Sex has become something I slot into my diary along with the gym, dental check-ups and haircuts, although perhaps a little more regularly.

  When I don’t initiate any conversation, Blair reaches for the art case and pulls an A3-sized board from it, laying it on the coffee table.

  ‘I’ve sent through digital files of the technical work I discussed with Graham, but I also brought a mood board to give you an idea of the finished look.’ She looks up, her fingers gliding over the fabric samples and paint swatches stuck to the board. ‘Interiors are three-dimensional. Tactile.’ Her eyes spark with enthusiasm, doubling her attractiveness and sharpening my powers of observation where she’s concerned.

  She continues. ‘I prefer to feel something under my hand, to test its durability, to luxuriate in its texture, to imagine what it would feel like to lie upon, or walk upon barefoot...’

  Her passion, her zeal, does something to my already heightened awareness—a fresh stirring below the belt. Would she trail those elegant hands over my bare chest the way she’s caressing the fabric swatches?

  I snap my attention back to what she’s saying. Until this mistake is cleared up, my libido will have to take a back seat.

  ‘Interiors are sensory, something you experience with your entire body. You can’t appreciate these facets on an iPad.’

  Her mouth is sensual. Mesmerising. My cock twitches in payment for my arse-over-tit priorities. I nod, her enthusiasm shifting something inside a dusty, neglected corner of my chest. She loves her work. I’ll be sorry to disappoint her.

  ‘I can appreciate that.’ I shift in my seat, directing my frown to the swatch of fabric under my fingertips.

  A blink, a sniff and my focus returns. Not to her passion or her rocking body, but the reason she’s here. I abandon her mood board. Time to nip this in the bud. ‘Excuse my confusion—I’m playing catch-up a little here. What exactly did you and Graham discuss?’

  Her face falls a fraction, a hint of uncertainty entering her eyes, which seem to change colour in the light—are they blue or green? I can’t decide. And why have I never noticed before?

  ‘Well...he wanted me to start as soon as possible. I’ve managed to reschedule a few other projects, so—’

  ‘Start what?’ I brace myself for confirmation of what I’ve already guessed, my fingertips gripping the armrests.

  Her brows cinch, a tiny crease forming above the bridge of her nose. ‘Renovations. On the Faulkner.’

  Damn. I knew it. No way.

  ‘You are joking?’

  Confusion wrinkles her brow. ‘No. Why would I joke?’

  My enamel creaks from the tension in my jaw. ‘I don’t need to tell you it’s peak season—the hotel is booked solid for the next three months.’ I keep my face neutral while my mind whirrs at how much it might cost us financially to extricate ourselves from whatever Dad has set in motion, and how much it will cost me personally, in my time to...deal with Blair Cameron, which, outside of this cock-up, isn’t a wholly unpleasant reality.

  ‘Yes, I did question the timing.’ She shrugs one shoulder. ‘But Graham was adamant.’

  I stroke my chin, contemplating my next move. No matter how gorgeous she is, no matter how, under different circumstances, I’d welcome dealing with this beautiful, passionate woman, there’s no way she’s laying a single elegant finger on my fucking hotel. The feeling that I’m a caged lion builds, an urge to quash this quickly and at all costs.

  ‘I’m sorry, but Graham...’ I clear my throat, my natural inclination to hedge. ‘Let’s just say he’s currently indisposed.’ No need to go into details of his health with a woman whose family, at least professionally, I could consider rivals. If she’s unaware of Graham’s health issues, the family friendship can’t be that strong. My stomach pitches at the reminder of those health issues—I’d love to blank them out, pretend they’re just a bad dream.

  Her stare widens with sympathy. ‘I’m sorry to hear that—I didn’t know. I hope it’s nothing serious.’

  I incline my head, neither confirming nor denying, while my stomach knots with frustration that there’s little I can do on that score currently. I focus on the easier to solve—and easy on the eye—predicament sitting opposite.

  ‘So I’m afraid whatever arrangement you might have had...’ I wave my hand over her colour-coordinated and detailed mood board ‘...is no longer required.’ I slide the offering back along the table.

  Her face registers quickly concealed shock. Her stare bounces up from the ‘teal’ and ‘taupe’ swatches and hardens, an expression I’ve never seen her wear before.

  ‘Arrangement?’ Her luscious mouth lingers over the word as she takes a slow sip of her drink, her lips caressing the rim of the glass, a distraction my libido in no way needs. She stares directly at me, as if I’m suggesting something illicit.

  I’m tempted, and I have plenty of other illicit distractions if she’s up for a brief fling.

  But the look in her eyes tells me I face an admirable adversary. And I put business first. Always.

  ‘We had no arrangement,’ she says.

  For a second a weight on my shoulders lifts at this easily rectified situation. ‘Great—that’s all sorted.’ I smile—now seems like the perfect time to switch on the charm, to salvage something from this serendipitous meeting, to get to know the stunning Blair Cameron better. ‘Perhaps you’d allow me to take you out for lunch, so we can catch up properly.’

  My offer, layered with my usual confidence, seems to do the trick. Her pupils dilate, blocking out most of the blue-green hologram of her irises, her pulse picks up, thrumming rapidly in her neck, and her legs shift, presumably as she presses her thighs together. She’s turned on by my suggesti
on, her mind perhaps imagining the same satisfying outcome, although her scenario is probably a little less graphic than the one rendering me stuck in the chair by the beginnings of a hard-on.

  I lounge back against the leather. Who knew that what, only ten minutes ago, felt like a thorn in my side would end so...gratifyingly? That she doesn’t seem perturbed by our age difference? And if it’s just a fling, why should it matter?

  My mind shuffles through my engagements for the rest of the afternoon, my dick stuck on the fact she didn’t turn down my offer of lunch flat. There’s nothing that can’t be...reprioritised.

  Then she sits a little straighter and tilts her head. ‘Another time perhaps.’ The eyes are back to flinty, although her pulse still trills nineteen to the dozen. ‘Why don’t we keep this about business, for now?’

  For now...? Promising.

  ‘You see, what Graham and I had was beyond an arrangement.’

  The hairs at my collar stand to attention as the worst is confirmed.

  ‘We had a contract.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  Blair

  REID FAULKNER’S DECADENT lips thin, but he manages to keep his expression free of the irritation I’m certain he feels. He’s not a man to be side-swiped, his reputation for dominating every aspect of the Faulkner Group well known. But I too have learned a few ruthless skills this past year, although none that can help me with my most pressing question—why does he have to still be so thigh-clenchingly hot?

  Within thirty seconds of meeting him again, while I’d drooled at the way he fills his immaculate suit, I’d recalled his permanent air of supreme confidence, every stupid, misplaced and sometimes downright filthy fantasy I’d ever had about him roaring back to pulse-pounding life. Of course, back when I first noticed the eldest Faulkner brother was a bona fide fully grown sex god, he seemed permanently out of reach, and I finally abandoned my long-held crush when he married. But now...? With the way he’s sliding that sexy stare over me, I have the urge to resurrect those fantasies. Funny how eighteen and twenty-eight seemed an insurmountable and naive dream, but twenty-five and thirty-five has...delicious possibilities.

  I sit a little straighter, ignoring the way that, despite trying to wriggle free of our deal, he makes me feel a little more invincible. After all, this is business. My first priority. I wait for him to process my bombshell, while my own eyes burn with the pressure of maintaining his searing eye contact.

  ‘A contract?’ His expression hardens even as his stare lingers on my mouth so I almost feel the brush of his lashes. The cut of his voice—commanding, confident, seductive almost—makes my breath catch and leaves me wondering if I can’t have the best of both worlds. Flex my professional muscles on this deal with an adversary as worthy as Reid Faulkner and explore what I’m pretty certain is a mutual attraction.

  And why shouldn’t I?

  I’m no longer a besotted eighteen-year-old. Our chemistry, if kept separate from business, needn’t be an obstacle. In fact, the opposite. Now I’m close to nursing Cameron Interiors back to full health, perhaps Reid Faulkner is the perfect reward I deserve...

  I swallow and brace my entire body to combat the swirls of excitement twitching my muscles in response to our showdown. My pulse ricochets between my nipples and my pelvis, reminding me of my long year of celibacy, until I mentally slap myself and focus on pumping blood to my brain—the only part of me required for this particular encounter.

  I open my tablet and, after a few swipes, offer him the screen for proof, but he bats me away with one large hand, which is big enough to leave me wondering how much of my waist it would circle and if it would swallow my entire breast...

  Ignoring my soaring temperature, I clench my jaw with determination. I won’t be dismissed, for all his years of business experience, and he wouldn’t be the first person to underestimate me. As the youngest sibling in a large family, I’m used to fighting to be seen and taken seriously. Even my university professor cautioned me against trying to run before I could walk, to pay my dues at a big, well-established design firm, but I’ve always known I’d rather put in the hours and work hard for my own company, not someone else’s. And if Reid Faulkner thinks I’m walking away from my first major deal since Josh and I parted ways, he can think again.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ I try not to allow the lurch of my stomach to register on my face—it’s like a roller coaster in there. I secured this contract alone, fair and square, despite the competition. I won’t be side-swiped for a second time.

  ‘Nothing that can’t be rectified.’ His stare narrows as if dissecting me. ‘But you should know we decided to shelve the Faulkner renovations until some time in the future.’

  Panic flutters in my throat but I swallow it down. ‘I wasn’t party to that information.’ I breathe, choose my words carefully, willing to fight but happy to remind him of his professional obligations, despite our family’s connections. ‘And I’ve already committed considerable hours to the Faulkner project. I’ve delayed other work to give it my full attention, as it deserves.’

  I don’t add that I’ve funnelled all my energy into secretly rebuilding my decimated business this past year—I won’t be sidetracked by another man, not even a sexy suit who happens to make me feel eighteen again.

  ‘The way I see it, Reid, we need each other.’ I hold my breath. Even simply saying his name aloud leaves me achy and distracted, and the reminder we’re more than business acquaintances flashes sparks in his eyes. But the bite of his tone puts him firmly back in charge.

  ‘In what way?’

  I hide my frustration behind my neutral facial expression—he’s being deliberately obtuse. ‘You have a hotel in need of renovation, and I have an interior-design business and a contract for those renovations. Plus, my commission is highly competitive—great news for the Faulkner Group. Surely there’s only one outcome here that satisfies both of us.’

  I feel the weight of his assessment to the tips of my toes. I can’t work out if his mind lingers on business, where mine should firmly reside, or pleasure, a place I’m lured to every time he looks at me? The shiver of goose pimples along my bare arms tells me I’m struggling to ascertain which I want more, that I’d welcome the change of tack, once we’ve cleared up this misunderstanding.

  Chemistry can be indulged or ignored. And the chemistry between us seems to have matured over the years like a fine vintage wine.

  At his continued silence, my defensiveness kicks in. ‘Is it an...experience concern? I assure you I’m more than capable of this contract. I’d be happy to provide you with references.’ I should have known he’d underestimate me, see me as someone to be easily ignored and dismissed, just like many others have in my past. But I’m done being naive. No way will I ever put my business in the hands of anyone else. Especially not a man who, physically at least, does it for my poor, neglected body.

  Reid narrows his steely eyes. ‘It’s not a question of experience.’

  I ignore the way I feel naked under his scrutiny and how much I like it. ‘Good, because interiors are personal—it’s crucial you and I have a close working relationship.’

  ‘Oh, we will,’ he says on a husky promise that leaves me floundering to guess if we’re still talking about interior design.

  He brushes a speck of lint from his trousers, completely at ease. ‘Nothing happens at a Faulkner hotel without my seal of approval. But, as you’ve brought up the size of your company, don’t you think C&L Interiors is reaching a little far with a hotel of the Faulkner’s calibre?’

  ‘Cameron Interiors. I dropped the L.’

  I ignore the jibe I’ve heard before. Yes, I’m young, my company small, but I work hard, even harder this past year. Ambition isn’t a crime. I sit up taller—faking it. I can’t confess, but his reticence is justified—Cameron Interiors isn’t making waves, and, thanks to my hateful ex, who stole all our big clients despite
promising we could still work together even though we were no longer a couple, hasn’t grown in proportion to the amount of work I’ve personally invested. All the more reason I intend to walk out of Reid’s sumptuous office with a start date agreed.

  ‘What happened to the “L”?’ His eyes spark.

  Of course, he would ask the one question designed to throw icy doubt on my assertions I’m capable of running the business I’ve taken a year to rebuild single-handed.

  I cross my legs, force my facial muscles to relax, showing him I’m here to stay. ‘Mr Lyle left the company. Now it’s just me—better and stronger alone, and, as I’ve already pointed out, competitively priced. So why don’t you let me worry about the details? I assure you that you’ll be happy with the final outcome.’ I ensure my posture matches my words in oozing confidence, when the reminder of my commitments if Reid insists on delaying the contracted work would crush me into a snivelling ball.

  His stare turns flinty as he pushes his hand through his hair, which is dark with salt and pepper at the temples. My eyes follow the passage of his fingers, marvelling at how, even frustrated, he’s in control, still sexy and still throwing up roadblocks to my most lucrative and prestigious contract since Josh pulled the rug from under my feet.

  ‘Mmm...’ he murmurs, a sexy sound which reverberates through my entire body. ‘What are we going to do with each other?’

  My heart leaps, every thrum a thrill of excitement. Does that mean what I hope it means? Does Reid Faulkner finally see me? Can I have everything I want here? My contract honoured and my ego massaged through a little...fantasy fulfilment with Reid, of all men? Of course, the two will need to be completely separate—I learned my lesson from mixing business and pleasure with Josh.

  The buzz of warning shudders through me—head to toe. I fully intend to win the battle for my contract, but can I walk away from the promise behind Reid’s dark, searching eyes? A promise I once longed to see?