Forbidden to Touch

by JC Harroway

  ‘Hi.’ I smile, excitement for the mural quickening my pace. ‘I’ll be with you soon. I’m just at the Faulkner Group offices.’

  An ominous pause. ‘I’m not at the hotel—Reid asked me to leave.’

  I freeze, shock and outrage forcing my hand to grip my phone tighter.

  ‘I just wanted to let you know,’ says Zach.

  My high at seeing Reid and making sure things are right between us dissolves, my mind shuffling through the implications of Zach’s words and Reid’s actions. But first I need details.

  ‘What? Why?’ I deflate, my heart sinking at the realisation that Reid has interfered, sent home one of my contractors without so much as a courtesy call, let alone a mature client-contractor discussion.

  ‘He didn’t say, but he didn’t seem pleased,’ says Zach.

  I cringe. While I was preparing to see him again, sappily imagining I’d finally tell him how I feel about him and he’d reciprocate my love, he was checking up on me again, undermining my work and assuming he knows best. He simply couldn’t trust me to do my job, even after I told him what Josh had done and its impact. My stomach falls and nausea grips my throat.

  ‘Hey, it’s not a problem from my point of view,’ says Zach. ‘I can resume the painting any time you’re ready...but just to let you know Reid has settled my account in full, so... I don’t know what that means for the mural.’

  I do.

  He hates it. He’s vetoed it without discussion and despite its being personally commissioned by Graham. I swallow hard, fighting the burn of furious, frustrated tears. Why couldn’t he have trusted me? It was supposed to be a surprise. But I should have known that, whatever progress Reid and I made in private, the trust element was an illusion. One I was a naive fool to believe.

  ‘Thanks, Zach. Sorry for the confusion—I’ll be in touch.’ I disconnect the call while a strange numbness settles over me as I head inside the building. I won’t jump to conclusions—perhaps he had genuine reasons for halting the work. I take my visitor’s pass from the building’s receptionist and turn for the bank of lifts, the tight, wooden smile on my face making my cheeks ache.

  My body is restless, adrenaline pumping, but I stand before Reid’s PA, my face tight with the effort of projecting an impression of calm professionalism.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ms Cameron. He’s out of the office at the moment,’ she says.

  I sigh, the delay in our showdown fuelling my frustration. Reid reacted with emotion. He should have called me first, not rushed in and paid off my contractor without consulting me. Of course, I understand he’s protective of the Faulkner—it’s home to him, his life’s work and his father’s before him. I get it, especially in light of Graham’s diagnosis. But...

  ‘I’ll wait, thanks.’

  I’ve barely taken a seat in Reid’s empty office when the door swings open, revealing the man himself. ‘Blair...’

  Heat pours through me at the sight of him—last time I saw him he held me so tightly as we came together, I thought we’d become one person—only to drain away at the memory of what he did, at the knowledge that no matter how hard I’ve fallen, Reid still sees me as incapable, someone to be undermined and professionally embarrassed without thought. Shivers threaten to take hold. I clear my throat and stand tall. However this goes, I can fight my corner. I’ve done it before, despite the odds. I rebuilt something prosperous from the nothing left by Josh.

  I accept his chaste kiss, which, for a moment, lulls me to believe everything is okay. That we’re back in our hotel suite, still lost in those few blissful minutes when anything seemed possible.

  Reid pulls back, his face drawn with fatigue and his eyes haunted with regret. My stomach twists and I look away, still clinging to denial for a few more minutes until I’m forced to face reality.

  I take a seat in the same spot as I did at our first meeting, my body equally gripped by the conflicting visceral emotions, but my mind clear for the first time in years. ‘You’ve halted the mural?’ There’s little point beating around the bush.

  He nods, smoothing down his tie. ‘Yes. I didn’t know anything about it.’ He wears the steely, cloaked wariness of our first meeting, and this drains more hope from me. ‘Why is that, Blair?’

  I ignore his question, too focused on the way my body wants to curl in on itself at his confirmation of what I suspected, but I tilt my chin. ‘And you didn’t think to call me? To discuss it with me before you paid off my contractor?’ I can’t help the accusation in my tone, because everything I’ve done has come from a place of love and respect for his family, particularly Graham, and if he can’t see that he really doesn’t know me at all or he’s choosing to dismiss what he knows, and I can’t tolerate either.

  ‘I was going to call you. Look—’

  I hold up my hand, blocking his words. I know they’re going to hurt too much. Confirm my worst fears. I trusted that he’d respect my professionalism and my creative instincts. I trusted that when I told him about Josh, he’d understand how important my business is to me. I trusted that he, of all people, saw me as his equal, not some young, naive fool, playing with her little design projects.

  ‘I assumed you’d finally handed control of the Faulkner renovations over to me, but now I see I’ve again been a misguided idiot. You may have been able to set everything aside to get laid,’ I swallow hard, battling a wave of nausea, forcing out the words he hasn’t said aloud that I can’t allow to go unspoken, ‘but you just can’t do it, can you? You can’t trust me to do my job. You can’t trust me, full stop.’ It’s not a question. And the bigger statement refuses to emerge from my burning throat—that he can’t trust us. That perhaps for him there never was an us, that too an illusion. That it was nothing more than sex, and even then he couldn’t keep his promise to separate it from my work.

  His eyes soften, but then he pulls back, once more the ruthless, in-control businessman. ‘You’re right—I should have discussed the mural with you. But when I asked Zach to stop, it wasn’t personal against you. I felt threatened, I felt my business and my family’s slipping through my fingers. And I put that first.’

  My mind fills the blanks.

  Before you.

  Before us.

  I force the emotion from my voice. ‘You know, Reid, you’re wrong. This is personal to me. My business is personal to me. And you knew that—I told you what Josh did. I’ve worked long and hard to claw something back from the wreckage. I thought you understood me better than that. You of all people, because you’ve been through the same with Sadie. Yes, I’m ten years your junior, but I know what I’m doing, and you’ve been keeping tabs on me from the start. You’ve never separated us from the contract between our companies. And, while you have the final say at the Faulkner, I’m in control of my life. So, you see, business is always personal to someone. That’s what you know too, because of what Sadie did to you. But I’m not her. I just wanted to do my job.’ Everything clicks into place, the blurriness becoming crystal-clear.

  He can’t trust me. He never did.

  His hand scrubs at the spot above his eyebrow and I falter at the sight of his elegantly masculine fingers, wincing at the memory of his touch. His frown is so deep it conceals his eyes from view. ‘I admit I messed up—look, if you give me a chance to explain—’

  ‘Like you gave me a chance to explain the mural.’ I breathe through the pain of a million jagged glass shards, fighting the sting behind my eyes. But I can compartmentalise. Time to wrap up this meeting and get the hell away from him, because just sharing air with him hurts—a bitter realisation after everything else I thought we’d shared. ‘So, I’ll finish the Faulkner renovations, as contracted. I’ll expect your written confirmation, one way or the other, on completion of the mural and then I’ll be out of your hair.’

  I leave, my legs shaky but growing steadier with each step, unsurprised when he doesn’t chase after m
e.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Reid

  I HEAD AFTER HER, my long strides only faltering as I answer my phone, which vibrates in my pocket.

  It’s Kit.

  ‘The specialist called—he has a cancellation for this afternoon. Can you make it?’

  I curse, skid to a halt and look at Blair’s retreating back, but the worry in my brother’s voice pushes everything else from my mind. ‘Of course—I’ll meet you at Dad’s.’ I toss my phone down on the desk and then grab it again, my grip surely threatening the glass of the screen. I should chase after Blair, explain why I put a halt to the mural. Tell her how it knocked me for six—visual confirmation that, whatever the outcome of today’s appointment with the specialist, and however hard I try to make it different, to atone, I can’t change a damn thing for Dad. He’s part of the past in the business he founded.

  I should have reacted differently, seen it from Blair’s point of view, realised that, as much as I feel threatened by what my father’s demise means for me and the family business, what I did made Blair feel threatened too, for Cameron Interiors. I stalk downstairs, pent-up frustration tensing every muscle in my body. The mess I made with Blair needs dealing with, but it will have to wait. Graham, my family, the Faulkner, as always, take priority.

  After a gruelling two hours, I emerge from the specialist’s office, drained. The prognosis for my father is uncertain, as expected. He’s likely to continue to have good days and bad days, and, as today is fortunately one of the former, he’s fully cognizant of everything the Harley Street specialist had to say. And the news reiterating that routines are helpful and the prescribed medication might delay a worsening of his memory loss is as I expected. Only the blow is amplified, because I can’t share my concerns, my helplessness with the only person who makes any of this situation better, a person I want, a person who, despite everything, has become a part of my life, which is perhaps why her keeping the mural from me felt like such a knee to the balls after everything we’ve shared.

  ‘Are you going back to the office?’ asks Kit from the back of my car, his eyes a little tired.

  I slide a glance at Graham beside me in the passenger seat, aware that someone should perhaps be with him after the news we’ve just received. I swallow, torn between comforting my father and rushing to Blair. ‘I have something I need to do first,’ I grit out, cursing my stupidity anew.

  ‘Can you drop me off on Oxford Street?’ says Kit. ‘I’m picking up a gift for Mia.’ He brightens at the mention of her name, and I literally wish I could kick myself up the arse, because that’s how Blair made me feel and now I’m caught in a self-inflicted prison between a rock and a hard place.

  ‘Sure.’ Although I want to take it back, the urgency to make things right with Blair beating at me like shock waves.

  We’re in the car, heading towards Oxford Street, when Graham breaks the tense silence as he reaches for the rolled-up mural. ‘What’s this?’

  I mutter a curse, wishing I’d thrown it in the boot, out of sight. The last thing I want to talk about is some tribute she saw fit to make a permanent feature, without my consent. A tribute which highlights the end of my father’s role in the family business, as much as the depressing possible prognosis the specialist outlined in a fit of absolute disclosure.

  ‘It’s something I need to talk to Blair about.’

  Graham unrolls the mural, his small smile a blow, knocking the wind from me and telling me he’s already seen it. ‘Blair...she’s an incredible woman, isn’t she? I remember when she used to splash around in the Faulkner pool with you and Drake—such a cute little girl and so smart.’ He directs this to Kit, who rolls his eyes and grins as he accepts the roll of paper and opens it up for a look.

  ‘Did you know about this?’ I ask, my eyes flicking between my brave father and youngest brother, so many emotions warring inside, it’s a wonder I don’t explode.

  ‘Of course,’ says Graham. ‘She and I discussed it many times—it was my idea, but she came up with the mural concept. She has a talented artist friend. His work is amazing.’

  Nausea pushes my heart into my throat. I grip the wheel tighter and mash my lips together, because if I speak I’ll have to ask my brother and my father to get out of the car so I can go and repair what I’ve done.

  Why can’t my father stay as lucid as he is today for ever? What a terrible disease, robbing him of himself, and how selfish am I to think about what it means for me to mourn the man he was instead of simply celebrating the man he is still, even after the morning we’ve had—fearless, insightful and an inspiration?

  ‘You’re in love with her, aren’t you?’ Graham’s astute statement causes me to almost rear-end the car in front.

  Kit snorts and Graham chuckles. ‘You and Drake were right,’ he says to Kit, and then to me, ‘I think she loves you too. Mind you, she was always a bit smitten with you, so I suppose it’s no surprise.’

  My mind spins at the dizzying possibility of his words. Could it be true? Could someone as wonderful as Blair take a chance on me? A divorcee workaholic ten years her senior? Perhaps at one time, but not now I’ve fucked things up for the final, fatal time.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ I slide Kit my promising-retribution look in the rear-view mirror, but he just lifts a mocking brow, as if I’m the last person to catch on.

  I sigh, wishing Graham’s words were true and the mess I’d made of everything could be that easily rectified. ‘Well, regardless, after today I think she’ll be done with me.’ And I don’t blame her. She gave me all of herself, she was there for me, she even tried to give Graham the love and respect he deserves through her tribute, and I steamrollered in, assuming the worst, belittling her and acting as if I knew best, when all along she’s been wiser and more open, and at times shown more integrity.

  My palm slaps the steering wheel. ‘Fuck!’

  Kit chuckles. ‘I know—it sucks to realise you’ve been a total knob, but it’s not too late to make it right.’

  ‘It feels too late.’ What if it is? I knew what her ex did to her, and I let her down too. In a worse way. All because I like control and need to be at the helm of the business. But do I like it enough to be without Blair for the rest of my life? Would I walk away from the Faulkner Group if it meant she’d give me another chance?

  Yes...

  My father’s hand grips my shoulder and I focus on the traffic to stop myself from hurling.

  ‘Don’t be stuck in the past. I know you feel like you have to take care of us all, but we’re a family, one I’m proud of. You boys have grown into fine men. In fact, your younger brothers seem to have their shit together a little better than you these days. Perhaps you should follow their example. Take care of your needs. Take care of the woman who loves you. You’ve worked tirelessly by my side to ensure the business is as solid as ever—it’s okay for it to take a backseat in your life.’

  I’m stunned silent, reeling at what others can see when I’ve been blind and desperate to reveal my fate, to see if it’s one revelation too late. We arrive and I pull into a No Waiting spot, frantic now to shove Kit out of the car and race to find Blair.

  ‘Do you want to join me shopping, Dad?’ says Kit, as if sensing my urgency.

  ‘Sure.’ Graham pops his seatbelt, casts me one last look, so reminiscent of teacher, mentor, boss Graham I’ve spent my whole life learning from, I sit up taller, praying I can do him proud in this challenge—the fight for Blair’s love.

  ‘Do you want me to wait for you?’ My offer isn’t heartfelt, my thigh jiggling with impatience.

  ‘Nah, we’ll get a cab home,’ says Graham.

  I pull back out into traffic, formulating a plan. Then I abandon the plan—trying to control everything is what landed me here in the first place. Time to simply trust my feelings, which have been pointing the way since Blair came back into my life.

 
I love her. I think I knew the minute she challenged my father to a game of chess. How could I have been so stupid as to focus on the things that matter the least? The Faulkner, while important to me, to our family, to the business, is just a building. Bricks and mortar.

  People matter. People you love.

  Blair matters.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Blair

  I FLING OPEN the door, my heart pounding in my throat when I see Reid filling my doorstep.

  ‘Can we talk?’ He shoves his hands in his trouser pockets, his hunched shoulders the only sign of hesitation, every inch of him gorgeous and urbane and painful to my eyes. Because no matter how much I wish it could be different, I won’t settle again.

  ‘No—I’m on my way out. Mia just texted me—she’s gone into labour.’ I swallow, proud of the steadiness of my voice. It stings to look at him, my eyes burning, and in the same breath I want to drag him inside, to hold him, to feel his arms big and strong and vital around me. But I’m done being naive and trusting the wrong person.

  Reid’s face registers surprise, but then his eyes harden, telling me he’s about to issue some command or try to control something. But it won’t be me. ‘Is Kit with her?’

  I nod.

  ‘Mia’s in good hands—they have each other. They don’t need us right now. But I need...to talk to you. To apologise. Please? You can visit when the baby’s born.’

  Still I hesitate. He’s right—it’s likely to be hours before the baby arrives and I don’t want to get in the way. But that doesn’t mean I should invite him in. In the flesh, as opposed to in my mind, he’s so much harder to resist. The lure of his closeness, the edge of vulnerability in his expression, the urge to pretend I can live with his lack of trust, live with him underestimating me and riding roughshod over anything he feels he knows better and simply have whatever scraps of himself he’s willing to give me, is too strong. But I can’t go there again. This time there’s more at stake. My heart is in greater danger. Because I love him as I’ve never loved before. Because any weapon thrown by him has double the power to inflict damage. Because I don’t think I could ever bounce back from the ultimate betrayal from this man.