Forbidden to Taste

by JC Harroway

‘We can escape as soon as you’re finished tomorrow.’ I coerce for good measure. ‘Just pack an overnight bag, although I don’t mind if you spend the whole twenty-four hours naked.’

  She scowls. ‘Even while I cook?’

  ‘Especially while you cook.’ Visions of her laid out and me sampling amuse-bouches from her naked skin blind me so I almost rear-end the car in front.

  Her face splits into a breath-stealing smile. ‘Yes,’ she says, fuelling my fantasies of all the filthy things I’m going to do to her, away from London, away from reminders and memories. A place where we can just be Kenzie and Drake. Perhaps make some memories of our own, ones I can carry long after this ends.

  Then she frowns and looks away.

  My euphoria plummets and then it hits me—she has responsibilities.

  ‘Will Tilly be okay for one night?’ I ask, my heart skipping a beat. ‘We don’t have to go.’

  Kenzie nods, her smile warming me from the inside. ‘She’ll be fine, and I can check in with her—we won’t be that far away, will we?’

  I shake my head. ‘I’ll keep it to a two-hour drive—we can come back any time, day or night. If you want, I can ask Kit and Mia to be on standby, just in case.’

  Perhaps I imagine the sheen of moisture in her eyes as she stares at me and nods.

  We’re nose-to-tail in traffic, the car idling at a complete standstill. I’m about to cup her face and kiss the residual worry from her mouth when she says, ‘There’s something I want you to have.’

  Her bag rummage successful, she produces a small purse.

  I inch the car forward, keeping up with the snail’s-pace flow of cars, and then look at her outstretched palm.

  A coin. It looks like any other coin but the fact she keeps it in a special purse and she’s offering it to me confirms my guess: Sam’s lucky coin. It may as well be a coiled viper.

  I know surprise registers on my face because it’s knocked the wind from me. But I manage to cover the nauseating roll of my stomach with my question. ‘You still have it?’

  She’s smiling her sad smile at me as she nods. ‘It was returned to me with his possessions.’

  I know this. I put it with Sam’s personal effects. I had it in my hand when he died.

  ‘I...I want you to have it.’ Her luminous eyes are round.

  I’d rather put my hand in the industrial mincer in the Faulkner kitchen, but I force a smile, knowing the likely import of this treasured token to Kenzie. She carries it with her, for fuck’s sake.

  ‘You should keep it.’ I’m on a knife’s edge of white-knuckled panic.

  She’s shaking her head before I’ve even finished speaking. ‘He’d want you to have it. You know he would.’

  I swallow bile, smack what feels like a grimace on my face and reach for the coin. It’s not the item itself—it’s what it represents.

  My failures.

  My biggest regrets.

  Loss of not only my best friend, but any chance with this woman, too.

  I pocket the coin, grateful when the traffic nudges forward and I’m forced to concentrate so she can’t witness the storm of emotion I’m not certain I can hide.

  She must interpret my silence as one of contemplation, reliving fond memories. If I were alone I’d punch out my own windscreen.

  A perfectly timed break in the traffic means I have to navigate the drive for the last few minutes to the hotel’s underground car park.

  When I kill the engine and look her way she puts her hand on my arm. ‘So I’ll see you tomorrow? I’ll be finished by three.’

  I squeeze her hand, my throat too tight to utter more than, ‘I can’t wait.’

  She nods and then whispers, ‘Me neither.’ The haunted look for the husband she lost is still at the fringe of her stare—you’d think I’d be used to it by now. Immune. But there’s heat and excitement, too.

  I console myself with the latter, accepting the scraps she can give. I can do this. I can hang in there. Give her what she needs until she’s ready to move on to a forever relationship without our complicated history, untainted by my baggage.

  We leave the garage, her for the staff entrance and me for the lift to the executive offices. The symbolism strikes a chord with me like a blow to the chest. No matter how badly I want her, we’re moving in different directions.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Kenzie

  WHEN I’M STARTLED awake it’s pitch-black outside the car and we’ve left London far behind. I know because I smell the sea as the car bumps down some sort of rough gravel driveway.

  Beside me, Drake seems pensive. I clear my throat and he flicks me a hastily donned smile. ‘I didn’t want to wake you.’ His hand covers my knee.

  I rub at my eyes. ‘Where are we?’

  Somewhere two hours from London, he said, but it feels like the middle of nowhere. I slip my hand into his, my breath hitching when he lifts it to his mouth and presses a kiss to my knuckles.

  ‘Hampshire,’ he says, the look on his face an intimate promise. ‘The New Forest coast.’

  A shiver runs over me—one of anticipation. ‘Sounds like heaven.’ Of course, we’ve had lots of alone time, but away from the Faulkner, away from our respective roles, perhaps he’ll open up and we can finally move closer...

  He’s holding back. I feel it. I saw it when I gave him Sam’s coin. And I understand. Losing Sam, witnessing his death—the nightmares prove it must still haunt him. Perhaps he’ll never be free, some things too horrific to overcome. My stomach twists with guilt. I had no idea he still suffered, that, while I’m moving on, Drake remains stuck.

  His handsome profile, silhouetted in the dark, catches my breath and fills me with longing. I want to help. He’s given me so much. He’s helped me with my career, given Tilly his time and most importantly he’s made me feel desired again where Sam’s affair left me feeling second best and doubting everything—my worth, my attractiveness, my very femininity.

  I grip his hand, craving closeness. ‘I’m sorry I fell asleep. You had no company while you drove.’ I want to ask him if he’s sought counselling, if he wants to talk through the day of Sam’s death. But our bond is fragile, and he’s already knocked back my questions once.

  ‘No problem. We’re here.’ He pulls to a stop outside a whitewashed cottage and winds down the window, allowing the frigid, sea-tinged air into the car. ‘This cottage was once a smuggler’s inn. The sea is right there—not that you can see it at the moment. But tomorrow...’ He lifts a brow, his face relaxed, flirtatious and full of promises.

  My heart lurches—perhaps I imagined his reaction to the coin.

  Someone has left lights on inside, the cosy orange glow welcoming. Drake kills the engine and collects our bags from the back seat. We locate the key under the doormat and I can’t help the giggle that escapes as we enter our seaside hideaway for the night.

  I gasp, exploring the living room, my touch trailing over plush throws, soft leather armchairs and comfy cream sofas with sea-coloured cushions while my stare flits between quirky art, whitewashed walls and the crackling fire in the hearth. An open bottle of red wine sits on the coffee table with two glasses.

  I turn to Drake, my heart in my mouth. ‘It’s stunning.’

  His mouth twitches. ‘Why don’t you pour, while I dump the bags?’ While he goes in search of the bedroom, I toss my coat over a chair and snuggle by the fire. When he returns he’s changed into jeans and another soft-looking sweater.

  He settles beside me and takes the glass of wine I offer, clinking it gently to mine. ‘To getting away from it all.’ His smile is warm, eyes sultry, but he hasn’t touched me. Tons of uninterrupted sex, he said...but he’s clearly in no hurry.

  Whereas I—my foot is jiggling, I’ve already sunk half of my wine and if I get any warmer I’ll have to strip off or go for a dip in the black ocean beyond the wi
ndows.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ he asks. ‘The owner filled the fridge for us—I can do cheese on toast as well as an omelette.’

  I sip my wine. ‘Maybe later. I’m not hungry right now.’ Burning with curiosity, full of repressed lust, but not hungry. If we’re talking, moving at Drake’s leisurely pace, at least I can satisfy one of my urges. ‘So, are Kit and Mia serious?’

  Drake nods, his stare taking on that slightly wary look he wore when I gave him Sam’s coin. ‘They’ve been a couple for a few months, but I’d say Kit’s in love. And I’m glad. He deserves a second chance.’

  Here goes. ‘And what about you? Anyone serious these last three years?’

  He laughs, shakes his head and looks away. ‘No. Work, life. I’m pretty busy.’

  ‘So you’ve never...been in love?’ From memory, Sam told me Drake has always done casual, never once losing his heart. But he has so much to offer. The idea he’s content with so little skates beneath my skin, raising hairs.

  He shrugs, giving nothing away.

  ‘Is that a choice, or have you just never found the right woman? Because you have a lot to offer.’ I wave my hand around, encompassing the complete package that is him and this idyllic romantic hideaway he’s organised.

  Even when Sam was alive I wondered at this conundrum. But some men aren’t commitment types. Not that Drake is a Lothario, but I’m sure he hasn’t been a monk over the years.

  ‘Something like that.’ His eyes glitter as he watches me over the rim of his glass, and I grow even hotter inside. Is he going to distract me with sex?

  ‘What about you? One day I guess you’ll want another relationship?’ His lip curls like the idea of a lasting commitment, of love, is distasteful, and I shrivel a little inside. I don’t want to examine why too closely. I shouldn’t be thinking about Drake and lasting relationships in the same headspace.

  I wince. ‘I haven’t really given much thought to the future.’ I said sex is all I want from him, and it was...in the beginning. ‘I’ve just been putting one foot in front of the other, focussed on taking care of Tilly for so long. But I definitely want to find love somewhere down the track—once Tilly is settled, of course. She’s still my priority.’

  I loved Sam. We had our issues. He’s gone. I can’t shut myself down to the possibility of ever finding love again.

  His stare heats my face. I shrug, feeling foolish. Romantic.

  ‘You deserve another shot at happiness. You’ve been through so much. You’ve bravely steered your little family through adversity most people never have to face.’ He lifts my free hand from my lap and raises it to his mouth, pressing the back of my hand to his lips as his searing eye contact delivers a hit twice as potent as the alcohol in my system. ‘But don’t forget your own dreams.’

  I’m too choked to speak, so I nod, wishing I could return the sentiment. He deserves more, too. Just because he said he wanted more than friendship, doesn’t mean he wants more than fuck buddies—not with me. But one day...when the elusive right woman comes along...

  I ignore the flare of jealousy beneath my skin and focus on helping Drake like he’s helped me.

  I swallow another gulp of wine and lower my voice to murmur, ‘Have you had some help...talked things through with anyone...?’ Is the trauma of losing Sam still buried inside, holding him back?

  He freezes. ‘Things?’

  ‘Yes. Losing Sam, the nightmares...’ I can’t stay quiet. I care. I want him to be whole, even if it means he finds love with another woman.

  He looks away, scrubs a hand over his face, the moment he decides to let me in heralded by a minute slump of his shoulders. ‘I had some counselling for PTSD. Walking away from the army, coming back to the family business, the support of my brothers all helped.’

  I cover his hand with mine, needing to touch him. ‘But you still have the nightmares...’

  He nods, eyes haunted. ‘But before this past week, it had been a while.’

  His tone is matter-of-fact, as if he’s downplaying it for my sake. To save my pain. But why?

  ‘Is...is it because I came back? Have I opened things up for you?’ I should have fought my attraction to him more.

  ‘No. It’s nothing to do with you. I’m fine.’

  I’m not letting him hide this time. ‘Of course it’s something to do with me. I charged into your life, asking for your help, and I’ve stirred up the past.’ The inescapable maze of the past, my past with Sam and Drake, throws up a brick wall around every corner. ‘I was selfish. I’m sorry.’

  My throat burns, nothing to do with the wine. ‘What can I do? Do you want me to leave the Faulkner? To disappear again?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’ He places his glass on the table and tugs me forward. ‘You’re the most selfless person I know.’

  I clatter my own glass down so I can hold him with the fierceness building inside. His arms drag me closer until we’re chest to chest, our heartbeats thudding together.

  ‘The nightmares will pass.’ He presses a soft kiss to my mouth, but I pull back, the flicker of doubt in his eyes increasing my unease.

  ‘I want to help.’ I cup his face, stroke the hair at his temples with my thumbs. ‘You’ve done so much for me, for Tilly.’

  ‘You are helping.’ His kiss is warm and wine-scented, tempting me to trust his assertions. ‘We have all night to talk,’ he whispers. His hips shift under me and his erection presses between my legs. Another distraction I can’t ignore.

  But now I have him talking, I won’t allow him to retreat. ‘Promise. This is important.’ He’s important to me. ‘I want to understand what you’ve been through.’

  ‘Sure.’ He shrugs, kissing me again. ‘But I also promised you sex.’ His avoidance is bordering on evasive, but his lips on my throat remind me we have all night and all day tomorrow. I can’t expect him to spill all his feelings out in one sitting. But I want to know everything he’s holding in check. Not just from me, but from living his own life to the max.

  His hands are under my sweater now, skimming up my back and expertly opening my bra, single-handed. I succumb to his diversion tactics with a sigh. ‘I probably smell like sautéed onions. Do you want to take a shower?’

  ‘You smell like you taste...delicious.’ His mouth grazes my neck and his fingers tangle in my hair, tugging my messy bun loose.

  I arch my neck, giving him access to all the sensitive spots that curl my toes and thrum my pulse between my legs at the scrape of his mouth.

  The usual wave of arousal drags me down, but in the background I’m hollow, empty. It’s not enough. I want more of this incredible man than great sex. I want his confidence. His trust. The knowledge that, if he needed someone to talk to, he’d come to me, just like I know I could ask for his help or advice.

  I try to relax, to enjoy him raining kiss after kiss on my neck, my face, my mouth while I tug at his broad shoulders and thick biceps, loving the size and strength of this big man under my greedy hands.

  Soon we’re panting hard, my reservations sidelined, our sweaters in a heap in front of the fire. Drake pulls away, all action, dragging me to my feet. In seconds we’ve made it to the bathroom and we’re stripping off the rest of our clothes while the double-sized shower cubicle fills with steam.

  We’re about to step inside when I still Drake with my hand on his arm. I’m kind of killing the moment, but I know how this is going to go. We’re naked, I want him inside me more than I want my next breath, and there are no condoms in that shower cubicle.

  ‘What is it...? Changed your mind?’ He hides his disappointment well, his hand gripping mine, his thumb tracing soft, lazy circles on the back of my hand.

  ‘No.’ I kiss him, showing him I’m completely invested. ‘I just... I had a sexual-health check a few weeks back...’ I shrug. ‘Just in case. I’m on the pill and I—’

  He silences m
e with another kiss, his groan buzzing at my sensitised lips. ‘Fuck, Kenzie. You’re killing me.’ He cups my face, his expression earnest. ‘Just for the record, as we’re being responsible, I haven’t slept with anyone since my last screen. I wouldn’t have touched you without an all-clear.’

  That he’s already thought of this, that he respects me enough, is mature enough to take care of the women he’s intimate with, seals my decision. Not that I want to think about those women who came before me. And the women who will come after...? I want to think about them even less.

  I grip his waist, taking a next step with him now imperative. ‘If you want...we could forget about the condom.’ So he’s struggling to open up. I know he cares. He’s shown me over and over—his patience with Tilly, his encouragement of my dreams, even feeding me and remembering my wine of choice.

  I tug him towards the shower and step under the hot spray.

  A feral gleam enters his eyes as he grips my hips and backs me up against the tiled wall. His naked body covers mine, shoulder to hip, as water rains down over his back. But for Drake the subject isn’t closed. He tilts my chin with one finger, eyes searching.

  My breath catches.

  ‘You sure?’ His intense stare brands my skin. Is this moment as momentous to him as it is to me?

  Because we’re responsible adults. What we’re really saying is ‘I trust you’ on a whole new level.

  I nod, words trapped in my aching throat.

  ‘You trust me?’ His strength pins me to the tiles where the look of sincerity on his face would buckle my knees. ‘To take care of you...?’

  ‘Yes.’ No hesitation.

  His pupils dilate, swallowing the colour of his eyes.

  ‘Do you trust me?’ I whisper. That we have each other’s backs, even in this small way, makes me feel like there’s less room in my chest. Less room, because a new heart—fragile and tender, but with the potential to thrive and overcome—has grown alongside the old.

  I don’t need his words, because confirmation is written on his face, but they replenish me.