“He’s hardly a boy, Mom.” She could still feel the telltale scrape of his facial hair; see the dark look he’d given her before he gripped her waist and tugged her against his solid wall of a body. Taylor’s cheeks warmed when she admitted, “I liked it immensely.”
“Older men.” Deena sighed. “There is something about them.”
Deena was fifty-four years old, ten years Charles Thompson’s junior. When she married Charles, who was selling and making a small fortune in direct sales at the time, Deena’s father—Taylor’s curmudgeonly but lovable grandfather—hit the roof. It was a story she’d heard time and time again as a little girl, told exuberantly by her father and interspersed with his infectious laughter at how he’d eventually won over his father-in-law. Her mother had laughed with him.
Taylor grew accustomed to the sound of her parents’ comingling laughter. It’d stretched from her childhood until her father’s passing last year, ending the only way it could—when he was no longer alive to contribute.
She’d recently been contemplating her father’s reasoning behind her avoiding Royce. Even when he’d been very ill, he’d reiterated that Bran was a better fit for her and steered her away from the older Knox “boy.”
“Well good for you for livening things up,” her mother said. “Galas used to be fun, but now they’re a drag. I only attended because it was the first time I’d been out since...” She shook her head rather than say the words your father’s death. “It’s expected you show up and look like you’re not in a million pieces.”
“You’re not. And it’s remarkable.” She reached for her mother’s hand and Deena’s eyes misted over. “I know you miss him. You must. I miss him like I lost a limb.”
“Try losing all of them.” Deena’s mouth compressed into a tight line.
Dad had been less healthy than his wife—more into rich foods and cigars, and any activity that involved socializing. Taylor smiled a bittersweet smile at the memory of her father’s warm personality. After losing him there’d been an absence of charm in her life.
There was a note of ease about Bran that reminded her of her dad, which likely had contributed to her agreeing to go out with him. But the attraction had been a big fat goose egg. If Bran would climb down off that high horse of his, he’d probably admit as much to her. When two people were attracted to each other they behaved like... Well, like Royce and Taylor had behaved in that closet.
Taylor had admired the Knox siblings her entire life—how close they were. She’d been treated like an unofficial sister. Jack and Macy were like a second set of parents. Royce, the oldest, hadn’t been around much when Bran, Gia and Taylor were teens and he was in college. But whenever he returned to spend time with his family, Taylor noticed.
Until Saturday night, when Royce’s hand had been on her waist and his lips on hers, she wouldn’t have guessed he’d ever notice her.
She recalled the silky softness on her fingers when she raked them into his hair. She’d wanted to climb that wall of masculinity to the summit. He’d been a perplexing mix of rigid and pliant during that kiss. Unraveling his straight-edged spine sent a zing of pleasure through her that hummed inside of her still. Had she seen him come unglued before last weekend? She didn’t think so.
“I need to talk to Brannon,” she told her mother. She’d been saying that a lot lately—to others and to herself. “Royce and Brannon were glaring at each other in a meeting today and I can’t help thinking that’s my fault.”
Royce had been distracted in the financial meeting, and she’d bet she could also take credit for that. He’d been far from flustered, but when his eyebrows carved a deep line in his forehead, she’d read his expression as easily as she had his email. He needed help. So, she bailed him out.
“Brannon was out of line. You two are cute together, but marriage?” Deena shook her head. “I love that boy, I do. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying Royce is the one for you, but darling, you’re not married. You’re certainly not engaged. You weren’t anything when you shared that kiss except for curious.”
And turned on, but that was too crass to mention.
“You’re right.”
“Perhaps the near-miss engagement is making you think about having a family. You’re healing from losing your father. It’s normal for your thoughts to turn inward.”
“Coffee with the widow’s group is helping.” Taylor loved her mother but even Deena would be the first to admit that she’d never been what anyone would call “introspective.”
“They’re a lifeline. As far as your own future, don’t pressure yourself. You love to do that, and I can tell you’re trying to plot and plan. Let the future unfold on its own instead. See how that goes.”
Easy for Deena to say. She loved to go with the flow. Taylor preferred directing the flow whenever possible.
“Who do you think Jack will name as his new CEO?” Deena propped her elbow on the table, wine in hand.
“Not Gia. She never wanted to run that company.”
“Smart girl.” Deena smirked. “I imagine it’ll be Royce, don’t you?”
“I could see either of them as CEO, but Royce’s being older could be an advantage.”
“Maybe Jack will name you.”
“No.” Taylor held out a hand like a stop sign. “I like my inherited position. It suits me. Plus, I like to think that I’m making Dad proud.” She was going to say more but a lump in her throat stymied the words.
“Oh, honey.” Her mother gave her a quick hug before bending over the table to address her quietly. “He’s so proud. I know it. Charles always talked about how you’re his legacy, Tay. You’re like him in all the right ways. None of my underachiever tendencies. If you had a craft room filled with art supplies, you’d have a million-dollar business behind it. I just give them away.” She smiled, though, knowing it wasn’t a fault but simply the way she was. “When you’re ready to start a family—no matter who you start one with—you’ll succeed. Plenty of time for that, though.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Deena Thompson always said the right thing.
“I have a craft room to retire to and I know you’re not interested in spending the entire evening with me. I suspect you have work to do even after eight o’clock?”
“You know me well.” Taylor was looking forward to it, though. Her laptop was a comfort.
Her mother left the room, Rolf at her heels.
On the drive home, Taylor thought of Royce and what he was doing tonight. If he was home answering emails or tinkering with a spreadsheet. Had he thought of her since the kiss?
He would have had to... Wouldn’t he?
Six
“I haven’t thought about it, to be honest.” Bran’s cool expression was the opposite of the lethal one he’d worn when he’d opened that closet door at the gala. Royce guessed his brother would rather not have this conversation at all, but he hadn’t left Bran much of a choice. Royce showed up at Bran’s house without warning, walking in the second the door was opened.
Over bottles of beer, Royce began the conversation by stating the obvious. We need to talk about Saturday night.
Bran tipped his beer bottle against his lips and sucked down a few swallows.
Royce pulled his glasses off, having forgotten they were on his nose since he’d worn them the majority of the day, and tucked them into his jacket pocket. “You’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about it. Don’t bullshit me.”
Bran scowled, the foreign expression now commonplace.
“You can’t stay mad at us forever. It makes no sense. Taylor is COO, I’m CFO and you’re the President.”
“I know our roles.”
“Soon one of us will be CEO.” A hush fell over the kitchen. They were in direct competition for it, but fiercely loyal to one another. It was a new dynamic and one Royce wasn’t sure how to navigate. He loved his brother but he als
o loved his father. If Jack assigned Royce the position of CEO, Royce would accept it. “You, Taylor, me. We’re all integral parts of ThomKnox. If the investors get spooked—”
“That’s what you’re worried about?” Bran snorted, his smile condescending. “Jesus, Royce. I thought you were seducing Taylor in that closet. It’s almost a relief to know you’re still a cyborg.”
“I wasn’t seducing her.” Anger pinged off his ribs like a pinball, but there was no sense in doing a postmortem. What was done was well and truly done. Royce would just say what he’d come here to say. “We’re going to make it through this. We’re family. But you have to have a conversation with Taylor that makes this okay. You were the one who nearly trotted out a proposal in a public place.”
Bran’s cheeks tinged red with embarrassment or anger—or a blend of both. He raked his hand through his longer hair and it fell every which way but back into place. “What the hell do you suggest I say to her, Royce? ‘Sorry you found out I wanted to marry you?’”
“Did you want to marry her?” Royce held his brother’s gaze, unrelenting. The proposal had been rushed, desperate. Definitely out of character.
“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” Bran hedged.
“She panicked. She was practically hyperventilating stuck in that closet. When I found her, she had this wild, frightened look in her eyes and was muttering about how she’d never expected a proposal after only a few weeks of you two seeing each other.” Royce lifted his own beer bottle. “She was hiding from you, Bran. Does that sound like a woman who would’ve responded well to your proposal?”
“Oh, so I should be thanking her for letting me down gently? Before I proposed and she publicly humiliated me?”
“Actually, yes.”
Bracing his arms on the counter, Brannon’s lip curled.
“The kiss was an accident.”
“Looked pretty intentional to me.”
It wasn’t, but it had awakened Royce’s dormant libido like the proverbial sleeping dragon. He worked constantly, content to be alone. If he needed a date for an event, he could find one—save the Valentine’s Day gala. He’d run out of time.
The dates he took to a function rarely turned into more. A few repeat dates, maybe. Sex sometimes—he wasn’t a masochist. But those dates were handled as efficiently as everything else in his life. The arguments were the same. He didn’t have time to date. Women took a lot of time.
See: the current situation.
“What I’m trying to say is that Taylor didn’t mean to kiss me.”
“She kissed you?”
Dammit.
“Did you...enjoy it?” Bran’s tone was curious.
“Of course not.” Royce forgave himself for the white lie he was about to tell. They needed to move forward not dwell. “She apologized to me after. She was flustered and embarrassed. I was selfishly glad she admitted it first because I was about to do the same thing. She’s a good friend, a competent colleague.”
“With a beautiful body and stunning mouth,” Bran muttered. But it wasn’t jealousy that bent his eyebrows. It more resembled suspicion.
“I’m not blind to Taylor’s attributes, but she’s not a good fit for me.” Pragmatism was Royce’s best ally.
Bran nodded, but looked like he had more to say. Royce had said all he needed to say.
“Are we good?”
“Sure.” Bran nodded. Royce didn’t believe it was that simple, but he’d take the reprieve.
“Talk to her.” Royce shoved aside his barely touched beer and stood from his seat at the counter. “As her friend, you owe it to her to hear her out. And if you’re lucky, she’ll let you explain your motives as well. Mistakes happen, Bran. Let’s not allow them to cost us what’s really important.”
“Landing CEO?”
“May the best man win.”
“Aw, shucks.” Bran flattened his hand over his chest. “Do you mean it?”
Royce had to smile at his brother’s cockiness.
“It’s your birthright ahead of me, you know. That’s not lost on me. Dad handing over CEO is like...the throne. You’d be crazy not to fight me for it.”
“There’s nothing to fight about. It’s Dad’s decision and I’ll accept whomever he chooses. You’re in the running. Throne or no.” Royce bowed formally and added, “Your Majesty.”
“You’re an asshole. I bet Taylor regretted that kiss down to her size 9 Manolos.” Bran grinned full out and Royce returned it, glad to be on the same page with him again.
“Without a doubt.”
Royce had protected his family to the best of his ability and this was another situation where he’d do what was right. CEO was meant for him, but if Dad chose Bran, Royce would analyze spreadsheets and maintain the important role of CFO at ThomKnox for the rest of his days. Though being CEO would satisfy his own curiosity about what it would be like to step into his father’s role at the company, he didn’t need to prove anything to anyone.
As he walked out to his car, Royce looked through the window at his brother. Bran was leaning against the wall, his posture more relaxed than earlier, typing into his cell phone.
Hopefully that was Taylor he was texting. And hopefully she’d back up Royce’s story about her regretting the kiss. Though he should probably prompt her in case she’d crafted a fictional tale of her own.
In the driver’s seat, he fired off a few texts to her before starting the engine and leaving for home.
That ought to take care of everything.
* * *
Taylor stepped out of the shower, her hair wrapped in blue terry cloth, another blue towel wrapped at her waist. She’d stood in the steam for a long time to clear her mind. Tonight, rather than work her fool head off, maybe she’d relax. It’d be nice to shut off her work brain, watch TV or read a murder mystery instead of ruminate on Royce and Bran drama.
She used to be an avid dater, but when her father was diagnosed with cancer she put her social life on hold. Charles Thompson was enough man to occupy her time. Taylor didn’t want to bring around a date who would meet her father when he wasn’t feeling well—a date that might eventually attend a funeral as an awkward plus-one.
Bran had been a safe choice for reentry into the dating world. He’d gone to the funeral. He knew her father. There weren’t any tough questions to answer or land mines to sidestep where her family was concerned. He understood her grief and sadness and during one date, when she’d told story after story about her dad, he’d smiled and listened.
Brannon was a good friend. And she hoped he would be again. She didn’t like the unfinished business between them.
She took her time blow drying her hair and applying lotion to her arms and legs. She dressed in leggings and an off-the-shoulder long-sleeved T-shirt to thwart California’s cool February evening. In front of the TV, she plopped down onto her reclining love seat. She grabbed her phone to turn it on silent before she chose a show to watch and noticed several text messages. One from Brannon. A few from Royce.
She swiped the screen and clicked on Brannon’s name first. The text read:
We should talk about Saturday.
It was about time he came to the conclusion they’d have to speak eventually. She opened Royce’s texts next.
I explained to Bran that you regretted kissing me and apologized immediately after.
You were panicked and confused. He’ll understand.
As Taylor read the texts from Royce, her blood pressure slowly rose.
“I was confused? I regretted it?” she said through her teeth. Of all the... She stabbed the call button and lifted her cell phone to her ear. The second she heard Royce’s smooth, neutral hello she let him have it.
“You told Brannon I kissed you and regretted it? You told him I apologized? To you? You told him I was confused!”
“That’s the g
ist of it, yes.”
She pulled in a breath through her flared nostrils. How, exactly, was this her problem? Like Gia said, Taylor wasn’t the only one in that closet. “Did you regret it, Royce?”
He’d clung to her that night. Pulled her in and drank her kisses like his life depended on them. The way they fit together, even in their formalwear, suggested they’d fit together a whole lot better wearing a whole lot less.
“Of course I regretted it,” he answered in the same bland tone.
“No you didn’t.” He might have shown zero interest in her before that fated closet run-in but not so now. She’d witnessed him taking a painfully slow perusal of her from head to toe in the financial review meeting. “You brought the wrong report to the financial review.”
“Thanks for the reminder of my incompetence.” He sounded peeved, which peeved her. He wasn’t upset about the kiss, but oh-ho! He brought the wrong report! Scandal!
“You seemed distracted at the meeting,” she reminded him. “Was there something—” or someone “—keeping you from thinking clearly that morning, Royce?”
“Yes.” His low growl of affirmation sent her heart into a twirl. She knew it. She knew there was more to that kiss than proximity. “It won’t happen again.”
It was less of a promise and more an assertion. How could he be so sure? She wasn’t sure. She stopped shy of blurting, You looked like you wanted to lick my legs from Achilles to inner thigh.
An involuntary shudder shimmied up her spine as she imagined Royce’s mouth on her legs. His tongue climbing her leg, tickling behind her knee before going higher. It was bad enough she knew what his lips felt like on hers. It’d only made her want more.
Speaking of...
“Did you mention to Bran that after I threw myself at you in a fit of ‘panic’ and ‘confusion’ that you swept your tongue along mine until neither of us could think straight?” Heart thudding heavily, she waited. He didn’t respond right away, which made her feel smug. She was absolutely right about the effect of that kiss. It’d surprised both of them in the best way possible.
His Forbidden Kiss Page 4
