Forbidden To Taste. JC Harroway
my brain, my body and my sanity. I’m steel-hard now, straining the fly of my trousers. Her eyes suck me in. Muscles primed to break the restraints, I’m about pull her close, to cover her mouth with mine, when she emits a nervous laugh.
Steps back.
Shakes her head.
‘I’m sorry.’ She covers her heated face with her hands.
I’m doused head to toe with ice. I scrub a hand through my hair, a fist forming. What the fuck...? I must have imagined the last few seconds—that look on her face, her rapid breaths and dilated pupils. There’s only regret in her eyes now.
My mouth opens and then closes. Do I play the gentleman, breeze over what my body is desperate to interpret as...a moment? Our first.
She drops her hands from her face and looks away with a snort of embarrassment. ‘Clearly I need more help than a job.’ She’s bright red now, braving it out with a flash of humour and a roll of those expressive eyes. ‘If you want to help me out beyond giving me a chance in the kitchen,’ she looks at her shuffling feet, ‘perhaps you could help me over my dry spell.’
My brain impulses blink in and out like static. WTF...? She made light of those momentous words, which have hurled us into a forbidden, previously uncharted no-man’s-land.
‘I...’ I’m gaping, synapses firing so hard I’m surprised my head doesn’t explode. Surely she doesn’t mean what my brain and dick have concluded?
‘What are you saying?’ I croak out, too dazed by testosterone for subtlety. Does she mean for me to help, personally—hell, yes—or is she asking me to set her up with some other dickhead? Over my dead body. But, even if my libido has made the correct interpretation, nothing can happen between us.
Can it?
Kenzie looks down and buttons her coat. The amusement leaches from her face, leaving only the pallor of earlier. ‘I’m sorry, Drake—that was unfair.’ She raises her wide, vulnerable stare from the carpet and takes in a shuddering breath, eyes full of remorse.
Unfair? Nothing about our circumstances is fair.
‘God, I’m such a desperate idiot. Forget I ever came here.’ She yanks at the door handle, the metal slipping from her frantic fingers in her haste to flee.
‘No... Wait.’ I want to rewind the last minute. Have a rerun. Hold her captive until she clarifies exactly what she meant.
A metallic click warns me she’s succeeded with the door.
I snap to attention.
‘Kenzie, wait—’
‘I’m sorry.’ She’s off out of the door and halfway down the corridor before I’ve pumped enough blood back into my head for my nervous system to work.
‘Wait.’ I yank my phone from my pocket, everything I want to say locked in that secret place I’ve guarded for so long, it’s like a fucking panic room. ‘I’ll call my driver to see you home.’
She turns, her breathing still fast, shakes her head. ‘I’ll be fine.’ She trots down the corridor like she can’t get away from me quick enough.
I take off at a run, skidding to a halt just as the lift doors close.
I wedge my arm into the closing space. ‘He’s waiting at the main entrance. Please—it’s late.’ She can run—she should run—but I won’t have her in danger.
She nods, eyes wide.
I lock my knees, balanced on a knife-edge. One step and I’d be inside with her. One word and I’d know to hope or to try to rein in the fantasy her comment unleashed.
Static clears. Restraint returns.
I think of Sam. Remove my hand. Wait for tense seconds.
Kenzie’s emotions mirror mine, the doors closing on the regret on her face.
Kenzie
I’M THIRTY MINUTES early for my first shift at the Faulkner, despite the nerves riding me, threatening to make me flee back home. I believed I’d blown my chance by my behaviour, but Drake’s text yesterday shows the strength of his loyalty to Sam:
Come to the Faulkner at nine sharp tomorrow.
That he would still offer me my shot after I practically propositioned him... My face heats again at the memory of my confession that it’s been too long since I was intimate with someone and my suggestion he might be the one to help.
I’d almost made a fool of myself.
Almost kissed him.
Drake Faulkner of all people.
A man who was practically a brother to Sam. A man of honour and integrity. A man who’d never think of me as anything but Sam’s widow... He showed me that by keeping his distance all these years, and his cool reception in the restaurant two nights ago proved nothing has changed.
Was I that lonely, that sexually frustrated or just curious to explore the flicker of attraction that, had I not once been married to his best friend, had potential to flare like a blowtorch...?
I worry at my lip, shake any notion that isn’t strictly professional from my head and focus on filling out the Faulkner’s paperwork. I’m going to cook my arse off, wow the restaurant’s Michelin-starred head chef and stay the hell away from Drake. Clearly my lonely, neglected libido can’t be trusted around hotness of his calibre...
Why has it chosen now to come out of hibernation? Not once in the past three years have I looked at a man in a sexual way. Not even during the rocky last year of my marriage to Sam, when I had the perfect justification had I wanted, was I tempted by another.
Why now? Why Drake? Yes, I’m ready to get my life back on track, but am I ready to embrace intimacy again?
I add my signature to the bottom of the form with a flourish of finality. This is my chance to build something for myself, a career I’ve been too busy to pursue, here, close enough to Tilly to support her burgeoning independence. I cannot screw this up. Especially not with any further ideas of kissing Drake Faulkner, sex with Drake Faulkner or making Drake Faulkner see me as more than the wife of his friend.
I take a cleansing breath and hand in the forms. The Faulkner’s Human-Resources manager passes me a temporary security card and leads me upstairs. In the stairwell, the scent of onions and garlic and red wine waft to my nose. My stomach clenches, but with excitement. I touch the pristine chef whites folded in my bag, buzzing to get started.
‘The boss wants to see you. He’ll introduce you to the rest of the kitchen staff.’ The woman from HR swings open the door and points me in the right direction down a nondescript corridor. ‘Second door on the left.’
Behind the scenes, the luxury of the Faulkner the guests see persists with the same plush carpet and soothing decor. I suck in a deep breath, a little intimidated by meeting Rod for the first time, which is probably why I come to an abrupt standstill in the doorway when I find Drake sitting behind the desk, talking on the phone.
Heat shunts my entire body up in flames as my eyes latch to his moving mouth. I almost kissed him. Almost begged him for the sex he would have probably treated his date to, had I not gatecrashed.
Drake’s green eyes land on mine, pinning me to the threshold.
No smile of welcome. Just that impenetrable stare, which could mean anything from I’m seconds from tearing off your clothes to I’m still smarting at your inappropriate behaviour.
I lift my chin and stare back. There’s no shame in admitting you haven’t had sex for three years. That you’ve been busy rebuilding your