Forbidden To Taste

‘Thanks.’ Her eyes are full of doubt, of hesitancy. ‘I guess I thought if I just came to you and asked, you might feel obliged...you know...because of Sam. This way, I hoped my food would speak for me. It was a stupid stunt.’ She takes a glug of wine and I want to reach out and touch her, comfort her, certain she’s never done anything stupid in her life, even as I discreetly glance at my watch and wonder how quickly I can see her on her way.

‘Tell me how I can help?’ I’ll give her anything I’m able to give. Make up somehow for the lonely years of hardship I caused her.

She chews her lip, looking momentarily lost.

My thumb moves rhythmically over the stem of my wine glass as I battle the urge to touch her. Would her mouth be as soft as it looks? What would those expressive eyes tell me if I crossed the line? To fuck the hell off? That she’s never ever once thought of me that way...? That I’m betraying Sam’s memory, just by thinking of her with anything beyond cold, consolation-prize friendship?

Nothing I don’t already know.

She collects herself, holding my eye contact with a tilt of her chin. ‘I hoped if you tasted something I’d made, you’d see how serious I am now I’m free to pursue a career, not just...pacify me because of our...past connection.’

Connection... Fuck, that’s a passionless and depressing descriptor. But accurate.

‘And, having already been declined, I knew it was a long shot.’ Her shoulders droop as she watches the flames of the fire.

All my protective instincts flare to life and my fingers make a fist around the stem of my wine glass. ‘Declined?’

She nods. ‘It’s no big deal.’ A gut-twisting, sad little smile. ‘Breaking into the top restaurants is hard, even outside London. Believe me, I’d have stayed in Bath if I had the choice. But Tilly moved here to study at the London School of Economics and, even though she wants her independence, some days...she still struggles. It made sense for me to be close, for...emergencies.’

Then it registers in a single icy deluge. She lives here now. On my doorstep. I tamp down my increased breathing. This is bad news. How will I sleep at night knowing she’s somewhere in my city, but not in my bed? Close, but still out of bounds?

My lust-addled brain finally slots it all together. ‘You applied for our sous-chef position?’

Another nod, the excitement back in her eyes. ‘I know I’m inexperienced in a restaurant of the Faulkner’s calibre.’ She turns her body to face me, perched on the edge of the sofa. I zone back in to what she’s actually saying rather than just the way her luscious mouth forms the words. She’s so animated, her breaths come in soft pants.

‘I told myself to grasp my big chance, now that I’m free to focus all my energy on what I want. I just need a shot. A trial even. A chance to prove I’m up to the job and willing to learn.’

This is her passion. Something she’s put on hold while she raised her sister. Something she might have achieved sooner, if my actions hadn’t made her a widow.

Yes hovers on my lips. I clamp them together. She’s enough of a temptation across the country, but in my space every day... And the glimmer of hope behind her guarded, afraid-to-dream expression may as well be a shower of hurled knives.

Euphoria drains away, slashed to shreds. I stiffen to hold myself in place and clear my throat. ‘Well, I believe we already have a trial set up for someone else—a Dominic Brown.’

She shakes her head, her eyes dulling but her chin lifting with grit. ‘I see. Couldn’t we take it in turns? Work alternate shifts. You’ll get two for the price of one.’

Every beat of my heart hurts. It’s in my power to help her. But it’s too dangerous. She sees the refusal forming on my tongue and jumps in.

‘I’d put in the hours, more than the hours. I have great references, and if I’m not up to it, if it doesn’t work out, no hard feelings.’ Her cheeks flush as she grows increasingly hopeful.

It’s a physical blow under my ribs to see that look on her face. This means more to her than a job. More than taking care of Tilly. It’s personal. She lost her parents, stepped into the role of Tilly’s caretaker, sidelined her own dreams. That she’s come to me, of all people...the last person who deserves her trust...

‘I don’t think it’s a good idea.’ Fuck, that’s lame. I have to do better than that. ‘Our executive chef can be difficult to work for.’

Her lips thin. ‘I’m not asking for a freebie or special treatment.’ She rushes on where I would have interrupted. ‘Just an opportunity to see if I have what it takes. The same as Dominic.’

I stroke my chin, juggling the pros and cons of Hobson’s choice. Unless I find somewhere else to eat, I’ll see her all the time. I could work at the Faulkner Group offices with Reid and Kit. Then I’ll most likely only bump into her on the days I meet with Rod, our temperamental head chef, who has a large say in the hiring and firing of those in his kitchen. But I’m a Faulkner. The bosses’ boss. If Kenzie wants a trial, I could make it happen.

Then I wince as my gut twists. Rod is a notorious ladies’ man. He fucks all the single waitresses and half the married ones. He’s the very reason we have a sous-chef vacancy. The idea of him working day in, day out with Kenzie...

No. I’ll have to send her away. Crush her dream. It won’t be the first time I’ve ruined her life. I put down my wine before I hurl it at the wall.

‘I’ll work hard, I promise. I’m not asking for handouts,’ she adds, her eyes wide as she reaches for her denim jacket and rummages in the pocket. ‘In fact...’ she holds out an envelope ‘...I also came to return these.’

I stare at her offering as if it’s packed with plastic explosives, the hairs prickling on the back of my neck. ‘What is it?’

When I don’t take the envelope from her, she huffs and places it on the sofa between us like a barrier.

‘The cheques you sent.’ Her eyes harden.

My stomach rolls. She may as well have kneed me in the balls. I temper a sigh while I process what feels like a slap in the face. ‘But that money is for you.’

Guilt money.

She looks away as if she knows what’s coming and wants to hear it less than I want to utter it or admit the ugly truth.

I say it anyway, because if she hasn’t cashed a single one of the cheques I’ve sent her over the years I need leverage. Blackmail. ‘I promised him I’d look after you.’ I force the words out, inviting Sam into the room—a major cock-block for me and a reminder for her: some promises still apply. ‘And I want to help.’

My stomach rolls—of course I made promises to Sam, too. The promise of time to sort his shit out, get his house in order and come clean to Kenzie.

One look at the wistfulness in her beautiful eyes at the mention of his name tells me he didn’t, and my burden doubles in weight as if gravity no longer exists.

A determined pout forms on her soft, plump lips. ‘I appreciate that, Drake, I do, but I don’t want your money. I don’t need it. And you can help me by giving me a chance to get a job.’

There it is—her steel, her independence. Fucking attractive qualities I’ve always secretly admired.

‘I know you don’t need it.’ She’s the strongest woman I know. Facing her losses with the bravery of a whole squadron of men.

Her eyes dart away, perhaps finding the carpet, this particular shade of charcoal, fascinating. But she’s right not to trust me. Right not to need me. She’s unaware, but I’m a snake in the grass. I’d never have played my hand—in my mind, she’ll always be Sam’s—but thoughts can betray as much as actions. Did my thoughts make me as complicit as Sam, who had everything I dared to crave, but failed to honour its value?

I aim for nonchalance with my shrug, ignoring the colicky twist of my gut that remonstrates. ‘I just wanted to ease your burden. Help the only way I could.’ The money helped me to keep my word without losing my mind.

I should have stayed in touch. Should have worked harder to fight my attraction from day one so I could uphold my promise to my friend with more than financial assistance. She would have needed more than money these past three years—solace, company, practical help. Sam’s army pension probably covers her mortgage, but not much else. And now with London prices... And besides, I swore. Made a vow to look out for his woman and her sister. If Sam were here, he’d tell me straight up—I’m a shitty friend. But then, at the end, he was a shitty husband...

‘Why are you so stubborn? A promise is a promise.’ Every married soldier has his brothers at his back and I had Sam’s back.

Every time except that last time. The only time that counted...

‘I prefer determined. That’s why my plan was supposed to entice you—I don’t want your money. So, do I get my shot?’ The set of her jaw tells me she isn’t going to back down and, if there are three years’ worth of cheques in that envelope, nothing I say tonight will change her mind and convince her to accept what I can easily afford.

I close my eyes, wishing I could close my mind to the dilemma as easily. Of course, the only thing my brain latches on to is the delicate scent of the woman next to me on the couch. The warmth of her body seeping across the pathetic slice of space between us.

I drag in air. It would be so easy to reach out. To touch her. To have all my fantasies confirmed in the flesh.

I snap my eyes open and sit a little straighter, sucking on my discipline.

I groan aloud at my lack of options, rub my hand over my face, the length of the day and its unexpected turn finally draining the last of my energy.

But she’s done waiting for my answer. ‘It’s okay. I understand.’ Kenzie stands and places her glass on the table. ‘Don’t worry. Just forget I came.’

Forget? Not fucking likely. I’ll probably relive every second throughout a long, sleepless night. I stand, too, my thoughts tripping over themselves to break free as coherent sentences.

‘It was great to see you.’ I wince. Is that the best I can do?

‘Thanks for the wine,’ she says, grabbing her stiff, wet denim jacket, the defeat in her eyes buffeting my resolve.

She’s reached out to me after all this time. It’s my fault she needs a job.

‘Wait.’ I can offer her a chance. I’ll just have to double my morning gym routine so I’m completely exhausted if and when I do run into her in the corridor. Yeah, no amount of burpees or pull-ups will counter the urges she inspires.

She’s halfway to the door when I catch up. This time when I touch her elbow, there’s no fabric barrier to block the potent lust that thrums through my blood. My hand slides down the smooth length of her bare forearm until my fingers encircle her delicate wrist.

My pulse rate doubles. I was right—her skin is as soft as my imaginings. She looks up from my hand, her face so familiar, but foreign at this proximity. My fingers twitch involuntarily. With one small tug she’d be in my arms...pressed against my aching chest...her mouth on mine...

I swallow the watermelon in my throat. I have no right to touch her. No right to make her any promises, the ground I’m on so shaky I may as well be standing on a fault line.

But she’s not asking for promises, just a chance.

I’ll just have to steer clear.

‘I want to help...with a trial in the kitchens,’ I say. It’s the least I can do. All I can do. Everything else in my head is strictly prohibited.

‘Really?’ Her smile rearranges the organs in my chest, each jostling for space in the too-small, confined space.

I nod. Control fraying. If she’s going to look at me like that...

‘Drake... I... Thanks.’ Her voice is husky, tentative, my name decadent on her beautiful lips.

Blood whooshes through my skull. She’s too tempting, my intentions too grubby. And I’m still touching her. Why hasn’t she snatched her hand away?

‘It’s nothing.’ So much less than she deserves.

‘It’s something to me.’ The gratitude in her eyes fades, replaced with something else. Something that makes my breath catch. Something I must imagine. She’d never look at me that way. Never trust me enough. Not if she knew everything.

I should move. Let go of her wrist. Tell her it was great to catch up after all these years and send her home in my car.

But I’m frozen.

Frozen in time, to our first meeting. Frozen in those heady seconds of possibility when all three of us—Kenzie, Sam and I—were strangers in a bar. Then, I planned to buy her a drink, invite her out, get to know if we had anything in common beyond attraction, which, for me, was pretty instantaneous.

The medieval-torture device strapped to my chest cranks another notch tighter. Breath strangled. Without stepping back I release her wrist, waiting for the tension to snap, but if anything the air around us thins.

She tilts her head. ‘I’m glad I came...’ A small sigh blows over her plump bottom lip, her gorgeous mouth perilous temptation. And closer than ever before.

The urge to kiss her roars back to life, hijacking 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.

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