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  Destroyed

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  Forbidden to Want

  by JC Harroway

  CHAPTER ONE

  Kit

  THE DECISIVE RAP at the door drags my attention from the dreary, grey view of London in the drizzle and back to my computer screen.

  ‘Just a minute.’ I shoot a scowl at the closed door and curse the interruption.

  I’m thirty, part-owner of the family business I share with my brothers and head of luxury hospitality. I shouldn’t have to vet my own visitors or schedule my own appointments, but my assistant quit last week and I haven’t yet worked up the enthusiasm to hire a replacement.

  This week will be hard enough without having unexpected extras piled on my plate. No doubt Reid, my efficient eldest brother, has circulated a company-wide memo outlining why my appearance at the office and my regard for polite discourse might be a little more sporadic than usual. The benefit of being the grieving widower, the family fuck-up, is that my usual demeanour provides the perfect antidote to the trivial. Unless it’s vital, people tend to steer clear.

  ‘Yes?’ I yell.

  The Faulkner Group has many staff who could pander to my every administrative whim, but over the last three years I’ve managed to scare everyone off. Now only the brave venture close to my perpetual scowl for my signature on something my brothers deem important to the smooth running of our six London-based hotels.

  Reid strides in, his thousand-pound suit immaculate and the air of authority his senior-sibling status grants him on display as if he wears a sandwich board emblazoned with his title: Head of the Faulkner Group, oldest of three brothers, here to keep the runt of the litter in line.

  That I’m even physically in the office this week should appease the control freak in him, but one look at his expression tells me he expects more.

  My back tenses, lifting the hairs above my collar. He’s going to be disappointed—we Faulkners are cut from the same cloth.

  ‘Kit, a moment...’ It’s not a question, a fact that slides sandpaper beneath my skin and rains nails down on my already tingling scalp.

  I spin my chair from my view of the city, ready to hear him out with the minimum of interaction and then remind him of tomorrow’s date.

  He’s not alone.

  This adds hypodermic needles to the downpour of nails. If he expects to add social interaction to my to-do list, he’ll need to come back next week.

  Fucking Reid. He’s aware of my triggers. Understands how tightly I run my ship since my life turned to shit. I slide my scowl from my brother. Reid’s companion is female.

  My body perks up, an unwelcome slug of testosterone to the bloodstream, a half-arsed attempt at interest in the opposite sex. I’ve trained myself well in recent years. Forced myself to notice other pretty faces, appealing figures and interesting personalities.

  She’s tall. Striking. Long, dark hair and a tanned, make-up-less face. The outfit covers a lean, athletic body. High, full breasts, a tapered waist and enough generosity through the hips to scream woman—all clad in a T-shirt decorated with some Japanese Kanji symbols and a pair of black skinny jeans.

  My libido stirs—she’s a beautiful woman. And noticing beautiful women, scratching a mutual itch and moving on, is what I do now. All I do. For good, bad or ugly.

  Still, if Reid thinks he’s replacing my last assistant with this dressed-down beauty, he can think again. I have rules, and professional work attire is rule number one.

  I raise my stare from her slender, denim-clad legs. Who wears jeans to a job interview? She’s made my dismissal easy—I don’t need an assistant. And this casually dressed stranger, however compelling, looks completely at odds with the Faulkner Group’s workplace dress code.

  I drag my body from the chair and straighten to my full six feet three inches to piss Reid off, who stands an inch below me, then slide the glare levelled on my brother to my visitor, dropping the annoyance in deference to her beauty.

  ‘Kit, this is Mia Abbott.’ Reid introduces the woman as if I’d been expecting her unconventional company.

  My lips stretch with a flicker of greeting. Yes, she’s striking, but she’s superfluous to my current workplace requirements and, this week, a definite unwanted distraction.

  Then she smiles.

  I double-take.

  Mia’s wide smile transforms her face like floodlights switching on behind her dark eyes. I hold the air trapped in my chest and reassess the entire Mia Abbott package, my cock stirring despite my current state of mind.

  She’s mid-twenties, stunning in a way she probably doesn’t know it, the sun-kissed, slightly upturned nose dotted with golden freckles. Her earthy dark eyes glow in the wake of that happy-go-lucky smile still hovering on her face, despite my less than welcoming reception, and her mouth... Fuck—full lips, naturally red, a perfect Cupid’s bow.

  Promising... I reassess my staffing needs despite the constant swirl of self-di
rected disgust that accompanies any thought of a sexual nature. Why couldn’t Reid have introduced Mia next week, or any day after tomorrow?

  Still, the timing isn’t Mia’s fault and perhaps she’s not even here for me.

  I take Mia Abbott’s hand, my grasp firm and a fraction too long for polite convention. Her returning shake presses my fingers together in a strong, warm caress that’s neither intimidated nor flirtatious.

  Interesting...

  My eyes dart to her left hand...single.

  The only flaw Mia seems to possess is her habitual fidgeting, her fingers drumming against her thigh at odds with the wide, confident smile and the assertive handshake. Sadly, she won’t be around long enough for me to find that irritating. Working for me, if she makes the grade, won’t be easy. I keep erratic hours, spend days at a time ignoring my phone and use sex to remedy the unfixable parts of my life. Of course, I’m a gentleman—no woman leaves my bed without her world completely rocked.

  ‘Good to meet you,’ she says, her smoky voice sexy and accented.

  My eyes return to her full lips as I try to place her variation of English. ‘Where are you from? Australia?’ I could listen to her talk all day. I slide my palm from hers, disengaging from our formal greeting, and shift an inch closer. I’m rewarded with a warm wave of her scent—some sort of flowery shit, perhaps honeysuckle, and fresh air.

  She laughs, an uninhibited throaty chuckle, as if I’ve said something hilarious. I freeze. It’s been a long time since a woman laughed at me. Doesn’t she understand the rules of the boss-assistant dynamic of polite deference? Or the less appropriate but honest subtle lick of those luscious lips while her amber-speckled stare dropped to the front of my trousers.

  Perhaps she has no interest whatsoever in sleeping with an emotional train wreck and no unrealistic ambitions to fix me.

  Well-played, Reid.

  ‘I’m from New Zealand.’ She shrugs. ‘Trust me, there’s a big difference.’ Despite her semi-mocking smile, her seemingly calm assessment, the fine-boned fingers resume their fidgeting.

  Perhaps she’s not quite immune to the Faulkner charm after all...

  But if she’s sticking around, best she understand who’s in charge from the get-go. It’s not Reid, who seems to have come over all slack about the office dress code. I have rules. Rule number two—her rockin’ body, her lively, mischievous stare and her pouty lips aside—our connection will work best with a bare minimum of communication. Especially over the next two days.

  At the timely reminder of the date, my stomach rolls, sharp and unpleasant, banishing the Mia-directed kick of lust. For the thousandth time this morning I force my mind away from memories and in particular my anniversary. If only I could distract myself with the delectable Mia.

  Nope.

  Sex is off the table, at least until I’ve survived tomorrow.

  Anyway, my libido was ahead of itself, because exotic Miss Abbott isn’t looking at me with the level of interest I’ve grown to expect from members of the opposite sex. Hell, yes, I’m arrogant, but it’s as if I had tattooed emotionally unavailable widower on my forehead three years ago in neon ink.

  How do women know? I must give off some pheromone that tells them I’m only looking for no-strings sex—the hot, carnal fucking of all their fantasies. On my terms.

  Of course, once they’ve experienced the ride, most of them think they can change me, although I’m clear about it from the outset. That they think they’ll be the answer to all my problems, start imagining they can put a smile back on my face, is the problem.

  Reid finally explains his Monday-morning Antipodean companion. ‘I’m glad we found you here.’ Shadows move behind his eyes, as if he can’t decide between relief I’m where I should be and concern that my presence at work might tip me over the edge. He ploughs on. ‘Mia will shadow you for three weeks. Can I leave you to give her the tour?’

  Wait, three weeks? Shadow?

  My shirt peels from my back as my muscles tense. Shelving the charm all three Faulkner brothers once possessed in spades, I question his highhandedness in front of the lady, my patience for his mistake non-existent. ‘I’m afraid my brother has been a little premature, Ms Abbott. I’m not currently in the market for a new assistant. Sorry he’s wasted both our time this morning.’

  Mia’s wide eyes flick to Reid, but her full mouth twists as if she and Reid are in on some private joke.

  Am I amusing...?

  Perhaps she can’t decipher the cut-crystal nuances of the Etonian accent that cost my parents a fortune. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Who the hell is this woman, rocking up for an interview dressed like a student, only to find her potential future boss laughable? And what the fuck is going on in my brother’s head? Refreshing, appealing, sexy—nothing makes up for frank insubordination.

  ‘Oh, I’m not a PA.’ Mia speaks, humour igniting the flecks of gold in her irises. Irises she then rolls. ‘Wouldn’t have the first clue how to organise you. And I’d suffocate in an office job.’ Her amused stare scans my space and then settles on me.

  So, this is a social visit and despite the cool way she’s assessing me with her toffee-apple eyes, perhaps Mia is looking for some holiday fun...

  Great! Lay down the rules, check she’s on the same page of the casual sex manual and invite her out for a drink on Wednesday.

  I ignore the rising heat in my groin—somehow still a betrayal. My guts twist, pulled in two opposing directions.

  I glare at my brother, an ache radiating through my face from teeth which are clamped together. ‘Care to explain?’ I’m tired of his interference. I’m not a total arsehole—I know it comes from a place of caring. But it’s about time both he and my other brother, Drake, and the old man came to terms with the new, unimproved me.

  Reid’s lips tighten, a sign he’s pissed and probably a little embarrassed that we’re airing our soiled Y-fronts in front of the enigmatic Ms Abbott. He’s like that—do the right thing, keep everyone else on track, boldly navigate the waters, no matter how rocky.

  Reid clears his throat. ‘Mia is here to make the promotional film.’

  I keep my face blank and ignore Mia’s tiny cough as she crosses her arms over her waist and looks down at the white carpet underneath her well-worn Converse.

  Reid’s mouth hardens as he steps closer and dips his voice to a frustrated murmur. ‘Look, I know this is a difficult time for you, but we discussed this at the planning meeting last month. You signed off on her appointment.’ He slides a tight smile in Mia’s direction.

  I shoot Reid a hard frown, certain I didn’t sign up for whatever the intriguing Mia Abbott is selling, but then, I don’t actually read the documents pertaining to the smooth running of our chain of boutique hotels. That was my assistant’s job.

  My back muscles start to cramp I’m wound so tightly. Whatever has brought Mia around the world, I want no part of it. These days I work best alone. I upset fewer people that way. If I could fuck alone, I’d have no need to interact with others whatsoever.

  I slip my hands into my trouser pockets and puff out my chest in my oldest brother’s direction—I could still take him and we both know it. ‘Promotional film?’ I slide an extra layer of bite into my tone. He or Drake can help Mia—she’s the last thing I need this week. I snatch another glance in her direction, the selfish-bastard part of me rebelling at passing her company over to either of my single brothers.

  She’s still smiling as if highly amused by the brotherly face-off playing out for her entertainment. I clamp my jaw closed—I can’t decide if I’m pissed off or impressed by her audacity; keen to kick her out on what is probably a glorious arse—my biggest weakness—or kiss the amusement from that wide, generous mouth.

  Reid scrubs his hand through his hair and shoots Mia an apologetic look, as if I’m an errant child who hasn’t practised scales in time for his pian
o lesson. ‘It’s all in the memo. If you hired a new assistant, perhaps you’d find it easier to stay on track.’

  My answering grin is laced with antipathy. Reid knows I careered off track three years ago after my wife died, following one measly year of marriage. And now I’ve reached an impasse. I work when I want, control what I can and ignore anything else. Having your life literally snatched from your helpless hands will do that to a person.

  My brother sighs. ‘You know we’re revamping the Faulkner Group’s website as well as the websites of each hotel. We’ve brought Mia in to make a promotional video that highlights all the best features our hotels offer, especially the Off the Guidebook package.’

  The fog clears a fraction. He and Drake need my signature on anything to do with Bounty Events’ Off the Guidebook. It’s my business, offering tailored memory-building experiences for the discerning traveller—one I started after uni—and its links to the Faulkner hotel chain through the once in a lifetime packages we offer our guests ensure a mutually beneficial partnership.

  ‘Well, this is news to me.’ I offer Mia an apologetic smile for her wasted trip. I could take her for a consolation drink later in the week...

  ‘You agreed.’ Reid scratches a spot just above his left eyebrow—a sign of his mounting frustration. Any minute now he’ll drag out the for-fuck’s-sake-get-a-grip lecture he delivers at least once a week, one he adopted in his role as self-appointed caretaker to Drake and me after our parents split when I was fifteen.

  Without waiting to be asked, Mia moves to the comfy seating area and relaxes into a white leather armchair, where she watches our discussion with bold, fascinated eyes, her fingers tapping a rhythm only she can hear on the chrome arm of the chair.

  My hackles rise. I should be annoyed that she’s blatantly enjoying this sibling showdown but it’s the pulsing blood in my groin that wins the battle, and I have the inconvenient urge to tell Reid to fuck off, then strip her bare and go down on her where she’s sitting while she enjoys my view of London. Will she still find me amusing when she’s coming on my tongue?