One delicious hookup deal

One rule—no falling in love

Mia Abbott never backs down from a challenge—especially one posed by sexy widowed billionaire Kit Faulkner. He’s dark, dangerous, damaged—and pure, raw sex appeal. And for the next three weeks, he’s also Mia’s boss. The rules of their wicked engagement? No romance. Only, one night together isn’t enough. They’re about to discover that the most forbidden things are also the hardest to give up...

Lifelong romance addict JC HARROWAY lives in New Zealand. Writing feeds her very real obsession with happy endings and the endorphin rush they create. You can follow her at jcharroway.com, Facebook.com/jcharroway, Instagram.com/jcharroway and Twitter.com/jcharroway.

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Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Forbidden to Want

JC Harroway

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08678-3

FORBIDDEN TO WANT

© 2019 JC Harroway

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

About the Publisher

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-directed 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 piano 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?

I bite back the surge of testosterone and temper in my next words to Reid out of innate manners for the virtual stranger. ‘As you know, this isn’t the best week for me—find someone else.’

Besides, business ticks along pretty well. Typical Reid, trying to fix something that’s not broken.

Reid’s jaw tenses as his stare bores into mine. ‘You’ll recall the figures I emailed you yesterday.’ He’s talking about the continuing drop in uptake of the Off the Guidebook package, which sets us apart from our main competitors.

He slides a polite smile in Mia’s direction. ‘Mia’s work is award-winning. This is an excellent way to publicise our USPs in what is an increasingly competitive market.’

He doesn’t add that I’m the reason sales are down, or that I’ve lost my drive where growth of my business is concerned. World domination of the luxury travel and recreation marketplace is no longer of interest. He doesn’t need to—I’ve made my peace with the things I can and cannot control, preferring to focus on the former.

Of course, the most satisfying of those easily commanded areas of my life is sex. My eyes dart to the intriguing Mia.

Reid’s voice softens a fraction. ‘Both Bounty Events and the Faulkner chain will benefit.’ Even now he’s looking out for my business and reminding me of my responsibilities to the family, the brothers who stand by my side.

Another surge of futility erupts beneath my skin, forcing tension into my hands. I straighten my fingers, although I want to give rein to the fists this new twist inspires. The last thing I need is a distraction as appealing as Mia, and the timing will bite me in the arse.

I lean close, a last-ditch attempt to sway things my way with the minimum of effort. ‘We don’t need her,’ I say under my breath. ‘I don’t need her.’

Mia’s snort reaches us across the room, a fuck you to the subtlety I’ve tried to maintain for her sake.

She shows her steel. ‘I can hear you, you know.’ Reid and I both turn Mia’s way but she looks directly at my brother. ‘Temperamental you said, not rude.’

Reid sighs as if slapped in the face with those stained Y-fronts we’ve aired. So she’s been pre-warned about poor widower Kit.

She flicks her attention my way, ebony-hard eyes blazing challenge. ‘As of thirty minutes ago, Mr Faulkner, I’m under contract—all signed and sealed. Unless I fail to deliver the promised product, I expect the balance of my fee on receipt of the final, approved material.’ She smiles that dazzling smile, her eyes laced with defiance.

I sigh, turning away from my brother in disgust. If she’s here for three weeks to do a job sanctioned by me, one that will get my brothers off my back, I can’t even fuck her. 92 messy. Not that she’s shown any sign of sharing my physical interest.

My stare settles on the curve of her full mouth, the hint of pink tongue behind straight white teeth... On second thoughts, perhaps I could. Perhaps that’s the quickest way to get rid of her. We’ll have a good time. She’ll realise I’m an arsehole she can’t change and want nothing more to do with me.

Reid moves, snapping the soupy tension that coils across the room, connecting this enigmatic woman and me like tentacles.

‘Well,’ he slaps my shoulder, ‘my work here is done.’

I shoot him a look that promises retribution. I must imagine the residual flicker of concern on his face because Reid casts me the smug grin of someone who’s not that fond of his teeth. ‘Don’t forget the theatre tonight—’

‘I’m well aware of my professional commitments.’

Although I could do without them today.

Reid nods. ‘Give my regards to Mr and Mrs Sanchez.’ He strides to Mia, who stands and shakes his hand with another of her knockout smiles. Already there’s a warmth to their leave-taking that adds another convoluted twist to my knotted intestines.

Reid’s parting shot ends any hope of my day panning out the way I’d planned—getting through, alone, with only my dark thoughts for company.

‘Perhaps Mia could accompany you to the theatre tonight?’ He tosses a malicious grin over his shoulder, so reminiscent of teenaged Reid, who enjoyed flexing his superior strength over his younger brothers.

Bastard.

He looks to Mia for her nod of approval. ‘She doesn’t officially start work until tomorrow,’ he adds, ‘but... I’ll leave you two to work out the finer details.’ With one last smirk he departs, optimistically closing the door behind him.

If he were any sort of gentleman, he’d have held the door open—the fascinating foreigner currently staring at me as if trying to figure me out won’t be staying that long. I turn to the woman I can’t fuck or fire, a tight smile on my face.

CHAPTER TWO
Mia

THE MINUTE WE’RE alone the pressure in my lungs builds to screaming point and my pulse thrums stronger. I slowly release the air trapped above my diaphragm through pursed lips to conceal my conflicted urges—either to run from Kit Faulkner or kiss the arrogant smirk from his tempting lips. A wise woman would grab her beloved camera and race back to Heathrow, just to escape the fog of sexual tension and other un-named undercurrents filling his swanky office.

Instead, I lift my chin and return his stare—I never back down from a challenge.

Kit’s big, brooding size owns the room—feet planted wide, broad chest on display, hands casually slung in his pockets, his eyes peeling away my layers. Another injection of stubbornness raises my eyebrows in his direction. He can male posture as much as he likes—my cage isn’t easily rattled.

The need to prove I’m more than he no doubt sees is easy to ignore. I’ve never belonged in a box and I’m not about to conform simply because Kit Faulkner is the sexiest man I’ve ever met.

Whew, I wasn’t expecting sparks when I arrived at the Faulkner offices. Shame he’s an arsehole.

Ignoring the trickle of excitement raising the hairs on my arms, I settle back, forcing my body to relax into the leather and my mind to remember all the reasons I’m happy being single. My corneas protest, the scalding intensifying until my eyes start to water. Only my competitive nature stops me from getting lost in the stare down. Lost in the centre-of-the-earth-deep navy-blue eyes of his. The annoyance he displays in their inky depths awakens my reckless side, which is never far from the surface.

Let’s play, Mr Faulkner.

‘So, your day isn’t going as planned...?’ I cross my legs and swing my foot in time with my heartbeat while I wait for him to fill the stilted atmosphere Reid left behind. Whether his irritation is directed at me—an unexpected stranger forced upon him—or at the handsome, more personable older brother is unclear. But my direct question works. I’ve definitely poked the bear awake.

His mouth thins—a travesty, because it’s full and lush and surrounded by sexy stubble. ‘You could say that.’ Still no smile, but his teeth scrape his bottom lip as if he’s thinking dark thoughts behind those dark eyes, which harbour the unmistakeable flicker of interest.

I evaluate what I know, what’s been hinted at and what I’ve deduced. He’s single, hot as and probably highly sexed. And rude. Don’t forget rude. I glance at the outer office. That probably explains the missing assistant.

Despite the brief heads-up from the charming Reid—my brother goes through lots of staff, don’t take it personally—I’m clearly not immune to Kit’s conventional, almost cruel, good looks. His hair is a little long and too dishevelled to match the elegant perfection of his older brother, but when teamed with the devil-may-care scruff on his chiselled face and the intense fuck-off vibe in his brooding stare, the look packs a punch like a blowtorch to a cobweb. Because it screams sex. Dark, intense, dangerous sex.

Dangerous because there’s a kind of anguish that radiates from behind those eyes in gloomy waves like the sheets of drizzle soaking London today, disarming me to the point that the fleeing-back-to-Heathrow option looks increasingly tempting.

But then, where’s the fun in that...?

I smile, showing him I’m not perturbed by his frigid reception ‘Well, thanks for this opportunity.’ I’m just here to do my job, not to dig into this uptight English dude’s psyche. But perhaps I should show more graciousness.

‘I’m really looking forward to this commission.’ Landing this prestigious contract with the Faulkner Group will not only fund my next trip to South America, it’s also allowed me to visit my brother, who moved to London two years ago to marry the love of his life.

‘I think we’ve established your appointment was nothing to do with me. But perhaps we can make the most of it.’ Kit plants himself in the seat opposite, his elbow propped on the chrome armrest and his thumb and forefinger rubbing at his bottom lip as if he’s formulating a plan. A plan to deal with me?

I squeeze my thighs together, my imagination like a moth trapped inside a lampshade. Why does he have to make this so...enticing? To stop myself drooling, I look away from his ridiculously handsome face and focus on London’s iconic cityscape behind him.

‘Great—it’s my first trip to London. I travel a lot but I’ve never been here.’ The buzz of excitement for exploring a new a city runs through my veins.

Perhaps that buzz is the reason Kit Faulkner’s stare seems to penetrate my clothes, even my skin, his tortured interest a slither of electricity swooping over to join the persistent throb between my legs.

From looks alone, a quick game with Kit Faulkner is something I’d normally consider. And if that hint of danger in Kit’s aura grows any bigger, burns any brighter, I’m doomed.

I uncross my legs while I breathe through the flutter of my pulse in my throat. I won’t go there. He’s too intense. Too...damaged. Too...consuming.

I don’t do relationships, so I have a radar for people only interested in casual. Instinct and the delicious thrumming between my legs tell me I’d walk away from Kit Faulkner’s bed not only saddle sore, but thoroughly mind-fucked too.

It’s those eyes...

Risk is stamped all over him—not the physical, adrenaline thrill I’m always up for, but the temptation to get sucked into those fathomless pools and the turmoil they conceal. That’s not me. Caring that much is the role of a long-term lover or a girlfriend and I’ve never been either.

I swivel my hips a fraction, pressing the seam of my jeans where I want it to stop me from becoming a cliché and succumbing to the dark, seductive stare thing he has going.

I force a polite, professional smile, willing my body to stand down from this unforeseen attraction to my new client. He’s still staring, brooding intensity and heat in his eyes even while he tries to intimidate me with his silent perusal.

My smile stretches. Does he expect me to crumble because he’s displayed how inconvenient he finds my presence? My lips twitch, controlled by a sense of perverse devilment.

I lift my eyebrows. ‘I am free tonight, by the way, and I love the theatre.’ A lie. I have nothing in my backpack I could wear to the theatre. I’m not the theatre type. I’m outdoorsy, sporty, adventurous—my parents’ generation would have labelled me a tomboy. But we don’t do labels in our family. Despite being older than most parents, mine are progressive, liberal and non-judgmental. The perfect parents for a couple of kids who don’t fit into any mould and who no one else wanted.

Kit works his jaw, ignoring my attempts to steer the conversation back to the job he’s paying me handsomely to complete. ‘Tell me, Mia...’ My name vibrates in his deep English voice. ‘Have you seen much of the city? Had time to explore?’

‘No. I arrived yesterday, and I’ll see enough of London while I work for you. I’m staying with my brother and his husband in Camden until I complete this contract, and then I’ll be moving on.’

Keep moving. Keep exploring. Keep free.

A blunt knife burrows between my ribs—old, rusty, predictable.

The prickle of restlessness that travelling normally helps me outrun returns. The irony that my job has brought me here, to a city of millions where one person, somewhere, is related to me by blood, twists my insides.

I breathe through the feeling, reminding myself that travelling the world beats putting down roots. A bird’s world view, not an oak tree’s.

Kit’s fathomless eyes still project a dichotomous vibe that veers from mild hostility to overt interest. Why is he angling to get rid of me? Does he dislike his perfectly amiable brother so much? Or perhaps he’s taken an instant dislike to my quirkiness. He needs to pick one emotion and stick to it, though. His indifference I can handle, but his seductive stare, which promises one thing and one thing only, grows harder to resist.

But resist I must.

‘Hmm...’ he says. ‘Well, perhaps I can pay the outstanding balance of your fee. You can leave today. Spend time with your family. See the sights London has to offer.’ He smiles then, for the first time, as if my acceptance of his generous but bizarre offer is a foregone conclusion. As if he’s used to getting his own way.

I bet he is. Well, some of us aren’t easily controlled.

I almost laugh, but I’ve already sniggered at his attempts to chase me off twice, so I’d best not push my luck. A Faulkner recommendation is worth more than it costs me to ignore Kit’s attitude. Intrigue adds to the other unexpected emotions that meeting him has unleashed.

What is he afraid of? What is he hiding?

Energy coils inside. I expected this job to be fun, but Kit’s added layer after layer of excitement to the mix until I’m practically trembling from the adrenaline in my bloodstream.

I shake my head slowly, a small smile dancing on my mouth. ‘I’m a professional film-maker, Mr Faulkner, with a reputation to uphold, a product to create and deliver. You and your brothers brought me in for a reason.’

No matter how much my libido wants this uncompromising Englishman, I’m no pushover. But he’s making this too easy, too much fun. I sit up straighter in the chair, all ready and raring to tackle Kit Faulkner head-on.

‘Fuck.’ He mutters under his breath, looking away. His fingers massage his brow as if seeking inspiration through telepathy and his jaw muscles bunch. At this rate he’ll have no enamel left. I take pity on him, my body’s reaction to the unforeseen chemistry between Kit Faulkner and me softening my response.

‘Why don’t you discuss the project with me, go over the Bounty Events company ethos, provide some creative pointers for the film?’

Instead of trying to sway things your way.

I have the brief Reid emailed to me memorised for today’s meeting: the Faulkner chain of small boutique hotels is synonymous with high-end luxury; lacking the grandeur of the big London hotels, they offer top-of-the-range luxury, exquisite catering and, if you can afford the services of Kit Faulkner’s partner company, Bounty Events, a menu of unique, once-in-a-lifetime experiences, overseen by the edible man still staring at me with impenetrable eyes.

Whatever he hopes to achieve with that look, the resultant effect is the trickle of heat through my blood, the rush usually reserved for when I’m airborne with my action camera strapped to my head.

‘I have a meeting now.’ He rises, dismissing me and makes his way to his uncluttered desk. ‘Your arrival this morning was...unscheduled.’

Controlling, arrogant...and grinding my usually laid-back gears. ‘Not for me. And not for your brothers.’

He focuses on his laptop as if deaf to my comeback, the epitome of eye candy if you’re into the haughty, crisp businessman type. The suit trousers fit him like a bespoke shield of armour, cupping his muscular arse and thick thighs. The shirt, although a little creased where he’s sat in his executive leather chair, is expensive enough it could probably walk around this office on its own and he emanates power, wealth, culture, as sure as the outright aloofness he’s wafting my way.

My tapping fingers pick up the pace—my worst habit, one that tells me I’ve been sitting for too long and need to get moving. I press them flat, cross my legs and force myself to enjoy his plush leather armchair, prolonging the showdown.

A battle of wills...?

Well, if you insist, Mr Faulkner.

He must sense his brush-off hasn’t achieved the likely intended goal—me scuttling from his office like a frightened mouse. He turns from his laptop screen, looking at me over one broad shoulder.

‘So I can’t persuade you to take the money and run?’

If this were any other city, if Kit hadn’t tried to control this from the outset, I might have been tempted to take his offer. I arch a brow in his direction. ‘I’m here to stay until the work is complete.’

With one last sweep of his eyes along the length of my body, a look that dismantles every scrap of my resolve to find him unattractive, Kit turns away.

‘If you’re determined to complete this project, it will be under my full direction.’ He taps some keys on his laptop, once more gifting me a view of his sculpted back and arrogantly broad shoulders.

I smile. The Kit effect fosters my defiance and my curiosity to probe just how deep his control goes. I won’t be put into a box, despite my body’s instant physical attraction to him.

‘I prefer full creative control of my work. We can discuss it further tonight.’

End of conversation.

I stand and he gives me his full attention. His energy leaves me jittery, vibrating, as if I’ve stepped into his force field and any minute now I’ll be reduced to a cloud of excited molecules. It’s more of an enticement than a deterrent and I step closer still.

His lip curls. ‘Do you own suitable attire for the theatre?’ He looks me over, heat back in those eyes, like the blue at the centre of a Bunsen flame. The haughty attitude says one thing, but his baby blues give him away.

I embed my feet in his impractical carpet, hoping the soles of my shoes are grubby from the wet streets outside. ‘It’s not a jeans kind of affair?’ I widen my stare, all innocence, biting the side of my tongue to prevent a smile escaping when he all but rolls his eyes. I’m certain he finds me lacking. Unlike the crisp, sophisticated women I met downstairs, I care little about make-up, manicures or fashion.

‘Sadly, no. Is that all you’ve travelled with?’

I shrug. ‘Most of my baggage allowance was taken up with my filming equipment.’ I live in clothes hardy enough to weather lying on the ground or climbing over fences, all in pursuit of the perfect shot.

His mouth tightens, and once more I have the crazy urge to kiss him. To push him back into his expensive chair and straddle him while ruining what’s left of his overlong hairstyle, just to prove that his body is interested in the woman wearing jeans currently cluttering up his immaculate but sterile workspace.

But I shelve my urges for the thrill of simple physics—opposite and opposing forces.

You push, I push, Mr Faulkner.

His next statement gives me pause, landing another well-aimed blow.

‘I’ll have something suitable sent over. Be ready by six p.m.’ He returns his focus to his laptop, his fingers moving over the keys with speed. Even his hands are sexy.

Damn.

Wait...suitable? Sent over? What the fuck...? This isn’t Pretty Woman. I won’t be playing Julia Roberts to his control-freak Richard Gere.

‘I don’t need your clothes. We do have theatres in New Zealand.’ Damn. Now I’ll have to waste my afternoon shopping, with jet lag, when I could be hanging out with Will. My fingers dance on my thigh. I press my hand flat. ‘It’s just a play. Are all Brits as snobby as you?’ Will’s hubby, Josh, is lovely...

Another snort. ‘It’s more than a play.’ Another hot but assessing look. ‘Our clients expect the five-star service they pay for and which we deliver. Anyone can buy the best seats in the house—Faulkner clients want the personal touch. To be schmoozed and personally escorted by me and, if you want this job, by you also. Temporarily.’ He licks his bottom lip, contemplating the expression I hope says unfazed.

‘Personally, I don’t care what you wear,’ he continues, his eyes sliding over me with enough heat he could be imagining me naked. ‘But you cannot schmooze two of my most valued clients in jeans. Consider it a uniform, if it upsets you, but if you want the job, that’s one of my rules.’

How many rules does he have? And how many can I break? I narrow my eyes while the prickle of a thousand ants covers my skin.

Rules? Uniforms? Schmoozing?

I’ve spent years growing comfortable with who I am and overcoming where I came from. Tonight, dressed up in some sort of fancy frock so Kit’s VIP can flaunt his wealth, won’t be the first time I’ve felt like I don’t belong.

But Kit’s next words cement my decision.

‘Unless Reid has miscalculated...now’s the time to back out, Mia.’ A small smile tugs at his decadent mouth. My own lips tingle, the urge to kiss him returning in full force. He’d love it if I caved that easily—a big suck it to his brother and a way to get rid of the inconvenient woman who doesn’t own a cocktail dress with one blow.

‘I’m a Kiwi, as New Zealanders are affectionately termed. I’m up to any job.’

Including him, his intriguing impenetrable guard and his ridiculous rules.

I offer a saccharine smile. ‘I look forward to receiving your couture. I’m a size six shoe and size ten dress.’

Another swipe of his brooding stare scrapes at my nipples. ‘I know what size you are.’

Oh, I bet he does. I bet he’s used to controlling everything, including the wardrobes of fawning females, before showing them the sheet-clawing night of their lives and then scarpering faster than I could say Not with this chick, buddy.

I stand taller, using my height to my advantage. In flats Kit can still peer down at me, but in heels, something I rarely wear, we’d be almost eye to eye. Now, despite the fact that I’m immune to fancy clothes, I have no idea how to put on eyeliner and don’t own hair straighteners, my breath hitches as I look forward to tonight, to challenging both his misconceptions and his rigid control.

With one last smirk I can’t help but deliver, I offer him my hand for a curt handshake, turn on my heel and head for the door. ‘See you at six, then.’

My palm tingles as I walk away, still resonating with his touch, while the hum of an electrical storm buzzes throughout my nervous system. This job just became a whole lot more interesting.

And Kit’s sheet-clawing ride of a lifetime...tempting. A chuckle escapes me as I press the button for the lift. I’m a film-maker after all. Perhaps I’ll film the experience.

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