Читать книгу Forbidden To Taste - JC Harroway - Страница 11

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 life, regaining your confidence and changing career paths. And I made myself a promise, packed it safely in the boxes with my belongings when I moved to London—no more putting myself last. Time to make something happen.

Of course, kissing Drake hadn’t been one of those promises.

Drake’s brows slant downwards and his mouth tightens. ‘I’ll call you back.’ He disconnects the call while I dither in the doorway, torn between running to the nearest fast-food restaurant advertising a vacancy and riding out my mortification.

I stand tall. We’re adults. I’ve been looking after myself and my sister since the age of twenty-one, since the death of our parents in a car crash. I can handle one inconvenient little sexual attraction...

‘Hi.’ I didn’t actually touch a single hair on his glorious head. I can laugh off the rest—hypothermia and too much wine... Not that we’ve ever teased each other, as if we both subconsciously knew playing it straight guaranteed the boundaries stayed in place.

Drake stands, beckoning me inside and showing off his broad chest in another of his crisp shirts. ‘Good morning. Are you all signed in?’ I guess we’re not going to talk about my overt proposition. He’s right. I, too, should pretend it never happened and get on with proving myself worthy of the vacancy.