The Forbidden, Page 9

  to a planner, presenting it to me and Colin. Then he takes over, detailing the schedule and phases of the project carefully from week five, running through a timeline for the next few months to completion. I hate that every step, every tiny detail he has written down, is all where I’m at in my head with this project. Every time he hesitates, I’m able to finish his sentence, and we’re already talking about slight modifications to make the plans even stronger. We’re in perfect sync.

  Our sweaty bodies flash through my mind, moving in tune, our hearts beating in time. I jerk in my chair and clamp my teeth on the lid of my pen. In perfect sync. In every way. I focus on what Jack’s actually saying as opposed to the sound of his voice saying it, fighting not to allow the deep timbre to get under my skin. Fighting to not allow my mind to morph what he says into other words—words he said to me on that night. I’m not doing very well—too many memories, now potent and vivid, running circles in my head. Keeping my eyes off his hands, too, as he talks with them, is a killer. A total killer. Those hands have explored every part of my body. So has his mouth.

  Stop it! “Can I get a copy of that?” I ask him, my voice shaky as I point to the schedule in his diary.

  “Sure.” Jack looks at me, cocking his head a little to the side. “I’ll send a scan later today. I just need your e-mail.”

  Biting down on my lip, I pull a business card from my bag and slide it across the table, trying not to think about the fact that I’ve just given him every contact detail he could need for me.

  “So we’re all on the same page?” Colin asks, rising from his chair.

  “We’re on the same page,” Jack confirms. I look across the table at him, reading between the lines. “Aren’t we?” he asks, swallowing hard. “I know where I stand.”

  He knows where he stands. I read his code message loud and clear. “Same page,” I confirm on a gulp, feeling relief course through me as I silently thank him for not making this harder than it needs to be.

  He nods knowingly, snapping his diary shut.

  “Great!” Colin swipes up a huge art folder. “I just know you two are a match made in heaven!” He breezes out of the bistro as I stare at his back in utter shock, and Jack coughs over his coffee.

  He looks at me, his face expressionless. “A match made in heaven.”

  I don’t allow myself to fall into the depths of his twinkly eyes. “Professionally, maybe,” I say, getting my bag from the back of my chair, resisting the urge to point out that we can’t possibly be a match made in heaven…since he’s married. My stray thought turns my stomach as I unzip my slouchy leather bag to retrieve my purse.

  Jack pulls his wallet from his inside pocket. “Put your money away. I’ll get this.” He reaches over and halts my hand from going into my bag, and I jump so much my chair actually shoots back. Jack retracts his hand in shock. “Sorry; I didn’t mean to make you jump.” He sounds sincere, and I feel utterly stupid. But his touch. Oh God, his touch.

  “Thank you for the coffee,” I say, getting to my feet but keeping my eyes on the table.

  “No problem. Can I give you a lift anywhere?”

  I actually laugh. “No, but thanks for the offer.”

  “What’s so funny?” He stands, towering over me, and I get another onslaught of flashbacks as a result. He’s naked, looming over me, asking if I’m ready for him.

  I squash my thoughts and take a deep breath. “Nothing.” I hand my drawings to him while keeping my gaze far, far away from his. “Don’t forget these.”

  Slowly, too slowly, his hand lifts and takes them from my grasp. “I promise to keep this business, Annie,” he tells me candidly.

  “Good.” My voice is shaking terribly, adrenaline racing through my bloodstream and making my heart pump crazily. I can feel him staring at me, and as hard as I know it’s going to be, I tell myself I mustn’t ever look at him. At least not in the eye. I brush past him and pace out of the bistro, feeling his stare on my back the entire way. He might have promised to keep it business, but that doesn’t stop my entire being from responding to him like it does. And it doesn’t erase the memories, either.

  * * *

  When I get back to my studio I fire up my laptop, fetch a coffee, and get on with submitting a planning application and e-mailing building control before sifting through piles of e-mails and cleaning up my inbox. I sip my coffee and jot down notes in my diary as I go, confirming a few potential client meetings. The weeks ahead are full-on, and I’m relieved. I need to keep busy.

  As it approaches midnight my eyes are beginning to glaze over. I flag my final e-mail and guide the curser to the top right-hand corner to shut my e-mail down, but the ping of a notification stops me and a new message icon appears in the bottom right-hand corner. My heartbeat dulls to an uncomfortable pulse as the sender’s name glows brightly at me:

  [email protected]

  I move away from my laptop slowly, placing my mug on the desk and my hands in my lap, trying to psych myself up to open it. It’s just a damn e-mail, just words. I click the message open.

  Annie,

  Please find attached the schedule of works detailing the four phases of Colin’s project. Any questions, just shout. Richard and I have been over the revised drawings. He has a few questions. Are you available to meet him on site tomorrow to go over them?

  Best,

  Jack

  CEO, Jack Joseph Contractors

  I sit back in my chair, reading over his e-mail once more. It’s nearly midnight. I question what he’s doing working this late until I remind myself that I’m working, too. His e-mail is formal. So formal. Just how it should be, so why is my heart thrumming nervously?

  My fingers shake when I start composing a reply, making me constantly hit the wrong keys over and over again. “Damn it,” I curse myself, pulling my hands away and taking some steadying breaths. This is so stupid.

  Jack,

  Many thanks for the schedule. I’m available at 10:00 if that suits?

  Regards,

  Annie

  A.R. Architects Ltd.

  “Best”? “Regards”? It’s utterly ridiculous considering what Jack and I have done together. We’ve explored every inch of each other’s bodies, shared the most intimate parts of each other, and here we are acting like it never happened. My e-mail dings again.

  Annie,

  I’d ask what are you doing working so late, but that wouldn’t be keeping it business, right? Tomorrow at ten is good. I’m currently looking over the landscapers’ designs for the garden area. I found these giant glass cases online (link attached) and thought a few hung on the brick wall adjacent to the extension could look amazing, and they’d complement your roof perfectly. Let me know what you think before I put forward the suggestion to Colin.

  Best,

  Jack

  CEO, Jack Joseph Contractors

  I raise a sardonic eyebrow at his light joke and click the attachment open, immediately thrown back by the beautiful simplicity of the wall-hung glass cabinets with aluminum trims. “Wow,” I murmur, scanning the details and dimensions.

  Jack,

  Right.

  Regarding the glass cases, I love them, and I’m certain Colin would too. A great idea. I’ll see Richard on site tomorrow.

  Regards,

  Annie

  A.R. Architects Ltd.

  I close down my laptop and take myself to bed, happy that I got through my day in one piece and managed to keep it business. But no matter how professional I act on the outside, on the inside I’m still in fucking chaos over Jack Joseph.

  Chapter 8

  I’m a bag of nerves when I arrive on site the next day. I’ve psyched myself up for this meeting all night, telling myself that I can do it. I can do it. I’m meeting Richard. Not Jack. I just hope I get to deal with him for the most part on this project.

  Colin meets me as I’m walking up the sweeping driveway, a broad smile on his face. “Here’s the lady of the year,” he says, co
llecting his briefcase from the steps leading up to the building. “I have a meeting to get to, so I’ll leave you with Richard.” He points past me, and I look back to see a tall, fair-haired guy in a high-visibility jacket guiding a skip lorry off the road. My heart jumps a few beats when I recognize him.

  “Richard,” I parrot back to Colin.

  “He’s Jack’s right-hand man.”

  He’s also the guy who was with Jack in the bar the night I met him. “Okay,” I breathe, trying to settle down my building heart rate. “No Jack?” Please say no!

  “Not that I know of. Richard’s up to speed on things, so you should be able to get on. Oh, watch your back.” Colin takes my arm and leads me to the side, out of the way of the reversing lorry.

  Richard slaps the side of the wagon when it grinds to a stop, then makes his way over to us. I know he’s recognized me when he cocks his head. “Hey. I know you.”

  I manage a smile, my mind whizzing. Has Jack told him the sordid details, or am I just a girl he was chatting with in a bar? I don’t know, so I wipe my face of all guilt, or I try, and turn on my professional switch—the one that’s getting harder and harder to find. “Hi, I’m Annie.” I offer my hand and he takes it, giving me a solid, manly shake.

  “Nice to meet you. Officially, anyway,” he adds. His friendliness tells me that he has no idea about Jack and me, which would make sense, since he’s married.

  Colin smiles and makes off down the driveway. “I’ll leave you guys to it. Call me if you need me.”

  “Have a great day,” I call, going to my bag to get my car keys. “I just need to grab my hat and vest.”

  Richard wanders over to a nearby car and pops the boot. “Here, you can use these.” He pulls out a high-visibility jacket and a matching hard hat. “Probably a bit on the large size, but they’ll do you for now.”

  “Thanks.” I accept and put them on. “So you have the drawings?”

  “Yes, I’ve just been going over them.” He motions to the entrance of the derelict building that will soon be transformed into a beautiful art gallery. “I have a few questions. Shall we?”

  “Sure.” I start to make my way up the steps to the front door with Richard, stopping at the top when I hear wheels skidding up the gravel of the driveway. Both Richard and I turn to investigate, but I bet it’s only my heart that punches its way out of my chest when we see where the noise is coming from: a silver Audi S7 with Jack at the wheel. Oh fuck. I swallow and immediately start breathing through my rising anxiety. Be calm, I tell myself. I’m here for a reason, and it isn’t Jack.

  He seems to sit at the wheel forever, staring forward at me on the steps.

  “Finally,” Richard mutters. “Is he going to sit there all day and watch us?” Richard’s rhetorical question goes right over my head, my files beginning to jump in my hands. Yet when I know I should be moving onward, going inside and getting on with things, I find my legs simply will not cooperate.

  Jack eventually lets himself out of the car. He looks anxious. A bit disheveled. And beyond the stoniness of his expression is something else. Stress. My conclusion is only reinforced when he shoves a frustrated hand through his hair and slams his car door shut violently.

  “For fuck’s sake, not again,” Richard mutters, marching over to him.

  I rip my eyes from Jack’s and look at Richard, seeing his tight, pissed-off jaw. Not again? What does he mean? Jack takes a few steps toward his right-hand man, yanking on his suit jacket as he does, his head dropped. There’s too much distance between us for me to hear Richard’s hushed whispers, but it’s plain to see that something is wrong with Jack. Is it me?

  I back up, beating down my curiosity, and make my way into the building. Work. Just get on with your work.

  I find the old table where Richard has the drawings laid out and stare down at them, if only for something to do.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Jack’s voice hits my back and makes every hair on my neck stand.

  “You didn’t say you were coming.” I keep my eyes cemented on the drawings, dropping my bags to the floor next to the table. His tan brogues appear in my downcast vision, the same shoes he had on that fateful night. I close my eyes and work hard to calm myself down.

  “I didn’t?” he replies. He knows damn well he didn’t.

  “Does Richard know?” I need to find out what I’m dealing with.

  “No.”

  I breathe out my relief, hearing the sound of boots on the concrete behind me. “Okay, let’s—” Richard cuts off when his phone starts ringing. “Yes? Shit, yeah, I’ll be right out.” He curses under his breath. “The scaffolders are here and the skip wagon is in the way. You guys crack on. I need to go teach people how to drive.”

  My eyes spring open, finding a pair of familiar hands spread on the table before me. Big, capable hands. Hands that handled me with confidence, authority, and care. I look up, straight ahead at the brick wall in front of me, rummaging through my mind for anything work related to say. There’s nothing. No words, only mental visions of that night. This is supposed to be getting easier, not harder!

  “How are you?” Jack asks quietly.

  “Great, thanks,” I chirp, way too over the top. I scold myself for sounding so completely fake. “You?” Why would I ask that?

  “Struggling on.” His arm brushes mine, and I jump from his touching distance, pointing at the drawing nearest to me.

  “I’d like you to go over these numbers with me.” I’m not even pointing at numbers. I’m pointing at a damn window spec.

  Jack reaches forward with a finger and places it next to mine near the window, and I hear him inhale deeply. There’s a long, uncomfortable silence, until Jack finally breaks it. “These drawings really amaze me, Annie. Richard and I were marveling over them yesterday.”

  “Thank you.” I brush off his compliment and straighten, turning into him and looking past his shoulder. “Shall we walk the site? I have a few questions, too.”

  “Why can’t you look at me?”

  My eyes drop, and I scream at him in my head to keep to his word. He promised. He promised to keep this business! “It’s this way,” I say, passing him and making my way to the rear of the building. “There’s a tree that I’m worried will jeopardize the glass roof.”

  “Right.” Jack sighs and his footsteps kick in, following me. When I exit the existing old uPVC patio doors, I point to the colossal horse chestnut tree that canopies one quarter of the outside space.

  Jack wanders around the trunk, looking up. “Have we checked if this thing has a preservation order on it?”

  “It hasn’t,” I confirm. “But obviously, we should avoid chopping it down if we can. Though to get the full impact of the roof, we need to lose some of these branches.”

  “I agree.” Jack smooths a hand down the bark of the tree, and my gaze follows it, my damn body responding like it’s feeling his touch all over again. I look up and catch his eye but quickly look away, knowing he’s reading my mind. “I’ll call the tree surgeon in,” he says quietly.

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem. We should also be mindful of the roots when we dig down for the footings of the extension. She’s one beast of a tree.” Jack looks upward, stretching his neck.

  I wince and look away, but dart my eyes straight back to his throat in a double-take, squinting. What’s that mark on his neck?

  “How we doing?” Richard appears, getting Jack’s attention so he lowers his head and I lose sight of the blemish. Or was it a shadow?

  “We need to keep an eye on these roots, mate,” Jack says, stubbing the toe of his shoe on the trunk. “And we need to call in the surgeons to get rid of a few branches.”

  “Got it,” Richard confirms. “Can I borrow Annie for a moment? I have a few questions about the steels.”