Forbidden Affair: The Bold and the Beautiful (6 page)

He watched her walk away, her skirt clinging, the pinstripes neat and straight, as though she’d checked them with a ruler. Her back was erect as she reached for the handle.

Was it sappy to admit he didn’t want to see her go? He’d missed her company this last month. “Steffy?” he called as she turned the knob. He watched with dismay as her back stiffened just before she turned to face him, her features deceptively neutral.

“Yes?”

“Are you going to the LA Fashion Awards gala on Friday night?”

Steffy nodded. “Yes. I’m covering it for the magazine.”

Bill was inordinately pleased. Maybe outside of work they could just be themselves. “Okay. I’ll see you there.”

Steffy shut her eyes briefly before flicking them open to acknowledge him. “Looking forward to it,” she said.
Like a hole in the head.

Steffy sighed as she slipped from the room. Bill in a tux. Might as well dip him in jelly and paint him with peanut butter—the man looked positively edible in a tuxedo.

Friday night came before Steffy was ready for it and any enjoyment she might have felt at attending the gala she’d been going to since she was sixteen years old was totally stripped. It wouldn’t have mattered so much had Steffy been able to concentrate instead on the proposal for the new magazine direction, but that had been impossible too. All her thoughts had been preoccupied with the gala, with seeing Bill socially. Outside the safety of their colleagues-only work environment.

In a tuxedo.

And she’d been right to be worried, because the man looked amazing. In a room full of glamorous people—gorgeous male underwear models and a who’s who of Hollywood A-listers—he more than held his own, and Steffy was painfully aware of where he was at all times. The only thing saving her sanity was being seated at one of the four Forrester tables and surrounded by her family. Thomas and her grandfather sat either side of her. Rick, her cousin, and Thorne, her uncle, sat opposite. Thankfully, Brooke and Hope and Liam were sitting at a table two away from them and Steffy could just relax and be herself with the people who loved her.

The ceremony was as lively and entertaining as usual and Steffy was proud when Forrester Creations took home several awards. She stood and cheered madly when her grandfather accepted an industry recognition award.

After the awards came the dancing and Steffy kept herself busy on the dance floor to avoid Bill, whose eyes she could feel on her no matter where she was in the room. But she was so busy trying to avoid him, she didn’t anticipate Liam making an approach.

“May I have this dance?”

Steffy was startled by Liam’s voice so close to her ear. She looked over her shoulder to see him holding his hand out to her. She’d not long returned from dancing with a young up-and-coming designer who’d taken home the new talent award.

Liam looked as handsome as ever. When she thought about how much she’d loved him, how many years she’d fought for him, Steffy wanted to stand up and slap him. Why was he being so gallant now that she was lost to him?

She flicked a glance to Hope, who was glaring at them, and Steffy was pretty sure if looks could kill then Hope had just annihilated her from the surface of the planet. Brooke was also looking more than a little pissed about the situation.

“Steffy,” Thomas prompted when Steffy hadn’t moved. 

Liam smiled down at her as Steffy still made no attempt to take him up on his offer. “Surely we can still have a dance? For old time’s sake?”

Steffy shook her head. She knew how this would go. They’d dance in this highly visible situation and people would start to gossip about them getting back together and then it would be back on again with Hope and Brooke, and her mother would restart her campaign. She didn’t want this.

“Go away, Liam,” she murmured, pleased that the music and chatter around the ballroom kept their conversation from those around them. “Go back and dance with Hope.”

“Steffy,” Thomas said reproachfully.

“Thomas.” Steffy glared at her brother for interfering. She turned back to Liam. “You need to dance with the woman you came with,” she said.

“Hope’s fine with it,” Liam insisted.

Steffy shook her head at Liam’s lack of insight. Had he always been like this or was he just really freaking clueless? “No, Liam, she’s not.”

“Everything alright here?”

Steffy shut her eyes as Bill entered the fray and people at other tables started to look over at the growing spectacle.

“It’s fine, Dad,” Liam said, tight-lipped. “Just asking Steffy to dance with me.”

Bill took about two seconds to sum up the situation. Steffy was trying to do the right thing but his bone-headed son was being stubborn and childish. And attracting a fair bit of interest into the bargain.

“Well, she can’t dance with you, son,” Bill said, taking charge, “because she’s already promised to dance with me.”

And without waiting for permission from anyone, Steffy included, he grabbed her hand and pulled her up from the table, leading her unhurriedly but firmly to the dance floor.

Steffy’s heart crashed in her chest as Bill cut a path through the dancers and pulled her into his arms in the middle of the floor as the jazz band belted out a slow sexy song. She fitted snugly against his chest and she was grateful for his height and the bulk of his shoulder as she turned her face into it, hiding for a moment from the eyes she could feel watching them.

“Thank you,” she said eventually.

Bill grunted, trying not to let her swaying body, and the way she fit against him so perfectly, affect him.

“You look fabulous in red,” he murmured in her ear. Because she did, but also because if ever Steffy needed a compliment it was now. “Far sexier than Hope,” he added.

Steffy pulled back a little, searching his face, seeing the wicked half smile in his too-innocent face. She smiled too as she shook her head. “You’re incorrigible.”

He shrugged. “Just sayin’. She looks prissy and …”

Steffy cocked an eyebrow. “Virginal?”

Bill chuckled. “Yes. And you look sexy and …”

“
Not
virginal.”

He chuckled again. “Powerful. Female. But I’m guessing the dress was a deliberate choice.”

Steffy looked down at the long red strapless gown that hugged the contours of her body and flared at the bottom in an old-fashioned fishtail. Of course she’d worn it deliberately. She may have pushed Liam to Hope, but she wanted Hope to know, Liam to know,
everyone
to know, that her life hadn’t ended. That she wasn’t lying down and giving in.

“I may have been trying to make a statement,” she said. “Unfortunately, Liam didn’t get it.”

Bill grinned. His son was not blessed with common sense where Hope and Steffy were concerned. But, as the song drew to an end, he knew one statement his son was sure to get.

“Well, hang on, darlin’,” he said and dipped her quickly in front of everyone, laughing at her startled little yelp and the way she clung to his shoulders. “Let’s you and I make another, shall we?”

And then he kissed her full and hard on the mouth, deepening it as she whimpered against his lips, oblivious to the clapping and the lights flaring all around them.

*

Steffy hadn’t been home for thirty minutes after fleeing the gala when her mother was on her doorstep. She was fairly certain that Liam hadn’t been a witness to the spectacle but a dance floor full of people with iPhones and about a dozen photographers had caught the clinch. For all its glitz and glamor, LA was a small town where everyone knew everyone, and it wouldn’t be long before Bill’s little prank was trending everywhere.

And then it would be tabloid fodder.

Liam
was
going to find out. It was just a matter of time.

Steffy opened the door to an irate Taylor, who still managed to look beautiful despite the thunder on her face. “I’ve just been speaking with Eric. You and Bill?” she demanded, hands on hips.

“Not now, please, Mom,” Steffy sighed as she stood back to grant her mother entry.

“Since when are you and Bill an item?” Taylor insisted.

Steffy, whose head was starting to throb, really didn’t have the fortitude to go ten rounds with her mother tonight. “We’re not,” she said. “It was just—”

“Just?”

“It was a … prank. Bill was just being stupid.”

“Stupid?” Taylor said. “Bill Spencer is
never
stupid.”

Steffy had to concede her mother that point. “He was just trying to … protect me.”

“By
kissing
you?” Her mother’s voice had risen several octaves and was at just the right pitch to scrape along Steffy’s painfully taut neck muscles. “In front of half of LA? Protect you from what?”

“Not from what,” Steffy said, rubbing the spot where her nape met her head. “From who.”

Taylor frowned. “Who?”

Steffy sighed. “From Liam, Mom.”

“From Liam?” The voice went up another octave. “You don’t
need
protecting from the man you were married to. The man whose child you carried. The man you love. Who still, by the way, loves you!”

“Mother!” Steffy dropped her hand from her neck in exasperation. Why couldn’t Taylor see that Liam had moved on? “He loves Hope. He’s always loved Hope.”

Steffy paused. She’d been ignoring it for a long time but she could see it clearly now—he’d always wanted Hope more.

Taylor shook her head. “That’s not true.”

“It is, Mom, it is.” Steffy knew it with such sudden clarity it was almost blinding. “And even if he didn’t,
I
don’t love
him
anymore. Don’t you think I deserve someone who’s going to love me and me only?”

“And I suppose you think that’s Bill?” Taylor said scathingly. “You think
Bill Spencer
is your one and only?”

“No, Mom, I don’t. Bill acted impulsively to show Liam that I’m not pining away without him. It was … impetuous and foolish—”
and stupidly, stupidly risky to their father–son relationship
, “—and I will be talking to him about it at work on Monday.”

“Why wait till then?” Taylor demanded. “This thing could be huge by then.”

Steffy didn’t doubt that for a moment. She could just imagine the gossip section of the Sunday newspaper, and the bloggers were no doubt already making a big deal out of it. But there was no way Steffy was confronting Bill about this in any environment other than work—he would dismiss her too easily over the phone. And God knew what would happen if she went there or he ended up here.

Not with the kiss still clinging to her lips, her tongue still savoring the taste of him. She needed the safety of the office. The formality of a desk. The security of his assistant just outside the door.

“Monday’s soon enough,” Steffy said, lifting a weary hand to her neck again.

Her mother looked like she was going to continue to argue and Steffy contemplated asking her to leave but the angry set to Taylor’s shoulders dissolved and her face softened.

“Darling,” she murmured, stepping closer, placing her hand on Steffy’s arm. “What’s going on with you? You’re working too hard.
He’s
working you too hard. This is what I was worried about. We never see you anymore. We—you and I, we don’t talk anymore.”

“Nothing’s going on, Mom.” Steffy smiled, relaxing now her mother had gone off the offensive. “I’m just busy trying to learn a new job and I’ve had this great idea that I need to do a big proposal for and—I really like this job, Mom. I’m not deliberately ignoring you. I just need to give it my all for a while. It won’t always be like this, I promise.”

Taylor nodded. “You looked tired,” she said, reaching up to softly brush the bangs off her daughter’s forehead like she used to do when Steffy was a little girl.

Steffy shut her eyes and leaned into it. “I am. And I have a headache.”

“Sit,” Taylor murmured. “I’ll get you something for it then you go to bed, okay?”

Steffy sat meekly as her mother headed into the bathroom. She knew she should protest but her head was thumping now and she was just too weary to care. This was what had been so good about Paris. Her father had completely taken over, looking after her, looking out for her.

And for a long time she’d let him. For many months all she’d wanted to do was lie in a ball and let someone else take the wheel. She’d felt physically weak from the miscarriage and emotionally devastated by the fact that she could no longer have children. Having Ridge cushion her in his nice, safe bubble had been bliss.

Just as it was bliss now to have her mother handing her two tablets then ordering her to sleep. Tomorrow she’d be strong again. Powerful and female—that’s what Bill had said. But for tonight she let herself be a child again, be a daughter, and collapsed into bed.

*

Saturday came and went at a snail’s pace. The phone rang frequently—mostly Bill—but Steffy refused to pick up. She didn’t want to discuss what had happened over the phone and she certainly didn’t want to talk to any of the numbers she didn’t recognize, mostly because she was certain they’d be media.

She channeled all her energy into the proposal, working on her laptop late into the night, until she was utterly exhausted. Too exhausted to dream about the kiss. About Bill kissing her more. About Bill ripping her dress off and kissing her elsewhere.

Kissing her
everywhere
.

The Sunday papers were as bad as she’d feared. The Fashion Heiress and the Media Mogul was getting a lot of column inches and a hell of a lot of likes on social media. The phone rang incessantly. Thankfully, Bill seemed to have given up but by the afternoon Liam, unfortunately, had taken over.

And when a knock interrupted her work at five o’clock, she just knew it wasn’t going to be good. Steffy contemplated not answering it.

“Steffy, I know you’re in there. Open up!”

Bill’s voice was strong and clear and he did not sound in any mood for recalcitrant women.

“Steffy! Open up or I’m going to break the door down and invite every tabloid in LA to come and take a picture.”

Steffy rolled her eyes at his dramatics, but she opened the door. “Happy now?” she said.

“No,” Bill said, striding in.

Steffy wanted to ensure she had a quick exit if Bill decided to kiss her again, so she didn’t close the door all the way. She knew she wouldn’t be able to manage pesky things like the coordination it took to turn
and
pull a door knob. She may not be thinking that coherently if they kissed again.

“You ran off,” he said as he turned in the middle of her living room to face her.

“Yes.” He was wearing his usual uniform, blue jeans and a dark shirt rolled up at the sleeves. The top two buttons were undone. His hair looked like it had been subjected to an unusual amount of finger raking.

In short, he looked hot. Weekend-tycoon hot. Casual, laid-back hot.

Bill crossed his arms. “You didn’t even leave a glass slipper. Or answer any of my phone calls.”

“Lucky me, you know where I live,” she said.

“I’d like to explain about Friday night.”

“Sure. On Monday,” she said. “At work.”

“I want to talk about it now.”