Forbidden Affair: The Bold and the Beautiful

Brand new stories with the characters you love from THE BOLD AND THE BEAUTIFUL.

Steffy is back.

A year in Paris has cemented her resolve to get over Liam and her miscarriage. Resigning from Forrester Creations is her first step.

She is surprised when Bill offers her a job as head of marketing and PR at Eye On Fashion. Is this what she wants?

Hoping to convince her it is, Bill joins her volunteering at Daisy’s. 

They are alone, late at night, when an earthquake strikes, and the building collapses around them. 

Frightened and trapped in the rubble, they become closer, and Steffy realizes she’s falling in love with the last man she should.

But is this an attraction borne from fear, or is it something much deeper?

To four fabulous women—Ann, Maree, Jeanette and Michelle—not just great sister-in-laws but huge Bold fans! This one is for you.

The freshly written resignation letter was practically burning a hole in her handbag as Steffy Forrester made her way through Customs. She was tired after the eleven-hour flight from Paris, and the American voices over the PA system sounded strange to ears that had been surrounded by the soft, melodic tones of the French language for the last year. She wanted a shower. She wanted her bed. She wanted her mother. But nothing was more important than delivering the letter in her bag.

First stop—Forrester Creations.

She passed through the airport on autopilot. Where was that feeling of belonging she always had when she came home? LA was her city, her village. These people rushing around her were her tribe. But nothing felt familiar today.

Nothing had felt familiar for a year. When she’d fled LA to get away from a broken heart and spend time with her father, she’d never imagined she’d be away for so long. But she hadn’t realized then how damaged she was.

The miscarriage had been completely devastating—both physically and mentally—and her recovery had been slow and painful. She had done a lot of soul searching. She had worked through doubts and recriminations and blame.

And there had been a
lot
of crying.

Steffy wondered if she had any tears left, but she knew she didn’t need them anymore. She knew she was stronger. She knew she’d entered the chrysalis broken and damaged and emerged powerful and sure.

She’d been reborn. She’d shaken off the past and was ready to go forward, changed and new and better.

And it started with her resignation.

Steffy smiled to herself as the strength that had been building for months now hummed inside her. It straightened her spine, focused her vision on the taxi rank beyond the glass doors and added a determination to her stride.

Unfortunately, it didn’t allow for the ebb and flow of the crowded airport and she ran smack-bang into the hard wall of a very male chest.

The first thing Steffy noticed was his smell. It was difficult not to with her nose so inelegantly flattened against his shirt, and he smelled good enough to eat. Sweet, like the flower markets in Paris but with a hint of something spicy, like Caribbean rum and ancient voodoo.

She had the most absurd urge to lick him to see if he’d taste as good.

Next she noticed the bulk of the muscles beneath her hands. She’d automatically placed her palms on his chest to stabilize herself and the fleshy substance of his pecs filled them to perfection. They were the pecs of a man who looked after himself.

Old habits died hard as, subconsciously, Steffy awarded the man marks on his taste in couture. The crisp dark shirt beneath her palms screamed quality and the soft leather of his jacket told her he had money.

She became conscious then of his hands as they grasped her shoulders. Warm and big, easily spanning the circumference of her upper arms as he, too, tried to steady her.

And then there was no more time to think or analyze as he gently pried her away from him. It had probably only been a matter of seconds, but Steffy felt utterly dazzled by the contact, her system bombarded by confusing signals, the intoxicating smell of him still swirling through her senses like fairy dust.

She
must
be tired.

“Apologies, I didn’t—”

“I’m so sorry—”

They both spoke at once before the cloud of what she could only presume to be jetlag induced insanity cleared and Steffy realized who she had run into.

“Bill?”

Bill Spencer blinked. “Steffy … you’re back?” He looked down at his ex-daughter-in-law, his gaze roaming her face, pleased beyond words to see her. His pulse leaped in a not entirely fatherly way.

“You’ve cut your hair.”

“Oh … yes,” Steffy murmured, absently patting her nape where the wispy strands of her pixie cut brushed her skin. She’d had it done so long ago now—her first step to becoming a new woman—she’d forgotten. “I decided I needed a change.”

Bill nodded. “It suits you. Very … Parisian,” he said, smiling down at her. His breath caught a little when she smiled back. She’d been so unhappy when she’d left it was nice to see some of the old Steffy back. “Liam will be pleased to see you,” he said.

Steffy felt the smile on her face slowly die and every cell in her body hold its breath. Liam. Was she ready for that?

Steffy was conscious of Bill’s hands still on her shoulders. They felt warm and solid against her and the urge to lean into him was scarily overwhelming. She and Bill had been through their ups and downs but he’d always been a supporter of her relationship with Liam.

Except she was done with all those toxic relationships.

“I have to get going,” she said, straightening her shoulders and shrugging them to displace his hands.

Bill let her go although, strangely, he didn’t want to. He knew that the miscarriage and subsequent events devastated Steffy immensely and he wanted nothing but to comfort her; to tell her it would be okay.

He cursed under his breath. Why hadn’t he just said that he was pleased to see her? Why dump all those memories back in her lap the second she set foot on American soil?

“Have you got a driver waiting for you?” Bill asked, looking at the row of uniformed chauffeurs lining the concourse of the arrivals lounge, holding aloft their placards bearing hand-written names.

“No,” she said. “No-one knows I’m home. I was just going to catch a cab.”

“Oh no,” Bill said, shaking his head. “I can’t let you do that. You’re a Forrester. I insist that you come with me. There’s plenty of room in my limo.”

Steffy hesitated. She didn’t want to accept Bill’s offer, no matter how graciously and genuinely it was made—she was trying to start anew and Bill belonged in her past. But one look over Bill’s shoulder at the line at the cab rank confirmed her worst fears about LAX crowds.

“I’m not going home, I’m going to Forrester Creations first.” Nothing was going to stop her from delivering the letter she had written on the plane.

“Of course,” Bill said. “Carrington—” he inclined his head toward a uniformed chauffer hovering nearby “—won’t mind the detour.”

Steffy prevaricated for only a few seconds before she smiled gratefully at Carrington and then turned back to Bill. She was too tired to wait in line.

“Thanks,” she murmured. “I really appreciate it.”

Bill smiled back. “After you,” he said, placing a hand in the small of Steffy’s back, guiding her through the crowd.

*

“So,” Steffy said as Bill slid onto the seat beside her and Carrington shut the door behind them, “why were you at LAX today?”

“Just got back from Melbourne,” he said. “Spencer Publications is looking at acquiring some Australian magazines.”

“Ah,” she said. “Ever the entrepreneur.”

Bill chuckled. “I guess.”

Steffy frowned at him. “That doesn’t sound very enthusiastic.”

Bill shrugged. “Just tired from all the traveling, I suppose. It’s a bitch of a flight.”

Steffy inspected his face. Bill was a handsome bastard and he used it ruthlessly to his advantage. God knew there was a time when she’d been more than a little dazzled by him; still was, if her reaction to him earlier was any indication.

But he was Liam’s father—her ex-father-in-law. Despite the age-defying quality of his good looks, he was too old. And too much part of a past she didn’t want to go back to.

She dragged her gaze away from his impossibly square jaw and the mouth that could have been found on any of the famous sculptures inside the Louvre. “The flight from Paris is no picnic either,” she said.

Carrington slid into the driver’s seat and immediately raised the privacy screen, cocooning them in the back of the spacious limo. Bill’s scent, the one she’d noted earlier, drifted toward her in sultry waves and his large frame seemed to dominate the space. With the tinted windows and the cacophony of traffic noise shut off in their sound-proof bubble, it was as though they were the only two people in the world. The knowledge prickled down Steffy’s spine and tingled in about a dozen different places but she resolutely ignored it, turning her gaze to the window. The Spencer men were trouble. With a capital T.

The limo pulled away from the curb and Bill took a moment to inspect Steffy as she looked out the window. The hem of her fashionable leather skirt sat just above her knee. It looked expensive and Bill had to suppress the urge to touch it, to see if it really was as soft as it looked—and if her thighs were really that slender.

Her long legs stretched out in front of her and silver stilettos with diamante-encrusted buckles emphasized slim ankles and toned calves. They didn’t look like great traveling shoes but Steffy
was
a Forrester and fashion ran in her blood.

Her silky sleeveless blouse matched the color of her heels and draped softly against her high, firm breasts, molding them to perfection. The V-neck plunged to a row of buttons that started in the depths of her cleavage and disappeared behind a wide black belt that highlighted her small waist. A waist he knew, from intimate experience, his hands could easily span.

Bill dragged his gaze away as his thoughts started to take him down memory lane. What had happened between him and Steffy was water well under the bridge. Since then, she’d been in love with his son and, had sweet meddling Hope not been around to spoil it, Bill firmly believed Liam and Steffy would still be together. They would have gotten over the miscarriage of their child together and grown stronger because of it.

Liam had been a fool to ever let Steffy go. Agreeing to the annulment had been a grave error of judgment. He’d tried to talk his headstrong son out of it, but Liam, too, had been hurt and grieving.

And of course Hope had been there to help him through it.

“I was sorry to hear about your relationship troubles.”

Steffy’s words yanked Bill out of his thoughts and he turned back from the window he hadn’t even been aware he was looking out of.

“Thank you.” He grimaced. “Being single at my age is strange and … well, it’s never easy when a relationship you’ve been in for a long time comes to an end.”

His voice was low and surprisingly emotional. It was a rare thing to see Bill Spencer Jr., ruthless CEO of Spencer Publications, so gutted. She’d been exactly where he was—invested in a long-term relationship that hadn’t worked out—and she felt strangely compelled to comfort him. Steffy almost reached out and put her hand on top of his.

He suddenly looked very much his age—the lines around his eyes, the slight graying at his temple—and Steffy got the feeling she was being treated to something few people ever saw: Bill Spencer laid bare.

And then, as she watched, he pulled himself out of it, turning to her with a smile on his face. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But shh,” he murmured. “Don’t tell anyone. Don’t want them thinking I’m curled in a fetal ball. Can’t afford to have anyone thinking I’m a pushover.”

Steffy returned his smile, allowing him to bring her back from the edge too. She didn’t want to be suckered in by another Spencer man even if he wasn’t fooling her for a second.

“Perish the thought,” she said.

He shot her a smile of genuine delight and Steffy felt a little dizzy at being alone with Bill.

“So,” Bill said, steering the conversation back to safer topics. “You’re heading over to Forrester to say hi to your grandfather? Eric’s missed you like crazy.”

Steffy briefly glanced away as the question caught her unaware then looked back at him, nodding her head vigorously to hide her consternation. “Yes.”

Bill narrowed his eyes. “Sounds like there’s a bit more to the story?”

Steffy shrugged and avoided his gaze again. “Not really,” she fibbed.

“Not really?” he teased. “Could have fooled me.”

Steffy sighed. She should know better than to show any hesitancy in front of Bill Spencer; he had the tenacity of a bloodhound and the instincts of a piranha. He could spot a person’s weakness at a hundred paces, which was what made him such a formidable business man—and why it’d been so unusual to see a glimpse of his vulnerabilities before.

“Come on, Steffy. We’re practically family. Why don’t you tell good old Dollar Bill all about it?” He grinned at her, knowing he had to keep it light if he was going to persuade Steffy to confide in him. He knew she didn’t trust easily—trusting just wasn’t in her nature. She’d been deeply hurt, not just by the miscarriage but by other people in her past. But he felt remarkably in tune with her today and she looked like she needed a friend. “It’s a long way to Forrester Creations and I can be very persistent.”

Steffy rolled her eyes at him. “I remember.”

She sighed again, surprised at how much she wanted to tell him everything. Who knew, he may be able to give her some kind of perspective she hadn’t considered during the long flight. And what the hell, he’d be finding out soon enough.

Steffy opened her bag, reached inside and pulled out the thick white envelope. She handed it to him silently.

Bill hesitated. “Are you sure?”

His uncertainty spoke volumes to her. He’d sensed that this was important and she admired his restraint. She appreciated that he seemed genuinely concerned for her.

She nodded. “Off the record, of course,” she said, smiling at him. She knew the contents of the letter would be in Bill’s magazine,
Eye on Fashion
, soon enough; a Forrester deserting the family business would be big news. But she really didn’t want to read about it in the next edition.

“Of course.” He grinned.

Bill took the envelope, noting it was addressed to Eric Forrester. Her writing surprised him. It wasn’t frilly or girly—if anything, it was quite masculine, with bold incisive strokes. It was the writing of someone who was sure of herself and confident in her words.

The envelope wasn’t sealed and he freed the folded sheet of paper noting the address listed on the letterhead was in the seventh arrondissement—home of the most exclusive real estate in Paris. He glanced at Steffy but she was resolutely looking out her window.

Bill read the brief letter of resignation, which cited Steffy’s desire to stretch her wings and try something new without comment. He wasn’t ignorant of its impact or the flurry it would cause at Forrester Creations. Not to mention how international fashion markets would greet the news.