Dating the Rebel Tycoon(10)

He tightened all the bits of himself that seemed to loosen around her,   as he gave as little and as much as he could. 'Is this where you expect   me to try to convince you how difficult my childhood was?'

'Cameron,' she said, white puffs of air shooting from her now down-turned lips. 'I have no expectations of you whatsoever.'

And, just like that, tension pulled tight between them. It was so   sudden, so strong, he felt a physical need to lean away, but the   invisible thread that had bound them together from the beginning refused   to break.

He finally figured out what that thread was.

He'd convinced himself he'd been merrily indulging in an attraction to a   pretty girl with a smart mouth. He should have known that wouldn't be   enough to tempt him. He was a serious man, and, beneath the loose   Botticelli hair, the uncensored wry wit and carefree, sultry clothes,   Rosalind Harper's serious streak ran as deep as a river.

It would no doubt make for further unpleasant clashes; it would mean continuously avoiding the trap of deep discussions.

Unless he walked away now.

His shoes pressed into the ground, and his body clenched in preparation   for pushing away. Then his eyes found hers. Shards of unclouded   moonlight sliced through the round silver irises. She had never looked   away, never backed down. Who was this woman?

The wind gentled, softened, and took with it a measure of the tension.   It tickled at his hair, sending hers flickering across her face. Before   he found a reason not to, he reached out and swept it back behind her   ear. Her hair was as soft as he'd imagined, kinky and thick and silken.

Her chest rose, her lips parted, her eyes burned. Seconds ago he was   ready to walk away. Now he wanted to kiss her so badly he was sure he   could already taste her on his tongue. He let his hand drop away.                       
       
           



       

Rosalind turned back to face the river. She scooped gelato onto her   spoon and shoved it into her mouth, as though cooling her own tongue.   Then from the corner of her mouth she said, 'Am I alone in thinking that   got a little heated for a bit?'

'That it did,' he drawled.

She nodded and let the spoon rattle about in her mouth. 'That wasn't me trying to be particularly remarkable.'

'Mmm. I didn't think so.'

She laughed through her nose. 'Thank goodness, then; neither of us is perfect.'

Cameron had to laugh right along with her. It was the best   tension-release there was. The best one could indulge in in public,   anyway.

Rosie gripped her spoon with her teeth and said, 'Speaking of not being perfect … '

Cameron gave in, stuffed his napkin into his half-finished tub and   tossed it in the bin, the makeshift-sweet bite of vanilla no longer   cutting it when he had the real thing right in front of him.

She watched the cup with wide eyes. 'What on earth did you do that for?'

'Because I get the feeling I'll need both hands to defend myself against whatever's coming next.'

She held a hand over her mouth as she laughed to hold in the melted gelato.

'Come on,' he said, beckoning her by curling his fingers into his   upturned palms. 'Get it off your chest now while I'm still in a state of   semi-shock.'

She lifted her bottom to tuck her foot beneath, her body curling and   shifting, the fabric of her T-shirt pulling tight across her lean   curves. 'Okay. Sharing family stories shouldn't be like flint to dry   leaves; it should be in the normal range of conversation on a date.'

He pulled his gaze back up to her face and reminded himself she was no   intellectual small-fry. 'I like to think a normal range includes   favourite movies, a bit about work and a few double entendres to keep it   interesting.'

Her wide mouth twitched. 'I get that. But people are more than the   movies they've seen. We're all flawed. Frail, even. We make mistakes. We   do the best we can under the circumstances we've been given. So why  not  just put the truth out there? I admit I have no dress sense. My dad  was  never around. My mum was unfit to be a parent. I can't cook. Your   turn.'

He broke eye contact, looked across the river and anchored himself in   the integrity of concrete and steel, of precise engineering and   beautiful absolutes. Everything else he'd once thought true had turned   out to be as real as the monsters under his bed. 'You want my   confession?'

'No. Yes. Maybe. It sure as hell might make sitting here with you a lot   less intimidating if I knew you actually had something to confess.'

He turned back to her, monsters abating as she took precedence again. 'You find me intimidating?'

She raised an eyebrow. 'No. You're a walk in the park. Now, stop   changing the subject. I've had the highlights, now give me the untold   story before I start feeling like a total fool for thinking you might be   man enough to hack a little cold, hard truth.'

God, she was good. She had his testosterone fighting his reason, and no prizes for guessing which was coming out on top.

He kicked his legs out straight ahead to slide his hands into the   pockets of his jeans. The moonlight reflected off the water, making the   glass buildings on the other side of the river shimmer and blur, until   he couldn't remember what they were meant to signify any more.

All he knew was that when his car swung into the botanical gardens that   morning he'd been on a search for the truth. And he'd found her.

Maybe he'd regret it, maybe it was the wrong thing to do, but, with his   mind filled with that siren voice calling for him to give himself a   break, to admit his flaws, to confess … the words just tumbled out.

'What would you say if I told you that I have spent my day certain that   my father is gravely ill, and that I've kept it to myself?'





CHAPTER FIVE




THE second the words came out of his mouth Cameron wished he could shove   them back in again. Rosalind was meant to be distracting him from   worrying about the bastard, not inducing him to tell all.

'That the kind of thing you were after?' he asked.

'I was kind of hoping you might admit to singing in the shower,' she   said with a gentle smile. But her voice was husky, warm, affected. It   snuck beneath his defences and spoke to places inside him he'd rather   she left alone.

'Tell me about your dad,' she said.

He ran a quick hand up the back of his hair and cleared his throat.   'Actually, I'd prefer we talk about something else. You a footy fan?'                       
       
           



       

'Not so much.'

He clamped his teeth together, betting that his stubborn streak was   wider than hers. She leaned forward and sat still until he couldn't help   but make eye contact. The beguiling depths told him she'd give him a   run for his money.

'Look, Cameron, I don't always have my head in the stars. I do know who   you are. I get that it might be difficult to know who you can trust  when  everybody wants to know your business. But you can trust me.  Nothing  you say here will go any further. I promise.'

Cameron wondered what had happened to a promise of no promises. Then   realised things had been at full swing since they'd caught up, and he'd   yet to make that clear.

'Unless you'd really rather talk about football,' she said, giving his concentration whiplash. 'I can fake it.'

Her eyes caught him again, and they were smiling, encouraging,   empathetic, kind. He couldn't talk to his family; he couldn't talk to   his friends or workmates. It seemed the one person he'd taken into his   life to distract him from his problems might be the only one who could   help him confront them instead.

He ran his fingers hard over his eyes. 'He was on TV this morning,   talking oil prices, Aussie dollar, housing crisis and the like. He   flirted with the anchorwoman, and ate up so much time the weather girl   only had time to give the day's temps. Nothing out of the ordinary. And   for the first time in my life he seemed … small.'

'Small?'

He glanced sideways, having half-forgotten anyone was there. 'Which now   that I've said it out loud seems ridiculous. Look, can we forget it? We   don't have to talk footy. We can talk shoes. Glitter nail-polish.   Chocolate.'

'I want to talk about this. You know your dad. He didn't seem himself.   Worrying about him isn't ridiculous. It's human. And you know what? It   kinda suits you.'

'Worry suits me?' he asked.

'Letting yourself be human suits you.' She closed one eye, and held up a   hand to frame him. 'Mmm. It mellows all those hard edges quite  nicely.'

Cameron rubbed a hand across his jaw as he looked harder at the   extraordinary woman at his side. He wondered what on earth he'd done   right in a former life to have had her offered up before him this   morning of all mornings.