Dating the Rebel Tycoon(8)

She snuck a quick look sideways. 'I like guacamole.'

He liked her perfume. He liked her lips. He liked the feel of her   beneath his hand. And most significantly he liked the fact that when he   was with her his mind couldn't for the life of it wander.

For that alone he promised her, 'Then guacamole you shall have.'

They reached the front of the queue and the bouncer looked up, saw Cameron then opened the velvet rope without hesitation.

Cameron nudged Rosalind with his shoulder and she skipped ahead of him, glancing back with a half smile.

The bar crowd closed in around them. She ran a quick hand through her   hair, fluffing it up, and straightened her shoulders like she was   preparing to enter a prize fight.                       
       
           



       

Before he let himself think better of it he took her hand, and as though   it was exactly what she'd been waiting for her fingers wrapped tight   around his. It brought her back to his side, where her warm body fit in   against him.

Images of lips and backs against walls and hot hands rushed in on him so   fast one would think he'd been a monk these last thirty-two years.

'Relax,' Cameron said, so close to Rosie's ear her lobe got goose bumps.   'They won't bite. Though, just in case, I hope you've had your shots.'

She tried to put some air between them, but the crowd kept jostling her   back to his side. 'I don't know if you're trying to be funny, as I  don't  know any of them. I barely even know you.'

Her arm dragged behind her as he came to a halt. She let go of his hand and turned to see why.

He was rooted to the spot among the surging crowd, a half-head taller   than everyone else, broader of shoulder, and more likely to make a woman   tremble with one look than anyone else she'd ever met.

Talk about being remarkable without any effort whatsoever. Maybe once   this unnerving-yet-irresistible night was finally over she would have   learnt a thing or two about genuine cool.

He slid his hands into his trouser pockets and asked, 'What would you like to know?'

'The highlights so far will do fine.'

His eyes narrowed. 'The name's Cameron Quinn Kelly. Star sign, Aries.   Six-feet-two inches tall, weight unknown. I like test cricket more than   many consider natural, and can spend hours in hardware superstores   without spending a cent and never consider it time wasted. I buy far too   many useless things on eBay, because once I'm committed to an auction I   can't stand to lose. I'm slightly reluctant to admit my favourite   holiday destination is Las Vegas, and I have no shame in saying I have   cried during Dead Poets Society.'

Rosie took a deep breath. Was it really possible to like a guy that much   more after such a simple snapshot? 'You forgot your favourite colour.'

'Blue.'

She didn't doubt it. At some stage that day he'd lost the vest and tie,   and the blue shirt hugging his chest was a perfect match for his eyes.   It looked so good on him she was finding it hard to remember what else   he'd said.

'Enough?' he asked.

She swallowed hard, then quipped, 'That was more than I know about my mailman, and I give him beer at Christmas.'

He bowed ever so slightly. 'Now, before I let you loose upon my friends, maybe I should know more about you too.'

Fighting the urge to cross her arms, she grabbed hold of both lengths of   her long scarf as she said, 'Rosalind Merryweather Harper. Star sign,   Taurus. I'm about five-eight. Weight, none of your business.'

His eyes dropped, lightly touching her breasts, her hips and her calves,   before sliding neatly back to her eyes. Her pause was noted, and his   cheek curved into the kind of smile that made a girl think of fresh   sheets, low lighting and coffee in the morning.

Unnerving yet irresistible. Yep, that summed him up perfectly.

'Merryweather?' he asked.

She grinned. 'It's rude to interrupt. Now, where was I? I've been to   Nevada twice, yet never seen Vegas. With all those lights it has to be   one of the more difficult places on earth to see stars. My guilty   pleasure is Elvis Presley movies, and I was born with seven toes on each   foot.'

Cameron's smile wavered. Twitched. Stumbled. His eyes slid to her shoes.

Until she said, 'Gotcha.'

His eyes took their time meandering up her body before they returned to hers.

'Satisfied?' he asked, his voice deeper than the bass notes thumping through the bar.

'Getting there,' she breathed.

The shift of the crowd threw them together. The slide of his cotton   shirt against her velvet jacket acted like a flint shooting sparks   between them.

She pressed both hands against his chest. 'I'm almost certain somebody promised me dinner.'

He smiled. 'I'm almost certain you're right.'

Then for a moment, the briefest snap in time, she thought she caught a   glimpse of the man behind the dark-blue fortress, and saw strengths,   knowledge, experience, and hunger far deeper than she'd even imagined.   Her fingers curled into his shirt as once again she felt like she was in   some kind of free fall.

She didn't like the feeling one little bit.

She slapped him hard on the chest, twice, then with a thin-lipped smile turned away and slid through the crowd.

And then the St Grellans table loomed before her. She recognised a   couple of faces-a school captain, a drama queen, the daughter of an   ex – Prime Minister. Bless their hearts.                       
       
           



       

Rosie felt Cameron slide in behind her. 'Do you think for some of them school really was the time of their lives?'

'Was it the time of yours?'

Rosie scoffed so loudly she practically snorted. 'You reeeally don't remember me from back then, do you?'

His silence was enough of an answer. Then he had to go and ask, 'Do you remember me?'

She thought it best to let her own silence speak for itself on that one.





CHAPTER FOUR




AN HOUR and a half later, with the remains of a shared plate of nachos   dripping in sour cream taking the edge off her flashback-phobia, Rosie   felt surprisingly serene.

Cameron was a great date-talkative, funny, attentive. And he didn't   flinch when she ordered seconds of the quesadillas. That was during the   sporadic moments in which they'd been left alone.

A round of drinks had appeared every half hour on the dot, followed by a   rowdy toast from the other side of the restaurant. Just about everyone   had come over to pay their respects as though Cameron was some kind of   Mafia don. And Tabitha stopped by for a chat every time she went to   powder her nose. During those moments Cameron held his beer glass so   hard his fingertips were the colour of bruises.

Then, when she had him to herself again, he was a different man. The   darkness abated, the clouds cleared and he was entirely present. That   was the reason she'd sucked up her pride and entered the dragons' den.

In the end she was so glad she had. If nothing else came of the night,   slaying some dragons of her youth had been a major plus. Even so, she   half-wished they had gone somewhere else after all so that she could   have had a little more time with that Cameron Kelly.

'Glad we stayed?' he asked.

A fast song came on and Rosie had to lean in to hear him properly.   Cameron took her cue and leaned in himself. He was close enough that she   could see the ridges in his teeth, a small scar on the bridge of his   nose and a slight shadow of stubble at his throat. Tiny imperfections   that should have made him less attractive only made him more so.

She smiled. 'You were right about the quesadillas. If they plonked   another plate in front of me there is no way I could send them back.'

'Good. Now, for the real reason I invited you to dinner. When do I get my free horoscope?'

She laughed, and flicked the back of his hand so hard he flinched. With   reflexes like a cat, he grabbed her offending hand and held it,   ostensibly to keep himself from harm, but when his thumbs began running   up and down her palm she wasn't so sure.

She manoeuvred her hand away, then sat back and crossed her arms,   crossed her legs and remonstrated with herself to keep her feet firmly   on the ground where they belonged.

'Pay attention,' she said. 'Because I'm not going to tell you this   again. I am a scientist, not a fortune teller. I study the luminosity,   density, temperature and chemical composition of celestial objects. My   speciality is Venus, the one planet you can still see in the sky after   sunrise, about a hand span at arm's length above the western horizon. I   am an authority in the field, and if you're not careful one of these   times I might turn missish and decide to get offended.'

Cameron looked deep into her eyes, seemingly deadly serious. 'So, tell me, are we alone in the universe?'