Dating the Rebel Tycoon(18)

Or perhaps Cameron Kelly was to be the man who would help her prove to   herself just how strong she could be, and how the hard work she'd put   into herself to make sure she wouldn't make the same mistakes her mum   made had truly paid off.

Less than certain of her reasoning, she still said, 'Fine. Yes.'

His forehead unknotted, and she hadn't even realised how tight it had   been as he'd awaited her answer. Unless it was evidence of other   concerns, which in the midst of her internal toing and froing she had   all but forgotten he had.

'Cameron, is … ?' She shook her head, searched for the words that would   least likely bring the shutters slamming down between them. 'I'd   understand if you wanted to make time for your brothers and sister   tomorrow night instead, to talk about … things. Or maybe even to go see   your dad in person. I know I'm being presumptuous, but with   twenty-twenty hindsight that would be my next move.'

'Being with you tends to keep me more pleasantly occupied.' He said it   with the kind of smile he knew could make a girl's knees go weak. But   she wasn't falling for it, not when she'd glimpsed what it felt like to   really be with him on the other side of the wall. It was enough to keep   her pushing.

'So that would be a no to visiting your dad?'

Cameron's cooling smile said it all.

'Did you even talk to Brendan about it?' she pressed.                       
       
           



       

His eyes narrowed.

She just raised an eyebrow in return. 'You're not going to scare me off   the subject. Being an obnoxious teenager prepared me too well for   dealing with stubborn men like you.'

A glint lit his eyes, and the corner of his mouth lifted. 'I'm beginning   to see that. Fine. He made no mention of my father's health, but he  was  quite vocal about the fact that if I don't come to the birthday  bash  this weekend I may as well relinquish my surname for good.'

His hand on her back slid upwards, the shift of fabric made her body melt back against him.

'Them's strong words,' she said, her voice husky.

He pushed the hair he'd been playing with behind her ear. 'Brendan's   been around the longest. He's been indoctrinated. He doesn't know any   other type of words.'

'Poor Brendan,' she whispered.

'Poor, poor Brendan.'

He leaned in and placed a kiss just below her ear, and she half forgot   what they were talking about. And when he moved to nibble on her earlobe   itself she forgot the other half.

An age later when he pulled away all she could remember was that they   had agreed to a third date. 'So, where to tomorrow? A spaceship? No, a   submarine. It better be your basic, run-of-the-mill submarine or I'm out   of there.'

'I was thinking of taking you to the first place I ever built.'

She bit back a yawn. 'Fine. But they'd better serve coffee. Three nights out in a row, and I'm afraid I might fade to a shadow.'

'If that's what it'll take.' With that he pulled her close and kissed   her again. This time it was slow, soft, tender, mesmerising. He tasted   of white wine and strawberries. He made every inch of her feel toasty   warm. In that moment the word 'yes' felt like the easiest word in the   entire world.

When he pulled away, he did so with discernible regret.

He groaned, spun her on the spot, gave her a small shove in the   direction of her car and said, 'Now get, before today becomes tomorrow   and we both turn into pumpkins.'

As Rosie walked down the street she felt Cameron's eyes on her the whole   way. He obviously hadn't believed her about her ability with her  boots.  Or maybe he just liked the view.

She added a swagger for good measure.





CHAPTER EIGHT




THE sun was just beginning to rise but Cameron's backside had already   been parked atop a dry, paint-spattered stool for an hour as he earned   his keep playing diplomat between Bruce, the project manager, and   Hamish, the architect. With a month to go before completion, things were   tense.

He slid a finger beneath his hard hat to wipe the gathering sweat from   his brow, and was hit with the image of Rosalind wearing one the night   before.

With those big, grey eyes and her long hair hanging in sexy waves   beneath the orange monstrosity, she'd looked adorable. And he was   entirely certain she'd had no idea. As a short-term distraction she was   proving to be all he could have hoped for.

'Kelly!' Bruce called out, slamming Cameron back to earth with a thud.

'What?' he barked.

'Where the hell have you been for the past five minutes? You sure as hell haven't been on Planet Brisbane.'

Cameron frowned. But Bruce was right. Spending every spare moment with   Rosalind was proving to be mighty helpful at distracting him from   obsessing about his father. He just didn't need that distraction   spilling over into other areas of his life.

Since he'd been thrown out on his own, his business was his everything.   It filled his waking hours, and many of his sleeping ones as well. It   was his fuel, his drive, his passion. While on the other hand, Rosalind   was …

'Earth to Cameron,' Bruce said, shaking his head.

Cameron mentally slapped himself across the back of the head. Enough, already.

'I'm here,' he growled. 'Keep going.'

Bruce leant against a column and crossed his arms. 'I was just telling   Hamish here about your little tryst upstairs last night. Candles?   Seafood?'

Cameron all but threw the handful of papers in his hands into the air in surrender.

Hamish pulled up a stool so that he was in Cameron's direct eyeline.   'Please tell me the big man's been telling tales out of school. You did   not bring some woman here after hours without proper supervision. Not a   month out from signing off?'

Cameron stared hard at his mate. Hamish-who had known him since   university, therefore knew him only as the ambitious, focussed,   blinkered entrepreneur he had become-stared right on back.

'God, Cam,' Hamish drawled. 'You had to be breaking a good dozen laws, not to mention union        rules.'                       
       
           



       

'You think I didn't tell him that?' Bruce asked.

But Hamish wasn't done. In fact there was a distinct glint in his eye as   he crossed his arms and leant back on the stool. 'Cam,' he said. 'The   last of the honourable men, brought thudding back to earth by a mystery   woman. Who the heck is she?'

Cameron closed his eyes and ran his index finger and thumb hard across   his forehead. 'She's no-one you know. And this subject is now closed.'

'Fine with me.' Hamish held both hands in the air, then glanced at his paint-splattered watch. 'I have somewhere else to be.'

'We have work to do, McKinnon,' Bruce cried. 'Where else could you possibly have to be?'

'I have a date waiting for me on the exterior-window cleaning trestle.   She should be at about the thirtieth floor by now, so I'll just go grab   the champagne and get harnessed up.'

Cameron didn't even bother telling Hamish where to go, he just slid from the stool and walked away.

'Where's he think he's going?' he heard Bruce ask as he reached the lift door.

'If he's trying to cut in on my date,' Hamish said, 'It'll be pistols at dawn.'

There was a pause, then Bruce said, 'I thought you were kidding about   the girl,' as the lift doors closed. Cameron was only half-sorry he   missed Hamish's response.

He reached the top floor before he knew it. The lift doors opened to a   cacophony of noise as glaziers, construction workers and plasterers   chatted, banged, drilled, swore and gave the place the kind of raw   energy that usually invigorated him.

It meant progress. Honest work, honestly executed by honest men. Sweat   of the brow stuff. He was proud of the healed blisters on his own hands   for that exact reason.

But as he hit the spot on the roofless penthouse floor, where the night   before Rosalind had sat upon a crate, looking out over his city, and   with her mix of ruthless candour and subtle beauty had managed to smooth   over his perpetual dissatisfaction, the noise faded away.

He leant a foot against the edge of the roof and looked out over the   horizon where streaks of cloud were just beginning to herald the rising   of the sun.

He held out his hand at arm's length and a span above the horizon; just   where she'd said it would be, there it was: Venus. A glowing crescent  in  the pale-grey sky.

His hand dropped. Somewhere out there, beyond the borders of the noisy,   thriving city he loved, she would be sitting somewhere quiet looking at   the exact same point in the sky.

And while she was thinking trajectories, gas clouds and expanding   universes, he was thinking about her. About seeing her again tonight. It   would be their third date in as many nights, which was more time than   he'd spent with one woman in as long as he could remember. More time   than he ever let himself see Meg or Dylan.