Cameron leant in the frame of the balcony doorway, watching Rosalind.
Her hair flickered in the soft breeze. Her dress clung to her subtle curves. His blood warmed as he imagined wrapping himself about her again tonight. Celebrating with her. Taking her with him to the heights he was feeling, and finding solace in her arms as he came to terms with his father's mortality. And his own.
Her long, lean fingers gripped the columned balustrade, her eyes looking up.
That was one of the many things that drew him to her: her restless energy. She was hard to satisfy. He felt exactly the same way. At least, he had for years.
But looking at her now, her delicate shoulders braced to take on whatever her stars might throw at her, he felt something inside him shake free and settle.
The three steps that took him to her felt like they took an eternity. He slid his arms around her waist, leant his chin on her shoulder and kissed the tip of her ear.
She melted against him, a perfect fit, and he felt her whole body sigh.
But then her hands clasped down on his; she peeled his hand away from her waist and stepped away.
She glanced at him from beneath her lashes, and he realised she was upset. Soft swirls of wet mascara bore witness to the tracks of her tears.
His fists clenched, ready to take on Dylan or Meg or Brendan or whoever had said something to make his big, brave girl so distressed.
He went to touch her again. 'Rosalind, honey … '
She held up a hand, and he stopped mid-step.
'What's wrong?' he asked.
'I can't do this any more,' she whispered between her teeth.
'Do what?' he asked. But while his fists unclenched all of the newly settled places inside him began to squeeze in expectation.
'This.' Her arms flew sideways, taking in the balcony, the ballroom, the immaculate grounds.
'Fine,' he said. 'I've done what I came here to do. Why don't we go home?' He wasn't sure where that would be, his place or hers, but as long as she was with him he didn't really much care.
He reached out to take her hand, which even in the beginning had always felt like the most natural thing in the world. But she pulled her hand away as though burnt.
'I can't,' she croaked. 'No more. Enough is enough.' Two fat tears slid down her blotchy pink cheeks. She swiped them away in frustration. 'Why did you even bring me here?'
He opened his mouth to tell her, then realised what a complicated question that really was. Less than a week earlier she'd been a welcome distraction. But tonight …
'This was always going to be a difficult night, and knowing you were here with me, for me, made all the difference. I could never have done this without you.'
He took another step. She shook her head so hard her curls drooped.
Realising she was more than upset-she was so distraught he wasn't sure she even heard him-he thought harder, went deeper. 'Asking you to come was not a decision I made lightly.'
Her eyes were like chipped ice when she looked up at him. 'Neither was my agreeing to come.'
He slid his left foot back to meet his right, keeping space between them while he tried to figure out what was happening.
It had all seemed to be going so well. Meg thought her fun, Dylan thought her hot, she'd earned his father's respect in an instant, and his mother had merely kissed him on the cheek and smiled, which told him everything. What had happened during Happy Birthday?
'Rosalind, I'm sorry, but I'm at a loss as to what's going on here.'
'It's Rosie,' she shot back. 'Just plain old Rosie. Which is exactly why you asked me here. But that doesn't make me some oddment you can flash about to get a rise out of your father. Or a diversionary girl to get Meg and Dylan off your back. Or a false hope for your mum. That's just not cool. I don't deserve that.'
She was so upset her voice was catching on her words, as though she could scarcely draw breath. It physically pained Cameron not to gather her up in his arms and make everything better.
But the truth was she was spot on-from the beginning he'd used her. Even when he'd realised she was too smart, too clued into him, not to figure it out. Now he'd hurt her when he'd promised himself he would never hurt anyone he cared for.
His only chance was to show her, and himself, that deep down he wasn't the cold, calculating man he'd been acting like for the past week.
'This has been a night for fresh starts,' he said. 'Maybe we could take a leaf out of that book and try for one ourselves.'
She laughed, but it was tinged with bitterness, the likes of which he'd never felt from her. He felt it like a slap across the face.
She said, 'You are on a high, and I get that. I am honestly so happy for you that you have that. But let's be honest-you've never pretended that you had any intention of committing further time and energy to this than you absolutely had to. Don't start messing with me now.'
God, but the woman was stubborn! His hands clenched into fists rather than reaching out and shaking her. 'You want me to be brutally honest?'
His frustration came through his voice. She glanced up at him, her eyes like silver charms in the moonlight.
'Why the heck not?' she said.
'Fine. Then here it is. You are honestly the most difficult, defiant, demanding woman I have ever met. And I think you ought to try to find it in you to give me a break. Now, do you really want to talk about commitment?'
'Yeah. Let's.' She crossed her arms and glared at him. She was so fierce it brought about a growl deep down inside his chest. He would have grabbed her and kissed her had it not been for the fact that she was driving him so damned crazy.
He said, 'As far as I can tell, apart from some far-away planet that can't answer back, you've never committed to a thing! Not to a job that isn't freelance. Not to a home that you can't up and move with an hour's notice. Not even to your own name.'
The heat in her eyes made his lungs burn as he breathed deep to keep from saying any more; his skin felt a hundred degrees. And he'd never been so turned on in his whole life. Not by success, or power, or by being the one man in town gutsy enough to build the tallest, greatest, most spectacular buildings his city had ever seen.
'Fine,' she shot back. 'If I'm the world's greatest hypocrite, then you are the most wilfully pig-headed man in the universe. Do you have any kind of clue what you have? You are surrounded by people who love you so much.' Her eyes flickered from his for a moment before slamming into him again. 'Family who need you, who want you in their lives no matter what. You have roots in this place a mile deep, and you've done everything in your power to chop them off. One of these days they might not grow back, then you'll have the faintest clue what it truly feels like to be alone in the universe.'
Two fat tears slid from her eyes and peeled pathetically down her cheeks. The ache it created inside him knocked him sideways. He wished he knew how to tell her. He wished she would let him hold her, kiss her, show her, so that he didn't have to find the words-as he wasn't even sure he knew what the words should be. But she let him off the hook by staring hard at her shoes.
'Can you please thank you mother for a lovely party? Give my regards to the rest.'
She looked up and captured his eyes with hers. He felt like his whole life had led him to this one minute in time. The defining minute of his life. Was he really a good man after all? Would a good man get on his knees and tell her how he felt, or would a good man realise he'd hurt the woman enough and let her go?
All of a sudden an explosion of sounds startled them both rigid. A half-second later fireworks burst and sparkled in the sky over the river.
The balcony quickly became crowded with guests, oohing and ahhing, and Cameron felt Rosalind being tugged from him. It wasn't until he lost her within the sea of faces that he realised she'd been the one doing all the tugging.
Suddenly she was gone.
And, though he was surrounded by people, including the family he'd taken back into his life this night, he already felt more alone than he'd even known it was possible to feel.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CAMERON had ditched his jacket and tie, his sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, his forearms leant against the cold stone of the ballroom balcony and he watched blue turn to pink as morning came round.