Her hand was still delved deep into her hair when she saw him sitting at the head of a loud, rowdy table peopled by ex St Grellans students.
Kids who'd been given sportscars for their sixteenth birthday while she'd taken on an after school job cleaning dishes at a diner. Kids who'd skipped class to shop but had still magically got into universities she'd worked her butt off to attend. Kids who hadn't given her the time of day when, having been accepted to St Grellans, she'd so hoped she'd finally found a place where she might shine.
Suddenly she couldn't for the life of her remember what it had been about Cameron Kelly that had made her convince herself dinner was a good idea. To put on lip gloss. To walk through a cloud of perfume. To wear her nice underwear.
She took a step backwards and landed upon soft flesh. A woman squealed. She turned to apologise, then glanced back at the table where several pairs of eyes were zeroed in on her chest. She wasn't sure if they were collectively less impressed by her lack of top heaviness or the rainbow-coloured peace symbol splashed across her black T-shirt.
But it wasn't so much their eyes she was concerned about as Cameron's. And she remembered why she'd said yes. He was standing, his eyes locked onto hers with a kind of unambiguous focus that was almost enough to send her hurtling towards him like an object falling from the sky.
But not quite.
He was beautiful. He was irreverent. He made her knees wobble in an entirely pleasant way. But she had no intention of going to a place where she had to perform cartwheels to feel remarkable. No man on the planet was worth that.
She offered him a shrug by way of apology then backed into the crowd.
Cameron's backside hovered several inches off his chair as he watched Rosalind disappear into the crowd.
His chair rocked, screeched, and he had to reach out to catch it lest it crash to the ground. His old schoolmate in the chair next to him raised an eyebrow in question.
Cameron shook his head as he brought the chair back upright, and then made a beeline for the front door.
He hit the pavement, looked right then left, and then saw her. In amongst the night owls in their barely-there attire, she stood out like a rare bird, striding down the city street in skinny jeans, flat shoes, a soft jacket nipped at her waist, a multi-coloured scarf dangling to her knees, her long, wavy hair swinging halfway down her back, everything about her loose and carefree. Unpretentious.
And, just as before, having her within reach he felt as though for now the weight of the world could be someone else's problem.
He took off after her at a jog. 'Rosalind!'
When she didn't turn, he grabbed her elbow.
She stopped. Turned. A stubborn gleam lit her eyes before she glanced pointedly at where he still held her arm. But if he was the kind of guy who got scared off by a little defiance he wouldn't be where he was today.
'What's with the hasty exit?'
Her chin tilted skyward. 'Would you believe, I suddenly realised I wasn't hungry after all?'
'Not even if you donged me on the head and hypnotised me before saying so.'
She kept backing away. He kept following, the sounds of the bar fading behind him.
It occurred to him that he didn't usually have to work this hard to get a woman to eat with him. In fact, he'd never had to work all that hard to get a woman to do anything with him. For a simple distraction, Rosalind was fast proving to be more difficult than he'd anticipated.
But he was born of stubborn Irish stock; he couldn't leave well enough alone. The effort of the chase only made her vanilla scent seem that much more intoxicating, her soft skin that much more tempting, the need to have her with him tonight that much more critical.
'Rosalind,' he warned.
'Can't a girl change her mind?' she asked.
'Not without an explanation, she can't.'
The stubborn gleam faltered. She glanced down the block at the façade of the bar and bit her bottom lip.
When her teeth slipped away he found himself staring at the moistened spot, transfixed. And imagined pulling her into his arms and leaning her up against the building wall, and kissing her until the dark clouds hovering on the edge of his mind vanished.
He dragged his gaze to her eyes to discover she was still watching the bar, which was probably a good thing, considering his pupils were likely the size of saucers.
As casually as possible, he let her arm go and took a step back. 'So what gives?'
Her chest rose and fell. 'When you invited me to dinner, I thought you meant just the two of us. If I'd known it was to be a class reunion I might have pretended to be washing my hair.'
He followed her line of sight to find one of the guys chatting to a girl lined up outside the bar, but he knew the cheeky bugger was there to give word back to the group. His world was excessively intimate. Everybody assumed a right to know everybody else's business.
Which is why this girl, this outsider, with her refreshing candour and her easygoing, cool spirit was just what he needed.
When he turned back, Rosalind's arms were crossed across her chest and her hip was cocked. Her patience was running thin.
He reached out and cradled her upper arms; the velvet was freezing cold. On impulse he ran his hands down her arms to warm her up.
And at his touch her eyes finally skittered from the bar and back to him. Mercurial grey. Luminous in the lamplight. And completely unguarded. He saw her restlessness, her disharmony, and the fact that she was searching for an excuse to be with him rather than the other way round.
Arrested, he moved close enough to follow every glint of every thought dancing behind those amazing eyes, yet not so close he found himself caught up in the scent of her until he couldn't think straight. And he did his best to be as forthright in return.
'Rosalind, I invited you to dinner because I knew I'd enjoy a night out with you. I chose this place as it makes the best Mexican on the eastern seaboard. As to that lot in there, I had no idea they'd be here; I haven't seen most of them in years. It would have been far more sensible of me to have avoided them once I realised Meg's best mate Tabitha was there, as she can talk the hind leg off a horse, but another fellow is a union lawyer and, workaholic that I am, I saw my chance to talk business and took it. Scout's honour.'
Her eyes narrowed as she asked, 'When were you ever a scout?'
His laughter came from nowhere, shooting adrenalin through his body, putting every muscle on high alert. No longer much caring about keeping himself at a sensible distance from her pervasive scent, he moved in tight and said, 'It's on my to-do list.'
She watched him a few long, agonising seconds before she gave a little shrug beneath his touch. 'Okay, then.'
Okay, then. He took a few more moments to enjoy her sweet scent, her gentle curves leaning into him, and thought about suggesting they skip dinner after all.
He let out a long, slow breath and disentangled himself from Rosalind Harper's corrupting wares. Self-restraint was an asset. It separated men from monkeys, and Cameron from being anything like his father. He needed to get some food into him and soon.
He slid around beside her, placed a hand in the small of her back and did his best to pay attention to his two feet as much as he was paying attention to the swing of her hips beneath his thumb as he herded her towards the Red Fox's red doors.
'It's cold out,' he said. 'Come wait in the entrance while I get my jacket. Then we'll find somewhere else to eat.'
'After all the time you spent convincing me how great the quesadillas are? Not on your life.'
Well, he'd shot himself in the foot there. All he wanted was her. Alone. Distracting him senseless. Now he was going to be stuck in a place peopled by Dylan and Meg's mates, who knew enough about him to want to catch up, and not enough to know which subjects to avoid. 'There's a joint down the road where you can choose your own lobster before they boil it.'
She shook her head, no.
'You sure?'
Her mouth titled into a sexy half-smile as she said, 'Can't a girl change her mind?'
Somehow Cameron found the words, 'Right. Then we'll head inside, and say polite hellos on the way past as we find a table of our own as far away as it can possibly be. Sound good?'
'Sounds perfect.'
'Though, I must warn you, I fully expect them to throw potato wedges at us. If we're lucky they won't have dipped them in guacamole first.'