Dating The Rebel Tycoon Part 12

'Do you sleep on the couch?' she said overly loudly, to cut him off.

'My bedroom and the study are in the level above. More bedrooms, wet bar; games room below.'

She nodded. 'Your home is really beautiful.'

'Thanks.' His voice rumbled through the wide, open room, but he might as well have whispered them into her ear, the way it affected her.

He was different from the guys she usually dated in more ways than she'd let on to Adele. No surfer's body or professor's poetry had ever brought her to this state of permanent antic.i.p.ation and awareness of every detail around her, every tactile sensation, every natural beauty. And worse, neither had the dedicated life she'd led alone.

She gave herself a little shake and decided a change of subject was what was needed if she had any chance of finding her feet again.

She turned with a plastered-on smile. 'So where's this telescope you claim to have-still in its box? A figment of your imagination? A falsehood with which to impress the science girl?'

'It's...unpacked. Though honestly it's always been more decorative than functional.'

She stuck a hand on her hip. 'So it's an expensive dust-collector?'

He winced. 'The night I moved in, I looked through the thing. The trees were upside down. I gave up and watched the cricket match instead.'

'Ever heard of an instruction manual?'

He stared back at her. She let her gaze rove over the gla.s.sware in his clear kitchen-cabinets, anywhere but at those hot, blue eyes.

'Some refractors work that way. You just have to remember that in s.p.a.ce nothing's upside down or the right way up. Only your thinking makes it so.' She glanced back at him as she said, 'Your problem is the "centre of the universe" thing you have going on.'

'I have the feeling if I keep you around long enough you'll eventually knock that out of me.'

The very idea created a knot deep in her belly. How long was long enough? How long was a piece of string? How long until she relaxed, for Pete's sake?

She tugged on the fingers of one hand until a couple of knuckles gave helpful cracks. 'So where is it? I can give you a quick lesson.'

'It's in my bedroom.'

'Of course it is. Is there any better place from which to spy on your neighbour's trees?'

'There's only one way to find out.'

She tugged her fingers so hard something popped that she wasn't sure ought to have popped. 'I'll take your word for it.'

She stretched out her tense hands, and again didn't quite know where to look-while he stood at the bottom of the stairs clean-shaven, handsome as they came, oozing cool, calm and collectedness. Pure and unadulterated Kelly.

And in that moment Rosie knew she'd been kidding herself; she'd bitten off far more than she could chew.

Cameron was secure in the lifestyle he'd been born to, while it had taken her half a lifetime and a lot of fight to become half as comfortable in her own skin, and she was still very much a work in progress.

If the two of them came together in the kind of collision she felt was on the horizon, he'd not show a dint, while if genetics counted for anything she could well be damaged beyond repair.

When he threw his keys into a misshapen wooden bowl on a chunky hall-table at the bottom of the stairs, the sound made her jump.

She blew out a stream of air, her eyes scooting over the table to find that it was covered in clutter-a baseball cap, a couple of loose computer back-up-stick thingies on brightly coloured lanyards, a camera bag tipped over and empty, a coffee cup with remnants on the rim and a messy pile of opened envelopes in need of throwing out.

The flotsam and jetsam of a real life. And a reminder that Cameron wasn't just a name, or a bank balance, or an alma mater, or an archetype she could shove into some pigeon hole that suited her.

Above all else he was a man. A real man. Possibly the first authentic man she'd ever known.

Warmth curled throughout her insides, loosening all the immobilised places inside her. The feelings that tumbled in its wake came too thick and fast for her to even hope to herd them somewhere safe. She just dug her toes into her shoes and waited for the waves to stop.

Thankfully Cameron was in the kitchen by that stage, with his back to her and his head deep in the fridge, one hand wrapped about the edge of the door, the other wavering near the top shelf, letting out the cold air and not giving a hoot.

'I had a crazy day today,' his m.u.f.fled voice said. 'One level of chaos after another, starting with some att.i.tude from your friend Bruce. It's made me so hungry I'd eat the fridge if I had a knife sharp enough.'

Rosie was so addled; if he came out of there with a lasagne he'd cooked for her himself, she thought she might just faint.

He ducked his head round the door and his cornflower-blue gaze caught hers. She blinked and stared right back.

He was gorgeous. And this was the all-important third date. But was she willing to yield to everything that concept entailed, even knowing that afterwards he wouldn't be going anywhere?

As though he knew the exact nature of her thoughts, the corners of his mouth lifted lazily, creating the s.e.xiest creases in his cheeks, adorable crinkles around his eyes and such a provocative gleam in those eyes it was as good as an invitation.

Maybe she hadn't bitten off more than she could chew. Maybe she just had to adjust her perspective on who he was and how much of him she could handle. She just had to trust herself that she'd absolutely know the moment to pull out before she'd gone too far. Or maybe, just maybe, he was worth going over the edge for.

'I have no idea what I was hoping I might find in there,' he said. 'There's not a single thing I know what to do with. How does Chinese takeaway sound?'

Rosie let go at the breath she felt like she'd been holding for the past half an hour. 'Sounds perfect.'

CHAPTER NINE

AN HOUR later Rosie sat at the kitchen bench, three of the four white boxes of noodles empty. She abandoned the final unopened box before leaning against the chair back and laying her hand over her stomach. later Rosie sat at the kitchen bench, three of the four white boxes of noodles empty. She abandoned the final unopened box before leaning against the chair back and laying her hand over her stomach.

Beside her, Cameron laughed. 'For a moment there I thought I might have to throw myself in front of the leftovers to save you from yourself.'

'No fear. I know when to quit.'

Cameron's laughter subsided to an easy smile. And Rosie smiled back. The freak-out that had afflicted her early in the evening had faded to a reminder to take care. Once she'd mentally adjusted the limits of what she could handle, she'd begun to relax into Cameron's effortless company.

He'd long since ditched his jacket, and Rosie her poncho and shoes. A CD played softly in the background. A fire crackled in the hearth. And the conversation fell into a natural lull.

Rosie's naked toes curled around the bottom rung of the stool and her eyes blinked slowly. All snug and warm, the past few nights finally threatened to catch up to her.

'You have a little smudge...' Cameron said, his voice low and soothing.

She opened her eyes to find him staring at her mouth, a hand hovering so close to her lips that they began to tingle. Her tongue darted out to swipe at the left corner of her mouth.

He smiled, frowned, then gently wiped a half-centimetre lower. Whatever speck of sauce he found there he proceeded to lick off his finger. And suddenly sleep was the last thing on her mind.

She leant her elbows on the bench and leant her chin on her upturned palms. 'Of all the places in all the world one can be, how is it that a guy like you ended up staying so close to home?'

His eyes narrowed. 'It's not that close.'

The edge in his voice had her s.h.i.+fting to face him. 'St Grellans is five minutes from here,' she shot back. 'And your parents' house is, what, two suburbs over?'

'The fact that I wanted to live in the finest part of town isn't reason enough?'

'Nope. Not for you.'

He picked up his beer and took a slow sip, watching her over the top of the gla.s.s. 'How many days ago did we meet up?'

'Two,' she said.

'But this is our third date?'

She nodded. His cheek twitched, and he took another long sip, his eyes never leaving hers as he let that thought sink in. Her leg began to jiggle beneath the bench.

He put down his gla.s.s, but kept hold of it as he looked into the amber bubbles. 'I grew up in Ascot. Meg's still at home, though she stays at Tabitha's bachelorette pad in town half the week. Brendan's in Clayfield, close to his daughters' school. Dylan's place is neck-deep in cafes in Morningside. So you're right; we are all a stone's throw from home.'

She crossed her ankles to stop the jiggling and shoved a hand into her hair as she let her upper arm sink against the bench. 'So why didn't you move to the other side of the city when you had the falling out with your dad? Or the other side of the country, for that matter? Or the world. I've done it, several times over. It's too easy.'

He tipped his gla.s.s and let it fall back upright before pus.h.i.+ng it away and giving her his full focus once more. 'And imagine where you might have ended up had interplanetary travel been on the cards. I hazard a guess that this place wouldn't have seen you for dust.'

Three dates. That was as long as they had really known each other. She thought she had him figured out, but it hadn't occurred to her til that moment that maybe he had her figured out too.

She wrapped her hands about her shoulders, her fingers sliding against the white cotton T-s.h.i.+rt and digging into soft flesh. 'But we're not talking about me.'

His hand slid along the bench to tap her elbow. 'How about we do?'

She shook her head slowly. 'No need. Unlike yours, my life is all figured out. No more a.n.a.lysis necessary.'

He watched her for a few long seconds before sliding his hand beneath her elbow, and turning her on the spot until she was looking out the window at the view of the Brisbane skyline.

His low, rumbling words brushed the hair against her ear as he said, 'That view of that city is what inspired me to do what I do. I can see almost every building I've built from here, and I spend way more time than I ought to admit to sitting by the pool, fantasising about where the next one should go. And that view reminds me that, while I am creating the future of the city, I need to be mindful not to take anything away from the aesthetic created by those who came before me, and hope one day another developer will do the same for me.'

As Cameron's words came to an end, Rosie felt like she was stuck in a kind of suspended animation. Her eyes were locked on the peaks and valleys of the teeming metropolis glittering brightly in the dark distance. And with his deep words echoing in her ears for the first time she saw the profound beauty he saw. In what he did. And in who he was, the true man deep down inside the fortress.

He swung her back round to face him, one eye closed, his divine mouth twisted in chagrin. 'Was that the biggest load of egotistical clap-trap you've ever heard?'

She shook her head slowly, wondering if he had a single clue how at risk she was to his smiles in that moment. 'That wasn't what I was thinking at all.'

'No?'

'I was thinking that, no matter how much you might like people to think that you consider yourself to be the centre of the universe, you really don't. I'm not sure that you ever have.'

He opened both eyes and lost the humble grin. He let his hand slip away from her elbow, ostensibly to grab his drink, but she knew better. Even before he said, 'Whatever gave you that idea?'

'Why skysc.r.a.pers? Why not mini-malls or housing estates or parking garages?'

'The bigger the building, the bigger my...income.' He grinned. Gorgeously.

'See, now you might think you can dazzle me with your jokes,' she said, waggling a finger at his nose, 'And your fancy noodles, but I've realised something.'

He leant a forearm along the counter-top and inclined his head towards her. His voice was deep, dark and beguiling as he said, 'Enlighten me.'

'The pragmatic black-sheep, lone wolf, tower of strength, big boss, cool-as-a-cuc.u.mber thing you have going on is all an act. You, my friend, are a romantic.'

Well, now, that was the last thing Cameron had ever expected to be called.

Demanding, ruthlessly ambitious, with tunnel-vision. He'd been labelled all of the above at one time or another. But romantic romantic?

Rosalind was so mistaken it was laughable. But by the sureness in her wide grey eyes, and the heavy air of attraction curling out from her and enveloping him, he knew laughter was definitely the wrong response.

Needing a moment to find the right way to let her down easily, he slid from his seat, collected the takeaway paraphernalia, slid the chopsticks into the sink and tossed the cartons into the recycling bin.

Then he stood on the other side of the island bench from her and placed his palms on the granite worktop.

'Now, Rosalind, don't you go getting any funny ideas about the man you might think I am. You'll only set yourself up for disappointment.'

Her lips pursed ever so slightly but her eyes remained locked on his. She was swimming against the current, against all evidence that he was as unyielding as he made himself out to be, but she refused to bend.

His voice was a good degree cooler as he said, 'I'm thirty two and single, and there's good reason for it. I don't have a romantic bone in my body.'

She shook her head, refusing to hear him. 'You create things that by their very definition sc.r.a.pe the sky, each one greater and more awe-inspiring than the last. I might look at the stars every night, but you are reaching for them. Just think about it. Let the idea just seep on in under your skin. You'll find I'm right.'

The light in her eyes...He'd never in his life seen anything so bright. And it hit him then that, though she appeared to be as blithe as dust on the wind, though her bluntness made her seem tough, inside she was as soft as they came. Her absent father, and her mother's inability to let go, had wounded her, and she walked through life with a heart p.r.o.ne to bruising, and he had no intention of being responsible for that kind of damage. It would make him no better than his father.

He grabbed a tea towel and wiped his hands clean. He'd been here before. Well, not exactly here, nor quite so soon, but surely near enough that he knew what he had to do.

Looking into those beautiful eyes had been his first mistake. He moved around the bench and took the edge of her chair and spun it to face him.

Giving in to the overwhelming need to touch her, to tuck a silken wave of hair behind her ear, to make her realise that what he was about to do wasn't her fault but his-that he'd been selfish in letting things flow as they had-was his second mistake.

She leaned into his touch, infinitesimally, but enough that her warmth seeped into his fingertips, infused him with her natural heat. Gave him signal upon signal that she wanted him as much as he, for days, had wanted her. Tempted him beyond anything he'd ever felt before.

Feeling like it might be his last chance before he could stop himself, he placed a hand either side of her face and kissed her hard.

Hating the very sight of himself, he closed his eyes tight, which only made every other sense heighten.

She tasted of honey and soy. Beneath his hands she was warm and soft and everything delectable. And beneath everything else she was struggling. He could feel it in her lips as she let in his touch, but nothing more. Nothing deeper.

Earlier she'd claimed she knew when to quit; it seemed neither of them was that astute.

Cameron pulled back, only so that he could kiss her again, more comprehensively, longer, slower. He had no intention of letting up until she kissed him right back.