Tangling with the London Tycoon

by Suzi Jennings

  “Things getting too hot for you at campaign headquarters?” She quirked an eyebrow. “Little sister taking charge of her own day, huh?”

  He shifted uncomfortably on the ridiculously low chair, stretching his right leg out in front of him, and feeling an unaccustomed height disadvantage.

  He’d definitely lost leverage with his sister, too, but he wasn’t going to admit to that.

  “Titania’s arrived and sent Aunt Ethel into overdrive.” That was as much as he was prepared to say about that debacle. “My time is better spent working with you. And you’re a much more attractive alternative to Aunt Ethel.” He grinned to ensure she knew he was teasing.

  “Really,” she said with an obvious bite as she crossed those long booted legs beside him. “But not nearly as attractive as Titania, I seem to recall from our first meeting.”

  Ouch. He should have stayed away from personal comments. “She looks like a Barbie doll who’s had a recent accident with marker pens. I prefer someone more real.”

  Kitty gave a grudging little half smile, and he knew it was time to shut up. Kitty was gorgeous. If she didn’t know it, he certainly wasn’t going to risk a sexist label by telling her.

  “Anyway, my wedding organizing is done,” he continued, rubbing his hands together in what he hoped looked like relaxed satisfaction. “Everyone is where they should be. Cars ordered to deliver them to the wedding when they should be. So I’m a free man, and I want to eat.”

  “Well, you’ll have to do it without me.” She stood and moved across the small room with that slinky sway of hers.

  He watched her stretch for her ever-present camera bag. “My work hasn’t started yet,” she said.

  “That’s why I’m here. To super…” He sensed her stiffen and checked himself. “To support you.” He stood to regain some advantage. This wasn’t going at all to plan. “You’re right. I needed to escape the endless girl-talk,” he said.

  “More Aunt Ethels arriving soon?” She sounded genuinely sympathetic, although her laughing eyes held very female mockery.

  “I’m at their mercy,” he confirmed. “Can’t spoil the wedding by talking back to them.”

  “No. That must be difficult for you,” she agreed. “You’ll have to grind your teeth and pay the dentist bill later, Rosco.”

  “I’d rather grind them over a good steak.”

  “You’re like a dog with a bone.” She chuckled, shouldering her camera bag. “You should watch that. It’s only attractive if you have furry legs and a cute tail.”

  She raised an eyebrow and pretended to study him carefully. “Hmm, maybe you fulfill half of the criteria.”

  “You think my legs might be furry?”

  “Hard to say. Never seen them out of big-city trousers.”

  “I’m a big-city boy.” They were flirting. He didn’t want to. But it felt good.

  She wagged a playful finger at him. “Who is eating alone.”

  “Okay, okay. I get it. No big meals before work.”

  She sighed and nodded. “I’m supposed to meet you at the house in two hours. I planned to chill out with the camera for an hour or so first.”

  “All right. If that’s what you prefer.” He worked to ignore a nonsensical feeling of rejection. “But I’ll pick you up in an hour and take you to the house and then the church. As agreed, I need you to watch my bachelor back.”

  There’s truth for you, he thought and shrugged the enormity of it off with a purposely self-deprecating grin. “I’m wedding phobic, Kitty.”

  She sucked her bottom lip and considered his face. “Me, too,” she finally conceded. “However some reciprocal deal will be needed to secure my full support.” She winked and his entire body rose to her teasing tone.

  “Anything,” he said. “I’m desperate.”

  “Just the way I want you.” She laughed. “I have a completed photography project. It needs the love of a good publisher.”

  She was fun, but he wasn’t guaranteeing anything. He had no plans for their relationship to continue after the wedding.

  However, her enthusiasm continued to seduce him. “I have several good editors on staff who can review any future submissions,” he relented. It couldn’t do any harm, and he did feel a little guilty about dragging her into all the media innuendo.

  “I want you to review it personally. It’s a book of photographs of Bedouin life, very close to my heart, and it deserves to be assessed by you. I’m desperate,” she joked, mimicking his earlier tone. “I need you to see me as something more than a wedding rookie.”

  He laughed, as she no doubt intended. “You talked me into it.” He held his hands up in surrender. “I’ll consider it.” The one Bedouin shot he had seen was excellent. He’d give it a few moments of attention and some feedback; he wasn’t committing to anything beyond that.

  “Excellent. I’ll pitch it to you after the wedding.” Her huge brown eyes sparkled at him as she reached out her hand to shake his.

  He took her hand in his, and the electricity between them twanged into a life of its own. He reveled in the sensual pleasure of it for a moment, then broke the contact before all business sense was lost.

  …

  When Kitty’s precious alone time was up, she repaired the button and shimmied into the soft silken lining of her new black suit, slipping it easily over her lace tunic and boots. She had no intention of wearing the constricting skirt for any longer than necessary, whatever Rosco might think. Then she walked through the inn to meet him in the carpark.

  “Work hat on,” she told him, miming a cone above her head as he picked up her heavy bag.

  “I don’t want to hear about bridesmaids, aunts, sisters, or the state of your dentistry while I work.” And no touching, she thought, buckling in her seatbelt and leaning resolutely toward the door of his gleaming black SUV. When he left her an hour ago she’d had to shake the tingles out of her arm left by his mere handshake.

  He stayed obediently quiet as the car purred along the short ride to the house just on the edge of the village.

  “No paparazzi anywhere?” she asked. “I expected you to pick me up wearing a false beard and your gardening clothes.” Not that she could imagine him as anything but immaculately dressed.

  “Not a camera in sight,” he confirmed. “All the security is in place and our combined subterfuge seems to have worked. We can relax.”

  Easy for him to say. For her, the serious work was just beginning.

  The house was a generous two-story stone home with a huge garden that looked as if it had once been the gatehouse to the much larger manor just visible through trees.

  Rosco opened the door into a stylish and classically modern décor of coffee and cream along with plenty of evidence of wedding chaos. Suitcases, garment bags, piles of presents, a dining room table covered in intricate floral arrangements.

  Traditional cream and white with a dash of sparkle seemed to be the theme.

  “Strength,” she muttered to him as they inhaled hairspray and perfume.

  “What a smell,” he whispered, appearing to realize the words were heresy on this occasion.

  Kitty silently agreed. She didn’t do much girly stuff aside from lipstick and mascara, and after years of traveling and working in all climates, she really didn’t care if that got forgotten along the way.

  Her youngest sister, though, would love all this. The drama. The illusion.

  “Upstairs, Kitty,” called Amanda. “Only you. Not Rosco.”

  “Lucky,” mouthed Kitty, as Rosco willingly walked away to change into his wedding suit.

  Kitty hefted her camera gear and went upstairs to apply herself to her art of illusion.

  There was little needed beyond basic light control. Amanda was gorgeous and glowing in all cream and white, satin and lace. Her hair caught to one side, low on her neck in a loose braid, entwined with tiny white flowers and a sprinkle of sparkle to catch the light. The dress was a breathtaking triumph of couture design, both demure and sexy.


  Rosco would hate it.

  Excitement ebbed and flowed as the bridesmaids, sleek in the palest of pinks, joked and preened and posed.

  Cara controlled her fidgeting on command, a little ballerina in two-tone pink with her basket of roses.

  Titania fit right in, discreetly made up and asking for no special attention. Kitty smiled, contrasting this refined styling with the gaudy gold and purple image she had filtered into the tabloids.

  Within an hour, every possible photographic angle had been covered with all of the females in the wedding party. And Kitty was sent away again to ensure Rosco left the house long before Amanda did.

  Rosco was waiting for Kitty at the bottom of the stairs, ready for his next duty, crisp and handsome in a black suit and white shirt.

  She paused on the landing, pretending to check her camera lens cap, while she took control of the sudden wobbles in her stomach and willed her fingers to stop shaking.

  He was totally hot. Too hot.

  “Just a few more hours of suffering for you,” she whispered to him when she reached the last step. “Get me to the church.”

  “The sooner the better,” he muttered. Grouchy Rosco was back.

  Yet at the ceremony, she watched him treat his sister with infinite care and pride as he walked her slowly down the church aisle, past the polished wooden pews, to the simple altar steps.

  Rosco remained subdued during the outdoor photo shoot but didn’t interfere, and whenever needed, he was her considerate assistant. He drove her back to the inn, hours later in courteous silence.

  Kitty, missing his earlier banter, reminded herself that this was the professional relationship she had asked for.

  A wall of chatter hit them as they walked into the reception venue. She was swept along with him on a tide of Irish accents as his father’s family surrounded him.

  “As I was saying earlier, Rosco, you look just like your father.”

  “Yes, Aunt Kathleen. So you did,” murmured Rosco.

  Kitty was pinned behind his back by the drink-carrying crowd and couldn’t see his face, but his tone was dangerously polite.

  “You’ve got quite a job to do to live up to him. He would have given his girl a wonderful wedding party.”

  Kitty felt his spine stiffen, his whole body had that soldier-on-guard demeanor Ethel had triggered.

  Mention of his father certainly tested his social skills. Kitty knew how that felt. Any mention of her mother had the same effect on her. She found negative memories were hard work and best exorcised in private.

  But Rosco didn’t retreat. The quality of his control seemed to intensify as he took a silent, steadying breath and reached out to pat his aunt’s arm. “Yes,” he agreed, none of his tension obvious in his voice. “And mother would have done the same.”

  Patience and respect overlaid his words, but Kitty noticed he didn’t mention his father. “We must all work together to give Amanda the wedding she deserves,” he continued, looking around the room for his sister. “Amanda looks like you, Aunt Kathleen. Mother always said she has your eyes.”

  “Her father’s eyes,” she agreed. “He was larger than life when we were growing up. Such fun.” She sighed and dabbed her tears. “Big shoes for you to fill, lad.”

  Kitty caught the weight of expectation and a hint of judgment in her words, and she felt Rosco’s patience fade. His body returned to combat mode and he still didn’t mention his father.

  She admired his restraint as he rode the waves of family concern and approval. It was an emotional whirlwind she wouldn’t be able to navigate so smoothly herself.

  As the crowd shifted, Kitty moved to Rosco’s side. “Please excuse me,” she said to his aunt. “I’m afraid I need to steal Rosco away from you for a moment.”

  She waved her camera by way of explanation. “He’s in charge of the photography.”

  He turned with a well-mannered nod for his aunt and followed Kitty across the room to the glittery cream-and-white wedding party table.

  “As promised, I’ve got your back,” she said to him under her breath. She shoved the camera at him. “Here, pretend to look at this.”

  He did as he was told, and she turned to face him to ensure her words were only for him.

  “I don’t know what to say. Don’t even know if I should say anything.” What was work and what was personal now? She felt another uncomfortable little shift in her boundaries with this man and her motivation to impress him purely for business.

  “Nice work,” he said, still looking at the camera. “Keep talking.”

  “We’re comrades in arms,” she said with a small amount of flirt to lighten the tone. “We live in different worlds, but family baggage dumping hurts anywhere.”

  She took a restless breath and lifted her hair up off her neck to cool down. “I recognize the tone even if I don’t understand the details.” She looked fiercely in his direction to find his blue-blue eyes looking straight at her.

  “I’ve got your bachelor back. Let me know when you need me.”

  “Could be anytime soon.” He winked, his Irish heritage, so much more noticeable in this family group, caressing his grim tone with a lilt of humor. Goose bumps again. The man made her cold all over. Then hot.

  “Back to business. The best for Amanda,” she said.

  “That’s the game plan.” He nodded.

  She took her camera from him, careful to avoid touching his hand with hers, and looped the strap around her neck. “Any last-minute advice for this round of photos?”

  “Just keep to our agreed schedule.”

  The camera work leveled her emotions, drew her attention.

  Dusk fell as the first dance was called, and she moved around the edge of the dance floor, lining up her penultimate volley of shots.

  The bride and groom, Amanda and Rosco, Fiona and her husband. Then Cara and Rosco, her ballet slippers on top of his shoes, a giggling little marionette to his approximation of a slow waltz.

  They earned a charmed round of applause, and then everyone was dancing and mingling. The bridesmaids danced with the groomsmen and the best man, with several other paraplegic friends, did a wheelchair bop as the music tempo rose.

  Kitty lowered her camera and watched. Her work was nearly done, just the bouquet toss and honeymoon escape to go. She would tackle the proofing tomorrow. Weariness gnawed at her conflicted emotions. Weddings still weren’t for her. And for some reason, tangled in her own family history, this wedding had become a little bit more than just a job. The layers of emotions around this one would be much less complicated if she didn’t like these people.

  They were all so lucky to have each other. Titania danced with each of the groomsmen in turn and appeared to thoroughly enjoy not being the center of attention. Kitty knew the pop star was planning to leave early in a dark-windowed car waiting at the back entrance. She would be gone before the bride and groom, leaving all of the limelight for them.

  …

  Across the room, Rosco picked Cara up, took her to her mother, then mingled with the guests. The man was an enigma.

  His aunts, Kathleen and Ethel, with wine-flushed cheeks, had joined forces, and they intercepted their nephew with purposeful, handbag-holding strides.

  He stopped in his tracks, taut with tension, and Kitty moved swiftly toward him. This was the dangerous social mingling time for Rosco. Time for her to deliver on her promise.

  She wanted to laugh.

  The aunts would make a great comedy duo. Kathleen with her iron-gray hair pulled into a tight bun, and Ethel with her helmet of lacquered waves.

  “We want a talk with you, Rosco,” Kathleen said seriously as Kitty hovered behind him, setting up imaginary camera shots.

  “You should be married by now,” said Ethel, folding her arms. “Whatever’s the matter with you, lad?”

  “Your father isn’t here to get you settled, and he’d want us to look after you,” continued Kathleen.

  “So we have a plan,” said Ethel
, adjusting her handbag firmly. “A plan to find you a wife, since you can’t manage it for yourself. We want to see you dancing with Titania. Many a romance started with a bridesmaid at a wedding, you know.”

  “She’s perfect for you, lad.” Kathleen stepped closer to her nephew. “Your parents would have loved her.”

  “Yes.” Ethel touched Rosco’s arm. “Your father would have thoroughly approved of her spirit.”

  “She knows how to party. Just what you need. You’re far too serious for your age,” Kathleen continued. “Your mother would want us to steer you in the right direction.”

  They were crowding Rosco, piling on the family guilt, and Kitty bristled again on his behalf. But Rosco, smooth as Irish malt, took charge of his own destiny. “To be sure, that’s grand of you, Aunties,” he said. “Why don’t you sit at that free table across the dance floor and I’ll bring you some tea and cake.”

  He set them on their way toward the table and turned toward the refreshments.

  Kitty was waiting for him. The man needed her in rescue mode again. It was time to step up the pretend photography supervisor ruse.

  “Bleep, bleep, bleep,” she said in his ear, her tone at full flirt volume. “Forget the cake. Count to ten and then follow me. Second door on the right.”

  Chapter Seven

  Rosco opened the door into the soft, dusky darkness of a small function room.

  “Kitty?”

  “Don’t turn the light on.”

  “Where are you?” His eyes were becoming accustomed to the gloom, but he couldn’t see her anywhere.

  “I’m under the far table, in the corner, by the wall. The one with the white tablecloth.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Because Ethel will be following you.” Kitty’s high heel waved at him from the floor. “Hurry up, Rosco.”

  “Ethel isn’t on roller skates,” he said, bending over and sticking his head under the tablecloth. “She’ll still be waiting patiently for her tea, putting the world to rights with Kathleen.”

  “She’s a handbag-toting Dalek. And she’s got you locked in her sights.” She stuck her arms out in front of her and swiveled them rigidly. “Matrimony. Matrimony.”