“Yes, I wanted to assess the complex at night. Absorb the atmosphere.” He rested his briefcase on the bar stool beside her. “You’re alone?”
“Yes, just me. I’m celebrating the end of a particularly long project of the happily-ever-after kind.” She looked back at the bar, checking if their drinks were ready, needing something to do with her hands.
When she swiveled back, Rosco’s disapproving eyes were looking at her dress and it spun her back to their first meeting, when he’d had nothing but criticism for her. When she hadn’t felt good enough for him. “So, why have you joined me?”
“I’ve written my proposal for the Brick Square history project and signed the confidentiality form.” He tapped his briefcase. “I was hoping to finalize our agreement.”
“That was quick work.”
“We have many differences, Kitty, but we’re both hard workers.” His taut jaw revealed the pain those differences apparently caused him. He had the same expression the first time he’d looked down on her from his front door. “I’d like to think we could work together on this.”
She liked the sound of progress, but she wasn’t ready to let him off his judgmental hook just yet. It was kind of nice to see his usual controlled self squirm a bit. He was clearly a fish out of water at a bar on the wrong side of town. “Tell me about our differences,” she said. “As you see them.”
…
“Party girl,” he said, her scrap of a dress too much for the business detachment he’d promised himself. He had thought about insisting they meet at his office or some other more appropriate venue. But this meeting was his window into her world. To assess how well they could work together. But he couldn’t control that Redmond hormonal reaction to her. The attraction he loved and hated in equal measure.
She stiffened, her eyes narrowing, and took her time answering. “I thought you looked disapproving, Rosco. Now you sound it, too.” She waited a beat, staring him down. “Do you have some comment to make about my appearance?”
Neon bright, dangerously so, he thought. He cleared his throat to regain control of his words. “You look beautiful.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“No. But the dress and a public bar are not ideal for a business meeting.” He looked around as another group of customers crowded around them ordering drinks. “Let’s go somewhere private.”
“You chose the time,” she bit back at him. That was true.
He merely nodded his agreement, raised an eyebrow to reinforce his request for a change of venue, and stood his ground. He didn’t want to lose the advantage of surprise, and he did want inside her world, sooner rather than later.
She pursed her lips in reply, obviously annoyed, as she wriggled down from the bar stool. “All right, Mr. Redmond. My apartment,” she said. “I want privacy to discuss business, too.”
She crooked her finger at him. “Walk this way.” Rosco willingly followed her high-heeled sway—long, strong, and curvy—as she led him out of the bar to the vast internal lobby.
Soft, old-fashioned street lighting made it an inviting place for customers, and her heels clicked across the stone cobbles, a seductive rhythm he couldn’t ignore.
Kitty swiped her key card to a private lift and pulled aside the antique metal-gated doors, and he stepped in after her. The space was large, with several bags of flour and a chest of drawers stacked against the walls.
“This is bigger than I expected.”
“We kept the original external look but have installed a new mechanism. This is a service lift for Meg’s bakery and Danni’s gallery on the second floor, and it has locked access to our apartments on the third floor.”
He placed his briefcase at his feet, giving Kitty his full attention. Brick Square fascinated him almost as much as Kitty herself.
The lift bumped them to a gentle stop, but Kitty didn’t move to open the door. She turned to face him and leaned back, one stilleto braced against the wall behind her. “My dress?” she challenged, taking a slow sip of wine and eyeballing him over the rim. “You were saying…”
Too sexy, he wanted to say but knew it would only fuel whatever fire he had ignited in her. She was gorgeous. He didn’t get why she was so touchy about comments on her appearance.
“You look as if you’re ready to dance every night. My dancing days are limited to my sisters’ weddings.”
“Poor Rosco. No more sisters,” she said, sugar-sweet. “I get it.” She leaned forward. Red bra tonight. He forced himself to look away, back to her eyes.
“You do?” He hoped not.
“Our under-the-table time was the reaction to those extraordinary circumstances. The dancing was a make believe Ethel-deterrent?” Kitty queried.
“Yes, my thoughts exactly. And the paparazzi following you added another dimension to all that.”
“For the last time, they didn’t follow me. They were hunting you.”
He wasn’t giving her a total pass on that one until he knew her secrets. She looked more like tabloid fodder than he did, and she was a Brick Square heiress. “But I’m not the one wearing short skirts in the photos, nor am I the offspring of Ralph Kingston.”
“The media doesn’t know who I am,” she snapped. “And I’ve worked hard to keep it that way.” She cradled her wineglass, took a small sip, savored it. Then speared him with her heated brown eyes. “You get this,” she said just above a whisper. “I might enjoy dressing up and dancing. I might have enjoyed the fun of flirting against what I saw as the injustice of your family’s intrusion into your private life.” She took a steadying breath and glared at him again. Another slow sip of wine didn’t seem to soothe her, and she continued with the same whispered force. “But I am not a party girl in any other sense you may, or may not, have implied. If we are going to work together, you need to know that. I don’t do ‘forever,’ but I don’t do ‘just for tonight,’ either. Agreeing to meet here isn’t an invitation to my bedroom.”
“Understood,” he shot right back to reassure her. “I guess that makes me, by definition, not a ‘party boy,’ either.”
He gulped an ice-cold mouthful of his Coke. He wasn’t used to being questioned by a woman. He was used to being the one doing the vetting and boundary setting.
Kitty kept surprising him. In a good way.
“You’ve inherited your father’s legendary straight shooting, for sure,” he told her. “Tell it like it is when the chips are down skills.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” she almost snarled, still angry, still distrusting.
He’d been doing a little Kingston family research. No reason why Kitty should have a more comprehensive picture of his family than he had of hers.
It was reassuringly free of gossip. He’d found nothing about her mother, but her father had been an early mover and shaker in the London docklands restoration. Articles cited him as a tough negotiator with a determined focus on detail. His five daughters attested to a complicated personal life, but he appeared to have kept it private.
He took another swallow, tamping down his temper. “I only meant the comparison as a business compliment.”
His conscience niggled as he looked at her skeptical face. It was uncomfortably true that he was checking her out. “I’m not questioning your morals, just your dress sense for our mystery woman charade.”
He risked stepping even closer to her, into the heat gathering between them. He wanted that heat to be positive. “I love your dress sense.” What man wouldn’t? “But it is attention-grabbing for any lurking paparazzi. My only agenda for this evening is to discuss business.”
He watched her eyes burn brown-black as she considered him, and he saw the moment she decided he was telling the truth and to let him into her home.
She opened the lift door and raised her wineglass in a toast, giving him one of the twinkly, fun-loving grins that turbocharged his hormones. “Follow me,” she said with that kick of flirt his body loved. “My apartment is usually a no-go area.”
“Untidy?” Slam dunk. He could afford to tease.
She laughed. “Careful. I can always un-invite you.”
She led him to a recessed wooden door. Solid, with a carved surround and ornate iron latch.
“We’re on the third floor above the businesses,” she said, unlocking the door. “We each have an apartment with a view of the city and the Thames.”
She opened her door into a short hallway, polished wooden floors, exposed brick structural walls, and one of the huge exterior arched windows at the end. He could just make out a few twinkling city lights in the distance.
Her heels clicked along the wooden floor, switching on subdued lighting as she turned out of the hallway.
“Welcome to my world, Rosco,” she said.
“I love it.” It looked as stylish as her—open plan, the brick riverside wall with its line of arched windows all open to the view.
The large space was divided by furniture and shelving cubes into dining, living, and office spaces. Wooden floors, soft gray walls, white furniture, and rusty-orange cushions.
He roamed, as her obvious pride allowed him the opportunity to be nosy, to get up close to her work.
Some of her Jabbering Gerbera artwork and historical photographs were hung in white recessed shelving. It had the sparse appearance of an art gallery, softened by the full-length wall of exposed brick.
He loved it. The unique quality and presentation of her work was exciting to his publisher’s eye. Work which was worthy of inclusion in his late mother’s company.
“To business,” he said, not wasting a moment of the small truce between them. He walked farther into the apartment, to the office area, where everything was ordered and tidy.
Kitty had several large desks arranged together, and one was obviously for her Jabbering Gerbera work, as a vampish orange eye screen saver winked at him.
He smiled despite himself, unable to resist its seductive cartoon charm as he placed his briefcase on a work table and selected a file. “Brick Square contract and your signed confidentiality agreement.” He handed her two signed copies, willing her to cooperate.
Attraction, respect, a hint of guilt, all engulfed him, and he didn’t want to lose this contract, or her, from his life.
“Good.” She took the papers. “We’ll be tough negotiators,” she warned with a small smile, teasing him now, and something shifted inside him. The possibility of life without the reserve he’d built around his heart beckoned in the light of her smile and the wink of her Gerbera Girl eye.
…
Kitty took the papers, aiming for businesslike detachment but worried her heart was leading her head as she assessed his direct blue gaze. She wanted this contract for all of them, but she was wary of the passions Rosco was stirring in her.
“It’s solid, Kitty. My word. My integrity.”
And she knew that was true. Instinctively knew. Another factor threatening her resistance to him.
“Yes,” she said, her voice more husky than intended. He stood, tall and lean, beside her. His sexiness refined, once again, by expert tailoring.
“Sit down,” she said, gesturing to the nearest office chair as she sat next to him. He seemed less overwhelming sitting down. “Tell me about your proposal.”
“There are three layers. First, the architectural and social history of the building complex.”
She nodded. “We have quite a bit of photographic work done on that already.”
“The short montage on your website is a good start. Is that some of your work?”
“Yes.” Warmed by his compliment, she relaxed further. “I’ve taken all the photographs since I arrived eighteen months ago.”
“So you have documented all development?”
“Yes, and Rosa has quite a bit of historical material. Black and white photos and some amazing letters and journals.”
“I can engage researchers to follow that up.”
“No. Rosa will want to be in charge of that aspect. She used to come here as a child, and she lived here for a short time as a teenager. The history is incredibly personal for her.”
“Good. That’s exactly the sort of thing I need to know. I want to project manage to achieve the very best result.”
Kitty tapped the table between them, polished and smooth beneath her fingers. She was close enough to absorb his intensity as he wrote notes in the margins of his proposal.
His jaw was shadowed with end-of-day stubble, his face businesslike and handsome. She looked away; he embodied distraction.
Although she laughed along with Danni’s jokey “hunk-o-meter” evaluations of guys, celebrities and friends alike, Kitty was seldom swayed by manly magnetism.
On the rare occasion she had allowed it to happen, she’d then felt pressured for more commitment than she could give, was born to give, and she’d moved on. Literally.
There had always been a new country to explore. New people to meet.
“Next layer?”
“Your businesses. Wonderful mix of services. Wonderful names.” He smiled at her. “Jabbering Gerbera isn’t easily forgotten.”
“Charmer.”
“Just calling it as I see it.” He traced a cross over his heart, the sleeve of his jacket brushing the bare skin of her arm.
He sat so close, so tempting. Handsome, intelligent, and boyish when he forgot to be serious.
“That’s a big topic—involves all five of us. And we’re all different.”
“A can of worms?” More serious now, less boyish.
Agreeing would feel disloyal. “I can only speak for myself. Not a problem, but definitely a group decision.”
“Okay. Does that translate to a no?”
“No.” She laughed, leaving everything personal unsaid. “But it is a very drawn-out yes. We’re constantly discussing and planning our advertising and publicity, but we haven’t considered working with outside agencies.”
She looked at him, and his eyes, a sincere blue, looked back. Sincere blue eyes. The wine thinking, she decided. Just as long as it didn’t start talking.
“Some of us tolerate personal publicity more than others. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Ah…” He considered her, completely serious now, and sucked on his lower lip. “That impacts on layer three.”
Kitty mirrored his action, chewing her own lip, unable to forget how kissing his mouth had felt. How inconveniently kissable she found it now.
“Which is?”
“Your personal histories, the worldwide search. The whole Kingston dynasty story.”
She chilled to the bone. “No.” Hell would freeze over before she and Meg would tolerate that.
“Readers love the inside story of the real people, the personalities behind the empire.”
“You’re being hypocritical,” she snapped, leaning even closer.
He held his hands up at her reaction. “Think about it.”
“Hypocrite,” she repeated, her face so close to his she could see the diamond chips in his blue-blue eyes. “Mr. Bald and Anonymous on your own website.”
“We’re talking about your family’s publication, not mine.” His voice held its steely edge, and Kitty had a glimpse of how formidable he must be in his boardroom meetings. Did he always get the terms he wanted?
“Wouldn’t you be worried about how my family story, skeletons and all, might impact your business dealings now that we’re linked together?”
“Your identity is still a mystery to the paps, and our fake romance will be over by then. My deal will be signed and sealed very soon.” He seemed to remind himself of their arrangement then as he whispered, “Under table confidentiality oath still active.” He leaned forward, his eyes on hers. “We both experienced death and trauma way too early. This deal won’t hurt you or your sisters.”
She sat completely still, her eyes locked with his. His mention of their time under the tablecloth had her imagining him kissing her again. The air around them buzzed with shared emotion, and she shuddered as
she pulled away. She wanted him. But the balm of a kiss around their shared anger wouldn’t answer her questions. Wouldn’t keep her safe.
“Tell me about your hair,” she murmured after a moment to catch her breath, needing to stop this tide of very nonworkplace emotion.
“I look like my father,” he said “Same hair.”
“You shaved him off.”
She pulled away, giving Rosco’s rich brown hair her full attention.
“Did it help?” She was certainly glad she had never looked anything like her mother.
“It didn’t make me any happier,” he said after a few moments of thought. His voice caressed her name with that subtle Irish lilt that kept curling her toes. “I was still me.” He smiled softly at her. “And my memories of my father stayed the same.” He shrugged his shoulders. “You can’t change the past at the barber’s.” Again, a soft smile. “But it was a relief, at the time, to put a photo on the website that looked nothing like him. I needed to project some difference between myself and his alcoholic legacy.”
“I can understand that.” More than he knew.
“Not enough to shave your head, I hope,” he said, turning toward her and looping a tendril of her long dark hair through his fingers, tugging gently.
“My feelings about my father aren’t that strong.” She laughed; at least that was true. She didn’t have a relationship with Ralph, so no memories there to haunt her, and her initial anger had faded as Brick Square life had warmly enveloped her.
Her sisters had changed her life; she didn’t need to run away anymore. Brick Square would always be home. A safe place to negotiate risk.
Rosco gently pulled her hair again, returning her attention to him as his tug pulsed deep inside her. “Vanity wins at the hairdressers for me,” she whispered, linking her fingers with his, still tangled in the fall of her hair.
She lifted her other hand, ran her fingers through his silky waves, pushed them off his forehead, then smoothed the waves back into their usual style. “Don’t shave it again.”
Tangling with the London Tycoon Page 11