Dating the Rebel Tycoon

by Ally Blake

  She manoeuvred her hand away, then sat back and crossed her arms, crossed her legs and remonstrated with herself to keep her feet firmly on the ground where they belonged.

  ‘Pay attention,’ she said. ‘Because I’m not going to tell you this again. I am a scientist, not a fortune teller. I study the luminosity, density, temperature and chemical composition of celestial objects. My speciality is Venus, the one planet you can still see in the sky after sunrise, about a hand span at arm’s length above the western horizon. I am an authority in the field, and if you’re not careful one of these times I might turn missish and decide to get offended.’

  Cameron looked deep into her eyes, seemingly deadly serious. ‘So, tell me, are we alone in the universe?’

  She threw out her arms and laughed until every part of her felt loose. ‘Are you kidding me?’

  ‘I’m interested in your expert opinion.’

  ‘Here it is. In all my years searching the stars, I’ve never knowingly seen anything which I couldn’t explain. But I’d feel way sillier ruling out the idea than flat-out believing we’re alone. The universe is a great, strange and mysterious place.’

  He smacked a fist on the table. ‘I knew those UFO stories couldn’t all be fakes.’

  She picked up her napkin and threw it at him. He caught it before it landed in his food. And they sat there smiling at one another like a pair of goons.

  An hour later Tabitha was back, perched on the corner of the table, prattling on and on about Dylan’s high-school pranks, and Meg’s spate of hopeless boyfriends; Cameron had had enough.

  The fabulous distraction that was Rosalind Harper only worked when the life he was trying to forget wasn’t being shoved down his throat quite so regularly. More to the point, he’d spent enough time with a table between them and an audience watching over them. He wanted to get her alone.

  As though she’d sensed him watching her, Rosalind glanced at him over her left shoulder, frowned, then licked a stray drop of salsa sauce from the edge of her lip.

  He tilted his head towards the front door. Her eyes brightened, she nodded, and he wished he’d done so a hell of a lot sooner.

  He clapped his hands loud enough to cut through Tabitha’s verbosity. ‘Tabitha, the lovely Rosalind and I are away.’

  Tabitha stood up. ‘Oh, right. You sure? I just never get to see you any more. Meg says it’s because you’re always so busy with work, but—’

  ‘Yep,’ he said. ‘Quite sure. Our after-dinner plans are set in stone. We have to leave immediately.’

  Rosalind, trouper that she was, grinned and nodded through his fibs.

  Tabitha backed up with a wave. ‘Okay, then. Cam, maybe I’ll see you at your dad’s party on the weekend if you can drag yourself away from work. Rosalind, it was a pleasure. I’ll say hi to Meg for you. Both of you.’

  Rosalind gave her a wave back, then when she was gone slumped her forehead to the table, arms dangling over the edge from the elbows down. Cameron laughed as he caught the attention of a passing waitress and mimed the need for the bill.

  ‘And why didn’t we go somewhere else to eat?’ she asked from her face-down position.

  ‘The quesadillas.’

  She clicked her fingers and lifted her head. ‘Right. And you have to admit there was nary a projectile potato-wedge in sight.’

  ‘The place should advertise as much.’

  She grinned, her eyes sparkling, that wide, sensual mouth drawing his eyes like a lighthouse on a stormy night. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her as much when the bill arrived.

  Saved by the waiter, Cameron took out his wallet, which was closely followed by Rosalind’s. He stilled her hand with his. ‘Put that away.’

  She slid her hand free and hastened to flick through compartments, searching for cash. ‘I’ve got it covered.’

  ‘Rosalind, stop fidgeting and look at me.’

  She did as she was told, but it was obvious she was not at all happy about it. And again he got a glimpse of how stubborn she could be.

  ‘I invited you out tonight, so it’s my treat. Let me play the gentleman,’ he insisted. ‘It’s not all that often I get the chance. Please.’

  It was the ‘please’ that got to her. Her flinty-grey eyes turned to soft molten-silver and finally she let go of the death grip on her wallet. ‘Fine; that would be lovely. Thanks.’

  He threw cash on the table. As she eyed the pile, she brightened. ‘But you have to let me look after the tip.’

  ‘Too late; I’ve already added fifteen percent.’

  ‘Why not twenty?’

  ‘Fifteen’s customary.’

  ‘Tips shouldn’t be just customary. They can make the difference between the underpaid kitchen staff, out there right now washing our dirty dishes, paying rent this week or not.’

  Cameron blinked. Forthright, stubborn, and opinionated. He tried to reconcile that with the playful, uninhibited girl he’d thought he’d picked up at the planetarium, and found he could not.

  What did it matter? Whatever she was, it was working for him.

  He said, ‘So the tip comes to…?’

  ‘Fourteen-ninety,’ Rosalind said a split second before he did. She threw another twenty dollars on the table before he had the chance to try, and glanced at him with a half smile. ‘Beat ya.’

  ‘Geek,’ he said, low enough only she could hear.

  As she put her wallet away she grinned, then leaned in towards him. ‘Let’s blow this joint before Tabitha comes back.’

  ‘Excellent plan.’

  Cameron stuck close as he herded Rosalind back through the crowd, partly to protect her from the flailing arms of dancers and chatters alike, but mostly because being close to her felt so damn good.

  ‘So, what now?’ she asked.

  He moved closer until he was deep inside her personal space. ‘Lady’s choice.’

  She licked her bottom lip, the move so subtle he almost missed it. ‘Okay. But dessert is most definitely on me.’

  She turned and practically bounced ahead of him.

  The image of her wearing nothing but strategically placed curls of chocolate was distracting in a way he might never get over.

  Cameron waved a hand towards a large, red plastic toadstool in the universal courtyard outside the Bacio Bacio gelataria on South Bank.

  Rosalind sat upon it, knees pressed together, ankles shoulder-width apart, sucking cinnamon-and-hazelnut flavoured gelato off her upside-down spoon.

  He had straight vanilla. He’d been craving it all day.

  As the rich taste melted on his tongue, he let out a deep breath through his nose and stared across the river at his city. His eyes roved over the three skyscrapers he’d built, the two others he now owned, and through the gaps which would soon be filled with more incomparable monoliths he had in the planning.

  ‘Some view, don’t you think?’ he said, his voice rough with pride.

  Rosalind squinted up at the sky and frowned.

  Cameron said, ‘Try ninety-degrees down.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her chin tilted and her nose screwed up as she watched the red and white lights of a hundred cars ease quietly across the Riverside Expressway. ‘What am I missing?’

  He held a hand towards the shimmer of a trillion glass panels covering the irregular array of buildings. ‘Only the most stunning view in existence.’

  She stared at it a few moments longer as she nonchalantly tapped her spoon against her mouth. ‘I see little boxes inside big boxes. No air. No light. No charm.’

  Cameron shifted on his spot on the toadstool. ‘I am in the business of building the big boxes. Skyscrapers are my game.’

  She turned to look at him, resting her chin on her shoulder, a lock of her long, wavy hair swinging gently down her cheek. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Apology accepted.’

  ‘Though…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘A city is a finite thing. Some day, in the not too distant future, someone like you will come along an
d tear down your building to make a bigger one. Doesn’t that feel like wasted effort?’

  He laughed, right from his gut and out into the soft, dark silence. ‘You sure don’t pull your punches, do you?’

  Her cheek lifted into a smile—a smile that made him want to reach out and entwine his fingers in her kinky tresses.

  Before he had the chance, she shook her hair back and looked out at the city. ‘Growing up, my only chance at being heard was by having something remarkable to say.’

  ‘I hear that. Big family?’

  ‘Like yours, you mean? Ah, no. My mother and I did not ski together, or turn on the City Hall Christmas-tree lights together. My mum cleaned houses and waited tables and took in ironing, and I can’t remember five times we ate dinner together. Much of the time she had other things on her mind.’

  She glanced back at him, the reflection of the river creating silver waves in her eyes. And she smiled. No self-pity; no asking for compassion. Only Rosalind Harper just as she was, wide open.

  While he sat there, the most mistrustful man on the planet. The secrets he’d kept had led him to play his cards close to his chest his whole life. Hell, he had three accountants so that no one man knew where he kept all his money.

  She hid nothing. Not her thoughts, her past, her flaws, her quirks. He wondered what it might feel like to be that transparent. To leave it up to others to take you or leave you.

  Oh, he wanted to take her. Badly. But though a level of shared confidence came with them having gone to the same school, and though he was attracted to her to the point of distraction, and though she made him laugh more than any woman he’d ever met, there was nothing he wanted bad enough to make him quit his discretion.

  He tightened all the bits of himself that seemed to loosen around her, as he gave as little and as much as he could. ‘Is this where you expect me to try to convince you how difficult my childhood was?’

  ‘Cameron,’ she said, white puffs of air shooting from her now down-turned lips. ‘I have no expectations of you whatsoever.’

  And, just like that, tension pulled tight between them. It was so sudden, so strong, he felt a physical need to lean away, but the invisible thread that had bound them together from the beginning refused to break.

  He finally figured out what that thread was.

  He’d convinced himself he’d been merrily indulging in an attraction to a pretty girl with a smart mouth. He should have known that wouldn’t be enough to tempt him. He was a serious man, and, beneath the loose Botticelli hair, the uncensored wry wit and carefree, sultry clothes, Rosalind Harper’s serious streak ran as deep as a river.

  It would no doubt make for further unpleasant clashes; it would mean continuously avoiding the trap of deep discussions.

  Unless he walked away now.

  His shoes pressed into the ground, and his body clenched in preparation for pushing away. Then his eyes found hers. Shards of unclouded moonlight sliced through the round silver irises. She had never looked away, never backed down. Who was this woman?

  The wind gentled, softened, and took with it a measure of the tension. It tickled at his hair, sending hers flickering across her face. Before he found a reason not to, he reached out and swept it back behind her ear. Her hair was as soft as he’d imagined, kinky and thick and silken.

  Her chest rose, her lips parted, her eyes burned. Seconds ago he was ready to walk away. Now he wanted to kiss her so badly he was sure he could already taste her on his tongue. He let his hand drop away.

  Rosalind turned back to face the river. She scooped gelato onto her spoon and shoved it into her mouth, as though cooling her own tongue. Then from the corner of her mouth she said, ‘Am I alone in thinking that got a little heated for a bit?’

  ‘That it did,’ he drawled.

  She nodded and let the spoon rattle about in her mouth. ‘That wasn’t me trying to be particularly remarkable.’

  ‘Mmm. I didn’t think so.’

  She laughed through her nose. ‘Thank goodness, then; neither of us is perfect.’

  Cameron had to laugh right along with her. It was the best tension-release there was. The best one could indulge in in public, anyway.

  Rosie gripped her spoon with her teeth and said, ‘Speaking of not being perfect…’

  Cameron gave in, stuffed his napkin into his half-finished tub and tossed it in the bin, the makeshift-sweet bite of vanilla no longer cutting it when he had the real thing right in front of him.

  She watched the cup with wide eyes. ‘What on earth did you do that for?’

  ‘Because I get the feeling I’ll need both hands to defend myself against whatever’s coming next.’

  She held a hand over her mouth as she laughed to hold in the melted gelato.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, beckoning her by curling his fingers into his upturned palms. ‘Get it off your chest now while I’m still in a state of semi-shock.’

  She lifted her bottom to tuck her foot beneath, her body curling and shifting, the fabric of her T-shirt pulling tight across her lean curves. ‘Okay. Sharing family stories shouldn’t be like flint to dry leaves; it should be in the normal range of conversation on a date.’

  He pulled his gaze back up to her face and reminded himself she was no intellectual small-fry. ‘I like to think a normal range includes favourite movies, a bit about work and a few double entendres to keep it interesting.’

  Her wide mouth twitched. ‘I get that. But people are more than the movies they’ve seen. We’re all flawed. Frail, even. We make mistakes. We do the best we can under the circumstances we’ve been given. So why not just put the truth out there? I admit I have no dress sense. My dad was never around. My mum was unfit to be a parent. I can’t cook. Your turn.’

  He broke eye contact, looked across the river and anchored himself in the integrity of concrete and steel, of precise engineering and beautiful absolutes. Everything else he’d once thought true had turned out to be as real as the monsters under his bed. ‘You want my confession?’

  ‘No. Yes. Maybe. It sure as hell might make sitting here with you a lot less intimidating if I knew you actually had something to confess.’

  He turned back to her, monsters abating as she took precedence again. ‘You find me intimidating?’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘No. You’re a walk in the park. Now, stop changing the subject. I’ve had the highlights, now give me the untold story before I start feeling like a total fool for thinking you might be man enough to hack a little cold, hard truth.’

  God, she was good. She had his testosterone fighting his reason, and no prizes for guessing which was coming out on top.

  He kicked his legs out straight ahead to slide his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The moonlight reflected off the water, making the glass buildings on the other side of the river shimmer and blur, until he couldn’t remember what they were meant to signify any more.

  All he knew was that when his car swung into the botanical gardens that morning he’d been on a search for the truth. And he’d found her.

  Maybe he’d regret it, maybe it was the wrong thing to do, but, with his mind filled with that siren voice calling for him to give himself a break, to admit his flaws, to confess…the words just tumbled out.

  ‘What would you say if I told you that I have spent my day certain that my father is gravely ill, and that I’ve kept it to myself?’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE second the words came out of his mouth Cameron wished he could shove them back in again. Rosalind was meant to be distracting him from worrying about the bastard, not inducing him to tell all.

  ‘That the kind of thing you were after?’ he asked.

  ‘I was kind of hoping you might admit to singing in the shower,’ she said with a gentle smile. But her voice was husky, warm, affected. It snuck beneath his defences and spoke to places inside him he’d rather she left alone.

  ‘Tell me about your dad,’ she said.

  He ran a quick hand up the back of his
hair and cleared his throat. ‘Actually, I’d prefer we talk about something else. You a footy fan?’

  ‘Not so much.’

  He clamped his teeth together, betting that his stubborn streak was wider than hers. She leaned forward and sat still until he couldn’t help but make eye contact. The beguiling depths told him she’d give him a run for his money.

  ‘Look, Cameron, I don’t always have my head in the stars. I do know who you are. I get that it might be difficult to know who you can trust when everybody wants to know your business. But you can trust me. Nothing you say here will go any further. I promise.’

  Cameron wondered what had happened to a promise of no promises. Then realised things had been at full swing since they’d caught up, and he’d yet to make that clear.

  ‘Unless you’d really rather talk about football,’ she said, giving his concentration whiplash. ‘I can fake it.’

  Her eyes caught him again, and they were smiling, encouraging, empathetic, kind. He couldn’t talk to his family; he couldn’t talk to his friends or workmates. It seemed the one person he’d taken into his life to distract him from his problems might be the only one who could help him confront them instead.

  He ran his fingers hard over his eyes. ‘He was on TV this morning, talking oil prices, Aussie dollar, housing crisis and the like. He flirted with the anchorwoman, and ate up so much time the weather girl only had time to give the day’s temps. Nothing out of the ordinary. And for the first time in my life he seemed…small.’

  ‘Small?’

  He glanced sideways, having half-forgotten anyone was there. ‘Which now that I’ve said it out loud seems ridiculous. Look, can we forget it? We don’t have to talk footy. We can talk shoes. Glitter nail-polish. Chocolate.’

  ‘I want to talk about this. You know your dad. He didn’t seem himself. Worrying about him isn’t ridiculous. It’s human. And you know what? It kinda suits you.’

  ‘Worry suits me?’ he asked.

  ‘Letting yourself be human suits you.’ She closed one eye, and held up a hand to frame him. ‘Mmm. It mellows all those hard edges quite nicely.’