Dating the Rebel Tycoon

by Ally Blake

  ‘Cameron!’

  ‘Hi,’ he said.

  She swallowed. It seemed his name was the most she could hope to say.

  His hand reached up to cup the doorframe, as though she might be about to slam the door in his face—like he couldn’t see that her irrational heart was trying its best to leap from her chest and into his beautiful arms.

  ‘Can I…?’ He cleared his throat. ‘Rosie, can I come in?’

  Rosie… Had he just called her Rosie?

  She curled her toes into the hard wood and, no matter how hard she tried to resist, all the stagnant, decided places inside her began to flutter back to life. Which was ridiculous. He was likely there because she’d left something behind, and he was so damned civilised he was returning it by hand.

  Needing an anchor, someone on her side, she glanced over her shoulder but there was no sign of Adele.

  Then he said, ‘I tried calling you last night. Many, many times.’

  She closed her eyes, swallowed hard then looked back to him. His hair was mussed. His jeans unironed. Stubble shadowed his jaw. She’d never seen him so sexily rumpled.

  She licked her dry lips and tugged at her T-shirt, and amidst the fidgeting it occurred to her that beneath the sex-god rumples he also looked tired, grey around the eyes, like he hadn’t had much in the way of sleep either.

  Her hand shook and she gripped her T-shirt tight. ‘I left my mobile at home.’

  A crease came and went in his cheek. ‘I managed to somehow convince myself of that after the first dozen times you didn’t answer. So I called Adele. She told me you were here. That you were still…upset. And that I should give you time.’

  Rosie glanced at the angle of the sunlight on the porch outside. ‘It can’t yet be eight o’clock.’

  He didn’t even need to look to his watch before he said, ‘It’s not.’

  She blinked at him once, then turned and walked inside. The soft click of the door told her far less than her next breath, which was filled with his clean, male scent.

  Her knees wobbled plenty before she plopped back onto the couch. Cameron sat next to her. Close. Her scrunched-up blanket had the other third all to itself.

  ‘Rosie—’

  ‘Coffee?’ she asked, her voice overly loud. She as yet needed time to collect herself. To protect herself.

  He nodded. She poured.

  ‘I’m not sure where Adele has gone; she was here a minute ago.’

  ‘She gave me a goodbye wave over your shoulder when I first arrived. I’m assuming this place has a back door.’

  Rosie swallowed hard. And nodded. They were alone. She would have no choice but to anchor herself.

  He said, ‘I’ll get straight to the point, then, shall I? Which would be a first, I’m sure. We do seem to have an uncanny ability to lay things on the line without ever really getting to the point of what we are trying to say.’

  Her hand shook. She stopped pouring halfway, lest she end up with more scars for her troubles. Then she pushed a mug in front of him, but his hands remained clasped on top of his thighs.

  He waited til she looked him in the eyes, those deep, dark-blue eyes, now so solemn, so serious. She nodded. She was as ready as she’d ever be.

  ‘So, last night on the balcony, you accused me of not appreciating what I had. And I want you to know that I think you were absolutely right.’

  Rosie swallowed. This was not what she had expected at all.

  He went on, ‘I’ve put so much time and effort into my work, and my home, the parts of my life that don’t offer any form of opposition. And not because it was right, but because it was easier than facing the truth—that I have been taking for granted those things which should have been more important the whole time.’

  As he spoke, as he confessed, his stunning, searching, blue eyes never once left hers, not a for a second. If she had an ounce of faith left in her judgement she might have fancied he was talking about her. But that boat had sailed the minute she’d said yes to a date with a guy no sane woman could know and not love.

  Needing a distraction, she grabbed a handful of milk-bottle lollies and nibbled on the end of one. His gaze finally left her eyes and rested on her lips before they slid back up.

  He rolled his shoulders once, then continued. ‘I thought my life was good. But now I see that it was completely untethered, all the separate parts unconnected, because I was afraid that I might one day slip up, word would get back and my family would be hurt. Then you came along, and I slipped. Over and over again. And you know what?’

  ‘What?’ she asked, her chest lifting as she breathed in deep.

  ‘The world didn’t end. And last night I began the process of joining the dots. I have reconnected with old friends. I have spoken with my father. I have my family back.’

  She smiled a wobbly smile. Because she was happy for him. She really was. Not so happy for herself…

  Until a hand reached out and took hers, its fingers curling around hers until they were indelibly knotted together. Reconnected.

  ‘Rosie,’ he said, and her heart beat so hard she heard it in her ears. She lifted her eyes to see that he was smiling too. ‘Sweetheart, the glue that brought it all together was you.’

  Her heart rate had nothing on the blood rush to her head. She shook it to try to clear the haze, to pick out the truth from the hope that was blurring everything. ‘I’m not glue,’ she said. ‘I’m the opposite of glue. I don’t even have any dots to join. You said it yourself—I work freelance, I live in a van, there is nothing in my life I couldn’t walk away from given a moment’s notice. I know nothing about being glue. All I do know is that the easiest way to break a person’s spirit is to take away the things they love. I didn’t want that to happen to you.’

  ‘You were too late. It already had. But look at me. I’m still here.’

  Cameron was still there, the strength of his spirit radiating from every pore. ‘So here’s what I think about all that—a spirit can be broken only if it’s prone to breaking in the first place. And Rosie, honey, you are a force of nature. Your spirit is so vibrant, so fresh, so honest, I am certain there is nothing in this world that could ever break you.’

  She blinked hard, then down at their entwined hands. It was true, her spirit still raged inside her even after the night she’d had. She felt sorry for her mum, angry at her dad, proud of Cameron. So she might not be broken. But that didn’t mean that the cracks didn’t feel like they were being held together with old gum.

  ‘Cameron—’

  ‘Cam,’ he said, cutting her off. ‘Those closest to me call me Cam.’

  Her eyes were drawn back to his like magnets to steel. His smile remained, urged her to really listen. He was telling her that she was his glue. That he considered her a person close to him. That, even after she’d run scared the night before, he was still here.

  Rosie felt the moment heave between them, draw breath and wait. Her world, her universe, her past, present and future felt as though they were teetering on her next words.

  ‘Cam,’ she said on a release of breath—and the smile that had been hovering on the corner of his mouth broke free, beaming as bright as morning sunshine, until all she could do was bask in the glow.

  ‘Yes, Rosie?’

  ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I don’t so much mind if you call me Rosalind.’

  His brow furrowed, and she didn’t blame him. She wasn’t sure where she was heading either. Her mind was a blank page, untinged by history or expectation. All she could do was anchor herself in the warmth of his hand wrapped around hers and give him as good as he’d given her.

  She snuck a foot beneath her and faced him. ‘I am Rosie. Rosie who camps out in a van, loves comfortable boots, clothes with a past, and sleeps when regular sorts are awake and vice versa. But since I met you…’

  Her voice caught.

  ‘Since I met you, Rosalind—the girl I was, the version of myself I kept at bay all these years—came back. That part of me c
raved affection, wanted nothing more than to feel special, wanted to know what it was like to be the centre of someone’s attention. Rosalind isn’t afraid to hope.’

  His other hand lifted off his thigh. She held a finger near his lips. He held his breath and stared at it. Though she had no idea what was coming next, all she could do was let the flood of words carry her til she found land.

  ‘Since I met you, since I met your friends and your family, I finally knew what it must be like to have kinship—be a part of a collective spirit, of something enveloping, warm, vital. Watching you, Meg, Dylan and Brendan mucking about with your dad’s cake, I would have given my left leg to have been allowed into that inner sanctum for just one more day. I hope you understand, I had to, have to, walk away. Taking it away from me any later would have been too much to ask.’

  ‘Who’s asking?’ he asked, his voice deep, warm, encouraging.

  Then the edge of his mouth kicked up into the whisper of a smile. His thumb found her palm and began running up and down the centre, sending goose bumps all around her body, inside and out.

  She closed her fingers around his thumb and twisted it away. ‘I…I’m not exactly sure what you’re intimating. In all honesty, I’m kind of hazy about a lot of things right now. I’ve been up all night. I’m wearing someone else’s pyjamas. I haven’t showered.’

  He took her hand back in his, turned it over and pressed his warm lips upon her palm. ‘You smell great.’

  A slow build of warmth settled low in her stomach. ‘I smell like milk-bottle lollies and mothballs.’

  ‘You smell like you.’

  The warmth began to seep into her limbs, into her head, giving her ideas that maybe, just maybe, the only thing she’d left behind at the party had been him.

  ‘Cameron,’ she breathed.

  He held up a finger to her lips, not stopping short, letting the calloused tip brush against her soft mouth.

  ‘Rosalind,’ he said, her name rolling off his tongue as poetically as it was meant to be. ‘One of the many things I have long since found so irresistible about you is that, while you are such a champion of human frailty, you are determined to deny your own.’

  ‘I don’t. I—’

  ‘Shush. Really. For your own good. It’s my turn again.’

  He took a deep breath and let it out through his nose, and Rosie realised that he wasn’t just tired—he was nervous. He was wide open and unguarded. She opened her ears and listened.

  ‘The night I suggested we slow things down…’ He waited for her to nod along, his hand again holding hers tight. ‘I was following a pattern I had followed time and time again. A whiff of getting too close, I put on the brakes. But when you left I realised it wasn’t you getting too close that panicked me, it was me. It was so unanticipated that I took a long, hard look at my life without you in it and I didn’t much care for what I saw.’

  Just to make sure she was right there with him, he reached out and cupped her cheek. But she was there; she was all there.

  ‘I had thought heading into the bush in the middle of the night to find you was enough of an admittance of my feelings, and that all I had been trying to do was protect you from every possible harm, including myself. I look back now and wonder what time and anguish I could have saved had I just had the guts to tell you straight. Like last night…’ His eyes burned, as though he’d been sliced with a red-hot poker. ‘I should never have let you walk away before we’d managed to have this exact conversation. Thankfully this week I’ve learnt not only how easy it is for all men to make mistakes, but how easy it can be to forgive them.’

  He slid his hand into her hair, caressing her ear, drawing her closer. His beautiful blue eyes smiled into hers. Her heart danced. Her liver forgot itself. And the rest of her insides skipped and tumbled, and hoped more than they’d ever hoped in their life.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he asked.

  Her voice shook when she said, ‘I never gave you a chance. Forgive me.’

  He slid his hand into her hair, drawing her closer. ‘Since we are both extremely adept at complicating the heck out of everything, how about I try something new and make things really simple?’

  ‘It’s worth a try.’

  ‘Rosalind,’ he said, his voice almost as shaky as hers. ‘My Rosie. I need you to know that I am very much in love with you. That I have loved you for some time. And I have no doubt that I will love you as long as I can draw breath.’

  The second he’d said her name, warm tears streamed down her face, but she couldn’t possibly lift a hand to wipe them away. She thought she might have to resort to using a shoulder when Cameron leaned in and kissed them away, one side then the other.

  Before things kept moving in the direction it was obvious they had to, she stilled him with a hand at his chest. She looked from one eye to the other, until she was certain she had his attention completely. ‘Last night, watching you wield the kind of strength that most men don’t even know is possible, I knew I loved you too.’

  His eyes glinted, his chest swelled, and the hand in her hair drew her in. ‘Funny way you had of showing it,’ he murmured.

  ‘As it turns out, I am a funny girl.’

  He grinned. ‘Lucky me.’

  And then he kissed her. She melted into his arms as he pressed her back against the couch. Her delighted hands slid up the back of his shirt, her legs entwined with his, and she kissed him until she saw stars; she was lost. Wholly and completely and beautifully lost. The sensation filled her, overwhelmed her, and didn’t scare her in the least.

  For she had not actually lost something, she’d finally found herself again in him.

  Eons later, when they pulled apart, Rosie’s lungs burned, her lips were hot and swollen and her whole body felt heavy and languid. Cameron on the other hand had admirable strengths. He lifted her back upright until she was sitting across his lap.

  His sexy eyes narrowed as he asked, ‘You did say that you loved me, right? That was one hell of a kiss, and could have been enough to have made me imagine it.’

  ‘I do love you,’ she repeated, the liberation of the words, of the feeling, of what it would bring her, making her feel sky high.

  ‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘Then, before we go ahead and christen Adele’s couch, I have one more thing I have to get off my chest.’

  Rosie pushed a scruff of hair off his forehead, and allowed herself the crazy luxury of playing with his hair. ‘This is really not the moment to confess you have a secret love of boy bands. Or that you already have three wives and they’re all called Rosalind. And there is no way I’m ever giving up my cardboard cut-out; he was a gift, and is a collector’s item, so—’

  ‘Rosie.’ His eyes narrowed, but the sexy grin that accompanied it only made her want to curl up and purr. ‘You’re going to have to answer your phone when I call.’

  She blew a raspberry, and continued playing with his thick, beautiful hair. ‘That’s asking too much.’

  He pointed a finger at her nose. ‘If I have to call Adele every time I want to see you or talk to you, or tell you I love you, or when I get the sudden urge to talk dirty to you in the middle of the day when I’m all hot and sweaty at the work site and you’re wrapped up snug under your comforter in bed, then I guess that’s how it’s going to be. It’s you, me and Adele for ever.’

  The hot and sweaty talk had her turning her attentions to the top button of his shirt. ‘Or…?’

  He reached round behind him and pulled out a small silver box wrapped in a big white bow. She’d been so caught up in the fact that he was there at all, she hadn’t even noticed him bring it inside.

  ‘For me?’ she asked.

  He nodded.

  She opened the box, realising she had no clue what kind of gift a man like him, a man who knew everyone, who could get his hands on anything, would…

  ‘Oh, Cameron.’

  On a bed of soft silver paper lay a mobile phone. It wasn’t gleaming, new, expensive, complicated and demanding—it w
as simple, easy, and just retro enough for her to fall in love with it in a heartbeat.

  She ran her fingers over the big, bumpy buttons. ‘Oh Cameron, she’s beautiful.’

  He slid the phone from her hand and she whimpered. ‘What’s beautiful about it,’ he said, ignoring her, ‘is that I’ve programmed it already with all the numbers I could think of that you might need in the near future.’

  She snuggled in beside him so they could look at her beautiful new-old phone together. ‘Show me.’

  He showed her. ‘There’s the planetarium’s number. Adele’s. I tracked down the number for your supervisor in Houston.’

  Rosie lifted her head to stare at him.

  ‘I had many hours to kill last night, remember.’

  His cheeks pinked—tough, sharp, skyscraper builder Cameron Kelly pinked—then dragged her back into his arms.

  ‘Meg, Dylan, Brendan, and my parents are all there.’

  She blinked. It was as if he’d known how much that would mean to her. It was as if he knew her better than she even knew herself.

  ‘And last but not least,’ he said, ‘Press the one button then send.’

  She did, and up came the first number on her speed dial. His mobile number, and the name Cam.

  No fanfare. No dibs on himself. No Mr Cameron Kelly, esquire, builder of skyscrapers, Prince of Brisbane. Just her self-assured guy who knew her and loved her, and wanted to be the first person she’d ever think to call.

  Rosie looked up at him and said the first words that came to mind. ‘Will you marry me?’

  He tilted his head to kiss her, slow, soft, deep, for ever, before saying, ‘It would be my pleasure. How does tomorrow sound?’

  She smiled against his lips. ‘Fabulous. But I’m sure we have to register, and it takes like a month in case we change our minds, and—’

  ‘First, I’m not changing my mind. Once I commit to something, that’s it. And, more importantly, I’m a Kelly. I can do whatever I want.’ He grinned. ‘I knew one day that would come in handy.’

  She moved to kiss him some more, but he edged back.

  ‘One problem. You’re going to have to get a bigger caravan. I’ve seen your current bed and I’m far too big for it.’