Dating the Rebel Tycoon

‘Ego.’

She shot him a blank stare.

‘The more things we Kellys see with our name upon them, the happier we are. It comes from having been born out of abject poverty. Generations ago, mind you.’

‘How’s that? No freshly churned butter on your crust-free organic toast-fingers every second Sunday?’

Cameron grinned. ‘Something like that. Ironically, business school would have saved me half the time it took to become profitable when I went out on my own.’

‘Nah,’ she said, flapping a hand across her face. ‘School can only get you so far. In the end you have to throw yourself at the mercy of the universe and take pride in your own ride.’

Cameron let that idea sink in. He was a meticulous planner, demanding control, assurance and perfection from himself and every employee he had. Then again, as a seventeen-year-old kid, he had broken free of the only world he’d ever known. If he hadn’t done so he would not be the self-made man he was today.

He nodded. ‘I’m damn proud of my ride.’

‘Well, then, good for you.’

Her eyes softened, and her smile made him feel like he’d been covered with a warm blanket.

The need to touch her again was overwhelming. Pushing aside her hair would not be enough. He wanted so badly to sink his hand into the mass, pull her in and kiss her until he could taste cinnamon. So, what the hell was stopping him?

The fact that she knew the worst about him certainly didn’t help.

Rosalind broke eye contact to eat another mouthful of melting gelato and the moment was gone. And, without her striking grey eyes holding him in place, he remembered: there was something wrong with his father. And worse: after a decade and a half spent keeping his whole family at arm’s length because the bastard had given him no choice, he still gave a damn.

He blinked, clearing the red mist from his vision and letting Rosalind fill it instead. At first glance, she seemed a ‘just what it says on the tin’ kind of person—playful, slightly awkward, with an impertinent streak a mile wide. But those eyes, those changeable, mercurial eyes, kept him wondering. He could have sworn she’d changed the subject back there, knowing it was what he needed.

Then, in the quiet, her hand reached out to his. It took him about half a second to give in and turn her hand until their fingers intertwined.

For the first time since that morning Cameron felt that everything was going to be all right.

He frowned. He’d managed to figure that out on his lonesome time and time again over the years. And at the end of the day, when they parted ways, he’d once again only have himself to count on. To trust.

He gave her hand a brief squeeze before pulling his away and leaning back to rest on the toadstool, cool, nonchalant, like nothing mattered as much as it had seemed to matter moments earlier.

‘Cameron—’

‘You done?’ he asked, gesturing to her melting gelato.

She licked the inside of her lips as though relishing every last drop of the delicious treat. But her eyes pierced his as she asked, ‘Are you?’

He didn’t pretend not to understand her. ‘Well and truly. I didn’t invite you out tonight for a therapy session.’

‘So, why did you invite me again?’ she asked, with just the perfect amount of flirtation in her voice to make his fingers spontaneously flex.

‘It was obvious you were the kind to appreciate the finer things in life.’

‘Quesadillas and gelato?’

‘God, yes.’

He stood.

She did the same, threw her empty container into the bin, pressed her hands into her lower back, then closed her eyes tight and stretched. ‘First, I’m a geek. Now I’m obvious. You sure know how to make a girl feel special.’

‘Stick around,’ he said, his voice gravelly. ‘The night is young.’

She stopped stretching and looked him in the eye. Attraction hovered between them like a soap bubble, beautiful, light and with a limited lifespan. Just the way he liked it.

‘I could do with walking some of that off.’ Cameron patted his flat stomach. ‘You game?’ He held out a hand.

She stared at it. Then she wiped her hands on her jeans and, after a moment’s hesitation, put her hand in his.

Holding hands made him feel like he was seventeen again. But, then again, the fact that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a woman’s hand unless it was to help her out of his car made it feel far more grown up than all that.

As Rosie strolled beside Cameron down the length of South Bank, they talked movies, politics, religion and work. She made fun of him loving a sport that managed to keep a straight face while giving a man a job title of “silly mid-on”, while he utterly refused to admit he believed man had ever really set foot on the moon.