Dating the Rebel Tycoon

He held out an arm, an offer, and she sank into him. It took a whole other kind of strength not to lean against her, not to kiss the top of her head.

‘Argh!’ she said, curling away all too soon. ‘The last thing I meant to do was get slushy. You just happened to hit a soft spot.’

She slid round in front of him, out of his embrace, though her hand stayed resting on his arm as though she couldn’t break all contact. ‘Can I poke at one of yours?’

Okay, so she was touching him because she knew he might try to get away. ‘You’re asking this time?’

She tilted her head, not to be brushed off. ‘You have the kind of family some of us only dream of.’

‘You know those suburban news reports when a neighbour says “they always seemed like such a nice family”?’

‘I never assumed they were nice. They might all be stark raving mad for all I know. Nice seems such a bland word to describe…’ She waved a hand at him, her eyes touching on his shoulders, his chest. She blinked quickly as they scooted past the zipper of his jeans.

‘Nevertheless there are many members of your family. Talk to them about your dad. Talk to your dad. And soon.’

He jawed clenched so hard his back teeth hurt. ‘I have my reasons not to.’

‘Which are?’

‘Impeccable.’

She stared him down, wanting more, but there was no more he would give.

When on that dark day many years before he’d discovered his father had been cheating on his mother, he’d realised that the man his family held up with such reverence and esteem—the cornerstone of everything they represented, everything they were—didn’t really exist. And, even if he wanted to explain any of that to Rosalind, unburdening himself would only hurt the others.

When she realised it would take more than silence for him to talk, she said, ‘A few years back my mum accidentally let on that she’d been in contact with my father again. He was living in Brisbane. Had been for years. In all that time, he’d never once bothered to look me up. He passed away before she did, and, ridiculous as I know it is, today I still wish I’d had the chance to meet him—to know him, for him to know me—no matter what kind of man he might have been. I’d really hate for you to one day wake up feeling that way.’

Her big, grey eyes were bright in the lamplight. Dazzling with resolve. Could she really be as staggeringly secure as she seemed?

Either way, this conversation was over. ‘I give up,’ he said, deadpan. ‘You win.’

She rolled her eyes and then bent double from the waist, as if he’d finally exhausted her determination. ‘It wasn’t meant to be a contest. It was meant to be a cautionary tale!’

‘You don’t like winning?’

She brought herself back upright and grinned at him. ‘Depends on the prize.’

Back on solid ground again, on territory in which he was far more comfortable, it took very little effort for Cameron to think of about a dozen prizes he’d happily provide without breaking a sweat. Or, better yet, sweating up a storm.

‘Here we are again,’ she said.

Mmm, there they were again.

It took a moment for him to realise she was being literal. They’d reached the end of South Bank, and turning left would take them back to the Red Fox and their cars.

He could do as he’d originally planned, kiss her cheek, thank her for a most enlightening night and get on with his life.

Considering the awkward particulars she now knew about him, and perhaps even more importantly what he knew about her—that she was no more the easy, lighthearted-dalliance type than he was a court jester—that would be the smart thing to do.

But it seemed tonight he’d left his smarts behind at the office.

‘Thirsty?’ His heart thundered harder than he could have anticipated as he awaited her answer.

‘What did you have in mind?’ she asked, the matching huskiness in her voice making him feel an inch taller.

‘The casino’s only two blocks away.’

She looked up at him, all luminous eyes, wide lips, sparkle and street smarts, pluck and temptation. He wondered, and not for the first time, how he’d managed to get through high school without noticing her. He’d been seventeen. Maybe that was enough.

Her nose creased; she nibbled at the inside of her bottom lip and picked at a fingernail, and took her sweet time deciding. He had the feeling she might be smart enough for the both of them.

‘So, what do you say to one more stop?’ he asked, promising himself it would be the last time.

But then her wide, open eyes gave him his answer even before she said, ‘There’s a tiny corner lounge on the second floor of the casino where they make hot chocolate to die for.’