‘Hey, buddy, I have no agenda here. I was out here minding my own business. You came looking for me.’
Still no smile, but the bite was back. Attraction poured through him like it had been simply waiting to split the dam behind which he’d held it in check.
‘I did, didn’t I?’
She stared at him, the wheels behind her eyes whirring madly. Finally she demanded, ‘Get inside the tent, unzip the sleeping bag, and wrap it around you. It’s thermal. You’ll be toasty in a matter of minutes.’
‘Who knew you had such a Florence Nightingale side to you?’
‘You’re too heavy for me to carry you back to your car if you freeze to death,’ she muttered, then gave him a little shove.
From outside the tent Rosie watched as Cameron’s head hit the roof as he snuck inside.
He’d come looking for her. In the middle of the night, along unmarked roads and through wet, thorny bushland, he’d come. That was an entirely new experience. Men had left before but none had ever come back. Not one.
She hadn’t had any past experiences from which to extrapolate the right course to take. All she’d been able to do was follow her instincts. They’d gently urged her to let him back in. To understand that his dad’s betrayal ran deep and that had caused his panic. And that, now that the boat had righted itself, things would be as they were.
She didn’t have time to decide if she’d been cool and sophisticated or simply stupid, as right then his elbow slid along the right wall of the tent, making an unhappy squeaking sound against the synthetic fabric. The next loud ‘Oomph,’ meant she had to go in after him in case he managed to break any equipment worth as much as her caravan.
He turned and saw her there.
Moonlight glowed through the tight mesh, creating glints in his eyes. Though she soon realised the glints would have been there even if they’d been in pitch blackness.
The pom-poms on top of her beanie brushed the ceiling, while he had to bend so as not to stick his head through the top. She glanced up, saw his hair catching and creating static, went to tell him so, but he reached out to her, grabbed a hunk of her cardigan and pulled her to him. Her breath shot from her lungs in a sharp whoosh as her chest thumped against his.
She desperately clambered for her instincts, hoping they might come to her rescue again, but they were as immobilised as she was.
He dropped to his knees and she came with him. They were nose to nose, the intermingling of warm breath making her cheeks hot. Her heart thundered in her ears. She felt lightheaded. Little tornados curled about her insides.
And she knew, as well as she knew her own name, that she’d done the right thing. Their minute wasn’t up.
He snuck a hand along her neck, his thumb stroking the soft spot just behind her ear. Her whole body responded, opening to him like a flower to the sun. She immediately contracted in fear at exposure of how much she wanted this. Wanted him. Was willing to tell herself whatever she needed to hear to have him.
But then he leaned in and kissed her. Gently. Slowly. And all the last bits of her that hadn’t melted finally did so. She sank into him and kissed him back.
Sensation so astronomical overwhelmed her until she could only pick out pieces to focus upon lest she drown in the delectable whole.
The subtle strength of his hand cupped the back of her head. His breath tickled the column of her neck before he rained kisses over every inch of her throat. Her cardigan tie slithered across her back as he undid it.
She came to from far, far away when suddenly it all came to a cruel halt.
She opened her eyes to find him staring at her chest. Her chest wasn’t all that impressive without a lot of help.
‘What on earth are you wearing?’ he asked.
She looked down to find his fingers enclosed over a fat, furry, pig-shaped button on her pink flannelette pyjama-top.
She slapped a hand across her eyes. ‘My pyjamas. Oh God, I was cold, I was lazy. I was feeling sorry for myself.’
‘Rosalind.’ The way he said her name…
She let her hand slip away and looked up into his eyes. His deep, dark, bottomless, persuasive blue eyes.
He slipped the first button from its hole, and her breath caught.
And when he kissed her again she felt so frail she believed she might just shatter into a thousand pieces before the night was through.
Hours later, Rosie stroked slow fingers over Cameron’s naked chest while his fingers played gently with her hair.
The rising sun washed beams of gold through the opening of the tent, leaving his beautiful profile in sharp relief, while she was shielded from the beams’ touch by his large form.
So it had to be. No matter how much they each struggled against their true natures, he would always be a child of the light, she of the dark.