Dating the Rebel Tycoon

His eyes narrowed and he stalked to catch up. Not able to go even ten seconds without touching her, he slid an arm around her waist.

‘Seriously,’ she said, leaning away from him as though he was holding her as some form of punishment rather than for his own satisfaction. ‘If anyone is brave enough to head into my woods at this time of night, they’re welcome to whatever they find.’

When they reached the car he spun her to face him, holding her by the hips, his nostrils flaring as her sweet scent caught on the wind. ‘Promise me when you come home tonight you’ll lock that door behind you.’

Her eyes smiled. ‘It’s an old van. You can’t open that front door unless you know exactly how to jiggle it. Nobody’s getting in there, bar me or anyone I choose to let in.’

She kissed him on the lips, softly, lingeringly, with a promise he couldn’t quite discern, then she slid into his car.

It took a moment for Cameron to collect himself before he rounded the back of the car, slid into the driver’s seat and curled his way down her drive.

He kept half his focus on the road, half on preparing himself for the momentous evening ahead. Yet, even with all that to contend with, somehow he was never quite able to take his mind off the woman at his side.

By the time the front gates of the Kellys’ family home loomed, Rosie was so nervous she could barely feel her toes.

Meeting the infamous Kellys was only half the problem. She was here for Cameron, and so long as she was herself and did her all to support him in his quest then she couldn’t go wrong. But from the second he’d shown up at her door looking so suave, so sexy, so dark and delicious in his black tie, she had found it hard to remember how it was that she had promised him that she would be just fine when one day it all came to an end.

Cameron pulled up to the front gates, which opened in time for him to slide the car through. The charcoal-coloured driveway, embedded in a swirling pattern of white quartz, curled around a pristine green mound sprinkled with neat rows of white and orange roses.

Rosie pushed herself an inch off the seat. ‘You have to be kidding me. Is that an Irish flag?’

Cameron didn’t even need to glance at the garden to know what she was talking about. His mouth quirked into a smile. ‘Welcome to Kelly Manor, where nothing is done by halves if it can be done twice as big.’

They drove on down the long, straight drive through an archway of oak trees which opened out to reveal a three-storey, dark brick, and cream trim, Edwardian-style home that looked like something out of an English period film.

Cameron pulled his car to a stop at the top of the circular drive. A liveried servant held the door open for Rosie, then took Cameron’s keys in order to park the car goodness knew where, as the whole front drive was clear.

‘Is this an intimate gathering?’ she asked.

‘Of course. Only a few hundred of my father’s best friends.’ There was no mistaking the tinge of bitterness in his voice.

She snuck her hand into the crook of his arm. ‘You are doing the right thing. I meant it when I said if I had the chance to sit down and talk to my dad, to get things off my chest and let him explain himself in his own words, I’d take it.’

‘You are a magnanimous woman, Rosalind Harper.’

‘Well you, Cameron Kelly, are an amazing man. With a family who obviously want you to be a part of their lives. Don’t blow it or I might never forgive you.’

‘We can’t have that, can we?’ He tucked her hand close, and she could feel him drawing from her strength. It was a heady feeling indeed. One she found she liked very very much.

Fearing he might see in her eyes how much this was all affecting her, how much he was affecting her, she looked over her shoulder to find a Bentley cruising up the drive. ‘This place is where the Thunderbirds got all their ideas, right?’

His laughter rumbled through her. ‘Now what on earth are you talking about?’

‘The cars. Where do they all go? I mean, the whole house opens up and there’s an underground car-park beneath it all, right?’

Cameron unhooked her hand from his arm and snaked his arm around her hip as he guided her up the front steps. The move was possessive and sensual, sending her nerves spiralling up into the sky.

‘You watch too much television,’ he murmured against her ear, a wisp of hair tickling her cheek.

She leaned back into him. ‘I work odd hours. I have an excuse.’

Cameron pressed the doorbell, and Rosie turned away to fix her hair, lick her top teeth in case of lipstick smudges and generally take in as much oxygen as she could before she entered the kind of rarefied air she had not had to endure since St Grellans.