‘No,’ she lied quickly. ‘Of course I’m not shocked.’
‘I was.’
‘So…so you finished with her?’ she said carefully.
‘Not exactly.’ He drained the cup of coffee. ‘The way I found out about all the others was when she ran off with some rich oil baron she’d forgotten to mention when we got engaged. She obviously considered him a better bet than a hotel owner’s son. I’m not complaining. It was the spur I needed to take hold of the business by the throat and shake it into shape. It also taught me a salutary lesson that I’ve never forgotten. Women lie best when they’re in the horizontal position.’
She blinked. ‘Some women don’t lie at all.’
He smiled, coldly. ‘I told you mentioning another woman wouldn’t add anything to the evening.’
‘It’s not mentioning her, it’s that last statement,’ she returned heatedly. ‘Lumping all women under the same banner.’
‘Something you would never do with regard to the male sex,’ he agreed smoothly. ‘Right?’
She stared at him, her face reflecting her shock, and such was the expression in the dove-grey eyes that Kingsley felt like the biggest heel in the world.
She didn’t try to deny the sudden self-awareness or make excuses, thus heaping—unwittingly—coals of fire on his head. What she did say was, and in a shaking voice, ‘You’re right, I suppose I am guilty of the same crime, but I do have my reasons.’
This was not the finish to the day he had envisaged. Damn it. And certainly not the way to penetrate that inch-thick steel armour of hers. He didn’t want to make her feel bad.
He nodded. There was nothing else he could do. ‘I’m sure you have,’ he said flatly.
Why was it important to make him see? Rosalie sat motionless, her head whirling. And then to her absolute amazement she found herself saying, ‘My mother didn’t altogether die of natural causes.’ She looked at him to see his reaction.
Her mother? What the hell did her mother have to do with any of this? They were talking about this Miles guy, weren’t they? ‘I don’t understand,’ he said evenly.
‘My father…he…’ She didn’t know how to say it because she had never spoken it out in the whole of her life. And then she found herself telling him, clearly and almost matter-of-factly, about the night when her life had been changed for ever. How she had sat on the stairs in the dark, not daring to move, but knowing something was terribly wrong. The overwhelming sickness she’d experienced, born of fright and panic, and the vomiting. But still she hadn’t moved.
When she finished speaking she looked into Kingsley’s face and saw the horror there. She shouldn’t have told him, she thought desperately. He was disgusted, repulsed…
‘Hell.’ It was deep in his throat. And then he reached out for her, pulling her into his arms and holding her tight as he said, ‘I don’t know what to say, Rosie,’ and such was the tone of his voice that she relaxed against him. He wasn’t disgusted, she thought tremblingly. And that was enough for now.
He held her close for some time, his hands warm and strong, and then, with one hand, he tilted back her head and made her look at him. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, sincerely and softly. ‘No child should have to go through something like that.’
She swallowed hard. This was too much; it was happening too fast. She was giving too much of herself.
Something of her panic must have shown in her face because he kissed her lightly on the mouth, a non-demanding, easy kind of kiss, before lowering her into her seat as he said quietly, ‘Your coffee’s cold and I could do with another cup before I turn in. Won’t be a minute.’
She stared after him as he left, and in spite of the heat redolent in the air and stone slabs of the patio after the hot June day, she shivered. Kingsley was the most exciting man she had ever met, the most attractive, the funniest—oh, she could go on for ever, but he was also the most lethal. He wanted a light-hearted little affair. He’d spelled it out for her just in case there had been any doubt. He wanted to make love to her, he’d told her. And what about her? Did she want to make love with him?
She swept back the hair from her face helplessly. Yes, she did, but that only showed how crazy she was and what foolishness it had been to get involved with him thus far. She had told him something she’d never told another living soul, not even Miles. Her family—her grandparents, and her mother’s sisters—had never discussed the true facts about her mother’s death and her father’s suicide after the one time they had spelled out for her what she had to say as a child. It had been a dark and shameful secret, something to be hidden at all costs, that was what they’d all intimated. Perhaps it hadn’t been intentional, but that was what she’d grown up with. And it had added to the feeling that what had happened was in some way her fault. If she hadn’t been around, if she hadn’t been born, her father would have had her mother all to himself and she might still be alive.
She bit down hard on her lip, shutting her eyes tightly for a moment. Reason and logic told her to think in such a way was rubbish, that there would always have been someone for her father to be jealous of, but reason and logic didn’t always hold sway when the heart was involved. But now she had finally admitted the truth about the night her mother had died and why her father had taken his own life to someone, she felt the need to talk about it with Beth. To ask more about her parents’ relationship, more about them as people. It had always been such an emotive issue with her grandparents. She knew they had loved her but right until the day her grandmother had died, some seven years ago, followed by her grandfather five years later, she’d known the subject was a closed book.
She supposed in a way she had been a sitting duck for someone like Miles who liked to dominate and control. She’d been so full of self-doubt and guilt, so easily crushed…
‘One coffee.’ Kingsley’s voice in her ear brought her out of the dark thoughts.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled up at him as he placed the cup in front of her and then tensed as he bent down, his lips caressing her neck before moving up to her mouth. Warmth spread through her and she no longer felt the chill of the past. Her eyelids were closed, and in the safe velvety darkness she let herself be carried along on the wave of desire, responding to the voluptuous exploring of her mouth and the slow, insistent building of sensation. He took his time, pleasuring himself as well as her, and by the time his lips left hers she was aching in her inner core and ready for more.
‘Drink your coffee.’ His voice was husky.
She opened her eyes as he straightened and took his seat, flushing hotly at the knowledge that he knew how completely he had aroused her. Why had he stopped? She lowered her head as thoughts tumbled about in her mind. To prove that he was the one in control, was that it? And then she chastised herself in the next instant, sipping the coffee almost without tasting it. It had been her who had insisted they progress slowly; he was only keeping to the bargain.
The kiss had left her tense and frustrated, and the former easy atmosphere had disappeared. Kingsley sat quietly, not trying to diffuse the electricity vibrating between them, and Rosalie found herself gulping down the coffee in silence, screamingly aware of the big male body just a foot or so away.
Had he kissed her like that in preparation for a big seduction line in a few minutes? she asked herself as she drained her cup. Was that it? Certainly his kisses and touch swept her away from caution, but she wasn’t seriously considering sleeping with a man who didn’t love her and wanted an affair without any serious commitment. Was she? Alarm overwhelmed her that she had had to question herself, and now she emphasised strongly, No, she wasn’t. She was not.