Dating the Rebel Tycoon

That was what he’d been trying to tell her that night after the Chinese at his place. He’d been warning her. Subconsciously he’d seen this coming, even if she had pretended she was fine.

Her flutter of instinct when she’d been with Meg had been spot on. While Cameron had thought he’d found himself an easygoing girl who would know better than to fall for him, Rosie had gone against character and done just that.

She’d fallen head over heels in love with the one man who could never be hers.

Punch drunk, Rosie inhaled deeply, but this time the air felt like it barely touched her lungs. There were too many people. Crowding into her personal space. Making it impossible to breathe.

‘It’s been lovely to meet you all, Mrs Kelly. You have an amazing family,’ she managed to get out without choking. ‘Please excuse me.’

She blindly stumbled onto one of a dozen half-circle balconies leading off the gallery, towards fresh air. And open sky.

Looking up into the infinite stars—all of them seemingly serene and quiet, yet crashing, imploding, living and dying out of control right before her eyes—she managed to get air into her lungs once more.

Cameron leant in the frame of the balcony doorway, watching Rosalind.

Her hair flickered in the soft breeze. Her dress clung to her subtle curves. His blood warmed as he imagined wrapping himself about her again tonight. Celebrating with her. Taking her with him to the heights he was feeling, and finding solace in her arms as he came to terms with his father’s mortality. And his own.

Her long, lean fingers gripped the columned balustrade, her eyes looking up.

That was one of the many things that drew him to her: her restless energy. She was hard to satisfy. He felt exactly the same way. At least, he had for years.

But looking at her now, her delicate shoulders braced to take on whatever her stars might throw at her, he felt something inside him shake free and settle.

The three steps that took him to her felt like they took an eternity. He slid his arms around her waist, leant his chin on her shoulder and kissed the tip of her ear.

She melted against him, a perfect fit, and he felt her whole body sigh.

But then her hands clasped down on his; she peeled his hand away from her waist and stepped away.

She glanced at him from beneath her lashes, and he realised she was upset. Soft swirls of wet mascara bore witness to the tracks of her tears.

His fists clenched, ready to take on Dylan or Meg or Brendan or whoever had said something to make his big, brave girl so distressed.

He went to touch her again. ‘Rosalind, honey…’

She held up a hand, and he stopped mid-step.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

‘I can’t do this any more,’ she whispered between her teeth.

‘Do what?’ he asked. But while his fists unclenched all of the newly settled places inside him began to squeeze in expectation.

‘This.’ Her arms flew sideways, taking in the balcony, the ballroom, the immaculate grounds.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’ve done what I came here to do. Why don’t we go home?’ He wasn’t sure where that would be, his place or hers, but as long as she was with him he didn’t really much care.

He reached out to take her hand, which even in the beginning had always felt like the most natural thing in the world. But she pulled her hand away as though burnt.

‘I can’t,’ she croaked. ‘No more. Enough is enough.’ Two fat tears slid down her blotchy pink cheeks. She swiped them away in frustration. ‘Why did you even bring me here?’

He opened his mouth to tell her, then realised what a complicated question that really was. Less than a week earlier she’d been a welcome distraction. But tonight…

‘This was always going to be a difficult night, and knowing you were here with me, for me, made all the difference. I could never have done this without you.’

He took another step. She shook her head so hard her curls drooped.

Realising she was more than upset—she was so distraught he wasn’t sure she even heard him—he thought harder, went deeper. ‘Asking you to come was not a decision I made lightly.’

Her eyes were like chipped ice when she looked up at him. ‘Neither was my agreeing to come.’

He slid his left foot back to meet his right, keeping space between them while he tried to figure out what was happening.

It had all seemed to be going so well. Meg thought her fun, Dylan thought her hot, she’d earned his father’s respect in an instant, and his mother had merely kissed him on the cheek and smiled, which told him everything. What had happened during Happy Birthday?

‘Rosalind, I’m sorry, but I’m at a loss as to what’s going on here.’