by Helen Brooks
She was conscious of him glancing at her a few times before they reached their destination, which looked to be a hospital nearer Oxford than London. As they drove into tree-filled grounds and she saw the long, modern attractive building in front of them she said, ‘This isn’t a private hospital, is it?’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
She hadn’t got private health insurance, for a start.
Whether he guessed what she was thinking he didn’t say, but what he did say was, ‘This is where a friend of mine works and, as luck would have it, he’s around today. He said he’d take a look at the ankle as a favour, and we’ll go from there. Okay?’
This whole thing was running away from her and she didn’t like that, besides which Kingsley seemed to have a friend for every occasion, Rosalie thought resentfully. It might be nasty of her in the circumstances when he was being so helpful, but she couldn’t help the way she felt—he brought out the worst in her. She sat stiffly in her seat, her cheeks flaming. ‘I would have preferred to go to a National Health hospital,’ she said primly.
‘Tough.’ Her eyes shot to meet his at the tone, widening as he went on, ‘I haven’t got time to waste sitting in an emergency department even if you have. I have another appointment later.’
She glared at him. ‘Well, excuse me!’
‘Certainly.’ The carved lips twitched at her fury. ‘Now sit still until I can help you.’
Much as she hated to obey him she had no option, and unfortunately she knew she was not going to be able to walk on the ankle either. Even trying to flex her toes brought acute agony. But the thought of him carrying her again… Could she hop, perhaps? Darn it, she’d never felt so helpless in all her life.
When he opened the passenger door the decision was taken out of her hands. He scooped her up before she could so much as utter a squeak. The warm masculine feel of his body was worse this time with just the silk of his shirt covering his chest.
‘Put your arm round my neck,’ he said quietly as he hotched her more securely against him. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t bite.’
She was startled into looking up into his face; there had been a smoky quality to his voice that was pure dynamite. There had been wry amusement in his face at first, but then as their eyes locked she watched the amusement replaced by something else and found she was holding her breath, not daring to move a muscle.
Another car entering the car park broke the spell. Rosalie lowered her head, grateful for the wings of hair that covered her hot face, but by the time they walked into the reception of the hospital the burning colour had subsided due mainly to the ache in her foot.
The next half an hour was a painful one, and at the end of it Rosalie could have cried with frustration when X-rays confirmed Kingsley’s friend’s prognosis that a small bone was broken, necessitating a plaster cast on her ankle for a few weeks.
Another hour or so and they were back in the car again, the ankle feeling better now it was supported but Rosalie’s head spinning as her brain scrambled all the appointments and deadlines of the next days. Fortunately a great deal of the work could be done from the office, she decided thankfully after a few minutes of thinking hard, and site visits would have to be undertaken by one of the others until she could drive again, unless she called on taxis. She would manage somehow, anyway. There was no way she was going to hand this job over, lock, stock and barrel, to someone else.
‘How does it feel?’
‘I’m sorry?’ As Kingsley’s voice penetrated her whirling thoughts Rosalie turned to him. She had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that he had been very good over this whole affair—refusing to let her pay for anything although she knew he had written a cheque at the hospital, and displaying a patience she hadn’t suspected he possessed.
‘The ankle. How is it?’ he repeated, the patience she had noticed not so much in evidence now.
‘Fine.’ His irritation reminded her he’d had an appointment. ‘I hope I haven’t delayed you too long,’ she added politely. ‘You mentioned an appointment?’
‘A dinner engagement.’
With a woman, she dared bet, and obviously one he was anxious to see if he was prepared to pay the expenses of a private hospital to keep his date. A dart of something Rosalie didn’t care to put a name to made itself felt, causing her to silently upbraid herself. A man like Kingsley Ward would have any number of women, for goodness’ sake, and gorgeous ones at that, but his private life was absolutely nothing to do with her.
She slanted a sideways glance at him from under her eyelashes. She had got used to the muscled contours of his body now—she’d had a couple of hours to do that at the hospital as he had insisted on staying with her—but still something warm curled in her stomach as she took in the hard profile and clean-cut lines. He was intensely sexy, she thought drowsily, the combination of the trauma of the accident and the pain-killers Kingsley’s doctor friend had prescribed making her sleepy in the car’s warm womb. She yawned before she could stop herself.
‘Put your seat back and have a snooze,’ Kingsley suggested a moment later, even though she hadn’t been aware he had noticed.
For some reason the thought of being asleep and in a position where Kingsley could look at her and she wouldn’t know was quite untenable. It woke her up better than a bucketful of cold water. ‘No, it’s okay,’ she said quickly, adding, perfectly truthfully, ‘I wouldn’t sleep tonight if I had a nap now. I don’t sleep well as it is.’
‘No?’ One rapier-sharp glance raked her face before returning to the road ahead. ‘Why is that? Have you always been that way?’
Since Miles she had. Rosalie kept her voice even as she said, ‘In latter years. It’s not exactly unusual, after all.’
‘First sign of stress.’
Rosalie stiffened at the hint of criticism. ‘I don’t think so. I enjoy my work,’ she said very stiffly, eyes to the front.
‘It doesn’t have to be work that’s the problem,’ he countered smoothly. ‘Work’s not the be-all and end-all of life, surely.’
‘The rest of my life is also perfectly stress-free, thank you,’ she said tartly. As if it were anything to do with him, anyway.
‘Rosalie, in this day and age no one’s life is perfectly stress-free. Do you keep a healthy balance between work and play?’ he persisted, knowing he was being unfair in pursuing this when she had just been through one hell of an afternoon, but sensing her defences were low. He wanted to know more about this woman who kept herself so very much to herself, he admitted silently, capitulating to the truth he had been ignoring all day. She had aroused his curiosity as well as his body, damn it, and, yes—it was pique he was feeling at her total disinterest in him. Which made him a lesser man than he had thought he was.
‘That’s my business, surely?’ It was frosty, and exactly what he had expected.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said with lazy innocence. ‘I’ve obviously touched a nerve.’
She glared at him. ‘Of course you haven’t,’ she said sharply. ‘That’s absolutely ridiculous.’
The black eyebrows rose but he said nothing, which was ten times more aggravating than an argument, Rosalie thought irritably. It was hard to argue with silence.
‘I mean it,’ she said again. ‘You haven’t touched a nerve.’
‘Methinks the lady protests too much.’
Methinks the gentleman is an arrogant pig.
‘So, do you have a current partner, a boyfriend?’ he asked softly, knowing the answer full well.
She was longing to tell him to mind his own business but in view of their conversation to date didn’t think it appropriate. ‘No.’ It was so wintry ice tinkled.
It would have discouraged a lesser man, but Kingsley wasn’t a lesser man. ‘How long since you’ve been on a date, then?’
She was fairly quivering with the rage she was trying to hide. How dared he cross-examine her like this? ‘In spite of this being the twenty-first century and therefore licence for most people to beh
ave like rabbits, I prefer quality rather than quantity,’ she responded icily, hoping that would be enough to satisfy him. She had never met such rudeness in her life.
Of course it wasn’t. ‘That taken as read, how long?’
Suddenly, horrifyingly, the rage had gone and the urge to burst into tears was paramount. Twelve years long. Twelve years since I was hurt and abused and brought to the brink of losing my mind. The words were so fierce in her head that for an awful moment she thought she’d spoken them out loud, but when the chiselled features didn’t change she knew she was safe. She had never spoken about her relationship with Miles to anyone, not even her grandparents before they had died, and she never would. All old friends and family knew was that she’d been married and then it had finished. New friends didn’t even know that much.
She took a deep pull of air, praying her voice wouldn’t reveal her inward trembling. ‘Some time, I can’t remember. I’m not the sort of person who puts notches on the bedpost, unlike some.’ She turned to look at him as she spoke.
It was pointed, and she saw his mouth tighten with a dart of gratification. You can dish it out but taking it is a little harder, isn’t it? she thought bitterly.
‘Meaning I am?’ he asked grimly.
‘I didn’t say that.’ She paused purposely. ‘But if the cap fits…’
‘It doesn’t, not in this instance.’
‘Right.’ She put a wealth of meaning into the one word.
‘I have my faults, Rosalie, but promiscuity is not one of them,’ he said, very coldly.
‘Methinks the gentleman protests too much.’
For a second she wondered if she had gone too far as she cast a sidelong glance at his angry face, and then the wind was completely taken out of her sails when he laughed ruefully, turning to look at her for an instant with eyes that were smiling for the first time since she had known him. ‘Touché, mademoiselle,’ he said dryly. ‘I guess I asked for that one.’
Oh, no, don’t do this. Her mind was gabbling. Don’t step out of the mould like this. You aren’t the type who can laugh at himself. You’re arrogant and self-opinionated and a control freak. It’s written all over you in great big black letters.
‘So…’ It was a lazy drawl. ‘You’ve got me down as a philanderer, is that it?’ He glanced at her again.
She hesitated a mite too long.
‘Charming.’ It was dry but not too bothered.
‘Look, Kingsley, I didn’t exactly say that,’ she said quickly as she reminded herself he was the best client Carr and Partners had had in ages. ‘I don’t know you, do I?’
‘True.’ They had just paused at some traffic lights and he turned to watch her with narrowed eyes. ‘So how do we remedy that so you can give an informed opinion?’
‘My opinion doesn’t matter one way or the other, surely?’
His eyes travelled to her mouth, the fullness of the lower lip naturally pink and tender, and his voice was deep when he said, ‘Perhaps I object to being misunderstood?’ as he smiled again, sexily.
He was flirting with her. Rosalie stared at him for a moment and then the traffic lights changed to green and they were away. Whenever anyone had tried that in the past she had firmly repelled them, dealing with them gently or harshly depending first on their martial status, and then the nature of their persistence. Some of the married ones had been the worst, necessitating arctic freezing of the most severe magnitude, but there had been the odd young buck who had fancied his chances—along with his own sexual attraction—who had needed an icy put-down.
She hadn’t found it difficult to deal with them, whatever their age or experience, mainly—she realised right at this moment for the first time—because she hadn’t been tempted by their overtures.
Kingsley was different. She gazed blindly ahead as the car growled and leapt forward. Which made him dangerous and to be avoided at all costs. She had done the falling-madly-in-love thing and it was a con; a repeat performance would make her the biggest fool on earth. Unfortunately, however, she had learnt over the last ten years that she wasn’t the type to go in for sex without love; it just wasn’t in her make-up. Therefore she’d decided a first-class career, and all the benefits that would accrue from it, was her goal in life.
Good friends, a nice home, enough money to travel to foreign parts when the fancy took her—that would suit her just fine. But the main thing, the most important thing, which transcended anything else and negated all other considerations and benefits, was that she remained autonomous. In control, with a capital C.
‘I need an address.’
‘What?’ She came out of the maelstrom of her thoughts as his voice penetrated the turmoil.
‘A finite end to the journey?’ Kingsley could see her face even when he was concentrating on the road ahead, and he’d noticed the tight set to her mouth. He had known from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her at that damn dinner party that she spelt trouble, he told himself moodily. It was in the touch-me-not restraint of the slim, elegant body, the wary coolness in those magnificent eyes.
‘If you could drop me at the office, I’ll be fine.’
And who in hell had grey eyes anyway? He acknowledged her voice with irritation. Why not brown or blue or green? Those colours were good enough for most of the population, so why not Rosalie Milburn? ‘I’ll take you home.’ It was a statement that did not invite argument.
‘There’s things I need to do.’
‘Perhaps, but they’ll keep till tomorrow. Those pain-killers are not to be messed with,’ he said evenly. Why had she hovered on his consciousness from that first evening? He wasn’t short of female company—the thought carried no pleasure, merely irritation—so what made this woman different? But then she wasn’t, not really. She just played the game differently, that was all. Nevertheless, she stirred his blood until he couldn’t think straight.
He ran his hand through his hair, more than a little annoyed with himself. He was too realistic and too cynical to pretend he believed in anything other than animal attraction between the sexes, he reassured himself in the next moment, but this woman had the plus factor in a way he hadn’t come across in a long, long time. Which made it more strange she wasn’t with anyone.
On the perimeter of his vision he saw Rosalie shift her injured foot, wincing as she did so, and the action emphasised to him how stubborn she was in asking to be taken to the office. She needed a hot meal and some more pain-killers and sleep, in that order, he thought flatly. Crazy woman.
‘So, do I get an address or do we just drive round London all night?’ His thoughts had made his voice abrupt, for which he offered no apology. She rattled him, he admitted it.
Rosalie glanced at him, her nostrils flaring at the tone. ‘I live quite close to the office in Kensington,’ she said shortly. ‘I’ll direct you when we get nearer.’
‘Thank you.’ It was sarcastic.
‘You’re welcome.’ Why did he have to make everything into a confrontation?
The rest of the journey was conducted in silence until they reached Kensington, whereupon Rosalie duly directed him to the crowded terraced street where she lived. Number twenty was identical to its neighbours, and as Kingsley drew up outside the house he glanced at the five steps leading from the pavement to the front door. His expression said it all.
‘I know; not ideal in the present circumstances,’ Rosalie acknowledged tightly. But then she hadn’t rented the flat with the possibility of becoming injured in mind. ‘I’ll get Jenny to bring some crutches round tomorrow,’ she added, to let him know she wasn’t totally oblivious to what was needed. ‘That way I can be mobile again.’
‘Mobile in the very loosest sense, I take it,’ Kingsley qualified coolly, opening his door as he spoke.
As the tall lean figure exited the car Rosalie did something she hadn’t done since childhood, and stuck out her tongue at the departing back. Okay, childish maybe, she thought guiltily, but he made her so mad she could spit.
W
hen he opened the passenger door he didn’t swoop on her immediately, letting his eyes wander over her face for a moment before he said, ‘Do you often regress to kindergarten?’
The man must have eyes in the back of his head. Rosalie refused to blush this time. ‘You deserved it,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’m trying to make the best of what is going to be a difficult and awkward situation for me, and your comment wasn’t exactly helpful.’ She glared at him, her mouth set tightly.
He considered, head slightly on one side. ‘You’re right. I apologise.’ It was said with what sounded like genuine remorse.
She blinked. ‘Yes, well, I should think so,’ she said lamely. She didn’t know what else to say.
‘I’m glad you’ve accepted my apology so graciously.’ He had gathered her up as he spoke and Rosalie was immensely pleased she’d had the foresight to get her key ready. He held her as she opened the door and then stepped with her into the wide hall. The house was three storeys high with a flat on each floor and a basement that housed the landlady of the property, and as Kingsley glanced about him and then looked towards the stairs, his voice was resigned when he said, ‘Don’t tell me, you live on the top floor?’
‘This one actually,’ she said smugly. ‘That’s my front door just there.’ It felt enormously good to put him right.
He glanced down at her, his lips twitching at the satisfaction in her voice. ‘Clever you,’ he said softly, his eyes so blue they seemed luminous. His gaze intensified as it had done once before, but this time they were not in a car park and there were no interruptions.
Slowly his head bent and Rosalie made no move to avoid his mouth, watching with fascinated eyes as it came nearer. His lips were warm and firm as they touched hers in a fleeting kiss that held no threat, lingering just for an infinitesimal moment before he straightened, saying, ‘Let’s get you inside, you’ve had one hell of a day.’
He took the two or three steps to the white-painted front door before she had time to collect her scattered wits, and then she realised she was still holding the main front door key rather than the one to the flat. Her cheeks flushed, she found the appropriate key on her bulky keyring, which housed numerous office keys as well as personal ones, aware her hands were shaking and praying all the time he wouldn’t notice.
