by Helen Brooks
He grimaced. ‘Alex is, you mean. He owns half of New York State, or rather the family do. He’s a great guy but life in a goldfish bowl can get a little tedious.’
‘I’m sure it can,’ she said with no sympathy whatsoever.
‘Okay, Rosalie.’ He leant towards her, ignoring a couple of pages that drifted onto the floor. ‘Why the big freeze?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said stiffly.
‘Sure you do.’ His mouth had thinned but his voice was softer than ever. ‘I ask you out to dinner and it’s like I’ve committed the ultimate insult. No, thank you is simple enough surely?’
‘You happen to be in London and at a loose end, and you expect me to fall on your neck with gratitude because you deign to offer to pass a couple of hours slumming?’ she said tightly, regretting the words the second they had passed her lips. She had determined to be so cool and in control the next time she met him, and here she was practically demanding to know why she hadn’t heard from him before this. Worst possible line to take, Rosalie, she thought miserably, but she just couldn’t seem to think straight around this man.
‘Is that what you think?’ He had slid off the desk, moving round to her chair and pulling her to her feet regardless of her injured ankle. ‘That you’re a number in a little black book?’
He had his hands on her forearms and she couldn’t move, but she raised her head defiantly, looking him full in the face. ‘Actually, yes.’ And she made sure he knew she meant it.
She waited for his temper to rise but he considered her dryly, his head to one side. ‘Some girls wouldn’t mind that,’ he said softly. ‘Being wined and dined with no strings attached is what plenty of career women call for these days. No messy complications or irritating ties.’
She didn’t know quite how to answer that. ‘You have an answer for everything, don’t you?’ she muttered crossly. Her voice wasn’t as acidic as she would have liked, mainly because, with the palms of her hands pressed against his chest so hard she could feel the beat of his heart, and the smell and feel of him all around her, her head was beginning to spin.
‘Do I?’ There was a strange note in his voice, and when he lifted a hand to her face, his fingertips caressing the silk of her cheek, she was quite unable to move.
‘Oh, I’m sorry!’
A flustered voice from the doorway brought Rosalie’s head jerking round, but Kingsley continued to hold her for another moment or two before he turned, managing to put an arm round her waist and pulling her firmly into him as he did so.
‘Beth.’ Rosalie had never felt so rattled. ‘I didn’t hear you come in. I mean—’
‘You must be Rosalie’s aunt.’ Kingsley was all charm as he deposited Rosalie gently back into her chair before striding across the room with his hand outstretched towards the pretty, plump woman in the doorway. ‘I’m Kingsley Ward. How do you do? I was hoping to surprise Rosalie and take her out to dinner, but it appears I’m too late.’
He was all white teeth and winsome smiles, Rosalie thought furiously, watching Beth go down before him like a ninepin.
‘Oh, what a shame.’ Beth darted one quick glance towards Rosalie, who groaned inwardly at the delighted gleam in her aunt’s eye. Beth had been on at her for years to find herself a nice man and enjoy life—the two were synonymous in her aunt’s mind—and Kingsley was clearly the answer to all her hopes. ‘Have you come far?’ she asked worriedly.
‘New York.’ He grinned winningly. ‘Not too far.’
Beth wasn’t going to be taken in by this drivel, was she? It appeared she was.
‘Really? But that’s too bad. Look, Rosalie’s coming to us for the weekend; why don’t you come too? We’ve a couple of spare bedrooms now the children are all doing their own thing. We’ve two at university and one’s up in Scotland doing goodness knows what on an archaeological dig.’
‘A dig, how interesting, but I couldn’t impose…’
‘It wouldn’t be imposing, we’d absolutely love to have you. Wouldn’t we, Rosalie?’ Beth was really going for it now.
Two pairs of eyes looked her way; one pair earnest brown, and the other alive with wicked blue delight. Rosalie warned herself her aunt had had a sheltered life and might faint on the spot if she said what she was thinking. ‘I’m sure Kingsley has things to do over the weekend, Beth,’ she said tightly. ‘He’s a very busy man.’ She glared at him pointedly as she spoke.
‘But all work and no play…’ Beth beamed at the tall, dark and wonderfully handsome man in front of her. If she had gone out and sifted through all the men in London, she couldn’t have found better for Rosalie, she thought happily. He was a hunk.
Oh, he plays all right. Boy, does he know how to play! Rosalie opened her mouth to set her aunt straight, but Kingsley was there before her. Wouldn’t you just know it?
‘If you are sure it’s okay I would love to come,’ he said with outrageous humility. ‘I called here to see Rosalie straight from the airport so I’ve all my things in the car, as luck would have it. It’d be great to have a relaxing weekend.’
This was too much. Rosalie was almost choking with rage. And how could Beth invite him like this without checking with her first? But she knew how. Her aunt had been looking into those blue eyes and had lost all reason.
‘Lovely.’ Beth was almost wriggling like an ecstatic puppy. ‘That’s settled, then. And it will give you a chance to meet my husband, George—that’s if we can manage to drag him out of his study. He’s in the middle of preparing a paper on the origins of anthropomorphism, whatever that is.’
‘The attribution of a human form or personality to a god or animal or thing, I think,’ Kingsley supplied helpfully.
‘Yes, that’s right!’ Beth gazed at him admiringly. ‘Goodness, aren’t you clever? You’ll get on like a house on fire with George. He’s a lecturer at City University and I think he despairs of intelligent conversation now the children have all flown the nest. They all take after him, you see, rather than me.’
‘Then I’m sure that’s their loss.’
She’d be sick if she listened to much more of this. Rosalie coughed meaningfully, and, having got their attention, said crisply, ‘I’m sorry but I’ll be another ten minutes finishing in here. Why don’t you give Kingsley the address, Beth, and he can make his way later?’ Which would enable her to fill her aunt in on the background to this crazy situation, and make it very clear any match-making possibilities were out of the window.
‘Or why don’t I disappear and do a bit of shopping I need to get, and see you both back at the house?’ Beth put in cheerfully. ‘You can show Kingsley—that’s an unusual name, isn’t it?’
She interrupted herself mid-flow, not an unknown occurrence for Beth. Kingsley smiled. ‘My friends call me King, and I’m sure we’re going to be friends?’
Beth giggled. ‘King, it is, then. Gosh, how grand.’
Rosalie shut her eyes for an infinitesimal moment.
‘Anyway, as I was saying, Lee can give you directions, then, if that’s all right?’ Beth continued. ‘And I’ll see you later.’
‘That would be great. Thanks, Beth.’ Kingsley turned to Rosalie, his eyes taking in her burning cheeks and hot eyes. ‘I’ll wait outside in your secretary’s office until you’ve finished,’ he said gently, ushering Beth out with him and shutting the door behind them both.
Rosalie stared at the door for a full ten seconds. Then she sagged back in her chair, the breath leaving her body in a long whoosh. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, she thought helplessly. Who else but Kingsley would have managed that so perfectly for his own ends? He was amazing, and she didn’t mean that in a laudatory sense either!
She lowered her gaze to the papers on her desk, but she had completely lost the thread of what she’d been doing, along with the will to continue. A weekend with Kingsley. This whole thing was surreal. And what about Tweety Pie? Where did she fit into the scheme of things? Was she one of those career women he had talked abo
ut who liked being wined and dined with no strings attached? Or were the rumours Mike had spoken about true and she was due to be the future Mrs Ward? Not that it made any difference to her, of course, Rosalie reassured herself in the next instant, but if the latter was the case he shouldn’t be here right now.
She put her hands to her hot cheeks, her heart thumping a tattoo. She didn’t want this, any of it. Panic rose, the taste acidic in her throat. She had made a life for herself, a good life, and she didn’t want anyone or anything to spoil it. And Kingsley had the potential to do that.
She smoothed her hair away from her flushed face, aware her hands were shaking but unable to do anything about it.
Control. It was all about control, just as it had been with Miles. Miles had bulldozed his way into her life too, captivating and holding her with his charm and good looks and dominating her to the point where she had begun to believe black was white. She had been eighteen when she had met him and nearly twenty-one when they’d split up, and apart from the first few months of their relationship she’d existed rather than lived. Terrified of upsetting him, of losing his love; accepting always that she was the one to blame whatever the circumstances. Her mother’s daughter.
She straightened, shame and humiliation making her back rigid. Non-involvement spelt safety where a man like Kingsley was concerned, and she needed to remember that this weekend. This was just an amusing diversion for him, that was all.
It was another fifteen minutes before she left her office and by then Rosalie was in command of herself again. Kingsley glanced up from where he was sitting perched on the edge of Jenny’s desk, leafing through a car magazine. He rose, slinging the magazine on a pile on the occasional table next to a comfy chair reserved for visitors, his voice expressionless as he said, ‘Don’t frown like that, you’ll get lines before your time.’
Don’t react, that’s exactly what he wants. Rosalie’s smile was brittle, her eyes cool, but she kept her voice pleasant. ‘I’ll take my chance.’
‘You won’t say that at fifty when you resemble a wrinkled prune instead of a peach.’ He grinned at her, one of the grins she’d seen only once or twice, which touched the clear cold blue of his eyes with warm sunshine. It was hard to remain annoyed and try to freeze him in the face of such a metamorphosis, but she persevered.
And then strong arms caught her and he wasn’t smiling any more. ‘What was his name?’ he asked softly.
‘What?’ She was so taken aback she made no move to free herself, her senses registering the shirt was made of silk as her hands rested against the wall of his chest.
‘The guy who put the “Keep off” sign in place.’
Her eyes flickered. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.’ She looked at him defiantly.
‘Liar.’ His gaze moved over her face, burning where it touched. ‘Someone’s hurt you, and badly. What was his name?’
‘Kingsley, let me go—’
‘We can stand here all night like this if you like, but I want to know his name.’ And now the softness covered pure steel. ‘The more I get to know you, the less I know you, and I don’t like that.’ The blue eyes were clear and steady and unrelenting.
She raised her head a fraction. ‘I would have thought you are too busy to worry about me,’ she said tightly.
He looked at her, his expression unreadable. ‘Now something tells me you aren’t referring to my work schedule,’ he said quietly. ‘Right?’
Darn right. She shrugged, attempting to move away, but the grip on her arms tightened. Now he was bullying her. Charming.
‘And this is a follow-on from the little-black-book dig. Right again?’ His voice was even and faintly quizzical.
‘It was you who brought up the little black book,’ she protested. ‘I merely said—’
‘I know what you said, Rosalie.’
He lowered his head and kissed her. His mouth was urgent, hungry, and this kiss was as different from anything that had gone before as ice from fire. She made a brief movement of withdrawal but then as it continued, his mouth slowly and deeply taking what it wanted, she felt desire rise hotly in the core of her being. She felt weightless, the feel of him and the warmth of his body causing her to melt into him even as a tiny part of her mind that was still capable of rational thought warned her that this was madness.
His hands were stroking the silky skin of her back under the thin blouse she was wearing, his fingers delicately exploring even as they urged her closer into him. She could feel what the kiss was doing to him, and it was sweet, potent, to know she could arouse him so easily.
It was the ringing of the telephone on Jenny’s desk that penetrated the world of touch and taste that had taken her over, and Rosalie had no idea how long they had been standing wrapped in each other’s arms. As the answer machine took a message from someone concerning an account problem, Kingsley said softly, ‘I wouldn’t kiss you like that if I was involved with someone else, Rosalie. Oh, I might take you out to dinner or for a drink, a date where everything remained on the level, but there would be no lovemaking.’
‘Just platonic friendship?’ She tried to make her voice lightly disbelieving, but she was trembling too much.
‘Just so.’
Did she believe him? She stared into the piercingly blue eyes and admitted she didn’t know. She had believed Miles and look where that had got her. The thought of Miles caused her heart to give an unsteady slam, and something of the impact must have registered in her eyes because Kingsley said, ‘Sooner or later you have to put a toe in the water again; you know that, don’t you?’
It didn’t dawn on her what she had admitted when she said, ‘Why do I?’ until much later.
‘Because you are far too beautiful and desirable not to, that’s why. Whoever he was, Rosalie, and whatever he did, the future is yours and what you make of it. Do you believe that?’
She remained silent, the euphoria of how it had felt to be in his arms, to be kissed by him, gone. And then she said very quietly, ‘His name was Miles Stuart.’
There was a second of stillness. It seemed to go on for ever.
‘And?’ he said gently. Very gently.
‘And we met when I was eighteen, married when I was nineteen and were getting divorced when I was twenty-one.’ Her voice was louder now, her face painfully defiant. Story done.
‘When you were at university?’ he persisted softly.
She nodded. This was as far as she was going to go.
Kingsley Ward had had fifteen ruthlessly hard years of experience in the market place of big business to know all about keeping poker-faced, and this came to his aid now, enabling him to maintain an impassive countenance as he said, ‘And he hurt you?’ knowing he really had no right to ask.
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ It was unmistakably final.
He took a deep breath, finding his guts had twisted like a corkscrew. ‘Fine,’ he said calmly, ‘but what I said earlier still stands. He is the past, you have to look to the present.’
He didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. Rosalie looked at him steadily. Decisions and consequences was a rotten game to lose at eighteen years old.
‘Have you had therapy?’ he asked after a moment or two.
‘This is England, not America.’ It was too sharp and she moderated her voice when she said, ‘Like I said, I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘But you have talked it through with someone? At the time, when it all happened, or later?’ he said quietly.
Rosalie could hear the beat of her own heart. She didn’t want to think about Miles, not even for a second. It made her feel sick. She swallowed audibly. ‘I’m not like that,’ she said carefully. ‘It wouldn’t have helped.’ In fact it would have killed her; it still would, even ten years later. There were some things so degrading that to share them with another human being was unthinkable. ‘I married him and it was a mistake, that is all anyone needs to know.’
The hell it was. Kingsl
ey nodded. ‘Sure,’ he said easily, ‘whatever. But coming back to us—’
‘Us?’ Where did us come from?
There was real panic in her voice and now his tone was velvety smooth when he said, ‘There’s an us, Rosie, whether you like it or not. There was from the moment we laid eyes on each other. Call it the X-factor or whatever you like, but your body knew what it wanted long before you could bring your mind to accept it.’ His eyebrows rose, daring her to disagree.
‘You’re talking sex,’ she said flatly. ‘That’s all.’
Blue eyes glinted. ‘Sex is spelt with three letters; it’s not a four-letter word, Rosie.’
‘Don’t call me Rosie. Everyone shortens Rosalie to Lee.’ A small point but somehow vitally important.
And then Kingsley hit the nail on the head and summed up what she was feeling when he said softly, ‘But I’m not everyone, am I?’
Her skin shivered. No, he wasn’t.
‘Besides which, Lee is cold, abstract, almost boyish. Rosie is warm and soft and as sexy as hell.’ He bent and picked up her crutches from where they’d fallen seconds after he had taken her mouth. ‘But enough of this getting to know each other,’ he said dryly. ‘Beth will be waiting at home for us.’
‘I can’t believe you virtually invited yourself along this weekend,’ she muttered, disturbingly aware that she seemed to have lost on every twist and turn of this conversation.
‘Believe it.’ He eyed her unrepentantly. ‘And you ain’t seen nothing yet, Rosie. Trust me on that if nothing else.’
CHAPTER FIVE
THE June evening was warm with all the delicious smells of summer when Kingsley’s car drew into Beth and George’s pebbled drive, and Rosalie got an inordinate amount of pleasure from the fact that Kingsley was speechless for once. She hadn’t warned him what to expect, and it was clear the quaint old thatched cottage engulfed in roses, honeysuckle and jasmine, and set in a perfectly Victorian garden, had stunned him.
