And here he was being accused of being a potential rabble-rouser!
‘Rabble-rouser,’ he framed in a slow, incredulous voice.
‘It’s been known.’ She spun around on her heel, headed to the door and then out towards a battered navy blue Land Rover. ‘Idlers who drift from one protest site to another, stirring up trouble for their own political motives.’
‘Idlers...’ Art played with the word on his tongue, shocked and yet helpless to voice his outrage given he was supposed to be someone of no fixed address, there to support the noble cause.
‘Granted, not all are idlers.’ Rose swung herself into the driver’s seat and slammed the door behind her, waiting for him to join her. She switched on the engine but then turned to him, one hand on the gearbox, the other on the steering wheel. ‘But a lot of them are career protestors and I can tell you straight away that we don’t welcome that lot. We’re peaceful. We want our voices to be heard and the message we want to get across is not one that would benefit from thug tactics.’
‘I have never been accused of being a rabble-rouser in my life before, far less a thug. Or an idler...’
‘There’s no need to look so shocked.’ She smiled and pushed some of her curly hair away from her face. ‘These things happen in the big, bad world.’
* * *
‘Oh, I know all about what happens in the big, bad world,’ Mr Frank murmured softly and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end because his deep, velvety voice was as seductive as the darkest of chocolate.
In the sultry heat of the Land Rover, she could almost breathe him in and it was going to her head like incense.
‘And before you launch into another outrageous accusation—’ he laughed ‘—something along the lines that I don’t know about the big, bad world because I’m a criminal, I’ll tell you straight away that I have never, and will never, operate on the wrong side of the law.’
‘I wasn’t about to accuse you of being a criminal.’ Rose blinked and cleared her throat. ‘Although, of course,’ she added grudgingly, ‘I might have got round to that sooner or later. You can’t be too careful. You should roll your window down. It’ll be a furnace in here otherwise.’
‘No air conditioning?’
‘This relic barely goes,’ she said affectionately before swinging around to expertly manoeuvre the courtyard which was strewn with cars, all parked, it would seem, with reckless abandon. ‘If I tried to stick air conditioning in it would probably collapse from the shock of being dragged into the twentieth century.’
‘You could always get a new car.’
‘For someone who dabbles in a bit of this and that, you seem to think that money grows on trees,’ she said tartly. ‘If I ever win the lottery I might consider replacing my car but, until then, I work with the old girl and hope for the best.’
‘Lawyers,’ he said with a vague wave of his hand. ‘Aren’t you all made of money?’
Rose laughed and shot him a sideways look. He was slouched against the passenger door, his big body angled so that he could look at her, and she wondered how many women had had those sexy dark eyes focused on them, how many had lost their head drowning in the depths.
She fancied herself as anything but the romantic sort, but there was a little voice playing in her head, warning her that this was a man she should be careful of.
Rose nearly laughed because her last brush with romance had left a nasty taste in her mouth. Jack Shaw had been a fellow lawyer and she had met him on one of her cases, which had taken her to Surrey and the playground of the rich and famous. He had been fighting the corner for the little guy and she had really thought that they were on the same wavelength—and they should have been. He’d ticked all the right boxes! But for the second time in her adult life she had embarked on a relationship that had started off with promise only to end in disappointment. How was it possible for something that made sense to end up with two people not actually having anything left to say to one another after ten months?
Rose knew what worked and what didn’t when it came to emotions. She had learned from bitter childhood experience what to avoid. She knew what was unsuitable. And yet her two suitable boyfriends, with their excellent socialist credentials, had crashed and burned.
At this rate, she was ready to give up the whole finding love game and sink her energies into worthwhile causes instead.
‘Not all lawyers are rich,’ she said without looking at him, busy focusing on the road, which was lined with dense hedges, winding and very narrow. ‘I’m not.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Maybe I chose the wrong branch of law.’ She shrugged. ‘Employment law generally doesn’t do it when it comes to earning vast sums of money. Not that I’m complaining. I get by nicely, especially when you think about all the perfectly smart people who can’t find work.’
‘There’s always work available for perfectly smart people.’
‘Is that your experience?’ She flashed him a wry sidelong glance before turning her attention back to the road. ‘Are you one of those perfectly smart people who finds it so easy to get work that you’re currently drifting out here to join a cause in which you have no personal interest?’
‘You’re still suspicious of my motives?’
‘I’m reserving judgement. Although—’ she sighed ‘—I can, of course, understand how easy it is to get involved if you’re a nature-lover. Look around you at the open land. You can really breathe out here. The thought of it being handed over to a developer, so that houses can be put up and the trees chopped down, doesn’t bear thinking about.’
* * *
Art looked around him. There certainly was a great deal of open land. It stretched all around them, relentless and monotonous, acres upon acres upon acres of never-ending sameness. He’d never been much of a country man. He liked the frenetic buzz of city life, the feeling of being surrounded by activity. He made some appreciative noises under his breath and narrowed his eyes against the glare as the perimeters of his land took shape.
‘So you’ve lived here all your life,’ Art murmured as she slowed right down to access the bumpy track that followed the outer reaches of his property. ‘I’m taking it that some of the guys protesting are relatives? Brothers? Sisters? Cousins? Maybe your parents?’
‘No,’ Rose said shortly.
Art pricked up his ears, detecting something behind that abrupt response. It paid to know your quarry and Harold had been spot on when he’d said that there was next to no personal information circulating out there about the prickly woman next to him. Amazing. Social media was the staple diet of most people under the age of thirty-five and yet this woman had obviously managed to turn her back firmly on the trend.
Since he was similarly private about his life, he had to concede some reluctant admiration for her stance.
‘No extended family?’
‘Why the Spanish Inquisition?’ She glanced across at him. ‘What about you? Brothers? Sisters? Cousins? Will some of your extended family be showing up here to support us?’
‘You’re very prickly.’
‘I...don’t mean to be, Mr Frank.’
‘I think we should move onto a first name basis. That okay with you? My name’s Arturo. Arthur if you prefer the English equivalent.’ Which was as close to the truth as it was possible to get, as was the surname, which hadn’t been plucked from thin air but which was, in fact, his mother’s maiden name.
‘Rose.’
‘And you were telling me that you weren’t prickly...’
* * *
‘I’m afraid the whole business of an extended family is something of a sore point with me.’ She half smiled because her history was no deep, dark secret, at least locally. If Arthur, or Arturo because he looked a lot more like an exotic Arturo than a boring Arthur, ended up here for the long haul, then sooner or later he would hear the gossip. The truth was that her background had made her what she was, for which she was very glad, but it wasn’t exactly normal and
for some reason explaining herself to this man felt...awkward and a little intimate.
Aside from that, what was with the questioning? Shouldn’t he be asking questions about the land instead of about her?
On a number of levels he certainly didn’t respond in the predicted manner and again Rose felt that shiver, the faintly thrilling feathery sensation of being in slightly unchartered territory.
‘You asked about me,’ he said smoothly, filling the silence which had descended between them, ‘and extended family is a sore point for me, as well. I have none.’
‘No?’ They had arrived at the protest site but Rose found that she wanted to prolong the conversation.
‘Do you feel sorry for me?’ Arturo grinned and Rose blinked, disconcerted by the stupendous charm behind that crooked smile. She felt it again, a whoosh that swept through her, making her breath quicken and her stomach swoop.
‘Should I? You don’t strike me as the sort of guy someone should be feeling sorry for. How is it that you have no extended family?’
‘First, I’ll take it as a compliment that you think I’m the kind of dominant guy people should fear, respect and admire instead of pity...’
‘Did I say that?’ But her mouth twitched with amusement.
‘And, second, I’ll tell you if you tell me. We can hold hands and have a girly evening sharing confidences...join me for dinner later. I’d love to get to know you better.’
Hot, flustered and suddenly out of her depth, Rose gaped at him like a stranded fish, scarcely believing her ears. She reddened, lost for words.
‘Is it a promising start that I’m taking your breath away?’ Arturo drawled, his voice rich with amusement.
‘No... I... You’re asking me on a date?’
‘You sound as though it’s something that’s never happened to you before.’
‘I...no... I’m very sorry, Mr Frank, but I...no. I can’t accept. But thank you very much. I’m flattered.’
‘Arturo.’ He frowned. ‘Why not?’
‘Because...’ Rose smoothed her wayward hair with her hand and stared off into the distance, all the while acutely aware of his dark, sexy eyes on her profile, making a nonsense of her level head and feet-firmly-planted-on-the-ground approach to life. She was no frothy, giggly bit of fluff but he was making her feel a bit like that and anyone would think that she was a giddy virgin in the company of a prince!
‘Because...?’
‘Well, it’s not appropriate.’
‘Why not? I may be about to join your cause, but you’re not my boss so no conflict of interest there.’
‘I...’ Rose licked her lips and eventually looked at him, leaning against the open window. ‘I...’
‘You’re not married. You’re not wearing a wedding ring.’
‘Observant. That’s hardly the point, though.’
‘Boyfriend?’
‘No...not that it’s any of your business, Mr Frank. Arthur. Arturo. Do you usually ask women you’ve only known for five seconds out on a date?’
‘How else am I supposed to get to know them for longer than five seconds if I don’t? So you’re not married, no boyfriend...gay?’
‘No!’
Arturo grinned and Rose was certain she was blushing furiously, her reddened cheeks thoroughly letting the side down. ‘Then where’s the problem?’
‘You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?’ Rose gathered herself and opened her door. It was very hot. A blazing summer afternoon, with the sun still high in the sky and the clouds little more than cotton wool puffs of white idly floating by. The land looked glorious and untouched. It was a short walk to get to the site where the protestors had set up camp. Yes, she could have driven there, but it was easier to park here and a nice day for walking. Except now she would be walking in a state of nervous tension.
‘Is that a crime?’ Arturo had followed her out and he looked at her, still grinning.
‘I’ve never been attracted to men who are too sure of themselves.’
‘Challenging observation...’
‘That’s not my intention! You’re here to...support us! And I won’t be going out with you because... I’m not interested in any sort of relationship at this point in time.’
‘Who’s talking about a relationship?’
‘I don’t do casual sex.’ Rose was staggered that she was having this conversation, but she had yet to meet a man who was open about what he wanted and surely he couldn’t want her because, rich or poor, he had the sort of charisma and good looks that would guarantee him a spot in any woman’s little black book.
So why her?
But heck, was she flattered? It had been a while since her last disastrous relationship, a while since she had felt like a woman. And, if she was honest, even Jack, earnest and brimming over with admirable integrity, hadn’t made her feel like this.
‘I thought I just mentioned having dinner,’ Arturo murmured, which made Rose feel her cheeks flush what was surely an even deeper shade of red.
‘You’re playing with me,’ she said sharply. ‘And I don’t like it.’
Their eyes tangled but Rose refused to be the first to back down even though she wanted to.
* * *
Art was learning what it felt like to be politely but firmly pushed to the kerb.
‘Tell me about the protest,’ he encouraged, changing tack, matching her gait with his and releasing her from the stranglehold of her embarrassment as they continued to walk towards the distant horizon. ‘How many people are there at the site?’
‘Ever been on a protest before?’
‘I can honestly say that I haven’t.’
‘Well, I’m glad that this is of sufficient interest to you to get you motivated into doing more than just sitting on the sidelines and sympathising. So many people have strong views about something and yet they never quite go the distance when it comes to doing something about those views.’
‘What made you choose employment law over something better paid?’
‘Because money isn’t everything! And I’m taking it that you feel the same as I do.’
‘Money can often be the root of all evil,’ Art hedged. ‘It’s also pretty vital when it comes to putting food on our plates.’
‘I like to think that in my job I’m helping other people put food on their plates.’
‘And you’ve always worked for yourself or did you work for a bigger company after you graduated?’
‘You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?’ But she seemed flattered by his interest.
‘It’s the only way to get to know someone.’ Art had the grace to flush. He was here for a purpose though and with him the practical would always take precedence over any unruly conscience. Vast sums of money were at stake and he was only trying to make his point of view known to a group who probably thought that their opinion was the only valid one on the table.
A rich diversity of opinion was a bonus in life. By subtly introducing a different viewpoint to theirs, he would effectively be doing her and all of the protestors there a laudable favour.
‘Nearly twenty-five,’ Rose told him briskly, walking fast, each stride determined and sure-footed.
‘Nearly twenty-five what?’
‘You asked how many protestors there were on the site. Nearly twenty-five and growing by the day.’
‘And what lovely days we’ve been having...’
‘They’d be here come rain or shine,’ Rose informed him tartly and he grinned at her.
‘And quite right too. Nothing worse than a protestor who packs up his placards and heads for his car the minute the skies open.’
‘I can’t tell when you’re joking,’ Rose said, pausing to look at him.
‘Oh, I’m very serious about being here indeed. Make no mistake about that,’ Art said softly.
‘And how long do you plan on staying?’ She began walking again and he fell in beside her.
‘I reckon at least a few days, maybe longer. Perhaps a week or two
.’
‘Getting first-hand experience of putting your money where your mouth is.’ Rose smiled. ‘I commend that. The camp’s just up ahead. We’ve managed to get running water and electricity going. It’s been a nightmare but where there’s a will there’s a way and, like I said, there are a lot of people with a lot of talent who have been keen to help us out.’
Art was looking at a collection of makeshift dwellings. Tents rubbed shoulders with slightly more solid constructions. There was an elaborate portable toilet. People were milling around. Children were playing. It was, he had to concede, a wonderful campsite, dissected by a clear, bubbling stream and surrounded by trees and flowers. It was, however, a campsite on his land.
Clearly much loved and admired, the second they were spotted, Rose was surrounded by people, young and old alike. She was part and parcel of the community and Art could see the warmth of the supporters surround her like a blanket, seemingly reaffirming her belief in what they were doing—saving the land for the locals. Several dragged her along to have a look at some new ideas for placards. One old guy involved her in an elaborate discussion about some legal technicality, which she handled with aplomb and a great show of interest, even though he could somehow tell that she was answering his questions automatically.
No one paid the slightest bit of attention to him.
He was introduced, of course, and he, likewise, was shown yet more placards to add to the already healthy supply in evidence.
‘Very artistic,’ he contributed to one of the middle-aged women who had carted him off to one side. ‘I like the...er...’
‘Drawings?’ She delightedly pointed to the illustration of stick figures holding placards showing stick figures holding placards. ‘I’m trying to convey the idea that all of this is a never-ending problem which will just keep recurring until everyone feels as passionately about the countryside as we do.’
‘Very imaginative.’
The Tycoon’s Ultimate Conquest Page 3
