Suddenly, that quiet sense of concentration was replaced by one of frenetic energy as Kitty set up the equipment she needed. She motioned for Amanda to stay in the chair where she was, then she stood back to assess her composition and nodded briskly.
She looked excited and totally immersed in her work. The muscles in his right leg started to cramp, but he resisted massaging the familiar, old-injury ache, a sure sign of tension he refused to acknowledge. He couldn’t take his eyes off the action.
Kitty stalked backward on those impossibly high heels toward the coffee table, her eyes never leaving Amanda. With quick, fluid movements, she peeled off her last layer of decent clothing, then scooped up her long dark hair and twisted it into a haphazard knot. It settled low on the creamy skin of her neck, above the skintight black-clad length of her.
There was nothing between her body and Rosco’s imagination. He ran a quick finger around the suddenly constricting neckline of his own shirt collar. He was hot. The fire, he decided, had been an unnecessary autumn indulgence.
Kitty crouched low with her camera to match the lens to Amanda’s eye level.
She clicked repeatedly, murmuring directions to Amanda, moving forward and back to get the portrait compositions she wanted.
Rosco admired her natural balance, perfectly in control of those high heels. Her long legs lithe and supple. Her breasts a palm-sized swell beneath her cotton top.
His jaw locked tight on another annoying wave of desire—he usually appreciated far more subtle female attractions. Women who knew how to cover up, their clothes expensive, tasteful, and rarely leaving their bodies in public. Nothing like Kitty’s take-me-or-leave-me skintight black. Her unselfconsciously sexy black.
And he only ever dated women as focused on their careers as he was on his own, women who weren’t looking for commitment and children. No one who sparked his emotions. His sisters, niece, and the late mother he owed everything to, were all the women he needed in his life. All he had time to care for.
“Relax, Rosco.” Fiona sighed, interrupting his thoughts as she came up behind him. “Everything is going to be fine. Mom would have loved Amanda’s wedding plans. She always said her own wedding was a big extravagant party. She’d want you to enjoy it all.”
Rosco threw her a quick smile in response. He wouldn’t dream of hurting his mother’s memory, but look where infatuation with their party-loving father had left her. Left them all.
Widowed and debt-laden. A single mother with three young children and little experience of the ailing publishing business she had inherited.
No. He wouldn’t trust anyone else with the rebuilt welfare of this family. His family.
Risk management was his plan for this wedding. The photographs would be perfect and totally private. This event was not going to degenerate into a public spectacle.
“That will do,” he said to Kitty, moving from the doorway. “Show me the screen.”
Kitty rose slowly, flicking through the shots, obviously looking for a superior one to show him first.
She held the camera out for him to view the screen, and he felt the blood-pumping pull of her. The temptation of spontaneity, of bare, willowy arms and softly swelling breasts, of her own particular brand of determined confidence.
He leaned in, aware of her soft, flowery perfume, and found excellent headshots of his sister.
He flicked through the shots slowly as Amanda looked over his shoulder.
“I love them,” said Amanda. “I told you they’d be wonderful, Rosco.” She punched his arm, laughing.
He nodded briefly at Kitty. “Good.” He wasn’t losing control with too much praise. “I’ll expect the same standard for the entire wedding. Full-length portraits and group compositions.”
He handed back her camera, careful not to touch her as she stood beside him in what he considered a state of undress. “I’ll still be personally supervising all photography. We’ll need to discuss the composition requirements of the best man, who uses a wheelchair—”
Amanda silenced him with a wave of her hand as her cell phone signaled a new message. “It’s Titania. She’s through customs and in her limo. She’ll be here in an hour.”
Rosco’s irritation level soared. Even her name got under his skin. It wasn’t the woman herself; he didn’t know her. It was all the nonsense around her.
“I don’t want her here.”
Amanda’s face fell before she rounded on him, as he knew she would. What was wrong with him today? He usually managed his sister more strategically.
“You’re not my father.”
Heaven forbid. “No, but I am custodian of Mother’s business. You know I can’t afford sensational publicity ruining the Sandford Palace contract.”
He didn’t bother to hide his groan of annoyance. He wanted Amanda to enjoy her wedding, but this meeting with Titania at his home wasn’t going to include him. The paparazzi were not going to have any reason to insinuate a pop star into his private life.
He wasn’t going to allow himself to be paraded in the press like the string of Titania’s past conquests. His businesses relied on investment integrity, not meaningless media notoriety.
He absorbed another glare from his sister and flicked off his anger, replacing it with the familiar power of action. “Amanda, of course you must enjoy your visit with Titania.”
He meant it, but he wasn’t going to be trapped by circumstances. “I’ll leave you to your wedding tea party. I won’t be here. I’ll ask Frank to bring the car around.”
“Kitty,” he said, choosing not to look at her barely-dressed curves as he punched his driver’s number into his cell. “Get dressed. We’re leaving together.”
He’d get her out and then get her some suitable clothes. It was time to cover her up.
“Your confidentiality and anonymity continue to have my guarantee as long as you follow my instructions when we get outside.”
He’d have to trust her to face the cameras again as his decoy. And this time—no touching.
Chapter Three
Kitty had no time to process Rosco’s demand before he snatched up their contract from the chair where she’d left it. “I’ll copy this for you. Keep us both aware of our expectations.”
She bristled as he turned on his heel and left them, allowing no opportunity for discussion.
But Amanda just grinned at her brother’s retreating back. “He always has to have the last word,” she whispered with an affectionate blend of irritation and respect.
Kitty watched him stride from the room, his infuriating confidence detracting nothing at all from the walk-away view. His perfect tailoring precisely outlining his masculine…attributes. Perfect butt were words she shouldn’t think.
Rosco was her employer. Full stop. And an alarming one, now that he required her to face the media scrum again. The thought of walking through a gaggle of photographers was already crowding out her professional pleasure in landing this contract.
There was no way he could guarantee anything.
She stifled a sigh, returning her attention to the bride-to-be, and passed over her camera. “Click through all the shots,” she said to both Amanda and Fiona, who had joined her sister standing by the fire. “Select any you want me to print for you.”
The two sisters, so alike with their long blond hair and friendly confidence, became happily absorbed in the gallery. “Mom would have loved these,” Kitty heard Fiona say with a fond smile in her voice.
Kitty turned away from their fond memories to slowly collect her equipment and repack her bag.
She needed to think.
This house, so like her mother’s, kept flicking up memories she didn’t want.
And Rosco, so appealing in his sharp suit. She needed to remind herself how unappealing men in suits could be when you got to know them. Her mother’s party friends had taught her that.
Her childhood held little of the care and respect she heard in the Redmond family. The image of Cara, her blond curls soft
against Rosco’s dark jacket, lingered in her thoughts. And envy stabbed her. Envy of a little girl who was loved by a man behind a safe family door.
Then the moment passed as she felt Rosco return, stirring the female vibe with his faintly disapproving masculinity. He didn’t even enter the room, just propped himself, long and lean, against the door frame.
He ignored Kitty and commanded Amanda’s attention. “Update me on Titania’s security arrangements. You know the media will be following everything about this wedding with her in the picture.”
“Don’t start lecturing me about that again.”
“It’s important, Amanda. You need to consider the wider implications for our family and business.”
“Titania has it all covered. She isn’t attending the rehearsal in Wheatbridge Village. She’s laying a false trail suggesting the wedding is here in London, and on the actual day she will have her own security to ensure the paps can’t get near the venues.”
Rosco moved closer to her, his voice a low burr of frustration. “Too late. The paps, as you so chummily call them, are already at our front door.”
Amanda clapped her hands. “It just makes everything more exciting.” She grinned up at her brother. “It’s all under control. Titania’s people are experts in handling these situations. You worry too much.”
Kitty watched Rosco’s cheeks flush a very irritated shade of crimson and felt a twinge of sympathy for him as she tried to hide her own concerns about the personal exposure.
“Kitty has no experience with this level of media attention your wedding is generating.” He dragged his hand through his hair and turned the full force of his authority onto Kitty.
“You will have to consider your every move over the next two days. If you have any doubts at all about your ability to handle that, you can leave right now, and I’ll find someone else.” Maybe she wasn’t hiding her own uneasiness as well as she hoped.
“I have international, award-winning photography experience and a signed contract with you.” She’d hold on to that contract like a life raft to ensure she stayed in this job long enough to prove her worth.
He faced her, combative with his feet apart.
“I’ve already told you,” Kitty emphasized, anticipating another strike against her trustworthiness. “I did not bring the paparazzi to your door. I do not live in the media world. They don’t know me.”
Heaven forbid Trinity St. George should ever disprove that. But he had assured her the wretched woman who knew her childhood secrets had nothing to do with this wedding.
“Furthermore” —she snapped her small light reflector closed and pointed it at him as he opened his mouth to continue what felt like a threatening assault on her contract—“I have worked in many politically unstable areas of the world and fully understand the politics of media attention and diplomacy.”
“I doubt your experience has prepared you for the duplicity of the paparazzi.” He undid his jacket and thrust his hands on his hips, leaning toward her.
“You’re quite wrong.” Phew. The impact of his arrogance and the sudden view of his taut, crisp-shirted body, threatened to sabotage her. “My extensive experience has honed my skills—forward planning, security, and strict “no comment” policies apply to all high-risk situations.”
She sounded like an over-hyped, best-deal-ever commercial, but when cornered, she talked. It had worked for her in the past, and right now words crowded her senses. The contract was secure, but her employer’s respect still seemed elusive.
He barely nodded, eyes cool, as his glare swept over her and stopped at the pile of clothes at her feet. “Get dressed. Frank is ten minutes away.”
No comment in high-risk situations played across her mind like a blinking neon sign as she turned away. Time to be quiet. And to once again shake off the way his cool glare churned up her childhood shame, especially in this house.
She completed packing her bag, threw on her clothes, and jammed her beret onto her head, all without another word passing between them.
Amanda broke the silence by handing back the camera along with a request for all the photos to be emailed so she could look at them with Andrew, her fiancé.
Kitty nodded, capped the camera, and looped it over her head, drawing on the familiar feel of it around her neck to bolster her courage.
“Hide that camera in your bag.” Rosco frowned at her.
That made sense—it did advertise her role here—so she complied without comment, and then Rosco moved forward to take the bag from her.
“My plan is to get us both out of here and away from the Titania visit.”
“So you leave with another woman. Me.” She glared at him, ignoring Amanda’s amused glances between them. “How does that protect my anonymity?”
“Keep your head down and say nothing.”
The contract flashed before her eyes again. She needed to hold on to it. Even if he was using her as an anti-Titania decoy, he obviously wasn’t going to admit it.
“Amanda, get Kitty some large sunglasses to wear. That will have to do until we can get her some suitable clothing.”
There it was again, judgment of her appearance. Her skin prickled with annoyance. What was he thinking, dictating her appearance? Surely way beyond employer rights. Was the man actually ashamed to be seen with her?
“What do you mean by ‘suitable’?”
“Professional. Covered up.”
She wasn’t conceding that, even if it did echo her own regret about wardrobe choices. “My clothes don’t affect the quality of my work.”
“They do affect your anonymity. Your clothes draw attention to you.” He racked a another quick glance at her body. “Follow me.” He turned on his heel.
But he didn’t get out of the room before the front doorbell rang—long, loud, and strident.
“Ah,” said Amanda as she rummaged in her handbag and produced very celebrity-looking shades for Kitty. “That will be Aunt Ethel. You can practice a few of the group shots Rosco mentioned earlier.” She winked wickedly. “I’ll get him to join us for them.” She paused a beat. “He’ll be thrilled.”
“There’s no time for that,” Rosco barked as the doorbell shrilled again.
Kitty stilled at the urgency in its tone and watched it have exactly the opposite effect on Rosco.
He strode out to the foyer and wrenched opened the door. An older woman almost fell into the house as Rosco once more slammed the door on paparazzi cameras.
“Good to see you, lad,” said the woman with a no-nonsense look about her stout boots and tweed coat.
“Aunt Ethel,” Rosco said, kissing her cheek with scrupulous politeness. “What news do you bring from the circus out there?”
“You and Titania.” His aunt slapped his shoulder in satisfaction. “About time, lad. I’ll just pop back out and confirm you’re a couple. Give the business a boost in the press, too.”
Rosco groaned and placed his body in front of the door. “Complete nonsense,” he told his aunt.
“That’s a shame. She’s a lovely gal. Never fear, I’ll match you up with one of the other bridesmaids at the wedding.”
Kitty watched as Rosco stood ramrod straight, every muscle on guard.
“That won’t be possible,” he said as Kitty noticed Amanda and Fiona, who had joined them, catch each other’s eye.
Fiona appeared quietly amused by the battle in front of them. But Amanda was struggling to contain her laughter. She doubled over, pretending to inspect the heel of her shoe, and shook with silent mirth.
Ethel, oblivious to their presence behind her, continued a tirade of romantic advice as she faced her nephew squarely, her handbag over her arm. Rosco took it all without comment, but a slow flush crept up his neck as his good manners obviously struggled against his exasperation.
“I’m sorry, Aunt. But I really won’t be free at the wedding,” he repeated. “I’ll be supervising the photographer.”
“That’s typical of you, Rosco,” she said
. “All work and no play. Been that way ever since you were a boy.”
A flash of pity warmed Kitty’s lingering annonyance. How awful to have family meddling in his personal life and undervaluing his work ethic.
Rosco didn’t comment further, but he didn’t deny it, either, as he turned to Kitty.
“Aunt, this is Kitty Mayfair. She’s inexperienced but basically technically proficient. We’re leaving now to prepare for tomorrow’s rehearsal photography at the Village.”
Basically technically proficient. His description triggered rebellion in Kitty’s heart. Her professional proficiency was her identity.
She shook Ethel’s hand as resentment curdled her blood, and she couldn’t help throwing a furious glance at Rosco. “Yes, I’ve a lot of supervised preparation work to do.”
Ethel eyed her suspiciously, her gaze flicking between them. “I’m beginning to get the picture here,” she said, with obvious amusement at her own photography joke. “It’s about time, Rosco. How long have you been working with this lovely young thing?”
Kitty recognized an opportunity to get some control back when she saw one. He needed to be taught a lesson.
And she decided, then, he needed saving from the sort of family interference she would loathe for herself, and found she inexplicably couldn’t bear for him.
So before Rosco could reply she linked a possessive arm with his and worked hard to relax her face into a contented smile. “Our collaboration is very recent. I’m very grateful for Rosco’s guidance.”
She ignored his rigid resistance to her touch and risked a small coquettish smile up into his ice-blue eyes.
“Why, that’s wonderful news,” cried Ethel, spreading her arms wide to embrace them both.
Rosco swallowed, painfully it seemed, and Kitty had to work hard to contain her amusement. Something Amanda was failing at miserably. She clapped her hand over her mouth and fled back into the living room.
At last Rosco found his voice. It was a little ragged to Kitty’s ears, but that gruff Irish burr could possibly be confused with passion if you were a smitten elderly aunt who didn’t know the truth.
“It’s a purely professional relationship, Aunt,” he said, withdrawing his arm from Kitty’s. “And I’d appreciate it if you kept that inappropriate gleam in your eye to yourself. It’s wedding business.”
Tangling with the London Tycoon Page 3
