“I had chocolate and red wine with my sister,” Kitty said.
“The media drove you to drink?”
“Yep.”
He must have looked shocked, because she frowned and then softened it with a small twinkly smile. “It’s okay, boss. I didn’t get drunk. No issues with my work skills today.” She held her hands out in front of her. “See, no shaking.”
She was back to teasing him. Managing him. The flippancy didn’t gel with the focus he’d seen in her work yesterday. Suspicion made him hyper-vigilant. He had a lot at stake here.
“What about this morning, Kitty? You were late. Were you followed?”
Chapter Five
Kitty’s skin goosed up as Rosco’s gaze concentrated on her. Was the man a mind reader?
Fortunately, the arrival of their lunch allowed her to stall for time. Sandwiches and tea were beautifully presented on wooden platters, with a sharply modern teapot to match the stylish chrome-and-glass furnished meeting room.
She faced him across the table and felt twelve years old again and in trouble at school. Back then she’d talked too much. Now, she wasn’t going to repeat that mistake.
“No.” It was the truth. She had no proof she had been followed.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” She ramped up the confidence in her tone and crossed her fingers under the table, hoping he couldn’t actually read her mind.
She’d keep her disquiet to herself. It hadn’t occurred to her to suspect she would be followed until she’d noticed a green car once too often. It had stopped with her at a breakfast café and seemed to keep just behind her on the motorway. But when she turned off toward the village she hadn’t seen it again.
“Why would I be followed? I’m not important and no one knows who I am.” She was probably imagining it, anyway. Yesterday had stirred up more childhood memories than she was prepared to admit, even to herself.
“That’s grand. I was worried for you.”
“Grand,” said Kitty, rolling the word on her tongue. She wasn’t convinced his concern was for her. More likely for his precious business. But the softness of his Irish “grand” curled around her heart somehow. Foolish, but she suddenly wanted to know about it. “There you go being Irish again. Your sisters don’t sound like you.”
He pursed his lips, and an awkward silence lengthened between them as she reached for a sandwich and nibbled at a frill of lettuce overflowing from the creamy filling.
“I’m sorry, that was inappropriately personal. I guess we’re on paid-contract time now. Although you did comment on my T-shirt.”
He began to pour two cups of tea. “My father was Irish,” he said quietly, and with unmistakeable reluctance. “We all moved to England before the girls were old enough to acquire an accent. I haven’t quite lost mine, I’m told.”
His father. Of course. Clear to anyone who’d grown up with a family. Obviously not her. She’d touched a nerve when she hadn’t meant to. “I’m sorry I asked. Of course, you will all be thinking of your father at this time.”
“Aye. A daughter should be able to rely on her father to look after her at her wedding,” he said, with a touch of the brogue roughening his words.
“In an ideal world.” She nodded as diplomatically as possible, but personally she couldn’t see the need for either the wedding or the father.
It was just like her to blunder into taboo subjects.
Rosco handed her a cup of tea, and their fingers brushed with a fizz of heat she couldn’t control. A reaction to the arresting combination of his charming accent and smile that had no place in their working relationship.
Kitty looked away, biting into her sandwich and dousing the heat with the cold reality of their situation. She needed this job for her financial future. Rosco needed a professional wedding album and her discretion as his decoy love interest to protect him from the paps. That was more than enough to concentrate on.
“It’s a complicated time. Nothing ideal about it. Your support with the media was appreciated.” He was back to business, too.
“Glad to help.” Her remembered anger at the paps scooted along her veins. “They were vile. It’s totally unjust to hound people the way they do.” She took a breath, watched him watching her, and pulled back on her passion. “It’s an unethical misuse of photography,” she said, hoping he didn’t ask for any more personal reasons for her distaste. Just because he was her employer and she was supporting his privacy didn’t mean he had to know her life story.
“Unprofessional. Yes.” He took a sip of tea. “Persistent? Unfortunately, also a yes,” he continued, and then bit down on a man-sized beef sandwich.
Kitty looked away, diverted from their shared cause by the closeness of Rosco in his smart navy suit and crisp blue shirt. Perfect with those matching blue eyes.
It was a fine autumn day, with the trees outside just turning to russet and gold. A ray of pale sunshine shone through the window beside them and glinted the same tones in Rosco’s warm brown hair.
“You’re worried they’ll crash the wedding, aren’t you?” she said, dragging her thoughts back to the task at hand and away from fanciful ideas of sunshine and a handsome man.
“I don’t worry. I prepare. I’m vigilant.” He speared her with a hard glance and took another bite of food.
Kitty waited while he ate, fueling his resolve, and her throat constricted as he swallowed. She’d felt an exciting rush of adventure when she successfully duped the press. But she didn’t fancy having to do it again. Risking her privacy.
“We’re safe today. Your performance seems to have concentrated attention back in London. But Titania is a risk we can’t calculate.”
“I’m sure you have a contingency plan for tomorrow, Rosco.”
“Of course I do,” he said, a determined glint in his eye revealing a hint of something like her secret excitement. Interesting.
“Good. We can concentrate on the wedding prep now.” She wanted to keep her professionalism front and center to ensure he would agree to view her future project submissions.
“Very good,” he said. “Back to business. Your expertise and my supervision.”
She worked hard not to groan and took a gulp of tea. She’d swallow the supervision jibe to keep the peace.
“To a matchmaking-free partnership,” she said, unable to resist annoying him back. “Ethel thinks I need you for photography supervision, and I promise to keep you busy whenever confetti looks like it’s being tossed your way.” She grinned at him. “Can’t think of anything worse than being married off myself.”
“Me, either. Not to any woman,” he said with exaggerated horror. He emphasized the “any” in a way she read was to ensure she knew he was including her.
She smothered a smile at this uncharacteristic glimpse into his private life, and resolutely ignored a ridiculous stab of hurt in her heart at his implied rejection of her.
“No one,” he continued. “Not the aunts’ idea of a domestic goddess, however well intentioned. And especially not with Titania. Publicity hell, that one.”
“Quite an issue for you,” she said, considering him over her tea cup. “You haven’t strung that many words together since we met.”
“All part of this wedding madness,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “There’s more to it than you need to know.” He ended the topic and was back to his bossy business best. “I’m still concerned about the group work at the wedding. The best man uses a wheelchair. You’ll need to accommodate that height differential in your work.”
“I was an official photographer for the last Para-Olympics.” She could do business-speak Rosco-style anytime he wanted. “It’s a composition challenge but not a problem. You can see some of my athletes’ group shots on my website.”
He merely nodded curtly as he tidied the paperwork spread out on the table into his briefcase. Another test passed.
“But I’m keen to hear your ideas,” she said, surprised how much she meant it. Not that ideas m
eant advice. But this was a very personal event for his family, and getting it right meant keeping her ego and prejudices out of the picture. “What is your itinerary for this afternoon?”
“I want to start here at the inn. The reception will be in their main event area, which includes outside seating leading down to the river.”
He led Kitty out of the room and walked purposefully through the complex with that masculine stride of his.
The inn and its event facilities looked stunning. And expensive. They had the charm and character of bygone years combined with all the modern conveniences any wedding event would need. Photographically, it posed no challenges for Kitty.
“Just speeches and cake cutting here, Rosco?”
“Yes. And more table shots than usual would be good, too. The rest of the chairs will be the same height as Russell’s wheelchair. Not that I want to hide the wheelchair. It isn’t a problem for me or for Russell. I just want the best photos.”
Kitty checked his face to see if he was teasing her about her group work skills, but she saw only concern for equality and quality. His blue eyes were earnest as they met hers, and she had to fight again against that goosefleshing magnetic pull of him.
She rubbed her arms to warm them. “Where to next?” she asked briskly.
He led her back to the carpark to a black SUV. “We’re having our rehearsal at the church in thirty minutes. We have just enough time to get there.”
He clipped his safety belt and checked hers before driving off smoothly, his hands strong and capable on the steering wheel.
The hum of the tires on the quiet country road filled the silence between them, and Kitty grew acutely aware of him in the confined space of the car. Workplace attractions were on all the no-no lists. And all males had manly hands and drove cars. Whatever was the matter with her? She looked away from his body, so close to hers, and concentrated on the passing scenery.
The green fields and twisting lanes were beautiful, but it was the history in the dry wall fences and ocassional heritage building she loved the most. When the ruin of an ancient church came into view it demanded to be photographed.
“Stop!” she cried, and he screeched to an immediate halt, flinging his left arm out in front of her to cushion the forward thrust of her body.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, turning to her with concern.
“No.” She shook her head, pointing back over her shoulder. “The ruin we passed. Go back.”
He gave her an annoyed sort of smile. “Don’t do that again,” he said irritably. His arm still rested close to hers, almost touching, protective. “I thought you were in trouble.”
“Sorry,” she said, chastened and confused that she’d worried him somehow. “I tend to fly off like that when I’m in work mode.” He pulled away from her and put the car into reverse. “I guess you don’t lose control.” It was a statement. She already knew the answer.
He shook his head. “I don’t like surprises when I’m driving. I’m not a mind reader.”
Good. Just as well he couldn’t read her unprofessional thoughts about how cute he was when he was cross.
He checked his watch. “We don’t have time for this stop. We need to keep to schedule.”
“This ruin is perfect for photos. Amanda would love it.”
He gave her an exasperated look and backed the car to the field gate opposite the ruin. Kitty turned again to look out the window and hid a smile. He genuinely did want the best for his sister.
“I’ve driven past this a hundred times but never really looked at it.” He grunted as he leaned over her to get a better view of the ruin, and her mind veered off its professional focus again.
“You’re right,” he conceded, so close she could smell the subtle citrus of aftershave again. “You’ve got a good eye.”
“Let’s get a closer look,” she said as she started to unbuckle her seat belt. The gate into the field was obviously unused, stuck open in the grass. “The one remaining arch would frame Amanda beautifully.”
He checked his watch again. “No. I’ll walk it later.”
“Right.” She sat back again, folding her arms. “Ethel isn’t here. We’ve only agreed to pretend I need your supervision when she is.”
“You might have fooled Ethel into some romantic notion. But between us, I’m still your contracting supervisor. My family. My responsibility.” He pulled back onto the road without another glance in her direction. Heavens, he was infuriating in full head-of-the-family mode.
He drove them directly to the gable-arched porch of the stone church and pulled up behind three cars already parked on the gravel driveway.
Immediately, Kitty was welcomed by Amanda, who introduced her to Andrew, her husband-to-be, and then to Russell, their best man.
Two bridesmaids, Amanda’s friends from London, minus Titania, were smiling in welcome. Cara hopped excitedly from foot to foot beside her mother. “I’m going to be a flower girl,” she said, swinging a practice basket of garden flowers.
She looked adorable, and Kitty exchanged fond smiles with Fiona and Amanda as their brother marched toward them.
“Thank you for working with Rosco,” whispered Amanda. “We know you don’t need supervision. But protecting Rosco from the aunts will be one less worry for us. He needs looking after in his own grumpy way.”
Amanda rolled her eyes as Rosco swept past them, and Kitty’s heart thrilled at the conspiracy between them. She liked Amanda and the way she used humor to manage her brother. Without the complications of a contract and a decoy romance, she would be thoroughly enjoying the friendship blossoming between them. Then the moment evaporated as Rosco called them all to greet the vicar, who was entering the church from behind the altar.
An elderly, cheerful man, he led them all through the service rehearsal at an easy, nerve-calming pace. And he allowed plenty of time for Kitty to plan her shots.
Rosco hovered in her peripheral vision, working hard, she suspected, not to interfere and invite a cheeky put-down from his sister. He obviously got on with Russell and Andrew very well. Heaven help Andrew if he didn’t.
There must be a story behind Rosco’s acceptance of Amanda’s choice of husband. A story that might answer some of her questions about what made Rosco Redmond tick. She needed all the info she could get to work out how best to interest him in her other photographic projects. She was also intrigued to know why his aversion to paparazzi and personal publicity was as fierce as her own.
And, if she were honest with herself, she wanted to know if he was a man worthy of all the heat and bother he seemed to cause her. He took charge again, confirming plans for the next day. Kitty would arrive at the family’s country house in plenty of time for some pre-wedding photographs.
Then, with addresses checked and phone numbers exchanged for any last-minute discussions, Rosco ended the get-together. He led Kitty quickly to the car and dropped her back at the inn. He said he had hours of work to catch up on and wished her a rapid good night. Kitty waved good-bye to him with some relief.
In just one day she had become entangled in a web of subterfuge, within the sort of family she had no experience with, and with a man who challenged both her independence and her hormone control.
She was obliged by a contract she knew she was lucky to have, her professional desire to give Amanda the very best wedding album, and her outrage at the paparazzi intrusion.
Add in her fears for her privacy, and the way flashes of humor from bossy-boots Rosco warmed her blood, and she was in way over her head. It was dizzying.
She needed some private time to escape the Redmond family wedding plans. It was just a job, after all.
Chapter Six
The next morning Rosco knocked loudly on Kitty’s hotel door and wished he could relax a little. He wanted to talk through any last-minute preparations and to escape the wedding mayhem, in equal measure. Ethel was still harping him about his bachelor status. He’d told her he was leaving to finalize the photography arrangements,
then sped away.
Kitty opened the door with one boot on her leg, one boot in her hand. Rosco didn’t know where to look.
So he stood still and took in everything about her.
Her long dark hair was loose and free, framing her lovely face. Her legs were, once again, sexy-long in black leggings and, so far, one thigh-high boot.
The rest of her outfit was black lace. A very short tunic-dress affair, heaven help him. Demure in coverage, sexy in outline, and slashed at the front from neck to hem with an oversized orange zipper.
Classy, edgy, individual. Very Kitty.
He’d never met a woman like her. The meltingly pretty face and soft heart of the proverbial girl next door. The sexy chic of a fashion model. All the more alluring because she seemed totally oblivious to it herself. And the hint of mystery, of a self-confidence built the hard way.
She hopped on her one-booted foot and opened the door wider for him to enter. Motioning for him to sit in the only chair, she plopped herself down on the edge of the bed to zip up the second boot.
“What are you doing here, Rosco?” Her tone was mild, but he caught the irritation of being disturbed.
“Watching you dress, apparently.” Surely she should have been ready by now. Pretending he wasn’t in the hotel room of a sexy woman seemed pointless. “Where’s your wedding outfit?”
“Waiting for the wedding.” she said with exaggerated patience, swinging the long fall of her hair away from her face and smoothing the length of it with her fingers. “I’ve ripped one of the skirt buttons. I’ll fix it before we leave.”
Was she carefree about everything? “Details and timing, Kitty. You need to take more care.”
“Nonsense. It’s nothing.” She smoothed her hair again, annoyance in every stroke. “Why are you really here?”
“To take you to brunch,” he said. “For our last planning meeting.” No point giving her a choice and the opportunity to say no.
Tangling with the London Tycoon Page 5
