Tangling with the London Tycoon

by Suzi Jennings

  He smiled into her shining eyes as their swaying stilled to match their breathing, his held suddenly, waiting for her next move. “Supervise away, Kitty.”

  She took his face in her hands. “Your aunt will expect some convincing passion,” she breathed into his ear.

  “A peck on the cheek.” She demonstrated.

  “An affectionate meeting of foreheads.” He met her halfway.

  “A playful kiss on the lips after a particularly romantic slow tune.”

  He took over. Couldn’t resist as his mouth found hers and he kissed her again. Soft, experimental.

  He felt her quiver against him as their lips clung just a bit longer than a practice for pretending required. Every fiber of his being focused on her lips—on the gentle pull of attraction.

  “Kiss, kiss, kiss,” said Cara’s voice, and they both jumped and peeled apart to see a slightly bedraggled little ballerina in the doorway, trailing a nearly-empty flower basket.

  She pursed her lips in an exaggerated pout and made several big smacking, smooching sounds. “Kiss, kiss, kiss,” she chanted and ran from the room.

  “Women,” he breathed. “Nothing but trouble from birth.”

  He should have known he’d suffer for abandoning his usual caution. A private kiss was very different from a public display with a family inquisition to follow.

  “Showtime.” Kitty grinned.

  He adjusted his tie, straightened his jacket, and offered her his arm.

  “Relax,” she said, looping her arm through his. “No one will guess you’ve just spent forty-five minutes under a table.”

  He led her out of the room into the short dim corridor but stopped before they opened the door to join the party.

  He needed to know what he’d missed during his time with Kitty. “I have to check in with security,” he said, hitting speed dial on his cell phone.

  They answered immediately. “Update,” he demanded.

  Gratifyingly professional, they had the precise information he wanted to hear.

  “Titania has left the party,” he reported, pocketing his phone. “No trace of any media anywhere, and security is still in place until the bridal party leaves.”

  He felt her relax on his arm. Sometimes he sensed she was as uptight as he was, despite her bubbly humor and the lust for life that still tingled where his lips had kissed hers.

  Questions about why she was so private nagged at him. It had to be more than who her father was. But he let relief at escaping any Titania-related gossip shots override his concern.

  He couldn’t afford Titania’s reputation as a social hell-raiser to be attached to him personally or to the business. The Sandford Palace contractors were looking for scandal-free credibility.

  Just this fake romantic dance with Kitty to get the aunts off his back and he’d be free. The last family wedding successfully negotiated. “Let’s get this over with.”

  They joined the party arm in arm, and he scanned the room, looking for his aunts.

  “This way,” he said, locating his family sitting in a group on the edge of the dance floor.

  Cara pursed her lips at the sight of them, enjoying the sound of several huge smooching noises.

  “My, what a wonderful goldfish you make, Cara,” said Kitty, joining in with another round of lip pursing and smacking.

  She removed her arm from his and bent down to Cara’s level, dancing an impromptu swimming stroke with the rhythm of his niece’s chanting.

  “Aunt Ethel,” he said, ensuring he had her attention for their performance. “Please look after Kitty’s bag while we dance. They’re playing my kind of music.”

  Kitty moved into his arms on cue, as soft and sexy as she looked, and he felt his worries recede and far more pleasurable tensions take over his body again.

  She moved in close, humming quietly to the schmaltzy tune as she placed her hands on his shoulders.

  Rosco couldn’t help himself, he pulled her closer and touched his forehead to hers. “Nice move,” she encouraged, winding her arms round his neck. “You’re a good man,” she murmured. Her mouth was right beside his ear, her breath warm and sweet. “You deserve to relax.”

  “You’re not a relaxing woman.” She might be at ease with her body, but she was all new to him.

  “I’m not relaxed enough?” she asked, mischievous.

  He groaned softly. “I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  She wriggled even closer, soft and pliant.

  Rosco lost audio on the band.

  All he could hear was the pounding of his own blood as she swayed against him.

  Kitty stirred, nuzzling into his neck. “Hold me closer.”

  He drew her hips to his and she leaned in, tightening her arms at his neck, linking her hands in his hair. He caressed the length of her elegant back, the lines long and smooth, then settled his hands on the soft lace fabric at her waist, spread his fingers over the small of her back.

  They rocked gently, her fingers softly massaging the back of his neck, languorous, seductive. He closed his eyes and let time slip away.

  Too soon the band upped the tempo to rock-pop and jerked him back to reality. He pulled quickly away, lessening their bond. His mind wanted to step completely away, but his hands still lingered at her waist.

  “This music isn’t for me,” he said. Just as well, as he was finding the pleasure of her in his arms all too enticing.

  “Just a little longer,” Kitty said, placing her hands over his at her waist. “Ethel, Kathleen, and a man I presume is Kathleen’s husband, are watching us. They look a little disapproving.”

  “Aye, that’d be right. There’s no pleasing them.”

  “There you go, all Irish again. Music to my ears.” She squeezed his hand. “Just one kiss, I think, to seal the deal.”

  He wouldn’t go there. It was too tempting. Even as his body strained to do as she asked, the business caution he relied on overruled desire at last.

  He risked a smile and a kiss to her cheek, then stepped away.

  “That will have to do them.” None of this was real.

  He turned away from her, blocking out the temptation. “Thirsty work this acting. Let’s find a cold drink.”

  …

  Kitty followed him to the bar, working hard to clear her head.

  He was right. She was thirsty, too, but the reason was him. He was hot.

  That private under-table kiss had those now familiar Redmond-induced goose bumps fizzing all over her body. His plump, juicy mouth too gorgeous to resist.

  It was just a kiss. But she’d never felt so cherished, even if it wasn’t for real. The peck on the cheek while dancing was obviously the reality of their decoy game. “It’s back to work for me,” she said after a few minutes, leaving her empty glass with him. And time to leave their performance behind.

  She had willingly agreed to this fake romance, it’d been mostly her idea, even. But their brief kiss was still imprinted on her lips, and it triggered feelings she’d never had before. Feelings totally at odds with her desire for a professional relationship with his publishing company. Feelings obviously not reciprocated when he’d given her a chaste peck on the cheek and practically abandoned her on the dance floor.

  It was over now. She left him with a small forced smile and headed across the room toward Ethel.

  “Thank you very much for looking after my bag,” she said, sitting in one of the now vacant chairs beside Rosco’s aunt.

  “Glad to help, my dear,” she said. “I’m pleased to see you dragged my nephew onto the dance floor. Damned cruel the way that leg holds him back.” She scowled.

  There was more to this leg injury than childhood adventure. Kitty looked around for Rosco but couldn’t see him. Curiosity nipped at her, but she didn’t want Ethel’s version of the story. She wanted Rosco’s.

  “He could have been in one of those wheelchairs himself.” Ethel sniffed, and Kitty heard genuine concern beneath the now familiar gruffness. “He’s a fighter, I�
�ll give him that.” She shook her head and tutted out a long sigh. “You have a good heart, my dear,” Ethel continued. “And you know how to wear a pair of heels—loved them myself years ago.” She smiled warmly. “Enjoy them while you’re young.”

  Kitty was moved. She leaned over and kissed Ethel’s cheek. “Thank you.” She smiled, raising her legs out in front of her and turning the boots from side to side to admire the heels.

  “Young Rosco won’t be able to resist them,” Ethel advised quietly. She winked. “Worth fighting for, that one.”

  “You’re distracting me from my work,” Kitty admonished. “I’ve got flower tossing and honeymoon escaping to record.”

  She scrabbled around inside her camera bag, selected camera and lens, and began her usual checking and cleaning routine. Her mind, however, was busy elsewhere.

  She wondered why Rosco wouldn’t talk about his leg injury. Why he was lucky not to be in a wheelchair? “The wheelchair boys are going to line up in a guard of honor at the end,” said Ethel.

  “What’s their connection to Andrew?” Kitty asked, realizing Ethel could be a mine of Redmond information.

  “Andrew is a sports physician. He also plays with the wheelchair basketball team they all belong to.”

  “Andrew plays wheelchair sport?”

  “Yes. Same as Rosco. Rosco is also Andrew’s patient. He’s always looking for the latest physiotherapy options.”

  “You sound very well informed, Ethel.”

  “The girls keep me up to date. We all worry about Rosco.”

  Kitty nodded, more information to process, more of Rosco to understand. She told herself her curiosity was because she wanted their business future to flourish.

  And she hoped she hadn’t jeopardized it with the sexy dancing and kissing. Their romance wasn’t real—she needed to remember that.

  Relief from her swirling thoughts arrived with the bride. Back to work.

  “We’re almost ready to leave, Kitty.”

  “Ethel just mentioned the guard of honor.”

  “Yes, we need to get on with that so the boys can get back to London in the team bus.”

  “Isn’t the bouquet throwing next?” She’d memorized the rituals, hoping to hide her total lack of wedding experience.

  Amanda nodded. “We’ll use the band’s microphone to thank everyone for coming and then I’ll throw my bouquet from the stage.”

  “It’s always such a fun thing,” said Ethel. “I remember when your mother caught mine.”

  Amanda took her aunt’s hand and held it gently. “We have the photos. It was a beautiful bouquet, and mom had exactly the same at her own wedding.”

  Family memories, age-old rituals which had never been part of my life, thought Kitty. She sighed as happy and sad mingled together.

  She slipped away and got to work deciding on her best angles. She was ready when Amanda and Andrew finally arrived on stage. Their thanks were heartfelt, and their obvious belief in the wonderful future ahead of them was palpable. Kitty only hoped, for once, life lived up to expectations.

  The bouquet was caught by one of the bridesmaids, but not without a spirited pretend attempt by one of the guys in a wheelchair to intercept it. He caused much laughter as he held up an empty hand in defeat, then zoomed back to his teammates to stand guard at the door.

  Kitty sped after them to complete her last volley of shots. Some low work showcasing the lines of wheels had an edgy-art look of its own.

  When Amanda and Andrew stopped to kiss between the lines of wheelchairs, the guys threw handfuls of rose petals into the air around them. It was a distinctive shot, soft flowers, metal wheelchairs, Amanda’s beautiful back, and a whole lot of fun.

  “Good luck,” Kitty whispered as she took the last photo.

  She stepped back, no longer part of the action, and let everyone surge past her as Amanda and Andrew ran for their car.

  “Great work, Gerbera Girl,” Rosco whispered in her ear.

  Kitty smiled. “Thanks,” she said with a burst of pleasure at his compliment and unexpected attention. “Where are they going now? I won’t tell anyone.”

  “To Chopper House. It’s about thirty minutes out of the village. I own it with two friends, and we’ve promised to leave them alone for a week.”

  “Chopper House?”

  “Helicopter. The three of us own the chopper, too; we’ve got a landing pad and hangar cover.”

  “I guess that means you’re staying at your mother’s house with Ethel.” She couldn’t resist teasing him, especially now that she understood how much of a soft spot his aunt had for her courageous, complicated nephew.

  Rosco pulled a face but didn’t seem to be genuinely bothered.

  “Do you live at Chopper House usually?”

  “Not often enough. It’s a sort of man-cave retreat for the three of us. Lots of chopper talk and steak eating.”

  Kitty shuddered, pretending to be horrified, but she was really delighted that he was talking so much about himself.

  “So you live in the townhouse, with the gold and purple decorations?” She was too curious about him to listen to her inner caution.

  “Yes.” He smiled at their shared subterfuge. ”The townhouse belongs to the family, and I live there most of the time.”

  Then a shout of laughter interrupted them, and they both rushed out as Amanda and Andrew prepared to drive away.

  Suddenly it was all over.

  Kitty’s energy sagged as she watched most of the guests slowly leave the wedding. Young women in party dresses, carrying their high heels, men with their suit jackets slung over one shoulder. Rosco’s aunts wiping away tears as they cornered him for a final round of family photos on someone’s cell phone.

  Sadness filtered through her tiredness. She’d done her best, put her heart into her photography, given Rosco the bridesmaid saving diversion he needed, and now the three days that felt like a lifetime were over.

  She craved the privacy of the drive back to London to think it all through before she processed her photographs and completed the wedding albums over the next few days.

  But Rosco walked toward her through the thinning crowd, his cell phone to his ear, and held up his hand to stop her from leaving with the last of the guests.

  His lips, so full and sexy just a short time ago, were now compressed in a serious straight line.

  Alarm stopped her in her tracks. “What’s wrong?”

  He stabbed at his phone, disconnecting the call. “Security. A guest broke my no cell phone photography rule and posted an image of us dancing on Instagram.”

  She stiffened and clenched her hand around the strap of her camera. “You and me? Are there comments?”

  He squinted at the screen. “Give me a minute to find it.”

  The man was prehistoric with technology. She couldn’t endure his fumbling. “Give it to me.” She grabbed the phone from him and thumbed her way to the image.

  The comments, tabloid-like in their brevity and disregard for privacy, goaded her. She’d been too smug about getting away with their aunt-fooling stunt. “London tycoon dances the night away. Is he next for matrimony? Way to go, Rosco. Who is his mystery woman?”

  Kitty shoved the phone back at him. “So much for my anonymity.”

  Rosco scanned the message with a grunt and stabbed his screen to cancel the image. “I’m happy with it. It’s only a head shot. Could be worse if that short skirt of yours was on display.” He raked a now familiar disapproving glance at her dress.

  “It’s only Instagram, not the news media, and your face is only partly visible.” His own face hardened, contradicting his stated acceptance, and her heart sank.

  “You’re happy with it.” The cheek. It was her privacy. Obviously for him it was just another strategic decoy shot.

  “Yes. This is why you needed to keep your dress zipped. I said I couldn’t guarantee the actions of others.”

  “You could sound more concerned. That dancing was for your family, for
your benefit.”

  “I didn’t ask for it.” Anger evaporated all her pleasure in the wedding and the fun of their decoy ruse. “You seemed a very willing participant to me. It’s just wedding madness. No one knows who you are.” His arrogance was back in spades as he gave her another controlling stare.

  “I may not be recognizable in the photo,” she conceded. “But I’m not fine with it.”

  “It’s over. Go home.” He strode away as his phone rang again, leaving Kitty glaring after him with a few choice words left unsaid.

  If only he were right. She snuck away to collect her things for the trip. The biggest prize she’d hoped to be taking back to London was her escape from the paparazzi.

  Now that threat wasn’t gone.

  Chapter Nine

  Rosco hit the motorway for London at dawn the next day.

  All the nonsensical paparazzi rumor mongering had developed a surprising positive twist.

  He’d checked his emails after the wedding to find an invitation to progress contract negotiations with the Duke of Sandford and Trinity St. George.

  They confirmed LJ Redmond Publishing had moved on to the next step on the short list process—an interview at their palatial heritage home.

  They particularly commented on Rosco’s discretion in handling the media during his association with Titania. His consistently prudent public image impressed them, and they were delighted to see, following his photo prior to his sister’s wedding, that he had a stable and suitably private personal life with his “mystery woman.”

  The final contenders for the contract would be listed on the Sandford website. The contest was to become a publicity event for the palace, a photo fest to attract visitors to the heritage site.

  Rosco gripped the steering wheel and let his rented Bentley hum along the empty motorway. Publishing was a tough business, and this development didn’t surprise him. He was up for the fight, and he felt a welcome wave of combative energy.

  Reviewing the contract details carefully, he remained convinced his proposal would ultimately succeed. He had a team of photographers and writers who had developed the preliminary proposal and were ready to go on the final project.