The fresh, crisp fragrance of his cologne filled her senses as he kissed her back with exquisite tenderness, holding her gently against his hard body.
Gradually their kisses slowed, keeping each other from hurtling over the brink of desire, and he raised his hands to lift the length of her hair. He let it fall softly through his fingers, fanning a cool, spine-tingling breeze on the warmth of her neck.
She shuddered against him as he cupped her face. “We have something special together,” he said, brushing his lips again to hers. “But I want to keep it hidden from prying lenses.”
“This is all new to me.” She shivered at the thought of paparazzi innuendo spoiling these magical new feelings.
He stilled, suddenly serious. “Chopper House,” he said. His thumb traced her lips. “We’ll go on Friday, take an early weekend.” His thumb continued in another lazy circle. He dipped his head to take her mouth once more with his.
“That sounds serious,” she murmured against his lips. She liked the kissing, but a weekend at his private haven? Couple territory surely. “Why do you want to go there?”
“We need some guaranteed privacy. Just a long date with no worries.”
That made sense as images of cameras hidden behind darkened city windows worried her again. “It’s a date,” she whispered, melding her lips with his as the feel of his mouth smothered all caution.
He smiled, looping his finger again through the orange fastener at her collar. “Bring this dress,” he said, huskily Irish, against the pulse at her neck. “I’ve unfinished business with the zipper.”
Rosco-fizzes flipped low in her abdomen as he buttoned up her coat for her. He had such a talent for wrapping her up, warm and cared for. Special.
She floated, his hand again claiming hers as they descended the stairs, and when he left her briefly to collect his coat, she picked up the bowl of gerberas, with tears misting her vision.
The glass was smooth and cool beneath her fingers, the vibrant flowers a riot of discordant color against the red of her coat. Just like her life, a mix of light and dark.
“I love the flowers,” she said, hugging the bowl as Rosco rejoined her. “Thank you for today.”
“My pleasure,” he murmured, grazing the back of his hand down her cheek. “To be continued.”
He moved to the door and peered through the security glass.
“No one outside.” His tone was suddenly grim, throwing her back into reality. He opened the door, letting in the cool autumn breeze, and quickly scanned the street. “All clear. Follow me.”
Kitty kept her head down just in case he was wrong. Her skin goosed creepily as the possibility of unseen eyes observing them spoiled the last of her pleasure. Going away, and into hiding, couldn’t come soon enough.
…
The next two days were a blur as she worked to clear her calendar.
Then on Thursday morning, a bottle of award-winning red wine was delivered to her apartment.
The attached card featured a cheeky cartoon helicopter and a handwritten message:
London Heliport at 8 a.m.
Relax and sleep well, Kitty.
He’d sent her wine, a powerful message. He trusted her with alcohol. Was prepared to buy it for her.
She took a deep breath and hugged the elegantly boxed bottle to her chest. She’d take it with her, drink it with him, so to speak.
Her preparations started Thursday afternoon. She would need an early start to beat the traffic to the heliport.
Soon clothes were strewn across her bedroom, escaping out into her studio, as combinations were selected and rejected.
In the end it was a no-brainer. Her “courage” boots. Her orange zipper dress. A new silk wrap made for dancing, and anything else that made her feel her most sexy. Her usual urge to deny herself the complications of intimacy, to keep business and private life separate, were buried under the sensations Rosco aroused in her body. It was just for the weekend, she told herself. Nothing more. They’d agreed time and again neither was looking for a long-term commitment. She’d enjoy this while it lasted.
They were sure to be out of the media glare for the weekend, and Trinity St. George was not part of their shared contracts. She could take some risks.
Kitty woke early on Friday morning and drove her Citroën out of the Brick Square carpark before first light. The back of her neck prickled with anticipation as the automatic doors clanged shut behind her.
Chapter Thirteen
Rosco broke his stride as he approached the heliport carpark and watched Kitty unfold her long, elegant, boot-clad legs from her little Citroën 2CV. She leaned against the car, thumbing through her phone messages, wearing a sexy red coat cinched at her waist. Her hair, in a high ponytail, swung as she tapped her feet in the cool morning air, and his heart jack-hammered at the sight of her.
She was a picture. No wonder the media had published and re-published those photos of them together. Guilt hit him.
Double guilt. He’d gotten her into this, and now he was hiding the whole truth. His secret belief the Sandford Palace deal would require Kitty to interview with him gnawed at him. She was still vulnerable to tabloid interest. Because of him.
He cursed his lack of vigilance inviting her to such a public place and rapidly scanned the area for cameras. There were none he could see, but he hurried toward her. She looked exactly like the image he wanted to project for his business. Any crazy media attention would suit his business interests fine. But the sooner they were safely in the air and away from prying eyes, the better for her.
“Good morning, Gerbera Girl,” he said, running his hand down the length of her ponytail, tugging it lightly.
“Rosco,” she whispered, her voice husky as she steadied herself against his chest, one hand still holding her phone. Her body shivered in response to his touch, and he reveled in the feel of her.
“I’ve missed you,” he murmured, and kissed her lips as soft as a ripe peach beneath his.
“Missed you, too,” she murmured back.
Then they ran, laughing, to his helicopter. Rosco carrying her jam-packed camera bag and Kitty carefully balancing a large Brick Square cake tin.
He hovered protectively as she climbed into the chopper, strapped on her safety harness, and reached for the passenger headset. She knew what she was doing.
He closed the door, cocooning her from the world, and ran around the chopper to take his seat beside her. “You’ve flown before?”
“Twice. I had a London-from-the-air assignment.” She grinned, her excitement for his own passion for flying kicking again at his heart. “Awesome views.”
“The best,” he agreed, and started his pre-flight procedures. She filled the cockpit with her soft floral fragrance, and he had to work hard to summon his usual focus.
Kitty gave him the thumbs-up as the headphones between them switched to live, and he returned the gesture, relishing her enthusiasm.
Then he returned his concentration to takeoff. They floated vertically with barely a lurch, leaving the helipad behind and heading for Wheatbridge Village.
Later, as the house came into view, his usual thrill was magnified by the enormity of what he was doing. He’d never brought a woman here before, but now it was hugely important that Kitty loved it. And that she felt special and safe.
The isolation and privacy of the property was one of its greatest features and even more of a plus, given their recent publicity. The thatched roof cottage, helipad, and hangar were unmistakable from the air, but nicely hidden from the road, amongst trees.
Rosco jumped down from the chopper as soon as it was safe and jogged around, bending low to take Kitty’s hand as she climbed out.
He collected her bag, handed her the cake tin, and put his arm around her shoulders as they walked across the grass to the cottage. She strode beside him, looking around with obviously genuine interest, and he lowered his arm to her waist, pulling her close as they entered the small covered porch.
“Welcome.”
Excitement tingled along his spine as her body responded to his. He wanted more, to hug and hold her, but without the luggage between them.
She kissed his cheek, keeping the contact between them gently bubbling as he unlocked the heavy wooden door, and he couldn’t wait to show her his hideaway.
He watched her turn a slow circle as she took it all in, filling the open-plan space with her femininity. She placed her cake tin on the large farm-style table and sighed with pleasure.
“It’s perfect.”
She looked so contemporary amongst the ancient timber joists and white-washed walls. And yet so right. He was glad he’d trusted his instincts to bring her here.
“More gerberas.” She sidestepped the sofas and bent low to touch the vase of flowers he had placed in the mullioned window overlooking the garden. “Where did you find them?”
“They’re not real. There’s a limit to the gerbera season, even in florist shops, I’ve discovered.”
Kitty stayed there and looked out the tiny window. “It’s all so timeless. I can imagine men and women living here through the centuries, loving and trusting each other enough to raise a family against whatever obstacles nature threw at them.” She sighed, and he caught her sadness.
She turned slowly back to him and smiled. “Thank you, the flowers are a lovely thought.”
“Nothing fake about the thought,” he said as her golden-brown eyes met his softly across the room.
He smiled and reluctantly broke the contact. He didn’t want to hurry his plans. The things he wanted to say, to do, needed to be done properly. “We have all mod-cons.” Damn, he sounded like a cheery hotel proprietor. “Plenty of hot water, a shower, central heating as well as the fireplace.
“I’ll show you your room.” He lifted her bag and led her down a tiny hallway. “Bathroom and two bedrooms down here,” he said over his shoulder. “But we’ve just finished a third one up in the attic.”
He climbed up ladder-like steps, her heels clicking sensuously behind him, and took her into a large, coved-ceiling room, snug in the thatched eaves of the house.
Whitewashed, with heavy cotton curtains at the windows, it was furnished with character: an iron bed frame and old wicker furniture.
He placed her bag on the bed and moved to the center of the room, where the attic ceiling was just high enough for him to stand.
“It’s lovely.” She looked around with gratifying pleasure. “Almost like a playhouse. So charming.”
“It suits you, then, Kitty. We have something special between us.”
“We do.” She nodded, speaking slowly.
Her cheeks flushed pink in the confined space, and the tension between them relaxed at little as he pushed his hands into the pockets of his coat and looked straight at her sparkling brown eyes.
He needed to make sure she understood him. “I do want to know you more, and you’re perfectly safe with me.”
“Yes.” She shrugged her shoulders. “No paparazzi, anyway.”
“It’s our weekend, our special world. Work and the whole damn circus of life, are on hold.”
“Sounds tempting. You undermine all my best business instincts, Rosco.”
He knew exactly what she meant. “It’s a deal, then.”
“Deal,” she said, a warm tide of heat smoldering in her eyes. His fists clenched as he fought the need to hold her. Time to slow down again. He steadied himself, determined to keep to his plan. He didn’t want to rush.
“Tea next,” he said, rubbing his hands together and grabbing hold of his hosting role with relieved gusto. “I’ll get it ready while you unpack.”
“Milk, no sugar, please.” She waved him out of the room. “Your first new Kitty fact.”
“Don’t be long.We need to get out and about while the weather holds.”
He clattered down the stairs, glad to escape. Kitty and a bed tucked in eaves of his cottage was a dream he couldn’t have imagined a few short days ago.
A few minutes later, when Kitty joined him in the living room, he held his arms out to her and she walked straight into his hug.
Her hair was soft against his cheek and she sighed, hugging him hard. The gift of sharing this “special thing” between them was too delicious a temptation to resist.
He cradled her head, smiling lazily at her. His lips found hers. Kitty swayed against him on her heels. He held her tightly, and she took him—heart, mind, and body—straight back to the melting closeness they’d shared in his home office.
“You’re warm now,” he murmured. “Let me help you with your coat.” She stood still for him, time meaninglessly slow, as he untied the belt of her trench.
“Just what I wanted, Rosco. You unwrapping me.”
“Nothing else on my mind since I first saw you this morning.”
He stepped behind her, helped her shrug out of the coat, and bent close to feather a kiss on the back of her neck. The scent and feel of her overwhelming his senses. “If I touch you again we’ll never get to the next item on my list.”
Kitty twisted around, found his mouth, and snatched a quick, soft kiss of her own. “Let’s slow that list down a bit.” She nibbled at his bottom lip, and he dived into the kind of kiss guaranteed to derail his control.
When breathing became a necessity, he forced his mouth from hers but still hugged her close, fighting the need for her. “You’re too tempting for a country boy. We have some country chores to do that can’t wait.”
“Then we should stop.” She wrenched away from him with a soft laugh, flipping her ponytail and taking her coat. “What’s next?”
“Tea and cake. Keep our energy up.” He strode to the kitchen, determined to control the pace of his plans.
He made the tea as Kitty tossed her coat over the sofa and opened Meg’s cake tin. Rosco joined her at the table and they sat side by side, knees touching, and explored the selection of sweet treats.
Kitty chose a bite-size square of cake. “This is my favorite. Ginger spice cake wrapped in almond marzipan.” She nibbled one corner and leaned closer to him, holding the treat to his lips.
He placed his hand over hers, tasted the cake with a murmur of approval, and Kitty popped the final morsel into his mouth. He licked Kitty’s sweet, sticky fingers and savored the taste and feel of her so close beside him. He drew out the moment as long as he dared, then broke the contact to drain his mug of tea.
Time to move or he never would. “Let’s walk. There are coats and boots in the closet for us.”
“Walking is next on your list?” she said, standing and smoothing her clothes. She was wearing leggings and a tunic dress, what he was starting to think of as “Kitty-short,” black and fastened at the shoulders with rows of multi-colored buttons.
He stood slowly, unable to resist touching her, and ran his fingers lightly up her arms. He rested his hands at her shoulders, his fingers toying with the smooth round buttons fastening her tunic. “You’ve brought such color to my life. Such a big difference in such a short time.” It was true, yet unbelievable. He rubbed his cheek against hers. “I want to show you my private world. It looks best on foot.”
…
Kitty needed to touch him again. She stretched and curled her arms around his neck. “No camera then. Just you and me.”
He curved his arms at her waist, pulled her closer, hugging her hard. She hugged him back. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”
He took her hand and led her to the back porch. She giggled as her feet swam in a pair of Wellington boots several sizes too big and already encrusted with mud. “Instant farm girl.”
Rosco helped her into a padded jacket that reached down over the top of the boots. She laughed again, dangling the sleeves well beyond her hands. “No need for gloves.”
She rolled up the sleeves and waited while he put on his own boots and coat then slung a small rucksack over one shoulder.
“Chopper first.” He grabbed her hand. “We need to secure it for the night. Ea
siest now before it rains.”
Kitty stumbled across the grass beside him, adjusting her stride as her feet slipped in her boots. He looked so different out of his crisp city clothes—a different kind of competent—but still Rosco.
She loved this version of him, manly in jeans and hunting jacket. And sexy.
She hoped Rosco couldn’t read her mind. Because the only thing she’d wanted since he’d tugged her ponytail hello was to be in his arms. His hands on her body. His lips kissing hers.
He made light work of jacking up the chopper and pulling it into the hangar. They clanged the doors shut together, and he grabbed her hand again.
“What’s next?”
“A landlordly walk around the boundaries.” He grinned and puffed out his chest. “We’ve eleven acres.”
It was pretty land, green and gently undulating. Kitty stopped to admire one view across the countryside to a picture-book village, complete with church spire. “This is my favorite spot, the main reason I bought the property.”
He veered away from the perimeter fence, steering her toward some trees. “I thought we could have lunch in the woods.” It was a slightly grandiose description for a small stand of trees, and she laughed with him as she followed him along a rough, well-worn path into a small clearing.
She shivered against a sudden feeling of entrapment. This would be a perfect place for paparazzi to hide. She placed her hand on Rosco’s back to rid herself of the idea of being watched. The whole reason he’d chosen Chopper House for their date was because of how out of the way it was. And surely the paps had to be on to some new prey now.
The path eventually led to an old but comfortable-looking wooden bench, and they sat together with a sigh, Kitty falling with an ungainly Michelin Man-like bounce in her oversized jacket.
Rosco steadied her with a grin and opened the rucksack at his feet to produce a quick picnic. “Sandwiches and Coke for me. Muesli and red wine for you.”
He opened the small bottle of wine and handed it to her. “Chocolate coated,” he said, then tore the wrapper off the muesli bar.
Tangling with the London Tycoon Page 14
