The trees encircled them with the air of an outdoor chapel, rich with earthy green aromas and only birdsong for company. She sat in silence, wine in one hand, muesli bar in the other, and watched Rosco as he chomped into his sandwich.
He looked like a man eating with purpose, fueling his energy, his gaze momentarily far away.
She sipped her wine, her fluttering tummy telling her she was going to need it. “Death,” she said with certainty. “Our parents’ deaths. They’re next on your list.”
Her body shrank farther inside her coat as she searched her heart for the extra courage she needed, sensing Rosco was struggling with the same challenge.
“Our under-the-table oath,” he said, his voice quiet and firm. “The same oath counts in this place. It’s as private as I’ve got, and you’re free to walk away whenever you want.”
He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a bunch of keys, and placed them on the seat between them. “My house and car keys. Your escape at any time. I can chopper back to London on my own.”
Kitty nodded, left them untouched. “Just you and me,” she whispered, tussling with trust and truth. “Kiss me,” she said.
“My pleasure.” His voice warmed with the hint of a smile.
She lifted her hands up and away from her face, still holding the wine and food. She was suddenly breathless at the tenderness in his eyes.
“Muesli again,” he said, his murmur a soft caress as he thumbed her chin, then kissed her lips. Lingering, caring, and questioning.
“Suicide,” she whispered. “Don’t move. Kiss me again.”
His lips stayed on hers, soft, soothing the knots twisting her heart. “My Kitty,” he said, pulling very slightly away, slowly running his hand through her hair.
She rested her hands on her lap with a sigh, steadying the wine and lulled by the rhythm of his fingers in her hair.
“Jacqueline killed herself. Drugs and alcohol. I bolted out of the funeral. It made the papers. Just one short splash of newspaper headlines; thank goodness, she was an out-of-date model by then. I left school as soon as I could.” She swallowed, the story somehow stuck in her throat. “Shock and shame.”
“Hell, Kitty. Did she die in her house? The one like mine?” His hand stilled in her hair, his eyes stricken and dark.
“No,” she assured him. The relief was plain on his face. “She chose a little hotel in Scotland.” She needed to get her story out. To finish it. “It’s demolished now, part of a new motorway extension. All gone.” She sipped her wine. “That’s who I am. An unwanted child. The daughter of a suicide statistic. I hated her.” The hurt of that hate stabbed, suddenly fierce in her memory.
“You were a child. You deserved so much more.”
“I grew strong on my own. I was safe on my own. Family skills aren’t part of my inheritance.” Another sip of wine helped dull the bitterness. “Two years at art college, courtesy of my absent father’s education fund. Then I was gone—overseas until Ralph talked me into returning to England.”
She bent down, put her mini-bottle of wine on the ground. “A few years later and it would still be all over the internet—that’s my only positive.”
“Mine, too,” he said, clasping her hand, pulling it into his lap. “I can’t imagine how much worse that would make it.”
He took a breath, waited a beat. “I was with him when he died.” His voice was low and hard and Kitty squeezed his hand, suddenly goose-pimpled with distress for the fourteen-year-old Rosco having to witness his father’s death.
“I’ve never been allowed to forget it. I’ve never been alone and able to forget it.” He flexed his right leg beside her, stretching it out in front of him, his thigh just touching hers.
“I’ve lived ever since with expectations.” He turned slightly toward her, his gaze faraway. “The family’s expectations that I revere his memory.” Bitter. His tone, so bitter. “My expectations of myself, to protect my mother from worry and grief. She’d suffered enough and there were three of us to care for and a business to run.”
Kitty’s heart clenched, and she leaned forward, kissed his cheek, returning his tenderness. “He was driving drunk. Showing off in his new car. I said he shouldn’t drive, but he laughed at me.” Rosco shook his head at the memory. “I thought if he made a mistake I could grab the wheel, keep us on track.”
Kitty held her breath. Waited with dread.
“He crossed the center line. He drove into an oncoming car. Both drivers dead at the scene. I was flung to the side, just my knee and thigh in the line of impact.”
“Rosco,” she whispered, her hand moving softly to his thigh. “Were you knocked unconscious?”
“My mother thought I was. But I remember it all. That smack of metal, the smell of oil, my father slumped over the tangled wheel. Violent, then surreally quiet until the sirens came.”
“Were you in pain?” How frightening, just a boy and all alone until help arrived.
“I don’t remember pain at the time.”
His bleak profile twisted Kitty’s heart. She slipped her feet out of the cold rubber of her Wellington boots and snuggled up to Rosco, hugging him close on the hard wooden bench.
He returned the hug, wrapping his arms around her, accepting her comfort.
“Two operations. I was tied to tubes and on morphine when the funeral was held.” He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “So glad I missed the funeral.” Bitter again.
Kitty nodded against his chest. “You don’t need to explain that to me.” She heaved a sigh on his behalf. “Just fill in the gaps about your leg. I want to understand.”
“Knee smashed. Muscles above the knee badly torn,” he said, still holding her tight. “I’ve had two knee replacements. The muscle rehab was the worst. Painful for years.”
“School must have been hard.”
“No more sport. Except swimming, but I only did that at the rehab pool. I didn’t want anyone to see how ugly my leg looked. To have to talk about it. And girls didn’t think much of a guy who couldn’t dance.”
“Girls,” she said, clucking her tongue, mocking gently. “A real woman appreciates a good sexy sway to a slow tune.” She shifted slightly, placed her cheek against his. “You’ve got that nailed.”
Chapter Fourteen
Rosco felt the heaviness of the past leaving him slowly. The warmth of the woman in his arms stirring him to action.
He smiled as they held each other, all talked out, in the peace of their sheltered retreat. “What do you want to do next?”
“Find some junk food. Burgers oozing with cheese. Ice cream dripping with chocolate sauce,” she said, moving away from him. “Retail therapy in the village. What do you think?”
“You’re a woman of surprises.” He’d said it mildly as he pulled her back against his body, but he didn’t want to share her with the world today. There was something discordant about her sudden need to shop, of all things. To leave their private haven and let the world in.
He remembered her words. That’s me. An unwanted child. He hated the feeling of rejection behind those words. If she was testing him in some way. Or giving him the opportunity to step away from her. She needed to know her mother’s suicide only made him admire and want her even more.
“I think you deserve whatever you want. For me, the shops can wait. The village will always be there.” He rested his cheek against the softness of her hair and felt her stiffen slightly. “I want you to myself right now.” He nuzzled her neck, thrilled as she softened against him.
“Shopping isn’t your thing, then?” she murmured, and he felt her smile against his cheek.
“No.” He moved, pulling her onto his knee. “I thought we might move to more private… activities.”
Her arms circled his neck, her dark eyes sparkling wickedly at his. She couldn’t fail to read how much he wanted her. Just her.
“I think I’m with you,” she said, and swiveled to sit astride his thighs.
The past was completely gone f
or him; now he was lost in the feel of her against him.
His body clenched with need for her. “Home?” he asked, linking his fingers through hers, taking the weight of her body as she swayed toward him.
She nodded. She wanted him, too. He fought for restraint. “Just a wee bit of kissing in the woods and then back to my list?” he teased. He tugged her forward and kissed her, her response hot and instant. She tasted of wine and chocolate as she wriggled in his lap, spurring him on.
“Wouldn’t want to spoil your tick list,” she said, her breath warm against his mouth. She grinned, impish with pleasure, and began unbuttoning his jacket, then hers. And then there were just light woolen layers between them, the long curvy line of her waist, the soft rise of her breasts, his to hold.
“I’ll not be undressing you in the cold.” He amped up his Irishness, watched her pupils dilate for him. “But I’m not leaving the woods without kissing you properly.”
He leaned in close, kissed her mouth, hungry beneath his, and shuddered as she slipped her hands inside his jacket.
Then he took control.
His hands started at her waist, caressing the line of her body, so slow, until she whimpered for more. Then he deepened his kiss, meeting her need with his, first soft and sensual, then hot and urgent, everything else forgotten.
Until the first drops of rain drove them apart.
…
Kitty twisted away from Rosco, his kiss still hot on her lips. She picked up his keys and dropped them into his hand. “I won’t be needing these.”
As he returned them to his coat pocket, she scrambled off his lap and then they ran across the paddocks to the cottage. Breathless and wet, they tumbled into the warmth.
Rosco immediately snagged her body back to his. “My list continues.” He kissed her so hot she fancied steam rose between their damp clothes.
“What’s next?” She knew what she wanted from him.
“A hot, hot shower.” He grinned at her, teasing.
“You think I need heating up?” She quirked a brow at him, matching his grin.
“You know I don’t.” He leaned in to touch his nose to hers, and a flush of lust surged through her veins.
She stilled in his arms, images of showering with Rosco filling her mind.
“There’s a hamper of goodies in the bathroom.” His whisper tickled her cheek. “Enjoy the luxury, and I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
“You’re a details man.”
“Certainly am.” He stroked her earlobe, slow and tender, and his intensity buzzed around her heart.
It was a wrench to leave him, even for a few minutes, but preparing to be loved by Rosco Redmond was worth taking time over.
She had to stop herself from doing an unladylike skip as she headed for the shower.
The hamper was a rustic basket full to tumbling with thick, soft towels, scented soaps, and creamy lotions. A beeswax candle and a box of long matches were nestled on top of the towels.
He had thought of everything.
Slowly, to draw out the pleasure of anticipation, she placed the candle safely away from towels and struck a match. It flared bright, the faintly acrid smell of the burning matchhead chasing a shiver of danger down her spine.
Then temptation spurred her into action, wanting to be ready for Rosco. She turned on the shower, peeled off her clothes, and selected a plush white towel to wrap around her body.
As steam filled the room, she selected a jar of silky lotion, twisted the top to release the sweet fragrance of jasmine, and smoothed some over her arms and throat.
The scent was heavenly and, as it mingled with the steam, she felt enveloped in luxury and desire.
She lifted her hair and twisted it into a knot, securing it with a bright orange clip conveniently clinging to the basket edge. A Rosco detail just for her.
Dreamy, she released the towel, selected pure white soap, and stepped into the shower.
As the water warmed her skin, Rosco joined her.
“Beautiful Kitty,” he said on a murmur as he bent his lips to her neck. Her body buzzed again at his feathery kiss.
Then his mouth met hers with hunger and tenderness. Lips soft and giving, tongues dancing and demanding, as the steam swirled around them.
Mutual passion spurred them on, aching to touch and to pleasure.
Rosco pulled back, ran his hands down the sides of her body, circled her wrists, then caressed the length of her bare arms with his fingertips.
Kitty shuddered at his touch, ran her hands up his arms, relishing the hard, sinewy feel of him—the strength of golden skin over muscle.
He stroked her face, her hands still holding his arms, then kissed her again, long, slow, and wanting.
Then he inhaled softly, his warm, soft lips moving to the swell of her breasts. Intent, he gave his full attention to each soft curve in turn. Slowly, he raised desire-dark eyes to hers and kissed her lips again with the sensual pull of unhurried tenderness.
Kitty moved her hand to cradle his head, lacing her fingers through the springy brown waves of his hair as he lowered his lips to nestle between her breasts where the water slicked her skin.
Then he dragged his mouth back to hers. “All right, my Kitty?” he murmured against her lips, as drugged as she was by their mutual desire.
She nodded, smiling dreamily into his dark blue eyes, unable to find her voice to speak.
Time stopped for her. She was lost in his touch.
“My turn,” she said on a ragged breath, moving her hands up over his chest where the hard feel of him left her wanting more. She licked the trickles of water from his chest and claimed him for her own.
She fought her melting craving for him, slowing her pace to match his, taking her time to touch, to caress his athlete-smooth torso. The flat, hard muscles; broad, firm chest; strong shoulders and back.
She followed her hands with her lips, stoking her desire. He shuddered, cupping one hand at her neck, and when she was ready, dragged her mouth back to his.
“My beautiful Kitty,” he murmured again. Her breath caught in her throat, and she swayed against him, soft with longing. His hands followed her need, resting warm and seductive at the dip of her waist.
“Would you be wanting more?” he asked, lifting his head to look into her eyes.
“Yes,” she heard herself say, her voice barely more than a whisper, her hand weightless as she captured the sexy pout of his lower lip with her thumb.
“Then we should be finding my bed.” He smiled, those smoky-blue eyes locking with hers as he reached for a towel. He turned off the water, wrapped her, tenderly securing the towel at her breast, and lifted her into his arms.
Kitty felt like she was floating as he nudged the bedroom door open with his foot and kicked it closed behind them, his eyes never leaving her face.
He gently set her on her feet beside the lit fire for warmth. “Don’t move,” he whispered.
Kitty nodded, dazed with her need for him as the fire flickered golden over his bare, muscled chest. And, she stood, mesmerized, as he tugged the towel from her body.
Then they were naked again, and his first touch at her waist goosed her flesh in that unique cold-hot Rosco fizz. She heard herself whimper as his hands and mouth explored her flesh and roused her beyond feeling. She barely registered the moment he lifted her again before lowering her to his soft, warm bed.
His hands continued to caress and arouse, his mouth teasing hers, unrelenting, as she melted and quivered in a world that held only him, hot in the glow of the fire.
Much later, Kitty stretched dreamy and content beneath Rosco’s sheets.
He stirred beside her and smiled, met her mouth with a sweet, lazy kiss.
“Are you all right, Kitty?”
She ran the back of her fingers down the now stubbled angle of his jaw. “Yes,” she said, amazed at how easily he’d swept her away. She felt like someone else. Someone abandoned on a sea of emotion.
He scooped her body to h
is. “Good,” he murmured against her hair. “Because we haven’t finished my list of simple country pleasures yet.”
“Sexy list maker,” she purred as his hands roamed the length of her body.
He rolled her onto her back, raised her arms above her head, and she stretched beneath him.
“Is there anything you want to add to the list?”
“More,” she said. “Just more of our world, all night, all morning.”
“More.” He rolled the word on his tongue. “That’s on my list, too.” He smiled, his hands circling her wrists, his mouth soft on hers.
“Details,” he said. “We know a good list does need details. I have food, and dancing naked by the fire, on mine.”
“You’ve advanced your dancing skills to naked already?”
“I’ve always been a fast learner,” he said. “Tell me what you want, Kitty.”
She sighed beneath him, moved her hands to his hair and down over the smooth skin of his back.
“Unwrapping. You’re so good at unwrapping me.” Unwrapping her heart. It was a scary first. No other man had tempted the story of her mother’s suicide from her. No other man had seared through her reserve to earn this degree of closeness.
But when he lifted his head to smile into her eyes, his passion quenched the tide of caution threatening to analyze her pleasure.
The warm burr of his voice flowed over her as his hands continued their lazy caress. “It’s a skill I’m keen to further improve.”
She imagined wearing her silk wrap dress for him later, could already feel the soft fabric on her bare skin and the release of Rosco undoing the leather tie. That would be for later. For now, she had other plans.
“Seduce me again,” she asked, stretching beneath him. “I want you on my list.”
The next day, as late-morning light filtered through the still-closed curtains, they sat in bed with Meg’s cake tin between them, drinking mugs of hot tea.
“Pumpkin reality in thirty minutes, Cinders.” Rosco clinked his china mug to hers. “I promised to get you back in time for your meeting.”
Tangling with the London Tycoon Page 15
