Tangling with the London Tycoon

by Suzi Jennings

  Desperate, he urged her to scroll to the end of the article. “No photos of us in the woods,” he said, his voice a croak he couldn’t control.

  “There’s more,” she said, scrolling intently down the screen. “The text is the worst.”

  Lovers Heal Together. The title curdled his blood.

  The publisher and the photographer overcome alcohol- and suicide-devastated childhoods in each other’s arms.

  Their businesses were named, James’s and Jacqueline’s deaths inaccurately dated and described, followed by a very short quote from some unknown shrink about childhood damage affecting adult relationships.

  “The final humiliation,” she said. “They looked back and found our secrets.”

  “And twisted them together.” He’d used everything in his power to control his public life. To protect his family’s reputation.

  “I’ll get my legal team on it and fight this. It’s all rubbish—the wedding, Titania, and the palace contract saga.”

  “They’re red herrings,” she said, her voice sad and flat. “The real story is you.”

  “I’ve always been discreet. Under the radar.”

  “That’s my point. You don’t need me in your public life.”

  She threw his phone in his lap and wrenched open the cabin door, tumbling down the steps, away from him. She was already opening the cargo hatch as he dived out of his side of the cabin after her. He retrieved her bag, and she snatched it from him. “I can’t do this.”

  He took hold of her arm, forcing her to stop. Her eyes were wet and huge in her pale face, wild with emotion that seemed illogical to him. Overwrought.

  Yet it was passion he knew he couldn’t bear to lose now that he’d found it.

  He looked her square in the eye. “You need to know, Kitty, that I don’t give up on what I want.”

  He watched her pupils dilate then glaze over with cynicism. He hated to see it. To cause it. “All right, go for now.” He softened his tone, let go of her arm. “I don’t want you to suffer anymore. I’ll call you when I’ve sorted it.”

  “You can’t sort it. You can’t change the past or the tabloids.”

  He threw himself back into the chopper and watched her walk away from him, hurrying to her car. Her usual sway was clipped and stiff, the cake tin clutched under her arm, a poignant symbol of the sweetness lost between them.

  …

  Kitty let the tears flow as she crept along with the end-of-day London traffic. She sniffed and swiped her wet cheeks and couldn’t wait to get to Brick Square.

  It was a first for her—having a place to run back to.

  Exhausted, she dragged her bag out of the car and collapsed into the private lift as her Sisterhood phone rocked out its demanding anthem.

  “Kitty, where are you? Rosco Redmond’s just emailed me, saying he’s worried about you getting home safely,” said Rosa with her usual blend of concern and efficiency.

  Kitty rolled her eyes. “The man’s a control freak. I’m fine.”

  “He sounded concerned, not controlling. Where are you?”

  “Just walking out of the lift.”

  “Go straight to the living room,” ordered Rosa’s soft firm voice.

  “I want to be alone.”

  “You can be later. We’re all on our way.”

  Rosa rang off, and Kitty dragged her sad, sorry self to do as she was told. No matter how bad things got, the Sisterhood had sworn to support each other. Their bond was elastic enough for individuality but precious enough never to be compromised.

  There was no escape from a complete explanation and everyone’s corresponding full support.

  An hour later, Kitty was propped up on a sofa, wrapped in a throw, surrounded by comfy cushions and her concerned, caring half sisters.

  “That’s the end of my rant.” She toyed with the fringe of the throw, an impossibly girly pink compared to the soft but practical brown comforter at Chopper House.

  There was so much more than the facts to her feelings for Rosco. Through no fault of his own, his history and position in life were a threat to her privacy. And she to his.

  What a tangle. The sense of self she’d grown so painstakingly since she was sixteen had been compromised for a man. How like her mother was that?

  “I’m sorry I’ve mixed business with pleasure and caused all this drama. Me, of all people.”

  “About time,” said Danni. “We’re not the nunnery kind of sisterhood.”

  “Rosco is exceptional,” said Tessa, grinning at Danni. “Since you’ve been working with him, I’ve suddenly heard his name everywhere. Sport and charity fundraiser. He’s hot, too, let me say before Danni beats me to rating him.”

  “If you’re going to mix business with pleasure he’s a smart choice,” Rosa agreed, patting Kitty’s knee. “You can see him again when you’re ready.”

  “I’ll never be ready,” she said. “He deceived me. Hid the full threat of Trinity St. George from me.” She’d trusted him, and he’d let her down. “What a nightmare.”

  “It will look more positive with time. The tabloid interest will stop,” Rosa said decisively. “You simply aren’t important or famous enough to be in the spotlight any longer.”

  “Thanks.” Sisterly love had a bite today. But it helped to talk, to have support.

  Rosa smiled softly. “Your work will go on, and Rosco will be businesslike, considerate, I’m sure.”

  “I promised to work with him. I don’t want to jeopordize the Brick Square project for all of you.”

  “Sounds like a continued connection to me,” Rosa said, looking at the others for support.

  “Yes, it does,” agreed Tessa. “Your hurt seems to be caused by the paparazzi, not Rosco.”

  “It’s all the same thing,” Kitty said, wishing she could explain the tangle of emotions. “If I didn’t have a history, none of it would have happened. I’d be able to handle his being in the tabloids if I didn’t have so much to hide.”

  “The revelations aren’t your fault,” Tessa said. “It’s assault by tabloid insinuation.”

  “Yes. Almost like blackmail,” Kitty agreed. “But it all started when I turned up on his doorstep.” She wrung her hands at the memory. “I wish I’d never taken that contract.”

  “Nonsense,” said Rosa, business brusque. “You did that for sound professional reasons, and then for Rosco’s sister. You gave them the wedding album they wanted.”

  “It seems so long ago.”

  “That’s because you’ve invested your feelings in Rosco, not in his family,” said Danni.

  “I don’t do family. I told him that.”

  “You’ve got us and you’re doing just fine.”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Then he got to know you well.” Danni quirked her eyebrow. “Powerful stuff. To be understood. To be whisked away by helicopter and romanced.”

  “Yes, like a fairy tale.” Too late, she heard the little-girl longing in her own voice. The scared ten-year-old, the orphaned teenager who’d roamed the world to avoid making a home, or trusting love to build a family.

  She’d wanted this fairy tale to be true. Wanted this happily-ever-after she’d never believed she was special enough to deserve.

  “I’m confused,” she confessed. She felt duped by his withholding the potential meeting with Trinity St. George. Yet the smile in his voice, the warmth in his kisses, and the passion in his loving had seemed so real. He couldn’t have faked it all. Could he?

  “Your thoughts are fogged with emotion and you’re hyped,” Danni continued. “Getting away and working it off is a good idea. In the end, you’ll need to be honest with yourself and settle it with Rosco.”

  “Just come back,” said Meg, giving Kitty a quick hug.

  …

  The tour bus company picked Kitty up at seven the next morning. Relief washed over her as she slipped into a seat and the bus drove off. The relief of leaving everyone behind and of getting away without Rosco Redmond’s
interference.

  The anger in his voice and that now familiar clenched jaw worried her. She was convinced he would demand more discussion eventually, but at least he hadn’t sabotaged her assignment.

  The three weeks, all expenses paid, bus tour around Scotland was a very lucky break. The second it had pinged into her email inbox she’d grabbed it. A last minute letdown by the contracted photographer was her gain.

  She could telephone conference with her sisters for the business meetings she would miss, and work on Jabbering Gerbera projects on her laptop in the evenings. Apart from the photography and polite socializing with her fellow tour passengers, she would be free to wander through her memories and lick her wounds.

  As the bus lurched out of Brick Square toward the motorway, Kitty knew she already missed him. Even packing her bag had been painful. She couldn’t wear anything that reminded her of Rosco—her favorite boots now thrown in the back of her walk-in closet. And she’d need to buy a new raincoat at their first scheduled stop.

  She propped her weary head against the cold bus window as the gray city views colored her memories. Memories she would never be able to share with anyone else.

  The sad, mutual release of confiding their worst childhood traumas. Of understanding each other’s pain and abandonment. How she wished she hadn’t argued about that. Hadn’t spat his support back in his face.

  She shivered, remembering their lovemaking warmed by the golden flicker of the fire. Rosco’s voice, graveled with passion, calling her “my Kitty” as no one else had ever done.

  No. He couldn’t have faked all of that.

  She’d just have to learn to live without him. There was no future for them in fear and innuendo on the social media they both hated.

  Tiredness swamped her as she pulled out her cell phone and blocked Rosco’s contacts.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rosco held his head in his hands, massaged his tired eyes, and forced himself to face his failings.

  The townhouse kitchen where Kitty had shared his lamb and potatoes felt empty and bleak. The hard glass table cold and lonely where his housekeeper had laid cutlery for one.

  He’d had twenty-four hours of life without Kitty and cursed himself for losing her. For driving her away.

  His adult life had been devoted to being as little like his father as possible. Scared to let go, he’d buried his feelings in work and responsibility, and ended up hurting the very people he wanted to protect.

  Including himself. And especially Kitty.

  He remembered the physical wrench as Kitty flung herself out of the helicopter and stalked away toward the carpark, her heels clicking across the tarmac.

  She’d looked so resolute. And he could see the defiant bravery of the ten-year-old girl, hidden away, not wanted in her mother’s world.

  Hidden away because her mother was ashamed of her, of the reality of her own life and her daughter’s needs.

  That was Kitty’s life lesson, and it was a knife in his gut to realize he had reinforced it with his business caution and insistence they were safe in their private world.

  Somewhere inside her hurt, Kitty thought his care and natural restraint meant he was ashamed of her. Didn’t want her in the real world.

  He did want her. Only her. The self-reliant, competent woman who had fearlessly argued her case for a contract. Her bravery in entering his house and defying the paparazzi—a complex bravery he now fully understood. Her past was as complicated as his—family hurts that had drawn them to each other.

  No, Kitty was wrong. She did family just fine. Just by being herself.

  He dragged his fingers through his hair, his memories of the last few days with Kitty filling his senses.

  Kitty, pale as they faced the media but savvy enough to lay a false trail. Kitty, eyes shining with mischief under that battered old table, laughing even more as she played goldfish with Cara to make light of their first stolen kiss.

  What a kiss. Hot and tempting. Like that damn orange zipper that had been his undoing. Heat slammed through him remembering the unwrapping. The giving and receiving of love that had changed him forever.

  He’d never felt this way about a woman, and he knew he never would again. Kitty’s heart was safe with him. He may be his father’s son, but he would never be his father’s man, whatever the media might want to insinuate.

  The jumble of thoughts and emotions Kitty had tried to explain suddenly made sense. But she was wrong about one thing.

  He could sort it.

  He could sort the future.

  He drew a ragged breath. Kitty was his whole world now, and he intended to prove it. He’d gladly lose face and business to protect their future. To keep her.

  He just needed three weeks and three phone calls.

  …

  Three weeks later, Kitty showered off the dust of the bus trip then plastered a smile on her face as she joined her sisters at the Board table. Rosco was never far from her thoughts when she was away, and it was worse now that she was back. Her heart and pride were still bruised, yet the world had, hurtfully, moved on without her.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” she said to her sisters. “Thank you for looking after everything without me.”

  “It was all a pleasure, Kitty. Now we need to get down to business. And more specifically up to the rooftop,” said Rosa.

  “Good thing it isn’t raining.” Danni gingerly patted her hair, its super-spiky style miraculously elevated by a ton of product. “I’m trialing a new range for my Christmas gift section.”

  “Very pleased it isn’t raining,” said Rosa, with a warm smile for Danni. “We’ll all need to collect a coat—it will be cool up there—and then meet at the lift.”

  Kitty shivered, puzzled. “What have I missed?” When she’d gone away their lift access beyond the fourth floor was blocked, as it had been for eighteen months.

  “You haven’t missed anything, Kitty,” said Meg. “In fact you’re just in time.”

  “Rosa’s been romancing the bank again.” Tessa grinned. “Restoration Stage Two needs some mortgage muscle, and the plans include an enticing rooftop paradise for apartment owners.”

  “Romancing’s the word,” agreed Rosa. “The bank isn’t as loving toward our second stage development as it was with the first. We need to present every asset to its full potential to get their financial backing.”

  Rosa looked at her watch. “Coats,” she said. “Ten minutes max. See you all at the lift. Bring your camera, Kitty.”

  Kitty assessed her wardrobe. All the clothes that screamed Rosco were bundled down on one end, with a hanging divider separating them from anything she hadn’t worn with Rosco.

  In her coat section, that left her with a choice between an old black anorak and an orange houndstooth fitted dresscoat in fine wool tweed.

  Her sad Rosco-deprived heart wanted her to slop around in the anorak feeling sorry for herself.

  But her move-on, you’re-on-your-own-and-proud survivor spirit slipped into the softly lined tweed and added a chic orange cloche hat.

  With her camera around her neck, she joined the others heading for the roof.

  The temperature was fresh when they stepped out among the air conditioning units and assorted pipes. “What do you want me to photograph? It needs an awful lot of imagination to see this as exclusive rooftop living.”

  Rosa checked her watch again. “I want you to photograph the sky.” She pointed to a small speck in the distance. “Incoming advertising.”

  Kitty looked suspiciously at her sisters, who were all wearing big grins, their gazes fixed on the sky. They’d obviously been more busy than she realized while she was away, and they hadn’t included her in this decision.

  She raised her camera and tracked what she could now see was a helicopter through her viewfinder.

  Rosco-radar tingled along her veins as the chopper flew toward them. It was trailing a huge advertising banner.

  Her sisters cheered and clapped as the flypast
revealed the banner.

  A lump caught in Kitty’s throat, and her tears misted the viewfinder.

  A ten-meter long goldfish fluttered past her, emblazoned with the words I Love You, Kitty.

  She sobbed as anger, relief, and then melting heat swept over her.

  She lowered her camera, too unsteady to focus, as the goldfish swished its feathery tail in the slipstream and fluttered out of the shot.

  Her sisters put their arms around her shoulders, holding her upright.

  “It’s Rosco,” said Meg, with a sigh in her voice. “He called us to a meeting as your family and asked for your hand in Rosco-Kittyness.” Meg smiled dreamily at the romantic goofiness of it. “Whatever you decide that looks like.”

  He loved her. Loved her. And was flying his flag for all the world to see. The implication wasn’t lost on her.

  “You need to face the sky again,” Rosa ordered, placing Kitty in position, helping raise the camera to her face. “He’s looping for a second flyby. Don’t lose concentration, you’ll regret not getting the perfect shot.”

  Kitty trembled, Rosco-chills chasing the Rosco-heat.

  She watched the chopper loom large toward her, clicked her camera twice, then lowered it. Real life demanded she see the big picture.

  The goldfish seemed close enough to touch, its huge Gerbera Girl cartoon eye flirting with her. Its tail of feathered fins dancing in the breeze.

  The message—I Love You, Kitty—flashed a neon light in her heart.

  Hands circled her waist, holding her fast. A warm Irish burr whispered in her ear. “So would you be considering mutual loving forever, Gerbera Girl? With me, in the real world?”

  “Rosco!” She turned in his arms, sobbing and laughing. Her sisters had gone. There was just her and Rosco on the roof. On top of the world.

  “Next on my list,” she said, smiling through tears she couldn’t control. “My Rosco.” She touched her hand to his heart. “I love you, too.”

  “I know you do, Kitty. It shines in your laugh, in your care and passion.”

  It amazed and humbled her that he’d seen through her hurt and her baggage. “I can’t find the words. It’s all new to me, this loving.”