by Ally Blake
Maybe she hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew. Maybe she just had to adjust her perspective on who he was and how much of him she could handle. She just had to trust herself that she’d absolutely know the moment to pull out before she’d gone too far. Or maybe, just maybe, he was worth going over the edge for.
‘I have no idea what I was hoping I might find in there,’ he said. ‘There’s not a single thing I know what to do with. How does Chinese takeaway sound?’
Rosie let go at the breath she felt like she’d been holding for the past half an hour. ‘Sounds perfect.’
CHAPTER NINE
AN HOUR later Rosie sat at the kitchen bench, three of the four white boxes of noodles empty. She abandoned the final unopened box before leaning against the chair back and laying her hand over her stomach.
Beside her, Cameron laughed. ‘For a moment there I thought I might have to throw myself in front of the leftovers to save you from yourself.’
‘No fear. I know when to quit.’
Cameron’s laughter subsided to an easy smile. And Rosie smiled back. The freak-out that had afflicted her early in the evening had faded to a reminder to take care. Once she’d mentally adjusted the limits of what she could handle, she’d begun to relax into Cameron’s effortless company.
He’d long since ditched his jacket, and Rosie her poncho and shoes. A CD played softly in the background. A fire crackled in the hearth. And the conversation fell into a natural lull.
Rosie’s naked toes curled around the bottom rung of the stool and her eyes blinked slowly. All snug and warm, the past few nights finally threatened to catch up to her.
‘You have a little smudge…’ Cameron said, his voice low and soothing.
She opened her eyes to find him staring at her mouth, a hand hovering so close to her lips that they began to tingle. Her tongue darted out to swipe at the left corner of her mouth.
He smiled, frowned, then gently wiped a half-centimetre lower. Whatever speck of sauce he found there he proceeded to lick off his finger. And suddenly sleep was the last thing on her mind.
She leant her elbows on the bench and leant her chin on her upturned palms. ‘Of all the places in all the world one can be, how is it that a guy like you ended up staying so close to home?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘It’s not that close.’
The edge in his voice had her shifting to face him. ‘St Grellans is five minutes from here,’ she shot back. ‘And your parents’ house is, what, two suburbs over?’
‘The fact that I wanted to live in the finest part of town isn’t reason enough?’
‘Nope. Not for you.’
He picked up his beer and took a slow sip, watching her over the top of the glass. ‘How many days ago did we meet up?’
‘Two,’ she said.
‘But this is our third date?’
She nodded. His cheek twitched, and he took another long sip, his eyes never leaving hers as he let that thought sink in. Her leg began to jiggle beneath the bench.
He put down his glass, but kept hold of it as he looked into the amber bubbles. ‘I grew up in Ascot. Meg’s still at home, though she stays at Tabitha’s bachelorette pad in town half the week. Brendan’s in Clayfield, close to his daughters’ school. Dylan’s place is neck-deep in cafés in Morningside. So you’re right; we are all a stone’s throw from home.’
She crossed her ankles to stop the jiggling and shoved a hand into her hair as she let her upper arm sink against the bench. ‘So why didn’t you move to the other side of the city when you had the falling out with your dad? Or the other side of the country, for that matter? Or the world. I’ve done it, several times over. It’s too easy.’
He tipped his glass and let it fall back upright before pushing it away and giving her his full focus once more. ‘And imagine where you might have ended up had interplanetary travel been on the cards. I hazard a guess that this place wouldn’t have seen you for dust.’
Three dates. That was as long as they had really known each other. She thought she had him figured out, but it hadn’t occurred to her til that moment that maybe he had her figured out too.
She wrapped her hands about her shoulders, her fingers sliding against the white cotton T-shirt and digging into soft flesh. ‘But we’re not talking about me.’
His hand slid along the bench to tap her elbow. ‘How about we do?’
She shook her head slowly. ‘No need. Unlike yours, my life is all figured out. No more analysis necessary.’
He watched her for a few long seconds before sliding his hand beneath her elbow, and turning her on the spot until she was looking out the window at the view of the Brisbane skyline.
His low, rumbling words brushed the hair against her ear as he said, ‘That view of that city is what inspired me to do what I do. I can see almost every building I’ve built from here, and I spend way more time than I ought to admit to sitting by the pool, fantasising about where the next one should go. And that view reminds me that, while I am creating the future of the city, I need to be mindful not to take anything away from the aesthetic created by those who came before me, and hope one day another developer will do the same for me.’
As Cameron’s words came to an end, Rosie felt like she was stuck in a kind of suspended animation. Her eyes were locked on the peaks and valleys of the teeming metropolis glittering brightly in the dark distance. And with his deep words echoing in her ears for the first time she saw the profound beauty he saw. In what he did. And in who he was, the true man deep down inside the fortress.
He swung her back round to face him, one eye closed, his divine mouth twisted in chagrin. ‘Was that the biggest load of egotistical clap-trap you’ve ever heard?’
She shook her head slowly, wondering if he had a single clue how at risk she was to his smiles in that moment. ‘That wasn’t what I was thinking at all.’
‘No?’
‘I was thinking that, no matter how much you might like people to think that you consider yourself to be the centre of the universe, you really don’t. I’m not sure that you ever have.’
He opened both eyes and lost the humble grin. He let his hand slip away from her elbow, ostensibly to grab his drink, but she knew better. Even before he said, ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’
‘Why skyscrapers? Why not mini-malls or housing estates or parking garages?’
‘The bigger the building, the bigger my…income.’ He grinned. Gorgeously.
‘See, now you might think you can dazzle me with your jokes,’ she said, waggling a finger at his nose, ‘And your fancy noodles, but I’ve realised something.’
He leant a forearm along the counter-top and inclined his head towards her. His voice was deep, dark and beguiling as he said, ‘Enlighten me.’
‘The pragmatic black-sheep, lone wolf, tower of strength, big boss, cool-as-a-cucumber thing you have going on is all an act. You, my friend, are a romantic.’
Well, now, that was the last thing Cameron had ever expected to be called.
Demanding, ruthlessly ambitious, with tunnel-vision. He’d been labelled all of the above at one time or another. But romantic?
Rosalind was so mistaken it was laughable. But by the sureness in her wide grey eyes, and the heavy air of attraction curling out from her and enveloping him, he knew laughter was definitely the wrong response.
Needing a moment to find the right way to let her down easily, he slid from his seat, collected the takeaway paraphernalia, slid the chopsticks into the sink and tossed the cartons into the recycling bin.
Then he stood on the other side of the island bench from her and placed his palms on the granite worktop.
‘Now, Rosalind, don’t you go getting any funny ideas about the man you might think I am. You’ll only set yourself up for disappointment.’
Her lips pursed ever so slightly but her eyes remained locked on his. She was swimming against the current, against all evidence that he was as unyielding as he made himself out to be, but she refused to
bend.
His voice was a good degree cooler as he said, ‘I’m thirty two and single, and there’s good reason for it. I don’t have a romantic bone in my body.’
She shook her head, refusing to hear him. ‘You create things that by their very definition scrape the sky, each one greater and more awe-inspiring than the last. I might look at the stars every night, but you are reaching for them. Just think about it. Let the idea just seep on in under your skin. You’ll find I’m right.’
The light in her eyes…He’d never in his life seen anything so bright. And it hit him then that, though she appeared to be as blithe as dust on the wind, though her bluntness made her seem tough, inside she was as soft as they came. Her absent father, and her mother’s inability to let go, had wounded her, and she walked through life with a heart prone to bruising, and he had no intention of being responsible for that kind of damage. It would make him no better than his father.
He grabbed a tea towel and wiped his hands clean. He’d been here before. Well, not exactly here, nor quite so soon, but surely near enough that he knew what he had to do.
Looking into those beautiful eyes had been his first mistake. He moved around the bench and took the edge of her chair and spun it to face him.
Giving in to the overwhelming need to touch her, to tuck a silken wave of hair behind her ear, to make her realise that what he was about to do wasn’t her fault but his—that he’d been selfish in letting things flow as they had—was his second mistake.
She leaned into his touch, infinitesimally, but enough that her warmth seeped into his fingertips, infused him with her natural heat. Gave him signal upon signal that she wanted him as much as he, for days, had wanted her. Tempted him beyond anything he’d ever felt before.
Feeling like it might be his last chance before he could stop himself, he placed a hand either side of her face and kissed her hard.
Hating the very sight of himself, he closed his eyes tight, which only made every other sense heighten.
She tasted of honey and soy. Beneath his hands she was warm and soft and everything delectable. And beneath everything else she was struggling. He could feel it in her lips as she let in his touch, but nothing more. Nothing deeper.
Earlier she’d claimed she knew when to quit; it seemed neither of them was that astute.
Cameron pulled back, only so that he could kiss her again, more comprehensively, longer, slower. He had no intention of letting up until she kissed him right back.
It didn’t take long.
With a sigh that seemed to tremble through her whole body, Rosalind sank back so that the kiss could deepen. And deepen it did, until all he could see behind his eyelids were swirls of red and black, deep, desolate darkness with no end in sight.
She snuck a soft hand behind his neck, lifted herself from her seat and melted against him. The world of sensation inside his mind lit up until he felt as hot and bright as the surface of the sun.
He held her tighter, fisting a hand into the back of her T-shirt, running another over her bottom, the exquisite softness of old denim making his fingers clench, pulling her closer still. His eyes were shut tight, head spinning, and he was kissing her for all he was worth until he couldn’t remember ever doing anything else.
As do all good things, it came to an end.
Rosalind pulled away first, her lips slowly sliding away from his, as though it took every effort she could muster. Her head dropped and she rested her forehead against his chest, her hands splayed over his abdomen.
Cameron opened his eyes, the bright, sharp light of reality slamming him back to earth—the reality of what he’d done and what he’d been about to do.
He laid a gentle kiss on her soft hair as his eyes focussed hard on the perfect precision and crisp, true angles of the floating staircase in the distance, looking for his centre as a builder looks to a spirit level.
But all he could think of was lifting her into his arms, carrying her to his bedroom and making love to her all night long. Hell, once there he knew he’d be happy not to come up for air for days.
This woman was giving him a lesson in the lure of temptation, of the lengths a man might go to in order to satiate the want of the one thing his reason and sense and experience and moral centre told him he shouldn’t want.
That pull of dangerously destructive desire, a dimension he’d always feared he might be genetically predisposed to possess, was ultimately why he tucked a finger beneath her chin and lifted her head, and waited until her soft dilated eyes were focussed on his.
And in a firm voice he said, ‘Might I suggest after tonight we slow things down?’
There, he’d done it, on the back of the kind of kiss that made a guy unable to think sensibly for hours after. That way she’d know it wasn’t as merciless as it had sounded.
Her skin paled and went blotchy all at once. She looked at him as though she’d just been slapped. And the shock in her eyes…
His fingers recoiled guiltily into his palm, then uncurled to touch her face. But she’d already disentangled herself to bolt into the lounge, frantically searching for something in her handbag. Whatever it was he could see by the tension in her neck that it wasn’t coming to the surface quick enough.
‘Rosalind.’
She held out a hand, which as good as told him to shut the hell up.
Ignoring it, he tried reasoning with her, ‘Three dates in three days was pure overindulgence on my part. And you can’t tell me you’re not exhausted. I saw you trying to hide a yawn not ten minutes ago.’
When she lifted her eyes to his, he was fairly sure all she saw was red. She held her mobile phone to her ear and said, ‘Which is why I think now is the perfect time to call a cab.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I was always going to take you home.’
‘Really? Was it diarised? Kiss Rosie at nine. Dump her at nine-fifteen. Drive her home by ten. In bed by eleven.’
She turned her back, put in the order for the taxi, then threw the phone into her bag.
‘Rosalind. Come on. Nobody’s dumping anybody. All I’m saying is that we be sensible and look at where we are going here with open eyes.’
She closed her eyes, took a breath and her shoulders relaxed. Somewhat. But that warm, husky voice that he’d become so used to turned as cold as the river at night as she said, ‘You want me to be sensible? Well, you obviously haven’t been paying close enough attention. If I’d been sensible I would never have agreed to go out with the guy I had a crush on through high school. That is obviously one fantasy best left unfulfilled.’
Cameron’s heart slammed hard and fast against his ribs. She’d had a crush on him? And fantasized about him? His voice was deep and dark when he said, ‘Come back, sit down and talk to me.’
She waved a frantic hand across her eyes. ‘Please. You were right. I’m just overtired. I get it; we’ve both monopolised one another’s time so much these past days. You’re busy and I’m busy, and neither of us ever meant for this to be more than it has to this point been. It’s fine.’
In the end all she could do was shrug.
If he wanted out for good, this was the moment. He had no doubt she was just waiting for the word—goodbye. It was a simple enough word. Benign, unambiguous, final.
But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be that cool with her. Unlike every other woman he’d ever dated, she’d never been cool with him. She’d given him nothing but the complete truth, and she deserved the same.
‘Rosalind, it’s not you.’
‘Where the hell’s the damn cab?’ She paced to the bottom of the stairs. He followed.
‘Rosalind, I need you to hear me out.’ He knew it was manipulative, but in order for her not to leave feeling hurt and angry he needed her to hear what he had to say, so he said it anyway. ‘Please.’
At the ‘please’, she turned back to him. Her jaw was tight, her eyes wild with emotion. But at least she stopped walking away.
Having to ground himself if he was really
going to say this, Cameron parked his backside against a corner of the lounge and looked out across the city view.
‘I was in the eleventh grade when I saw my father come out of a city hotel with a woman who wasn’t my mother. As I stood on the opposite side of the street, on my way to meet him at his office after school, he kissed her. Right there on the footpath, in front of peak-hour traffic—my father, who the whole city knew by sight. No thought for discretion or propriety or the woman the world thought he’d been blissfully married to for the previous thirty years…or anyone but himself.’
He blinked, dragged his eyes from the city view and looked to her. She stood still as a statue, those grey eyes simply giving him the space to keep going. Deeper. To places he’d never let himself go before.
‘My mother…She had to put up with a lot, being married to a man like my father. The long hours, the ego, having to raise his four headstrong children in public. She did so with grace, humility, and love. So the fact that he could show such contempt towards her, to all of us…’
His fingernails bit into his palms as he fought down the same old desire to take a swing at his father the next time he laid eyes on the man.
‘Why I am telling you this, what I’d like you to take from this,’ he said, ‘Is that I won’t be like him. I’d rather see you walk away now—right at the very moment I can barely think straight for how much I want to continue what we started back there in the kitchen—if that means not hurting you by giving you false hope that I might one day offer you anything more. I can’t. Not when I know that even the most solid relationships ultimately fail beneath the weight of secrets and lies.’
He came to an end and needed to breathe deep to press out the sudden tightness in his lungs. His eyes locked onto hers, her strength keeping him amazingly steady.
‘Cameron,’ she said on a release of breath, ‘You expect far too much of people.’
