Dating the Rebel Tycoon (13 page)

‘Just thank you.’

‘My pleasure. And your dad?’

He held her tighter and set his gaze straight ahead. ‘I was right. Heart problems. Certainly worse than he is making out. The man simply won’t admit weakness no matter what it costs.’

‘And your family?’

‘Know nothing. But not for long. I’ll let them have tonight, but tomorrow I’ll be back to tell them all. Give them the chance to make their peace.’

‘Good man.’

Rosalind looked up into his eyes. She’d meant it when she called him a good man. And with it he felt the last of the places inside him that had been hard, fast and immovable for so very long melt away.

‘Now Meg really
does
need you,’ she said. ‘Are you up for it? Whatever it is?’

‘You bet.’

And as they joined his brothers and sister in an ante room he couldn’t keep his eyes off Rosalind standing quietly in the doorway, watching the interplay between the four musketeers with a wistful smile on her face.

Tonight, rather than her distracting him from his family’s dramas, his family’s dramas had been distracting him from her. Being with her was where he constantly wanted to be. The words gathered in his throat, but not in any order he recognized, so he swallowed them back down.

‘Cam!’ Meg called out, clicking fingers in front of his eyes. ‘Pay attention, Bucko, or I’ll make you jump out of the cake instead of me!’

He blinked, then stared at his sister. ‘You are not jumping—?’

‘No.’ She grinned. ‘I’m not. But pay attention so we can get this done, and then, my little friend, the rest of the night is yours to do with as you please.’

He couldn’t help himself. He looked to the doorway, only to find Rosalind had gone.

Happy Birthday
had been sung by the world-famous St Grellans Chorale. A cake the size of a piano had been wheeled out by Quinn’s four children, and a line of people had snaked around the room as everyone awaited their chance to get a piece of cake and slap some Kelly flesh.

Rosie stayed in the gallery, leaning on the railing and watching the proceedings from a more comfortable distance.

‘You must be Rosalind.’

Rosie spun from the rail to find herself face to face with Mary Kelly, the matriarch of the Kelly clan, as petite as Meg, but overwhelming all the same—resplendent in a royal-blue gown, her ice-blonde hair swaying in a sleek bob. She was so elegant Rosie had to swallow down a raging case of stage fright.

And then the woman smiled, and Rosie knew where Cameron’s natural warmth had come from. She couldn’t help but smile right back.

She held out a hand. ‘Rosie Harper. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Kelly.’

‘Rosie. Please, call me Mary.’ Mary clasped Rosie’s hand between both of hers. ‘And the pleasure is all mine, I assure you. You’re the girl who finally brought my Cameron home.’

Rosie realised how hard she was shaking her head when a lock of hair fell from her up-do and stuck to her lip gloss. She peeled it out as she said, ‘Really, you’ve all got to stop saying that. I promise, it was all Cameron’s idea, his attachment to you guys, that made him come. I was just the lucky girl who got a party invite.’

She could tell by the steely resolution in the older woman’s eyes that she was having none of it. But before Rosie could press her case home—to somehow explain what they were, or maybe more easily what they weren’t—Mary turned to glance out over the crowd, every inch a queen surveying her land and peoples.

‘My Cam’s always been a stubborn boy. He’d never accept help with his homework. Never come in from playing outside until he’d achieved whatever sporting milestone he’d set out to accomplish. He can want a lot from others, but is much harder on himself. Much like his father.’

Don’t tell him that
, Rosie thought.

‘I’d never tell him that,’ the woman said with an eloquent smile. ‘Though it’s why the two of them could never see eye to eye. They are both bull-headed. Determined. Competitive. Ambitious. And sadly unforgiving of human limitations.’

Rosie stopped nodding along when she hit the final word.
Her skin broke out in a splatter of goose bumps as the whole truth dawned: her husband’s infidelity, his current illness, Mary Kelly knew it all.

What she didn’t know was that her youngest son knew it all too. If she had, Rosie had no doubt she would have done everything not to let him suffer being an outcast to protect them all.

The fiercely independent side of her nudged her towards feeling sorry for the woman. But really Rosie just thought her immensely brave.

Mary Kelly’s valiant choices had shaped four formidable children. Rosie had witnessed how naturally close they were in the ante room downstairs. If she’d still believed in wishing on a star, her wish would have been to be a part of that. To be able to tap into Meg’s humour, Dylan’s confidence, Brendan’s strength, to be cushioned by that much unconditional devotion.

But she especially wanted to hug Mary Kelly for creating Cameron—a man who might well be bull-headed, but then so was she. While he was also gentle. Gentlemanly. Incredibly strong. Generous. Funny. Attentive. He had a huge heart and the soul of a dreamer.

Her cheeks began to warm. She’d never let herself list his good points in one go before, as though deep down she’d known that all together they would be overwhelming.

When she realised Mary Kelly was awaiting her response, she casually fanned her cheeks with her clutch bag as she said, ‘Thank goodness for the renowned Kelly charm, then. I’d bet it gets them both out of a lot of trouble their mulishness gets them into.’

Mary smiled. ‘Thank goodness for that. And for the fact that they are both men who have always known who they are. And what they want. That’s a rare thing indeed.’

Rosie smiled back. All the while her mind spun and spun.

Cameron Kelly was a rare man. A man who worked hard and played hard, but above all wanted to be a good man. He
was
a
good man. The best man. That such a man had pursued her, looked out for her, desired her,
needed
her…

And right there, standing next to Cameron’s mother, it dawned on Rosie with the gently rising glow and warmth of a winter sunrise that it had taken a rare man to give her—a woman who had been certain that she would go a lifetime without knowing love—all the room she’d needed in order to know one thing with all her heart.

Rosie loved him. She was in love with Cameron Kelly. She loved him with a mad, aching, tumbling, soaring, absorbing, textured, lovely love.

Her lungs filled so deeply that the resultant burst of oxygen made her feel lightheaded, weak-kneed and tingly all over. Trying to find some kind of centre, she repeated the words over and over again in her head.

She loved him. She was in love with him. Rosie Harper loved Cameron Kelly.

After a while the words stopped making sense.

How could they? How could she have let herself love this man of all men? Cameron might have come here to broker a peace, but the cuts from his father’s betrayals ran deep. They had screwed with his sense of gallantry so much that, even if a miracle occurred and he ever came close to loving her back, his critical fear of hurting those he loved would be one great reason for him to let her go.

That
was what he’d been trying to tell her that night after the Chinese at his place. He’d been warning her. Subconsciously he’d seen this coming, even if she had pretended she was fine.

Her flutter of instinct when she’d been with Meg had been spot on. While Cameron had thought he’d found himself an easygoing girl who would know better than to fall for him, Rosie had gone against character and done just that.

She’d fallen head over heels in love with the one man who could never be hers.

Punch drunk, Rosie inhaled deeply, but this time the air
felt like it barely touched her lungs. There were too many people. Crowding into her personal space. Making it impossible to breathe.

‘It’s been lovely to meet you all, Mrs Kelly. You have an amazing family,’ she managed to get out without choking. ‘Please excuse me.’

She blindly stumbled onto one of a dozen half-circle balconies leading off the gallery, towards fresh air. And open sky.

Looking up into the infinite stars—all of them seemingly serene and quiet, yet crashing, imploding, living and dying out of control right before her eyes—she managed to get air into her lungs once more.

Cameron leant in the frame of the balcony doorway, watching Rosalind.

Her hair flickered in the soft breeze. Her dress clung to her subtle curves. His blood warmed as he imagined wrapping himself about her again tonight. Celebrating with her. Taking her with him to the heights he was feeling, and finding solace in her arms as he came to terms with his father’s mortality. And his own.

Her long, lean fingers gripped the columned balustrade, her eyes looking up.

That was one of the many things that drew him to her: her restless energy. She was hard to satisfy. He felt exactly the same way. At least, he had for years.

But looking at her now, her delicate shoulders braced to take on whatever her stars might throw at her, he felt something inside him shake free and settle.

The three steps that took him to her felt like they took an eternity. He slid his arms around her waist, leant his chin on her shoulder and kissed the tip of her ear.

She melted against him, a perfect fit, and he felt her whole body sigh.

But then her hands clasped down on his; she peeled his hand away from her waist and stepped away.

She glanced at him from beneath her lashes, and he realised she was upset. Soft swirls of wet mascara bore witness to the tracks of her tears.

His fists clenched, ready to take on Dylan or Meg or Brendan or whoever had said something to make his big, brave girl so distressed.

He went to touch her again. ‘Rosalind, honey…’

She held up a hand, and he stopped mid-step.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

‘I can’t do this any more,’ she whispered between her teeth.

‘Do what?’ he asked. But while his fists unclenched all of the newly settled places inside him began to squeeze in expectation.

‘This.’ Her arms flew sideways, taking in the balcony, the ballroom, the immaculate grounds.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’ve done what I came here to do. Why don’t we go home?’ He wasn’t sure where that would be, his place or hers, but as long as she was with him he didn’t really much care.

He reached out to take her hand, which even in the beginning had always felt like the most natural thing in the world. But she pulled her hand away as though burnt.

‘I can’t,’ she croaked. ‘No more. Enough is enough.’ Two fat tears slid down her blotchy pink cheeks. She swiped them away in frustration. ‘Why did you even bring me here?’

He opened his mouth to tell her, then realised what a complicated question that really was. Less than a week earlier she’d been a welcome distraction. But tonight…

‘This was always going to be a difficult night, and knowing you were here with me, for me, made all the difference. I could never have done this without you.’

He took another step. She shook her head so hard her curls drooped.

Realising she was more than upset—she was so distraught he wasn’t sure she even heard him—he thought harder, went deeper. ‘Asking you to come was not a decision I made lightly.’

Her eyes were like chipped ice when she looked up at him. ‘Neither was my agreeing to come.’

He slid his left foot back to meet his right, keeping space between them while he tried to figure out what was happening.

It had all seemed to be going so well. Meg thought her fun, Dylan thought her hot, she’d earned his father’s respect in an instant, and his mother had merely kissed him on the cheek and smiled, which told him everything. What had happened during
Happy Birthday
?

‘Rosalind, I’m sorry, but I’m at a loss as to what’s going on here.’

‘It’s
Rosie
,’ she shot back. ‘Just plain old Rosie. Which is exactly why you asked me here. But that doesn’t make me some oddment you can flash about to get a rise out of your father. Or a diversionary girl to get Meg and Dylan off your back. Or a false hope for your mum. That’s just not cool. I don’t deserve that.’

She was so upset her voice was catching on her words, as though she could scarcely draw breath. It physically pained Cameron not to gather her up in his arms and make everything better.

But the truth was she was spot on—from the beginning he’d used her. Even when he’d realised she was too smart, too clued into him, not to figure it out. Now he’d hurt her when he’d promised himself he would never hurt anyone he cared for.

His only chance was to show her, and himself, that deep down he wasn’t the cold, calculating man he’d been acting like for the past week.

‘This has been a night for fresh starts,’ he said. ‘Maybe we could take a leaf out of that book and try for one ourselves.’

She laughed, but it was tinged with bitterness, the likes of which he’d never felt from her. He felt it like a slap across the face.

She said, ‘You are on a high, and I get that. I am honestly so happy for you that you have that. But let’s be honest—you’ve never pretended that you had any intention of commit
ting further time and energy to this than you absolutely had to. Don’t start messing with me now.’

God, but the woman was stubborn! His hands clenched into fists rather than reaching out and shaking her. ‘You want me to be brutally honest?’

His frustration came through his voice. She glanced up at him, her eyes like silver charms in the moonlight.

‘Why the heck not?’ she said.

‘Fine. Then here it is. You are honestly the most difficult, defiant, demanding woman I have ever met. And I think you ought to try to find it in you to give me a break. Now, do you really want to talk about commitment?’

‘Yeah. Let’s.’ She crossed her arms and glared at him. She was so fierce it brought about a growl deep down inside his chest. He would have grabbed her and kissed her had it not been for the fact that she was driving him so damned crazy.