AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She lowered her gaze to the papers on her desk, but she had completely lost the thread of what she’d been doing, along with the will to continue. A weekend with Kingsley. This whole thing was surreal. And what about Tweety Pie? Where did she fit into the scheme of things? Was she one of those career women he had talked abo
ut who liked being wined and dined with no strings attached? Or were the rumours Mike had spoken about true and she was due to be the future Mrs Ward? Not that it made any difference to her, of course, Rosalie reassured herself in the next instant, but if the latter was the case he shouldn’t be here right now.
She put her hands to her hot cheeks, her heart thumping a tattoo. She didn’t want this, any of it. Panic rose, the taste acidic in her throat. She had made a life for herself, a good life, and she didn’t want anyone or anything to spoil it. And Kingsley had the potential to do that.
She smoothed her hair away from her flushed face, aware her hands were shaking but unable to do anything about it.
Control. It was all about control, just as it had been with Miles. Miles had bulldozed his way into her life too, captivating and holding her with his charm and good looks and dominating her to the point where she had begun to believe black was white. She had been eighteen when she had met him and nearly twenty-one when they’d split up, and apart from the first few months of their relationship she’d existed rather than lived. Terrified of upsetting him, of losing his love; accepting always that she was the one to blame whatever the circumstances. Her mother’s daughter.
She straightened, shame and humiliation making her back rigid. Non-involvement spelt safety where a man like Kingsley was concerned, and she needed to remember that this weekend. This was just an amusing diversion for him, that was all.
It was another fifteen minutes before she left her office and by then Rosalie was in command of herself again. Kingsley glanced up from where he was sitting perched on the edge of Jenny’s desk, leafing through a car magazine. He rose, slinging the magazine on a pile on the occasional table next to a comfy chair reserved for visitors, his voice expressionless as he said, ‘Don’t frown like that, you’ll get lines before your time.’
Don’t react, that’s exactly what he wants. Rosalie’s smile was brittle, her eyes cool, but she kept her voice pleasant. ‘I’ll take my chance.’
‘You won’t say that at fifty when you resemble a wrinkled prune instead of a peach.’ He grinned at her, one of the grins she’d seen only once or twice, which touched the clear cold blue of his eyes with warm sunshine. It was hard to remain annoyed and try to freeze him in the face of such a metamorphosis, but she persevered.
And then strong arms caught her and he wasn’t smiling any more. ‘What was his name?’ he asked softly.
‘What?’ She was so taken aback she made no move to free herself, her senses registering the shirt was made of silk as her hands rested against the wall of his chest.
‘The guy who put the “Keep off” sign in place.’
Her eyes flickered. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.’ She looked at him defiantly.
‘Liar.’ His gaze moved over her face, burning where it touched. ‘Someone’s hurt you, and badly. What was his name?’
‘Kingsley, let me go—’
‘We can stand here all night like this if you like, but I want to know his name.’ And now the softness covered pure steel. ‘The more I get to know you, the less I know you, and I don’t like that.’ The blue eyes were clear and steady and unrelenting.
She raised her head a fraction. ‘I would have thought you are too busy to worry about me,’ she said tightly.
He looked at her, his expression unreadable. ‘Now something tells me you aren’t referring to my work schedule,’ he said quietly. ‘Right?’
Darn right. She shrugged, attempting to move away, but the grip on her arms tightened. Now he was bullying her. Charming.
‘And this is a follow-on from the little-black-book dig. Right again?’ His voice was even and faintly quizzical.
‘It was you who brought up the little black book,’ she protested. ‘I merely said—’
‘I know what you said, Rosalie.’
He lowered his head and kissed her. His mouth was urgent, hungry, and this kiss was as different from anything that had gone before as ice from fire. She made a brief movement of withdrawal but then as it continued, his mouth slowly and deeply taking what it wanted, she felt desire rise hotly in the core of her being. She felt weightless, the feel of him and the warmth of his body causing her to melt into him even as a tiny part of her mind that was still capable of rational thought warned her that this was madness.
His hands were stroking the silky skin of her back under the thin blouse she was wearing, his fingers delicately exploring even as they urged her closer into him. She could feel what the kiss was doing to him, and it was sweet, potent, to know she could arouse him so easily.
It was the ringing of the telephone on Jenny’s desk that penetrated the world of touch and taste that had taken her over, and Rosalie had no idea how long they had been standing wrapped in each other’s arms. As the answer machine took a message from someone concerning an account problem, Kingsley said softly, ‘I wouldn’t kiss you like that if I was involved with someone else, Rosalie. Oh, I might take you out to dinner or for a drink, a date where everything remained on the level, but there would be no lovemaking.’
‘Just platonic friendship?’ She tried to make her voice lightly disbelieving, but she was trembling too much.
‘Just so.’
Did she believe him? She stared into the piercingly blue eyes and admitted she didn’t know. She had believed Miles and look where that had got her. The thought of Miles caused her heart to give an unsteady slam, and something of the impact must have registered in her eyes because Kingsley said, ‘Sooner or later you have to put a toe in the water again; you know that, don’t you?’
It didn’t dawn on her what she had admitted when she said, ‘Why do I?’ until much later.
‘Because you are far too beautiful and desirable not to, that’s why. Whoever he was, Rosalie, and whatever he did, the future is yours and what you make of it. Do you believe that?’
