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She surveyed him from across the table as he held Beth and George captivated with another of the many funny stories he’d related during the evening, the sting in the tail often being directed against himself.
Certainly Miles hadn’t been able to laugh at himself, but then Kingsley was probably quite aware that it was a definite plus in winning people over, she thought, with no apology for the cynicism.
Miles had been tall, dark and handsome—like Kingsley. Rich—like Kingsley. Possessed of the certain something that, along with wealth and power, proved to be an almost irresistible draw to the average female—like Kingsley.
Miles had also been cruel and unreasonable, a harsh despot who hid his true nature under blindingly good looks and a winsome boyish manner. He had been the perfect man until they had got married, the catch of the university, and she’d known all her friends had been green with envy. Who would have believed that behind locked doors he could turn into a vicious, brutal sadist when crossed, a savage, and for something as trivial as his toast being burnt? The flat they had rented had become a place of terror, and it had got so she had only felt safe when she’d been at her lectures or out in a group with their friends.
Why had she stuck it as long as she had? Probably because she’d believed marriage was
for life back then, and she had been desperate to make it work after what had happened to her parents. Every time he had hurt her she’d told herself she had to try that bit harder to be a better wife. It had to be her that was at fault, surely? Miles was perfect; everyone said so. And then had come the night of their graduation…
‘…don’t you think, Lee?’
She came out of the horror to see Beth’s dining table and three pairs of eyes looking at her. ‘I’m sorry.’ She forced a smile. ‘Thinking about a problem at work.’
‘Not my job, I hope?’ Kingsley’s voice was easy, lazy, but the piercing blue of his eyes told her she hadn’t done quite such a good cover-up job as she’d have liked.
‘Yours is fine.’ She turned her gaze to Beth, who had been the one who had spoken her name. ‘Sorry,’ she said again. ‘What were you saying?’
The conversation progressed naturally from that point, but Rosalie was aware that, although he laughed and joked as before, Kingsley’s gaze was thoughtful when it rested on her.
They didn’t reach the coffee and liqueur stage until just before midnight, and by then the conflicting emotions Rosalie had suffered since Kingsley had walked into her office had her aching for sleep. Fortunately Beth and George were normally in bed by ten, and once everyone had finished their coffee and brandy Beth made no bones about retiring.
The four of them walked up the exquisite curved staircase the cottage sported together, and once on the landing Beth and George disappeared into the master suite after the customary goodnights, leaving Kingsley and Rosalie alone on the landing.
‘Goodnight, Rosie.’ He had bent his dark head and captured her mouth before she could react. Warmth spread through her, and then a rising passion, the blood rushing through her body like hot mulled wine. He had pulled her hard into him, kissing her with almost violent intensity before he suddenly let her go.
Her legs were trembling as he held her away from him so she could stabilise herself, and he looked at her with hungry eyes. ‘There was a woman once, when I was twenty, and I got my fingers burnt badly,’ he said roughly. ‘Since then I’ve always been up-front about how I feel; no promises of for ever, no commitment beyond that whilst the affair lasts I’ll be faithful and I expect the lady to be. Honesty and loyalty, and no regrets, no recriminations. Not a bad philosophy, is it?’
She stared at him. What was he saying, that he wanted an affair with her? A no-strings-attached kind of affair? For a moment her brain wouldn’t work, and then she sidestepped the issue by saying, ‘And the women are happy with that?’
‘Of course.’ He sounded surprised she had asked. ‘When you get down to basics most women acknowledge that love might sound a pleasant concept but it just doesn’t work in the real world. Sooner or later mistrust and doubt rear their ugly heads, and if you find out your partner has been cheating on you…’ He shrugged. ‘It happens. All the time. The divorce rate is evidence of that. Sexual compatibility is something else. That’s real and honest and not reliant on trusting someone or being trusted.’
Rosalie took a deep breath. ‘Are you propositioning me, Kingsley?’ she asked expressionlessly.
‘You want me, Rosie. And I want you—from the first second I laid eyes on you I’ve been burning up with the need. You’re single, I’m single. It’s the most natural thing on earth.’
She wasn’t sure how she felt exactly, but she knew she wanted to hit him, and that didn’t seem quite fair when he was being so honest. She tried for lightness. ‘Sorry, but I don’t do affairs,’ she said pleasantly.
‘I know that.’ He pulled her closer again, his palms cupping her sides and his fingertips splaying over her lower ribs. ‘And I respect how you feel.’
She could feel his strength and warm virility flowing into her, and the lure of it made her voice husky when she said, ‘But? And don’t tell me there isn’t a but. “But” this is different. “But” we’d be so good for each other. “But” it’s not often people have the empathy we have. Am I right?’
For an answer he moved, pressing her back against the wall of the landing, holding her there with his body as he took her mouth again. His thighs were hard against hers and she could feel every inch of him as he drained her will to protest, his mouth and tongue fuelling the burning desire that had exploded the moment his lips had touched hers. She could feel his heart pounding like a sledgehammer, mirroring her pulse, and for a second the urge to give in, to open the door of her bedroom and pull him in with her was paramount.
It was enough to shock her back to reality. Her arms had been round his waist but now she brought them up to his chest and pushed, her voice shaking as she said, ‘Don’t. I don’t want this, Kingsley. Let me go.’
Kingsley had known many women over the years and thought he understood the female species pretty well, but the fear in Rosalie’s voice stunned him. He stopped instantly, taking a backwards step that removed his body from hers, but kept his arms outstretched either side of her body, holding her within the circle of his maleness. ‘What the hell did he do to you?’ he asked softly, his voice very deep. And then, at the look on her white face, he straightened. ‘Okay, okay, I know. You don’t want to talk about it.’
‘I can’t.’ It was a whisper. ‘I can’t talk about it.’
‘You don’t trust me enough.’ His expression was unreadable.
‘I don’t know you,’ she said truthfully. And yet part of her felt as though she had known him all her life, which was even more scary. Petrifying, in fact.
His brow furrowed, and she could almost see the formidably astute and intelligent brain considering the implications of what she had said. Then he nodded, his face giving nothing away as to what he was thinking. ‘I can accept that,’ he said after a moment or two. ‘So we remedy the situation.’
She stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked warily.
