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‘And now?’ he asked with silky intent.
Oh, but he was good, he was very, very good, Rosalie thought helplessly. Didn’t miss an opportunity, did he? But then that was undoubtedly one of the attributes that had made him such a formidable adversary in the business world. ‘Now you still seem arrogant,’ she said with a faint smile, ‘but perhaps I’m getting used to it.’ She raised mocking eyebrows, pleased with herself.
He grinned wickedly. ‘There is so much more you could get used to, believe me.’
Rosalie floundered. You couldn’t argue with some things.
Whether it was the champagne, or the fact that she was all dressed up and with the most gorgeous, fascinating man in the whole place, or simply that she’d had enough soul-searching for one night, Rosalie didn’t know, but she found she enjoyed the rest of the evening. Kingsley had performed another chameleon manoeuvre, and turned into a perfectly charming, relaxed social animal with nothing more pressing on his mind than making the evening a good one for both of them.
The fact that this heightened the impact of his sex appeal considerably did cause her the odd problem, especially when they were dancing. He made sure she became acquainted with every inch of his undeniably powerful body, and more than once as she tottered back to her seat she wondered if other men could turn an ordinary dance into an experience of such epicurean intimacy.
He didn’t realise the effect he was having on her, she was sure, but, held closely in his arms with the delicious male scent of him teasing her nostrils, she lost the rhythm more than once, excusing herself by blaming her faltering steps on her weak ankle rather than the weakness within.
It was very late when he took her home, sitting with her tucked into his side in the taxi, his arm round her and her head resting on his shoulder.
As they neared the flat the intoxicating effects of the dancing and champagne faded rapidly. She wanted to ask him in, she admitted silently, and not just for a nightcap. Could she handle what would inevitably follow? The sane, logical part of her brain told her she wouldn’t be able to give him her body without giving her heart also; the other part, the part that cried out for tenderness and comfort and love, said why carry on being alone when she could be in his arms?
When the taxi drew up outside the flat Kingsley opened the door and helped her out, before leaning down and speaking to the driver through the passenger window, asking him to wait.
He wasn’t coming in. Her heart thumped wildly and she honestly couldn’t say if she was relieved or disappointed. Perhaps it was a mixture of both.
He took her arm and walked her to the door, standing with her on the top step as she opened it. As she went to say goodnight he pushed her inside, taking her in his arms and kissing her fiercely, without any restraint in the shadowed darkness. The taste, the smell of him spun in her head and she clung to him, running her hands over his hard body under his suit jacket, the soft silk of his shirt at odds with the hard muscles beneath.
His hands were exploring her curves, the delicate fabric of her dress doing nothing to hide the arousal evident in the peaked tips of her breasts, but although his mouth was urgent and hungry she sensed he was fully in control of himself and curiously she wished he weren’t. If he got swept away by desire, taking the decision and the will to resist out of her hands, it would be fait accompli. She wouldn’t have to think about things any more, she could just go with the flow.
And then she felt him very gently remove her from him, his hand stroking a wisp of hair from her face as though to soften the withdrawal. ‘I have to go.’
She could tell him she wanted him to stay and make love to her, tell him to pay the taxi off and come back to her. ‘Yes, I know.’ She clenched her hands to avoid reaching out for him.
‘I’ll call you,’ he murmured huskily. ‘Okay?’
‘All right.’ She stared at him, her eyes huge.
He kissed her once more, and she had to restrain herself from pressing into him again, the feeling that she couldn’t get close enough overpowering. Something was happening, something she had no control over and it was scary.
He touched her cheek in farewell and then opened the door fully, walking towards the taxi as she stood at the top of the steps watching him, her face as pale as alabaster. The night was almost silent except for the sound of the odd car beyond the end of the street, and just past the house a street lamp cast a circle of muted gold on the pavement. She didn’t think she had ever felt so alone in all her life.
He turned and raised his hand before stepping into the taxi and she raised hers briefly in reply, letting it fall limply to her side as the taxi drew away. She watched it until it turned the corner and was lost to sight, but even then she didn’t shut the door, but continued to stare out into the empty street. She wanted to cry and she didn’t understand why.
Two small pinpoints of amber light shone further down the pavement as a cat sauntered out from the side of a house, a big apricot tom following a moment later.
Rosalie watched the first cat, a small dainty tabby, sashaying along in front of her beau, hips swinging and tail provocatively swaying. She fancied she could almost see the cat’s eyelashes fluttering as it moved its head slightly at one point to make sure her admirer was still following.
‘It’s easy for you,’ she murmured softly. ‘No worries, no wondering if he’ll still want you in the morning, no promises of for ever…’
She stepped inside and shut the door. She was beginning to talk to cats now, and ones that were out of earshot at that. The next stage was the men in white coats. Something told her it was time for bed!
That evening set the tone for plenty more in the following weeks whilst Kingsley was in England, along with long weekends when they walked in Hyde Park or took a boat on the Thames, went for champagne and strawberry picnics, visited Beth and George for enormous Sunday lunches, and generally enjoyed each other’s company.
The hot spell held, and soon the newspapers were talking of hosepipe bans and water shortages, but the parks were full of happy, rosy children and tanned young mothers in short summer dresses, and everyone seemed to be smiling all the time. Including Rosalie. She kept warning herself it couldn’t last, of course—the seductively so-far-and-no-further affair with Kingsley as well as the weather—but it was almost as though she was in a state of suspended animation about it all now.
She knew Kingsley wanted more from her, and she was beginning to suspect it wasn’t just sexually but in all sorts of ways, but every time she asked herself what she would do if that proved the case she felt so confused she put the subject on ice.
She had known Miles for five months before she had married him, and on her wedding day she would have sworn her new husband would hold no surprises for her, except in the nicest possible way. She’d known Kingsley for less, but several times recently she had caught herself making judgements—and all of them good—about him, which just showed the old adage of once bitten, twice shy didn’t always follow.
She did wonder if Kingsley might be biding his time about what he saw as the next stage of their relationship until she finished working on his hotel project. Sleeping with the quantity surveyor might not be his style, she thought wryly. He was the sort of man who would rarely mix business with pleasure, preferring to keep the different compartments of his life separate and straightforward.
Nevertheless, she had to admit to a feeling of surprise that he hadn’t put pressure on her. Sometimes he kissed her with such fierce passion it stunned her, other times he was warm and tender, leaving her feeling cherished and desirable, and always wanting more. Alw
