LITMIR.BIZ

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scent, he moved in tight and said, ‘It’s on my to-do list.’

      She watched him a few long, agonising seconds before she gave a little shrug beneath his touch. ‘Okay, then.’

      Okay, then. He took a few more moments to enjoy her sweet scent, her gentle curves leaning into him, and thought about suggesting they skip dinner after all.

      He let out a long, slow breath and disentangled himself from Rosalind Harper’s corrupting wares. Self-restraint was an asset. It separated men from monkeys, and Cameron from being anything like his father. He needed to get some food into him and soon.

      He slid around beside her, placed a hand in the small of her back and did his best to pay attention to his two feet as much as he was paying attention to the swing of her hips beneath his thumb as he herded her towards the Red Fox’s red doors.

      ‘It’s cold out,’ he said. ‘Come wait in the entrance while I get my jacket. Then we’ll find somewhere else to eat.’

      ‘After all the time you spent convincing me how great the quesadillas are? Not on your life.’

      Well, he’d shot himself in the foot there. All he wanted was her. Alone. Distracting him senseless. Now he was going to be stuck in a place peopled by Dylan and Meg’s mates, who knew enough about him to want to catch up, and not enough to know which subjects to avoid. ‘There’s a joint down the road where you can choose your own lobster before they boil it.’

      She shook her head, no.

      ‘You sure?’

      Her mouth titled into a sexy half-smile as she said, ‘Can’t a girl change her mind?’

      Somehow Cameron found the words, ‘Right. Then we’ll head inside, and say polite hellos on the way past as we find a table of our own as far away as it can possibly be. Sound good?’

      ‘Sounds perfect.’

      ‘Though, I must warn you, I fully expect them to throw potato wedges at us. If we’re lucky they won’t have dipped them in guacamole first.’

      She snuck a quick look sideways. ‘I like guacamole.’

      He liked her perfume. He liked her lips. He liked the feel of her beneath his hand. And most significantly he liked the fact that when he was with her his mind couldn’t for the life of it wander.

      For that alone he promised her, ‘Then guacamole you shall have.’

      They reached the front of the queue and the bouncer looked up, saw Cameron then opened the velvet rope without hesitation.

      Cameron nudged Rosalind with his shoulder and she skipped ahead of him, glancing back with a half smile.

      The bar crowd closed in around them. She ran a quick hand through her hair, fluffing it up, and straightened her shoulders like she was preparing to enter a prize fight.

      Before he let himself think better of it he took her hand, and as though it was exactly what she’d been waiting for her fingers wrapped tight around his. It brought her back to his side, where her warm body fit in against him.

      Images of lips and backs against walls and hot hands rushed in on him so fast one would think he’d been a monk these last thirty-two years.

      ‘Relax,’ Cameron said, so close to Rosie’s ear her lobe got goose bumps. ‘They won’t bite. Though, just in case, I hope you’ve had your shots.’

      She tried to put some air between them, but the crowd kept jostling her back to his side. ‘I don’t know if you’re trying to be funny, as I don’t know any of them. I barely even know you.’

      Her arm dragged behind her as he came to a halt. She let go of his hand and turned to see why.

      He was rooted to the spot among the surging crowd, a half-head taller than everyone else, broader of shoulder, and more likely to make a woman tremble with one look than anyone else she’d ever met.

      Talk about being remarkable without any effort whatsoever. Maybe once this unnerving-yet-irresistible night was finally over she would have learnt a thing or two about genuine cool.

      He slid his hands into his trouser pockets and asked, ‘What would you like to know?’

      ‘The highlights so far will do fine.’

      His eyes narrowed. ‘The name’s Cameron Quinn Kelly. Star sign, Aries. Six-feet-two inches tall, weight unknown. I like test cricket more than many consider natural, and can spend hours in hardware superstores without spending a cent and never consider it time wasted. I buy far too many useless things on eBay, because once I’m committed to an auction I can’t stand to lose. I’m slightly reluctant to admit my favourite holiday destination is Las Vegas, and I have no shame in saying I have cried during Dead Poets Society.’

      Rosie took a deep breath. Was it really possible to like a guy that much more after such a simple snapshot? ‘You forgot your favourite colour.’

      ‘Blue.’

      She didn’t doubt it. At some stage that day he’d lost the vest and tie, and the blue shirt hugging his chest was a perfect match for his eyes. It looked so good on him she was finding it hard to remember what else he’d said.

      ‘Enough?’ he asked.

      She swallowed hard, then quipped, ‘That was more than I know about my mailman, and I give him beer at Christmas.’

      He bowed ever so slightly. ‘Now, before I let you loose upon my friends, maybe I should know more about you too.’

      Fighting the urge to cross her arms, she grabbed hold of both lengths of her long scarf as she said, ‘Rosalind Merryweather Harper. Star sign, Taurus. I’m about five-eight. Weight, none of your business.’

      His eyes dropped, lightly touching her breasts, her hips and her calves, before sliding neatly back to her eyes. Her pause was noted, and his cheek curved into the kind of smile that made a girl think of fresh sheets, low lighting and coffee in the morning.

      Unnerving yet irresistible. Yep, that summed him up perfectly.

      ‘Merryweather?’ he asked.

      She grinned. ‘It’s rude to interrupt. Now, where was I? I’ve been to Nevada twice, yet never seen Vegas. With all those lights it has to be one of the more difficult places on earth to see stars. My guilty pleasure is Elvis Presley movies, and I was born with seven toes on each foot.’

      Cameron’s smile wavered. Twitched. Stumbled. His eyes slid to her shoes.

      Until she said, ‘Gotcha.’

      His eyes took their time meandering up her body before they returned to hers.

      ‘Satisfied?’ he asked, his voice deeper than the bass notes thumping through the bar.

      ‘Getting there,’ she breathed.

      The shift of the crowd threw them together. The slide of his cotton shirt against her velvet jacket acted like a flint shooting sparks between them.

      She pressed both hands against his chest. ‘I’m almost certain somebody promised me dinner.’

      He smiled. ‘I’m almost certain you’re right.’

      Then for a moment, the briefest snap in time, she thought she caught a glimpse of the man behind the dark-blue fortress, and saw strengths, knowledge, experience, and hunger far deeper than she’d even imagined. Her fingers curled into his shirt as once again she felt like she was in some kind of free fall.

      She didn’t like the feeling one little bit.

      She slapped him hard on the chest, twice, then with a thin-lipped smile turned away and slid through the crowd.

      And then the St Grellans table loomed before her. She recognised a couple of faces—a school captain, a drama queen, the daughter of an ex–Prime Minister. Bless their hearts.

      Rosie felt Cameron

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