Part 10 (2/2)

He leaned in and placed a kiss just below her ear, and she half forgot what they were talking about. And when he moved to nibble on her earlobe itself she forgot the other half.

An age later when he pulled away all she could remember was that they had agreed to a third date. 'So, where to tomorrow? A s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p? No, a submarine. It better be your basic, run-of-the-mill submarine or I'm out of there.'

'I was thinking of taking you to the first place I ever built.'

She bit back a yawn. 'Fine. But they'd better serve coffee. Three nights out in a row, and I'm afraid I might fade to a shadow.'

'If that's what it'll take.' With that he pulled her close and kissed her again. This time it was slow, soft, tender, mesmerising. He tasted of white wine and strawberries. He made every inch of her feel toasty warm. In that moment the word 'yes' felt like the easiest word in the entire world.

When he pulled away, he did so with discernible regret.

He groaned, spun her on the spot, gave her a small shove in the direction of her car and said, 'Now get, before today becomes tomorrow and we both turn into pumpkins.'

As Rosie walked down the street she felt Cameron's eyes on her the whole way. He obviously hadn't believed her about her ability with her boots. Or maybe he just liked the view.

She added a swagger for good measure.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE sun was just beginning to rise but Cameron's backside had already been parked atop a dry, paint-spattered stool for an hour as he earned his keep playing diplomat between Bruce, the project manager, and Hamish, the architect. With a month to go before completion, things were tense. sun was just beginning to rise but Cameron's backside had already been parked atop a dry, paint-spattered stool for an hour as he earned his keep playing diplomat between Bruce, the project manager, and Hamish, the architect. With a month to go before completion, things were tense.

He slid a finger beneath his hard hat to wipe the gathering sweat from his brow, and was. .h.i.t with the image of Rosalind wearing one the night before.

With those big, grey eyes and her long hair hanging in s.e.xy waves beneath the orange monstrosity, she'd looked adorable. And he was entirely certain she'd had no idea. As a short-term distraction she was proving to be all he could have hoped for.

'Kelly!' Bruce called out, slamming Cameron back to earth with a thud.

'What?' he barked.

'Where the h.e.l.l have you been for the past five minutes? You sure as h.e.l.l haven't been on Planet Brisbane.'

Cameron frowned. But Bruce was right. Spending every spare moment with Rosalind was proving to be mighty helpful at distracting him from obsessing about his father. He just didn't need that distraction spilling over into other areas of his life.

Since he'd been thrown out on his own, his business was his everything. It filled his waking hours, and many of his sleeping ones as well. It was his fuel, his drive, his pa.s.sion. While on the other hand, Rosalind was...

'Earth to Cameron,' Bruce said, shaking his head.

Cameron mentally slapped himself across the back of the head. Enough, already.

'I'm here,' he growled. 'Keep going.'

Bruce leant against a column and crossed his arms. 'I was just telling Hamish here about your little tryst upstairs last night. Candles? Seafood?'

Cameron all but threw the handful of papers in his hands into the air in surrender.

Hamish pulled up a stool so that he was in Cameron's direct eyeline. 'Please tell me the big man's been telling tales out of school. You did not bring some woman here after hours without proper supervision. Not a month out from signing off?'

Cameron stared hard at his mate. Hamish-who had known him since university, therefore knew him only as the ambitious, focussed, blinkered entrepreneur he had become-stared right on back.

'G.o.d, Cam,' Hamish drawled. 'You had to be breaking a good dozen laws, not to mention union rules.'

'You think I didn't tell him that?' Bruce asked.

But Hamish wasn't done. In fact there was a distinct glint in his eye as he crossed his arms and leant back on the stool. 'Cam,' he said. 'The last of the honourable men, brought thudding back to earth by a mystery woman. Who the heck is she?'

Cameron closed his eyes and ran his index finger and thumb hard across his forehead. 'She's no-one you know. And this subject is now closed.'

'Fine with me.' Hamish held both hands in the air, then glanced at his paint-splattered watch. 'I have somewhere else to be.'

'We have work to do, McKinnon,' Bruce cried. 'Where else could you possibly have to be?'

'I have a date waiting for me on the exterior-window cleaning trestle. She should be at about the thirtieth floor by now, so I'll just go grab the champagne and get harnessed up.'

Cameron didn't even bother telling Hamish where to go, he just slid from the stool and walked away.

'Where's he think he's going?' he heard Bruce ask as he reached the lift door.

'If he's trying to cut in on my date,' Hamish said, 'It'll be pistols at dawn.'

There was a pause, then Bruce said, 'I thought you were kidding about the girl,' as the lift doors closed. Cameron was only half-sorry he missed Hamish's response.

He reached the top floor before he knew it. The lift doors opened to a cacophony of noise as glaziers, construction workers and plasterers chatted, banged, drilled, swore and gave the place the kind of raw energy that usually invigorated him.

It meant progress. Honest work, honestly executed by honest men. Sweat of the brow stuff. He was proud of the healed blisters on his own hands for that exact reason.

But as he hit the spot on the roofless penthouse floor, where the night before Rosalind had sat upon a crate, looking out over his city, and with her mix of ruthless candour and subtle beauty had managed to smooth over his perpetual dissatisfaction, the noise faded away.

He leant a foot against the edge of the roof and looked out over the horizon where streaks of cloud were just beginning to herald the rising of the sun.

He held out his hand at arm's length and a span above the horizon; just where she'd said it would be, there it was: Venus. A glowing crescent in the pale-grey sky.

His hand dropped. Somewhere out there, beyond the borders of the noisy, thriving city he loved, she would be sitting somewhere quiet looking at the exact same point in the sky.

And while she was thinking trajectories, gas clouds and expanding universes, he was thinking about her. About seeing her again tonight. It would be their third date in as many nights, which was more time than he'd spent with one woman in as long as he could remember. More time than he ever let himself see Meg or Dylan.

A thread of guilt snuck beneath his unusually unguarded defences. He'd kept those he loved most at the greatest distance so as to save them from being tainted with the hurtful knowledge about his father's weak character he always carried with him. But something Rosalind had said made him wonder: was keeping them at bay hurting them as much?

If he really wanted to see them he knew where they'd be that weekend, all in the one place at the one time, which was usually an impossible feat.

He ran a hand over his mouth. If he went to his father's birthday party, he pretty much knew what would happen. Brendan would swagger, Dylan would win money on a bet he had made somewhere about the date of his return home and Meg would squeal, leap into his arms, then try to set him up with a girlfriend. And his mother would probably cry.

His stomach clenched on his mother's behalf. The clench turned to acid as he thought of how shabbily she'd been treated by the one person who was meant to care for her. The idea of putting on a show at a celebration of that man's years on earth turned to dust in his throat.

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