Part 12 (1/2)

'Do you sleep on the couch?' she said overly loudly, to cut him off.

'My bedroom and the study are in the level above. More bedrooms, wet bar; games room below.'

She nodded. 'Your home is really beautiful.'

'Thanks.' His voice rumbled through the wide, open room, but he might as well have whispered them into her ear, the way it affected her.

He was different from the guys she usually dated in more ways than she'd let on to Adele. No surfer's body or professor's poetry had ever brought her to this state of permanent antic.i.p.ation and awareness of every detail around her, every tactile sensation, every natural beauty. And worse, neither had the dedicated life she'd led alone.

She gave herself a little shake and decided a change of subject was what was needed if she had any chance of finding her feet again.

She turned with a plastered-on smile. 'So where's this telescope you claim to have-still in its box? A figment of your imagination? A falsehood with which to impress the science girl?'

'It's...unpacked. Though honestly it's always been more decorative than functional.'

She stuck a hand on her hip. 'So it's an expensive dust-collector?'

He winced. 'The night I moved in, I looked through the thing. The trees were upside down. I gave up and watched the cricket match instead.'

'Ever heard of an instruction manual?'

He stared back at her. She let her gaze rove over the gla.s.sware in his clear kitchen-cabinets, anywhere but at those hot, blue eyes.

'Some refractors work that way. You just have to remember that in s.p.a.ce nothing's upside down or the right way up. Only your thinking makes it so.' She glanced back at him as she said, 'Your problem is the ”centre of the universe” thing you have going on.'

'I have the feeling if I keep you around long enough you'll eventually knock that out of me.'

The very idea created a knot deep in her belly. How long was long enough? How long was a piece of string? How long until she relaxed, for Pete's sake?

She tugged on the fingers of one hand until a couple of knuckles gave helpful cracks. 'So where is it? I can give you a quick lesson.'

'It's in my bedroom.'

'Of course it is. Is there any better place from which to spy on your neighbour's trees?'

'There's only one way to find out.'

She tugged her fingers so hard something popped that she wasn't sure ought to have popped. 'I'll take your word for it.'

She stretched out her tense hands, and again didn't quite know where to look-while he stood at the bottom of the stairs clean-shaven, handsome as they came, oozing cool, calm and collectedness. Pure and unadulterated Kelly.

And in that moment Rosie knew she'd been kidding herself; she'd bitten off far more than she could chew.

Cameron was secure in the lifestyle he'd been born to, while it had taken her half a lifetime and a lot of fight to become half as comfortable in her own skin, and she was still very much a work in progress.

If the two of them came together in the kind of collision she felt was on the horizon, he'd not show a dint, while if genetics counted for anything she could well be damaged beyond repair.

When he threw his keys into a misshapen wooden bowl on a chunky hall-table at the bottom of the stairs, the sound made her jump.

She blew out a stream of air, her eyes scooting over the table to find that it was covered in clutter-a baseball cap, a couple of loose computer back-up-stick thingies on brightly coloured lanyards, a camera bag tipped over and empty, a coffee cup with remnants on the rim and a messy pile of opened envelopes in need of throwing out.

The flotsam and jetsam of a real life. And a reminder that Cameron wasn't just a name, or a bank balance, or an alma mater, or an archetype she could shove into some pigeon hole that suited her.

Above all else he was a man. A real man. Possibly the first authentic man she'd ever known.

Warmth curled throughout her insides, loosening all the immobilised places inside her. The feelings that tumbled in its wake came too thick and fast for her to even hope to herd them somewhere safe. She just dug her toes into her shoes and waited for the waves to stop.

Thankfully Cameron was in the kitchen by that stage, with his back to her and his head deep in the fridge, one hand wrapped about the edge of the door, the other wavering near the top shelf, letting out the cold air and not giving a hoot.

'I had a crazy day today,' his m.u.f.fled voice said. 'One level of chaos after another, starting with some att.i.tude from your friend Bruce. It's made me so hungry I'd eat the fridge if I had a knife sharp enough.'

Rosie was so addled; if he came out of there with a lasagne he'd cooked for her himself, she thought she might just faint.

He ducked his head round the door and his cornflower-blue gaze caught hers. She blinked and stared right back.

He was gorgeous. And this was the all-important third date. But was she willing to yield to everything that concept entailed, even knowing that afterwards he wouldn't be going anywhere?

As though he knew the exact nature of her thoughts, the corners of his mouth lifted lazily, creating the s.e.xiest creases in his cheeks, adorable crinkles around his eyes and such a provocative gleam in those eyes it was as good as an invitation.

Maybe she hadn't bitten off more than she could chew. Maybe she just had to adjust her perspective on who he was and how much of him she could handle. She just had to trust herself that she'd absolutely know the moment to pull out before she'd gone too far. Or maybe, just maybe, he was worth going over the edge for.

'I have no idea what I was hoping I might find in there,' he said. 'There's not a single thing I know what to do with. How does Chinese takeaway sound?'

Rosie let go at the breath she felt like she'd been holding for the past half an hour. 'Sounds perfect.'

CHAPTER NINE

AN HOUR later Rosie sat at the kitchen bench, three of the four white boxes of noodles empty. She abandoned the final unopened box before leaning against the chair back and laying her hand over her stomach. later Rosie sat at the kitchen bench, three of the four white boxes of noodles empty. She abandoned the final unopened box before leaning against the chair back and laying her hand over her stomach.

Beside her, Cameron laughed. 'For a moment there I thought I might have to throw myself in front of the leftovers to save you from yourself.'

'No fear. I know when to quit.'

Cameron's laughter subsided to an easy smile. And Rosie smiled back. The freak-out that had afflicted her early in the evening had faded to a reminder to take care. Once she'd mentally adjusted the limits of what she could handle, she'd begun to relax into Cameron's effortless company.

He'd long since ditched his jacket, and Rosie her poncho and shoes. A CD played softly in the background. A fire crackled in the hearth. And the conversation fell into a natural lull.

Rosie's naked toes curled around the bottom rung of the stool and her eyes blinked slowly. All snug and warm, the past few nights finally threatened to catch up to her.

'You have a little smudge...' Cameron said, his voice low and soothing.

She opened her eyes to find him staring at her mouth, a hand hovering so close to her lips that they began to tingle. Her tongue darted out to swipe at the left corner of her mouth.

He smiled, frowned, then gently wiped a half-centimetre lower. Whatever speck of sauce he found there he proceeded to lick off his finger. And suddenly sleep was the last thing on her mind.

She leant her elbows on the bench and leant her chin on her upturned palms. 'Of all the places in all the world one can be, how is it that a guy like you ended up staying so close to home?'