Dating the Rebel Tycoon by Ally Blake Page A

shoes pressed into the ground, and his body clenched in preparation for pushing away. Then his eyes found hers. Shards of unclouded moonlight sliced through the round silver irises. She had never looked away, never backed down. Who was this woman?
    The wind gentled, softened, and took with it a measure of the tension. It tickled at his hair, sending hers flickering across her face. Before he found a reason not to, he reached out and swept it back behind her ear. Her hair was as soft as he’d imagined, kinky and thick and silken.
    Her chest rose, her lips parted, her eyes burned. Seconds ago he was ready to walk away. Now he wanted to kiss her so badly he was sure he could already taste her on his tongue. He let his hand drop away.
    Rosalind turned back to face the river. She scooped gelato onto her spoon and shoved it into her mouth, as though cooling her own tongue. Then from the corner of her mouth she said, ‘Am I alone in thinking that got a little heated for a bit?’
    ‘That it did,’ he drawled.
    She nodded and let the spoon rattle about in her mouth. ‘That wasn’t me trying to be particularly remarkable.’
    ‘Mmm. I didn’t think so.’
    She laughed through her nose. ‘Thank goodness, then; neither of us is perfect.’
    Cameron had to laugh right along with her. It was the best tension-release there was. The best one could indulge in in public, anyway.
    Rosie gripped her spoon with her teeth and said, ‘Speaking of not being perfect…’
    Cameron gave in, stuffed his napkin into his half-finished tuband tossed it in the bin, the makeshift-sweet bite of vanilla no longer cutting it when he had the real thing right in front of him.
    She watched the cup with wide eyes. ‘What on earth did you do that for?’
    ‘Because I get the feeling I’ll need both hands to defend myself against whatever’s coming next.’
    She held a hand over her mouth as she laughed to hold in the melted gelato .
    ‘Come on,’ he said, beckoning her by curling his fingers into his upturned palms. ‘Get it off your chest now while I’m still in a state of semi-shock.’
    She lifted her bottom to tuck her foot beneath, her body curling and shifting, the fabric of her T-shirt pulling tight across her lean curves. ‘Okay. Sharing family stories shouldn’t be like flint to dry leaves; it should be in the normal range of conversation on a date.’
    He pulled his gaze back up to her face and reminded himself she was no intellectual small-fry. ‘I like to think a normal range includes favourite movies, a bit about work and a few double entendres to keep it interesting.’
    Her wide mouth twitched. ‘I get that. But people are more than the movies they’ve seen. We’re all flawed. Frail, even. We make mistakes. We do the best we can under the circumstances we’ve been given. So why not just put the truth out there? I admit I have no dress sense. My dad was never around. My mum was unfit to be a parent. I can’t cook. Your turn.’
    He broke eye contact, looked across the river and anchored himself in the integrity of concrete and steel, of precise engineering and beautiful absolutes. Everything else he’d once thought true had turned out to be as real as the monsters under his bed. ‘You want my confession?’
    ‘No. Yes. Maybe. It sure as hell might make sitting here with you a lot less intimidating if I knew you actually had something to confess.’
    He turned back to her, monsters abating as she took precedence again. ‘You find me intimidating?’
    She raised an eyebrow. ‘No. You’re a walk in the park. Now, stop changing the subject. I’ve had the highlights, now give me the untold story before I start feeling like a total fool for thinking you might be man enough to hack a little cold, hard truth.’
    God, she was good. She had his testosterone fighting his reason, and no prizes for guessing which was coming out on top.
    He kicked his legs out straight ahead to slide his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The