Dating the Rebel Tycoon by Ally Blake Page A

thing to a summer’s day?’
    He leaned forward until his face was a relief map of dark and light. She could see the shape of his hard chest as the breeze flapped his shirt against him, and the worry lines that never truly faded even when he smiled.
    Thus she was blithely staring into those dreamy blue eyes when he turned to her and said, ‘Thou art more lovely and more temperate.’
    Several seconds passed in which she said nothing; she just sat there, desperately searching for the humour that ought tohave laced his words. Try as she might, she found none. Instead she found herself drowning in his voice, his words, his eyes, in his possibilities.
    But that’s not why you’re seeing him , she told herself slowly, as if approaching an unknown and possibly dangerous animal. You might be revelling in the invigorating slaying of invisibility demons of your childhood, but he is still the greatest of all impossibilities.
    She uncrossed her arms and grabbed hold of the edge of the crate, let her feet drop back to the concrete floor and dug her toes into her shoes. ‘It’s getting late.’
    Cameron nodded. ‘After Brendan rang, my project manager buzzed.’
    ‘Good old Bruce.’ The pleasure that skipped through her when he smiled made her wish she’d kept her mouth shut.
    ‘I promised him my whim had been appeased and we were already on terra firma. Unscathed. I got the feeling he was lying in bed awake awaiting that news.’
    He held out a hand. She took it. She didn’t realise how cold hers was until it was enveloped in the warmth of his. He lifted her easily to her feet, and time folded in on itself as together they walked through the maze of building materials, blowing out each of the candles.
    When they reached the table he scooped up her handbag and lifted it onto her shoulder, and then with her hand still snug in his he led her to the lift.
    ‘Shouldn’t we take some of that stuff back downstairs?’ she asked, giving one last, longing look at the romantic little alcove before, for the sake of every future date, she did her best to forget it had ever existed.
    ‘It’ll be taken care of in the morning.’
    ‘There you go again,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Thinking yourself at the centre of the universe.’
    He lifted his chin. ‘You know what? I’m thinking I might hang onto that thought a while longer yet. The pay’s good, and the benefits are beyond compare.’
    The lift door closed on the concrete and steel, unlit candles and glowing horizon, and Rosie had to admit the guy probably had a point.
    They reached the plasterboard wall and Cameron glanced at the top of Rosie’s head and held out a hand. It was only then that she even remembered she’d been wearing the orange protective helmet the whole time.
    She groaned inwardly. All those longing glances she’d imagined—the moments his eyes had locked on hers, and she’d seen things therein that had made her feel warm all over and scared her silly—she hadn’t even noticed his helmet; she’d been so caught up in the rest of him. All the while she must have looked an utter treat.
    ‘If you are hoping to keep it as a souvenir—’
    ‘No, of course not!’ She slid it forward, ran ragged fingers across her scalp and tied the length into a hasty knot at her nape, not wanting to know what kind of red marks were shining across her forehead as she spoke.
    ‘Where did you park?’ he asked.
    She motioned vaguely with her shoulder. ‘Down the street.’
    He moved in closer. Or had the moon shifted behind a cloud and made everything suddenly seem more intimate? ‘Where? I’ll walk you there.’
    ‘I’ll be fine. These boots might not be steel-capped but I know where to aim them if I get in any trouble.’
    The word ‘trouble’ almost lodged in her throat. Trouble was the look in Cameron’s eyes. Trouble was the slip and slide of desire keeping her from backing away as he inched ever closer. Trouble had become her new best friend the moment