The feeling of utter betrayal floored her.
She’d trusted Josh.
God, what else had he said?
No wonder Alexander was coming on to her all hot and heavy.
Panic dried her throat as a wave of vulnerability, of her bleeding heart being exposed, washed over her.
And all the while those cat’s eyes never left hers.
She had to know and her voice was no more than a whisper,
‘We talked about it. What else did Josh say?’
Those amazing eyes went sharp.
‘He said we should be locked in a room together for a week and talk.’
Heady relief flooded her system so fast it made her dizzy.
Josh hadn’t let her down.
He hadn’t told Alexander she loved him.
‘I can’t do it.’
Now his lips thinned as his eyes narrowed fractionally.
‘I’m not good enough for you?’
Rosie closed her eyes and remembered the dreams, the years of ‘if only,’ the wanting, the wishing, the needy desire.
She opened her eyes and found him watching her like a hawk.
Could she do it?
‘Just sex?’ She repeated the question.
And had the distinct impression of Alexander biting the inside of his cheek.
‘Mostly. There might be a couple of things besides sex I’d need from you.’
Rosie blinked.
‘Things?’
‘Yeah. I’ve functions coming up. Dinners, cocktail parties, events. I need a partner. And the wonderful thing about going with you is that you don’t expect anything. It’s a win, win situation for me.’
The pain of the truth went marrow deep, but actually hearing it took her breath.
‘You don’t want me, you need one of your bimbos. Blonde, anorexic and brain dead.’
He smiled in a way that made her teeth ache.
‘True. But they’d want to talk about their feelings and want romance and crap like that. We’ve know each other for years. I’d no idea you were the type who didn’t do hearts and flowers. Who’d have thought it? Anyway,’ he continued. ‘You’re not my type, in theory.’
She couldn’t speak.
‘In theory?’
‘Yeah. But there’s no reason not to explore our unexpected attraction is there?’
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to think.
Wasn’t this what she’d wanted?
But the man was blowing hot and cold.
One minute he wanted a relationship and now he was happy to be a friend with benefits?
Her head was reeling and a horrible ache had begun to nag behind her left eye.
Alexander stood, yawned and stretched.
His eyes met hers and for some reason the look in them made her want to cry a river.
‘We can’t do anything until you’re better. You’re looking a little pale.’
He leaned down, placed a hand on each arm of her chair, effectively blocking her in as he stared deep into her eyes.
She leaned back, couldn’t look away.
His voice went low and deep.
‘You need plenty of rest. I haven’t forgotten you don’t like boring vanilla sex.’ Those eyes dropped to her breasts before rising to focus on her mouth. ‘I have...needs... and plans for that mouth.’ His eyes met hers. ‘Big plans.’
She could only sit and stare as he left, until she heard the click of his bedroom door close.
Oh. My. God.
Three whole days later she was back home and Alexander Ludlow hadn’t laid a finger on Rosemary Margaret Gordon.
Oh he’d been Mr. Nice Guy, Mr. Considerate and Mr. Caring.
An unfortunate by product of her short stay in the lion’s den was her heightened state of awareness and arousal, which was making her jumpy and edgy and very cranky.
And there was nothing worse than waiting for the other shoe to fall.
Nothing worse than having her belly jump every time the phone rang or the doorbell chimed or waiting for the sound of a car drawing up in the gravel driveway of her home.
He was playing her.
This behaviour was typical of him, controlling, domineering and determined to get his own way.
Knowing him he probably thought he had her just where he wanted her.
Well, he was so wrong about that.
She had a life, a busy life.
A life that didn’t need or require the presence of one gorgeous, sexy, male.
And she was feeling much better and enjoying the wonderful freedom of her own space.
Today the photographer had arrived with a model to take pictures for the Sweet Sensationss winter brochure.
Rosie didn’t have much to do since Lucy’d prepped the cakes, the flowers and wine yesterday.
‘I’m so sorry, Rosie.’
Eve, photographer extraordinaire, dropped her cell on the table and ploughed both hands through cropped hair the colour of polished silver.
‘The male model can’t make it. He’s broken his ankle.’
But everything was set-up.
The lighting technician/make-up artist and Francesca, a stunning young blonde model with the perfect teeth, perfect tan and perfect hair the colour of clear honey all stared at Eve in dismay.
But no one was more dismayed than Rosie.
Sundays were sacrosanct. It was the only day of the week she truly relaxed and chilled out. Sundays on a boiling summer day were even more precious. She stared in consternation at Eve’s lanky frame, the torn jeans and hip T-shirt.
‘What are we going to do?’ Rosie asked the room at large. ‘The cake and samples are all ready to rock. We have everything ready for the shoot. Can’t they send a replacement?’
‘Not on a Sunday,’ Eve told her. ‘However, I’ll take shots of Francesca with the cakes and the flowers. It’s better than nothing.’
The team turned to begin when a familiar black Range Rover purred to a halt in the car park.
A germ of an idea took root in Rosie’s brain.
Her naughty side cackled with glee.
Oh yeah, come to Mamma.
And she’d show the big lug that she’d not been mooning over him, waiting for him to make his move.
Time to take back control of her life.
‘Hold it!’
Clapping her hands, she did a little happy dance. ‘Girlies, I do believe our prayers have been answered.’
She turned to Francesca and gave the gorgeous model a radiant smile.
‘You need to turn on the charm and bat those baby blues. He can’t resist blondes.’
She’d need to soften him up.
Rosie tugged the scrunchy out of her hair and let the curls flow down to her waist.
Dancing on bare feet, she boogied towards the entrance.
Opening the door with a flourish, Rosie beamed into the bemused face of Alexander whose startled gaze swept over her T-shirt and tiny, very tiny, denim cut-off shorts.
And told herself she wouldn’t be human if she didn’t enjoy the curl of feminine pleasure at the I’ve-been-struck-by-lightening look in his eye.
‘Tell me you don’t have a golf game, or a tennis game or a lunch date?’ she demanded.
Alexander’s brain refused to compute.
He’d been expecting her to be still dazed and confused or at the very least pale and interesting after his spectacular exit a few nights ago.
She gone home early the next morning.
Running, he’d thought absolutely delighted with himself.
But this Rosie didn’t look upset or worried.
She looked fucking gorgeous, excited and filled to the brim with life.
He couldn’t help but stare at those cute toenails painted a glossy aubergine.
His stunned gaze ran over fabulous legs that disappeared into the skimpiest shorts he’d ever seen.
She’d always had spectacular breasts but now they were unconfined, covered by a tissue thin vest. Her nipples thrust upwards.
Jesus.
And her hair, black as coal, was bouncing in silky curls around her shoulders and down her back.
Big Bambi eyes fluttered into his.
She jigged on the spot and those breasts jiggled too.
Blood rushed from his brain to pool in his groin.
Grabbing his hand, chattering all the while, he let Rosie drag him, unresisting, inside.
He couldn’t have refused if a pistol had been put to his head.
And he had absolutely no idea what she was saying.
That full mouth was moving in speech, her dimples winking in her cheeks.
The sensation in his ears was like being underwater.
His eyes were glued to the taut cheeks of her firm little bottom as it wiggled its way into the reception area of Sweet Sensationss.
Rosie spun to face him, eyes dark and as wide as her smile.
She placed her fists on her hips stretching the fabric of her top tight across her breasts.
‘Please say yes, Alexander. I’ll be forever grateful. Please say yes?’
Her skin was flawless, the colour of a cafe Latte, although her cheeks were slightly pink. All he could think was she looked beautiful, a little angel.
She took his hand, moved into him and he couldn’t stop staring.
Squeezing his fingers, she gave his hand a gentle tug.
Those eyes, the colour of melted dark chocolate beseeched him as they clung to his and he realised she wanted something from him.
Not a problem.
He’d give her anything.
Anything.
And found himself nodding and saying the words,
‘Sure, whatever you need.’
Her squeal of delight and the cheer that went up from the other people in the room, snapped him back to reality.
He blinked at three complete strangers.
One was a tall lanky platinum blonde of about thirty-five holding a big beast of a camera. A stunning blonde was eyeing him as if he was her favourite candy. And an older woman with crazy blue hair folded her arms, pursed her lips and cocked her head as she studied him from head to toe.
Rosie clapped her hands looking as happy as a clam.
A chill ran up his spine.
His brain was catching up quick, and he seemed to remember words like, photo shoot, wedding cake and something about looking romantic and handsome.
‘You are the best. Right, we need to get you changed. Not that there’s anything wrong with the shirt and jeans. But we need something a little more formal for the tasting photos. And of course, its supposed to be winter, so you’ll need to wear a sweater. And Francesca’s just your type so you shouldn’t have a problem with the love scenes,’ Rosie wittered on.
‘
What
?’
The photographer gave him a narrowed eyed study which scared the shit out of him.
She nodded her head.
‘You know, he just might work, Rosie.’
She walked around him in a wide circle, then cocked her hip.
‘Good skin. Hair’s a bit too smooth but we can sort that. Perfect.’ She jabbed a finger into his gut. ‘He’s even got a six-pack. What are you, thirty-one inch waist? And I’d say a thirty-six inside leg? Let me see your teeth.’
She moved in to take a close look at his mouth and Alexander found himself giving her a rictus grin.
What the hell was he doing?
‘Okay, strip,’ she ordered.
Not in this lifetime, sister.
With a hard-on the size of the Eiffel Tower, thanks to Rosie’s shorts, Alexander retreated and put up the palms of his hands.
‘No way am I going to strip in front of four women.’
Rosie gave him big eyes, then shrugged.
‘When did you become shy? Okay, you can change upstairs, follow me.’
Snagging a couple of suit carriers off a rail, she led the way up steep stairs to the top floor of her place, which led to her office and two bedrooms.
That little bottom swayed in front of his eyes and he could see the edge of white lacy panties which disappeared into intriguing places.
He couldn’t contain a whimper.
She turned to look at him.
‘What’s the matter? Are you in pain?’
‘No, just wondering if I’ve lost my frigging mind.’
She gave him a beaming smile that shot straight to his heart.
‘I really appreciate this. We’d have lost quite a bit of money if the shoot hadn’t gone ahead. The shots are for our new brochure and the website.’
She led the way into her bedroom which smelt of vanilla and warm, sexy female. It was the most feminine bedroom he’d ever entered and he’d entered his fair share. There was a vast white armoire wardrobe, the doors and drawers spilling out clothes and underwear in silks and cottons. He could smell fresh clean laundry and a scent that was pure Rosie.
Scarves, necklaces and handbags hung from a free standing coat rack in the corner. And row after row of clear plastic shoe boxes were stacked on shelves.
On every ledge and shelf were tea lights.
A snug little sofa in cherry velvet, groaning under the weight of pretty jewelled cushions, sat under a dormer window which was flung open to capture the breeze.
What was it with women and cushions and candles?
But what caught his heart, his lungs, was the hulking bed made of wrought iron, painted white, which dominated the room.
A deluge of fat pillows in white Egyptian cotton edged with satin ribbon, matched the summer duvet.
His imagination wasn’t a particularly active one, but it was having no problem at all visualising himself making passionate love to Rosie right in the middle of that big bed.
The ache in his chest was so bad he pressed his hand to the spot.
‘Feel free to use the bathroom.’
She switched on the light and threw open the door to a large pristine well organised space crammed with the lotions and potions that women couldn’t seem to live without.
There was a large old-fashioned claw footed bath tub, a walk in power shower and a double sink. Two stainless steel ladder towel rails were laden with fluffy white towels.
But now he wondered what on earth he’d been thinking agreeing to this?
At a complete loss, he gingerly sat on the edge of the sofa among the cushions and stared at her.
‘I have no idea what I’ve just agreed to.’
Bright eyes danced into his and he knew, right at that moment, he would do anything for her.
‘Aww, I thought you looked a bit shell-shocked. It’s the story of the customer journey at Sweet Sensationss,’ Rosie told him as she ticked off her fingers. ‘The champagne tasting of the fillings and cake. The choosing of the cake. The cutting of the cake. You’re the groom. Just remember to try and stay in character. You’re marrying the love of your life. Just imagine staring into the eyes of the woman you love.’