in the ungraded path in which he’d almost lost himself when he’d dropped her home the morning before.
That made it almost thirty-six hours since he’d last laid eyes on her, since he’d left her at the door of her crazy caravan, with its hills, sun and flowers painted all over the sides like some leftover relic of the seventies. Since he’d touched her hair, and held her tight, and kissed that spot on her lower back that made her writhe.
The tyres jerked against the wheel, and he concentrated fully on finding a path that led him to her door relatively unscathed.
The ground was dry, so his dress shoes didn’t collect any mud as he picked his way up the path made only by her daily footsteps rather than by any kind of design.
He looked for a bell, but found nothing of the sort. At a loss for a moment, he lifted his hand to knock thrice on the corrugated door.
Shuffling was followed by a bump, then a muffled oath. Then, when she didn’t appear in an instant, he tugged at his tie and hitched his belt so that it was perfectly set just below his navel. He straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. He had no reason to be nervous. So why did he feel like he was seventeen again, and picking his date up for the senior dance?
The door whipped open, and that was where all fidgeting stopped.
Backlit by the warm, golden light of a small desk-lamp, and helped along by the thin moonlight falling softly through the clouds above, Rosalind stood in the doorway looking like she’d stepped out of a 1930’s Hollywood movie-set.
Her shoulders were bare, bar a thin silver strap angling across one shoulder. Lilac chiffon fell from an oversized rosette at her chest and swirled about her long, lean form like she had been sewn into it. Several fine silver bangles shimmered on her wrist. And her hair was pinned at the nape, with soft tendrils loose and curling about her cheeks.
He’d never once in his entire life been rendered speechless—not when one of his mates had streaked during the debate-team final. Not when he’d made a three-hundred percent profit on the sale of his first property. Not even when his father’s only response to his declaration that he could never work for a man with so little backbone had been that, as long as he didn’t work for the Kelly family, he was not welcome in the Kelly family home.
But Rosalind Harper, in all her rare, noble, charming loveliness, had him at a complete loss for words.
‘Hi,’ she said, her voice breathy, and he knew it had nothing to do with her rushing about before she opened the door.
She looked at him like she’d be happy to keep looking at him for as long as she possibly could. Like he was all she’d ever wanted, and all she would ever want.
His heart raced like a jackhammer. He felt the boundaries he’d set being smashed left, right and centre and he had no idea what to say, or do or think.
But then she let out a long, descending whistle and flapped her hand across her cheeks, and her eyes ran coquettishly down his dinner suit. His skin tightened every place her gaze touched, and his heart eased.
He snuck a hand to her waist, the fabric sliding against his palm until he connected with the curve of her hip. It took all of his self-control not to throw her over his shoulder, take her back inside her crazy home, close the door behind them and forget about the rest of the world.
Instead he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, letting her sweet vanilla scent wash over him like a cure-all.
‘You,’ he said, his voice gruff, ‘look like a dream. And that dress; there are quite simply no words.’
The smile he wrought lit her from the inside out. ‘What,’ she said, swinging from side to side, ‘this old thing?’
Her tone was wry, but he knew she half-meant it. For nothing that romantic could ever have come from today.
‘Are you ready?’ he asked.
She held up two fingers. ‘Two seconds. I’m still missing an earring. You’d think in a place this small that wouldn’t be a concern, right?’
She turned and raced inside. He followed, intrigued at just how much Rosalind’s home might reveal about the woman whose layers seemed to go on and on.
At one end an ajar door revealed the corner of a double bed