Rosalie hit her traitorous libido a sharp crack on the knuckles and swallowed deeply a few times. Her voice higher pitched than usual, she said, ‘Is it far? Where we’re eating?’
Damn it, but she was like a cat on a hot tin roof. Was it him or was she like this with the whole male race? ‘No, not far,’ he said easily as he pulled out into the traffic, the car’s engine growling softly. ‘A friend of mine owns a little place near Finsbury Park where I often eat when I’m in London. Unless there’s somewhere else you’d prefer?’ He glanced at her.
She shook her head, making the silky swirl of hair move and shimmer. Kingsley felt his loins tighten in response and turned his head, concentrating on the traffic.
After a few tense moments during which Rosalie registered every single movement he made and the car’s interior seemed to shrink still more, she said carefully, ‘I’m really excited about this job, and I never did thank you for looking me up after the dinner party. Who mentioned I was a quantity surveyor, anyway?’
He executed a manoeuvre that was totally illegal, receiving a few kindly gestures from passing motorists in the process, before he said, ‘What? Oh, I don’t remember. Is it important?’
He turned to look behind him as he changed lanes and Rosalie glanced at the back of his head where his hair had been tapered into his neck. It was so sexy it wasn’t true. As the big body turned again her head shot to the front. She felt like a voyeur, for goodness’ sake, she admitted to herself crossly, willing each taut muscle to slowly relax. But she hadn’t expected to be cocooned in an inch-square box with him, that was the thing.
Kingsley was clearly a man who didn’t go in for chatter when he was driving, and the short journey was accomplished in almost total silence. By the time they drew up outside a small neat restaurant Rosalie felt she’d got her act together, in spite of not quite being able to identify what it was about Kingsley Ward that threw her into such a spin.
True, he was silver-screen handsome with the added authority that came with wealth and influence, but he was also hard, ruthless and possessed of a giant ego, from all the background she’d gathered on him. Women galore had been enjoyed and discarded if half the stories about him were true, and Rosalie didn’t doubt that they were, looking at the man. And she loathed men like him, individuals who took and never gave, plundered and demanded what they wanted as though it were their God-given right. In fact they disgusted her.
‘Don’t you like it?’
‘What?’ She spun round in her seat as the quiet voice registered on her, becoming aware in that moment that her face must have reflected her thoughts as she gazed out unseeing at the building in front of them. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I was thinking of something else,’ Rosalie said quickly. ‘This looks very nice.’
‘Don’t let the nondescript appearance fool you,’ he said evenly as he cut the engine. ‘Glen isn’t into glitz and glamour, but he has the punters fighting a path to his door now word has got out about the food here.’
He exited the car in a smooth, controlled uncurling motion that Rosalie could but envy; she knew she was going to have far more trouble levering herself out of the low seat. As it was he had opened her door and extended a hand before she had to try, and once she was standing on the pavement she tried to ignore his towering height and the fact that she was all flustered again.
Kingsley opened the door of the restaurant for her and then waved her through in front of him, thinking as he did so, Nice bottom. In fact nice everything. She was one hell of a woman and yet there was something so fiercely defensive about her it screamed disastrous love affair. Who had let her down and had it been recently? Certainly Jamie and one or two other of her friends who had been at the dinner party claimed they knew nothing. He wasn’t sure if he believed them. Whatever, she intrigued him. She’d intrigued him that night, enough for him to follow through and arrange for her to get the quantity surveyor’s job, after he had checked her credentials, of course. Much as he liked the idea of being the hunter for a change, he wasn’t about to endanger what was a very tasty business opportunity because he wanted a woman who had made it clear she didn’t want him.
‘King! My friend, my friend.’
Rosalie hadn’t expected the said Glen to be foreign, somehow—Glen sounded too English for that—but the slim, wiry man who came rushing up as they entered was Italian or she’d eat her hat. He kissed Kingsley on both cheeks—something Kingsley had obviously been expecting and which didn’t phase him at all—before turning his attention to her, saying, ‘You have brought the most beautiful lady in London to grace my restaurant. How can I thank you, my friend?’
‘Cut the spiel, Glen,’ Kingsley said dryly, ‘it won’t work on this lady. And she’s a business colleague, before you get too carried away.’
‘So there is hope for me? Even better!’
The black eyes were wicked but full of laughter, and Rosalie found herself laughing back as she said, ‘If the food is as good as the welcome, no wonder you are so popular.’
‘Rosalie; Glen Lorena, the biggest sweet-talker this side of the ocean. Glen; Rosalie Milburn, my new quantity surveyor for the English job.’
‘This is true?’ The Latin face expressed surprise. ‘But you are too lovely to do such work. I cannot believe this.’
‘Believe it, buddy.’ Kingsley had noticed the dimming of Rosalie’s smile and took swift action, ushering her further into the restaurant as he said over his shoulder, ‘Usual table free?’
‘Of course, my friend, of course. The moment I received your reservation the table became yours.’
Glen joined them a moment later, taking their order for drinks as he presented them with two dog-eared menus before disappearing again. Rosalie glanced round. The room was not large and it was packed with diners, in spite of the furniture being on the basic side without a taste of luxury anywhere. They were sitting in what was clearly a prime position in a small alcove, a table that gave an element of privacy without obstructing the view.
As her eyes returned to Kingsley he leant forward slightly. ‘Glen didn’t mean anything by that last remark,’ he said softly. ‘It’s just his way. His wife used to work as a barrister before they got this place so he’s got no problem with women and careers.’
Rosalie nodded stiffly. It was true she hadn’t appreciated the Italian’s comment about her job; she’d suffered the same sort of surprise too often in the past, normally accompanied by a distinctly patronising interest afterwards. After a degree course followed by three years of practical training and then the Assessment of Professional Competence, she felt she’d served a good apprenticeship before she began working as a fully qualified surveyor in what was still very much a male-dominated environment.
She had found she had to be just that bit better than her male colleagues at first to be taken seriously, but being a female in such a position was definitely a situation of swings and roundabouts. Most of the builders were tickled pink to see her arrive on site, and, once they realised she knew her onions and wasn’t going to be fooled or cajoled into accepting late dates or poor quality work, they were pussy-cats in her hands.
She’d often heard Mike and the others bemoaning the fact that they got all the stick from both the builder’s own surveyors and also the client when things went wrong, but usually, with just a smidgen of charm, her jobs ran on nicely oiled wheels.
‘Whilst we’re on the subject of careers,’ Kingsley continued smoothly, ‘what did make you take up quantity surveying?’
Rosalie stared at him. She hadn’t been aware they were on the subject of anything. She shrugged after a moment or two, her lashes sweeping down and hiding her gaze from the piercing one opposite as she said carefully, ‘I liked the mix of office work and getting my hands