weakening every bone in her body.
Hugh rescued her, moving to draw the boys forward and introduce them. ‘These are my sons, Geoffrey and Malcolm.’
It forced Adam Cazell to look at them and say something appropriate, giving Rosalie enough recovery time to be more on guard when her introduction came.
‘And this is Rebel’s sister, Rosalie James.’
Politeness demanded she touch his hand. He seized complete possession of hers, strong fingers wrapping around it, pressing a hot imprint that felt like a claim on her entire body—his for the taking.
Resistance burned in her mind.
Nobody took her. Nobody!
‘Her sister?’ The assault of his eyes was briefly halted by a flicker of surprise at the relationship. He glanced at Rebel, then back to Rosalie, frowning.
‘No likeness,’ she dryly interpreted.
Celeste piped up. ‘Everyone in Rebel’s family was adopted, Mr. Cazell. From all over the world. Rebel is the English one…’
‘And you?’ he asked Rosalie, his eyes as sharp as steel knives.
Every instinct screamed to deny him any private information. She sensed he would maul it unmercifully. ‘My life is my own, Mr. Cazell,’ she said with quiet dignity.
‘Adam,’ he insisted.
She denied him the familiarity. Give this man an inch and he’d take a mile, and Rosalie was not about to travel his road which she’d already judged to be totally centred on what he wanted. She tore her gaze from his to send a quelling message to her chatterbox niece.
‘Let’s give Cate the chance to talk to her father, Celeste. She hasn’t seen him for…how long has it been, Cate?’
It was a deliberate barb, aimed at hitting some paternal guilt. Frustratingly, his daughter defused it. ‘Oh, Dad will get around to me in his own good time,’ she answered off-handedly.
Surprisingly Adam Cazell laughed, released Rosalie’s hand and swung towards his daughter, spreading his arms invitingly. ‘I could do with a hug, Catie mine.’
Her young face lit up with joy in the openly affectionate invitation. She flew at him and he lifted her up and whirled her around. ‘Dad, I’m not a little kid anymore,’ she protested, mindful of her dignity in this company but loving his uninhibited pleasure in her nonetheless.
He set her down with a look of helpless dismay. ‘The terrible teens,’ he moaned. ‘You’re only one small step into it. Does everything have to change?’
She huffed an exasperated sigh at him. ‘You have to face the fact I’m growing up.’
‘Well, you can teach me about it over the holidays,’ he said with grand generosity.
‘Sure.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘A few weeks to pack it all in.’
The irony floated right past him. Or he chose to ignore it, smiling to dispel the slightly sour note. ‘So what have you two been doing this past week?’ A twinkling look at Celeste. ‘Shall we sit down and you can regale me with teenage girl things?’
Quite a charmer, Rosalie thought, watching Celeste’s eager response to the invitation. They all moved to the lounge setting near the windows. With the confidence of a charismatic king, Adam Cazell proceeded to court his daughter and the family whose guest she still was until after lunch.
Rosalie had chosen an armchair slightly apart from the rest of them, determined on observing rather than participating. She knew he was aware of her detachment and would undoubtedly try to breach it sooner or later, which would put her on her mettle again, but she felt safe enough to watch him for a while, and he was quite compellingly watchable.
The charm tempered an innate forcefulness that obviously fuelled everything he tackled, explaining why he succeeded in whatever he undertook in the business world. And he was attractive, as well. Not in any pretty playboy sense. His face was too rugged to be called classically handsome but its strong lines and angles had a very male appeal that Rosalie judged would automatically evoke a positive response in both men and women. Besides which, the rather unruly waves of his dark hair softened the craggy look, adding to his charm, making him appear approachable.
The boys certainly weren’t frightened of him.
More fascinated.
As they’d been by Zachary Lee.
The comparison niggled at Rosalie’s sense of rightness. Adam Cazell might have the same formidable height and breadth of chest and shoulder as her big brother, promising a strength that would be easy to lean on, but she was sure he was much more a taker by nature than a giver.
She rubbed at the hand he had taken, wanting to erase the lingering sense of his invasive power. He noticed the action and she instantly stopped it, not wanting him to have the satisfaction of knowing he’d left his touch on her.
She wasn’t sure if it was sex or ego driving him where she was concerned—maybe both. She’d been targeted by too many wealthy and influential men not to recognise that Adam Cazell fancied acquiring her, which, of course, was for the purpose of public show and sex on call until the gloss wore off and desire waned.
Usually such attention was water off a duck’s back to Rosalie. But there was something more intense, more personal, more threatening about Adam Cazell. As much as she wanted to dismiss him, it was like he’d burrowed under her skin and she couldn’t pry him out. Maybe if she watched him long enough, the disturbing effect of the man would fade.
Oddly enough, his daughter had made a strong impression on her, too. Cate was very bright, older than her years in reading people and where she stood with them. The occasional flash of cynicism in some of her comments had disturbed Rosalie, revealing knowledge bred by disappointment or disillusionment. Cate had grown armour she shouldn’t need to have at thirteen.
But a privileged background didn’t guarantee a happy upbringing. Celeste, who still looked angelic with her beautiful fair hair and big blue eyes, had been characterised by Hugh as ‘an evil seed,’ a monstrous child—expelled from one school after another for outrageous behaviour—before Rebel came into their lives and turned everything around for them. Rebel had seen Hugh’s orphaned niece as a lost child in desperate need of rescue and had barged straight into proving to Hugh how wrong he was in his reading of the situation.
Rosalie didn’t see Cate Cazell as being in need of rescue. She was a survivor, that one, probably with as strong a will as her father. She’d inherited his dark wavy hair, and the shape of his face—the high wide brow and the sharply delineated chisel chin, but her mouth was softer and her eyes were a warmer grey with a ring of amber around the irises. She was tall, too, though with a much more slender frame than her father. Rosalie imagined she’d be very striking when she grew up.
But for now, the girl did crave more of her father’s time and attention. And should have it, Rosalie thought, remembering how much it had meant to her to have Zachary Lee caring about her every thought and feeling, loving her, protecting her, making her feel safe and secure. Not alone.
Yes…that was how Cate felt…too much alone. Her family consisted of a socialising mother, too busy aiding and abetting her political husband’s career to actually listen to her daughter, a stepfather who was never there for her, a father who flew into and out of her life, handing out oodles of ice-cream, but not staying around long enough to realise that sweets weren’t enough. No wonder Cate liked being with Celeste’s family!
‘Rosalie…’
His voice sliding into her private reverie, kicking her heart into a faster beat…the silver bullet eyes trained on her again, commanding her attention.
‘I just remembered where I last saw you,’ he said with a musing little smile designed to tease her interest.
Modelling put her in the public eye. It was not remarkable that she had been seen somewhere by