The Bedroom Surrender

‘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 Adam Cazell, possibly accompanying one of his girlfriends to a fashion show. Was this another attempt to dig into her life?

‘The premiere of Turandot at the Met in New York,’ he went on, surprising her with the venue named.

‘You were there?’ Rebel leapt in delightedly. ‘You heard Zuang Chi sing?’

He nodded. ‘A magnificent voice.’

‘He’s our brother,’ Rebel claimed with pride. ‘We were all there for his premiere. The whole family. It was a marvellous night, wasn’t it, Rosalie?’

‘Yes.’

She hadn’t seen Adam Cazell at the opera and didn’t like the feeling he had watched her without her knowing. Though she had been more or less on public exhibit that night, paid to wear the dress and necklace for others to see and covet.

He leaned forward on his sofa like a big cat about to pounce. ‘Just how many are in your family, Rebel?’

She laughed. ‘Fourteen of us. Plus husbands and wives and our wonderful parents. We filled a whole box at the Met, didn’t we, darling?’ She smiled at Hugh in fond recollection.

‘We certainly did. Marvellous night,’ he echoed.

Adam nodded in agreement. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t make your acquaintance at the time. Must confess I only noticed Rosalie.’ His gaze sliced back to her, a wry little smile on his lips. ‘You were singularly spectacular.’

She returned his smile. ‘I was on parade.’

‘And the red-haired man you were with?’

‘Zachary Lee,’ Rebel happily supplied. ‘Our big brother.’

Satisfaction glinted in his eyes.

A possible competitor dismissed, Rosalie interpreted, thinking he had certainly noticed her escort, probably sizing him up and wondering how attached they were.

‘None of us are blood relations,’ she stated, feeling a strong urge to put a spoke in his wheel. ‘That’s why we don’t look alike.’

‘Uncle Zachary is the American one,’ Celeste informed him.

‘And the one we all look up to,’ Rosalie quickly slid in, not wanting Celeste to list off their multinational family, which she was clearly on the verge of doing. A change of subject was urgently needed. ‘Do you often attend the opera, Adam?’ she inquired. ‘No.’

‘It was a premiere,’ his daughter commented before he could add more. ‘Daddy’s girlfriends lu-u-uv premieres.’

‘Oh, come on, Catie,’ he chided good-naturedly. ‘I’ve taken you to a few, too. The Harry Potter film, the…’

‘Okay, okay.’ She held up her hands in mock defence. ‘He’s far more into pop music, Rosalie. You know…Saturn Records before he sold it off? He didn’t do classical stuff.’

‘Which doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it.’ Slightly more snappish on that reply.

‘I’ve never heard you play it,’ Cate argued.

‘You’re not with me all the time.’

Big blunder.

Cate’s face tightened. ‘You’re right, Dad. What do I get? Fifteen percent if I’m lucky? For all I know you could be playing opera all the time you don’t have me with you.’ She flashed a gritty look of apology at Rosalie. ‘Sorry. Shouldn’t have butted in. I can’t swear my father doesn’t like classical music.’

‘Never a good idea to speak for others,’ Rosalie tossed back with a sympathetic shrug.

Adam Cazell erased the frown evoked by Cate’s rather biting mockery, his sharply penetrating gaze targeting Rosalie again. ‘Actually, a good voice attracts my attention regardless of what is being sung.’

‘Then you must have enjoyed listening to Zuang Chi,’ she replied, wondering if and how he would respond to his daughter’s cry for more attention from him.

‘To you, as well.’

‘Me?’ What did he mean? Had she lost the thread of this conversation while thinking about Cate.

His eyes burned into hers. ‘I heard you sing at the Raffles Hotel Le Royal in Phnom Penh. You were leading a choir of orphans.’

Shock jammed her mind for several seconds. She struggled to take in the incredible coincidence of his actually being in the same place when… ‘That was…nine months ago.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You have a beautiful singing voice. Very pure in tone.’ His mouth quirked. ‘If I’d still been running Saturn Records, I might have tried to sign you up.’

‘Rosalie’s birth mother was a professional singer,’ Rebel remarked.

‘I’m not interested,’ she quickly cut in, shaking her head at her sister. ‘You know that.’

Rebel sighed. ‘It always seemed like a waste to me. Even Zuang Chi said…’

‘No! I don’t want to be in that world!’ The curt dismissal effectively silenced her sister. She turned back to Adam Cazell who was learning—already knew—too much about her for Rosalie’s comfort, digging, digging, digging. She turned the screw. ‘What were you doing in Phnom Penh, Adam?’

‘Scouting for my airline.’

His eyes mocked her evasive tactics.

Every muscle in her body tensed as she felt his intent to close in on her. Hunter…warrior…he embodied both those images in her mind, and for the first time in many many years, Rosalie felt vulnerable to a man.

Hugh’s old butler made a timely entrance, announcing, ‘Lunch is about to be served in the dining room, m’lord.’

‘Thank you, Brooks.’ Hugh stood up. ‘Girls, boys, Adam…’

He ushered them out, leaving the two sisters to trail after them, a move that had undoubtedly been orchestrated by some telling look from his wife. Rosalie sometimes wondered if the understanding between them was almost psychic. At least, she was momentarily relieved of Adam Cazell’s presence, but Rebel, of course, had something to say, linking arms with her for a confidential little chat.

‘He’s seriously aware of you, Rosalie. Totally captivated, I’d say,’ she murmured.

‘Rebel, I don’t care to be the ornament on any man’s arm.’

‘I’m not suggesting you should be. I just think it’s more than that. He’s really interested.’

‘He’s a playboy. You’ve heard Cate rattle off all his girlfriends.’

‘Well, maybe you should take off some time to play, too.’

Rosalie frowned at her sister. ‘Why are you selling him to me?’ Rebel had been a super saleswoman before she’d married Hugh and started a family.

A sigh. ‘I’m worried about Cate. You must have caught those touches of bitterness when she was speaking to her father. Maybe you could do some good there, Rosalie.’

‘Cate Cazell is not a lost child, Rebel. She’s strong enough to fight her own battles with her father. I thought she got in a couple of good jabs today.’

‘A parent can brush these things off, telling themselves the child is being moody, difficult. None so blind as those who don’t want to see, Rosalie. But you could make him see through your eyes. And he’d listen to you. It’s not right that Cate feels…abandoned.’

‘I don’t want to get involved with him.’

‘It needn’t be a heavy involvement.’

‘He’ll come onto me hard and fast. I know he will, given half a chance.’

‘But you’re so practised at holding men off.’

‘He’s different.’

‘Oh?’ Rebel looked fascinated.

Rosalie grimaced. ‘Don’t look at me like that. I know when something’s not safe. I know.’

A frown. ‘I thought you could handle anything. Sorry for pressing. It’s just…I am worried about Cate. She’s entering her teens. If she doesn’t get what she needs from her father…’

‘She does have a mother.’

‘Useless. Too full of her own life. It’s Adam she looks to. If he’s not there for her…’

‘Cate will manage in her own way.’

‘No. She’ll be at risk. If she feels let down and alone…getting into drugs is a very easy step.’

‘Why don’t you speak to Adam yourself about this?’

‘I’m not the one he wants to win.’

Their private chat ended on that line. They’d entered the dining room and the others were there waiting for them to come and sit down.

Adam Cazell’s gaze raked Rosalie from head to foot, making her extremely conscious of the strip of bare skin between her hipster jeans and the waist-length blue and white striped bandeau top she wore, her long hair loose over bare shoulders, her face bare of make-up. She felt her blood heating, her pale skin flushing.

She wanted to scream, ‘No! Look elsewhere, Adam Cazell.’

But he wasn’t going to.

Cate stood beside him, not impinging on his consciousness one bit. It didn’t occur to him that winning his daughter was more important than winning another woman.

Rebel was right.

She did have the power to make him listen to her if he had the ears to hear.

Maybe she could handle the risk…for Catie’s sake.

It shouldn’t take long to hammer the message home.

CHAPTER THREE

SUNDAY lunch at Davenport Hall was always held in the informal dining room and very much a family affair. Regardless of any guests and despite their young age, the boys sat up at the table with their parents, Geoffrey with an extra cushion on his chair, Malcolm with a booster seat on his. They were only five and three but had been thoroughly coached in good manners, and Celeste at thirteen, was very much the young lady.

It was a lovely, bright, inviting room. The furniture was white, the furnishings yellow, and long windows overlooked a rose garden in full summer bloom. The pristine white cloth on the oval table showed off the centrepiece bowl of yellow rosebuds, and yellow linen serviettes in silver holders added their splash of colour. Rosalie sat between the boys, directly across from Adam Cazell who was flanked by the girls, Rebel and Hugh at the two ends.

Adam looked totally bemused as he watched the boys remove their serviettes from the holders and spread them on their laps. No doubt, in the company he usually kept, little children were segregated from the adults, not part of his world at all. Welcome to a real family, Rosalie thought, and wondered if he’d learn anything from it.

The girls dominated the conversation, telling Adam about their last school term—teachers they liked or disliked, hockey matches, tattle about other girls in their class. He indulged their eager chatter, smiling, laughing, frowning quizzically in all the right places. It seemed effortless on his part—no act—no hint of condescension.

He was charming.

And very, very attractive.

Possibly putting himself out to be so because she was observing him.

He shared flashes of amusement with her but made no concerted attempt to engage her in personal conversation. Biding his time, she thought, probably hoping the happy casual atmosphere at the table would lower her guard enough to let him slide inside it later. Having been on the international model circuit since she was eighteen—eleven years now—Rosalie was too experienced with men of his ilk not to know how they made their moves.

When the first strike didn’t produce a warm response, set up more favourable circumstances and try a more subtle approach. Few gave up at the first knock-back. Most of them simply didn’t believe it. Why would any woman reject such a prize? Only to increase her value and force a chase. But the chase didn’t last long. If the desired result wasn’t fast in coming, there was always another beautiful woman for such men. Much better for the ego to be appreciated than feel defeated.

Adam Cazell’s next move came after lunch. Coffee had been served in the sitting room. The girls had gone upstairs to complete Cate’s packing for her departure. Rebel had taken Malcolm up to the nursery for an afternoon nap. Geoffrey was occupying Hugh’s attention.

Adam rose from his chair, saying, ‘Would you mind if I went for a stroll in your grounds, Hugh? Stretch my legs before driving back to London.’

‘Not at all.’ Being the thoughtful host he was, his head instantly swung to Rosalie. ‘Will you show Adam around?’ A rueful smile. ‘I doubt Geoffrey has the legs for two long walks.’

Trapped by courtesy.

A clever manouvre from Adam Cazell.

But she was safe in the grounds of Davenport Hall, Rosalie swiftly reasoned, pushing up from her chair to oblige her brother-in-law’s guest. And suddenly the silver-bullet eyes were dancing wickedly at her, jolting her confidence and quickening her pulse.

‘Is there a maze we can get lost in?’ he tossed at her.

‘No. But there’s a lake you could drown in,’ she flipped back at him.

He laughed, his face crinkling, turning up the wattage of his attraction. Rosalie felt her hands clenching in an instinctive need to fight the power that flowed so strongly from him. She had to make a conscious effort to relax her muscles, pretend she was unaffected.

‘We’ll go out the back way,’ she said, and led out into the hallway where he quickly stepped up beside her.

‘Are there canoes?’ he asked.

She arched an eyebrow at him. ‘Didn’t you say you wanted to stretch your legs?’

He grinned. ‘Canoeing is very physical. You could sit at the other end while I do all the work.’

‘The canoes are all one-seaters.’

‘You’re dashing my romantic dream. Here I am in an old-world setting, in the company of a beautiful woman…’

‘And you have a daughter who doesn’t want you to be distracted from her,’ Rosalie reminded him.

‘Ah! The carer of children’s needs. I guess this comes from having been orphaned yourself.’

He could turn on a pin. Of course, he had to have an agile and astute mind to be so successful at what he did, and his focus was all on her at the moment, driving to win. Somehow she had to force a refocussing if she was to achieve anything for Cate.

‘A child needs to feel someone cares enough to be there for them. Do you think your daughter feels that, Adam?’

‘At last she uses my name,’ he lightly mocked. ‘But does this mean she’s warming to me? No. She’s using it to emphasise the point that’s important to her.’

His accurate analysis made her respect his brain even more. She slanted him a challenging look. ‘You haven’t answered me.’

‘Nor have you, me, Rosalie James,’ he swiftly countered, his eyes stabbing her with that truth.

Tit for tat.

Having walked through the hall, they stepped out into the afternoon sunshine and started down the path that led to the ornamental lake. The lawns on either side of it were a lush green. Banks of rhododendrons lent spectacular colour. Waterlilies added their exotic charm. It was a very English scene, Rosalie thought, and knew Rebel had found her home here with Hugh.

She felt completely rootless, herself. No city or country had any special call on her heart. People, yes, but not a place. She wondered if the jet-setting Adam Cazell considered one place home. According to Cate he had residences in London, New York, Hong Kong, and on a Caribbean island. The latter was probably for some taxation alleviation.

‘Do you live here with your sister?’ he asked.

‘No. Just visiting this past week.’

‘Where do you call home?’

Rosalie shrugged. ‘Nowhere in particular. There are places I can stay whenever I want to.’

‘You must have a base from which you work.’

Trying to pin her down. Wanting to know where he could find her. Rosalie wasn’t about to make it easy for him though he was right. She had a base in London, the Mayfair apartment owned by Joel Faber, her sister Tiffany’s husband. Joel had insisted any one of the James family could use it whenever they wanted to. He’d appointed her the apartment-sitter, knowing full well where most of her money went and wanting to help her in her mission.

‘I don’t have many possessions,’ she said. ‘I have no need of them.’

‘Are you telling me they can be kept in a suitcase?’ he asked sceptically.

‘Just about.’ She threw him a taunting look. ‘I probably fly around the world as much as you do, Adam Cazell.’

‘Which gives us something in common.’

‘The difference is, I don’t have a daughter who’s left alone.’

‘Cate is not alone. She has her school, as Celeste does. Her mother and stepfather never leave England. She can be with them, call on them…’

‘They have other priorities,’ Rosalie cut in, shooting him a look that told him he should know that. ‘Just because they’re here does not mean they are readily available to her. Any more than you are.’

His mouth twisted sardonically. ‘You’re accusing me of neglect.’

‘I’m telling you how it is for her.’

‘You’ve known my daughter for what…all of one week? A bit presumptuous, don’t you think, Rosalie?’

‘I’m sure you’d like to believe that. Much easier to dismiss what I’m saying.’

His voice took on an edge of anger as he sought a reason for her argument. ‘She’s been playing poor little rich girl to you?’

‘No. Cate has too much pride for that.’

‘Then why are you attacking me?’ His eyes sliced at hers. ‘Is this your best form of defence?’

‘Defence against what?’

He halted. Since she was committed to being his companion on this walk, it forced her to pause and cast an inquiring glance at him. It was easier to ignore the power of the man while walking side by side but standing still, she immediately felt swamped by the intense energy force he emitted, and his strong air of command was reinforced by the blazing certainty in his eyes.

‘That’s not worthy of you, Rosalie James.’

Her heart missed a beat then leapt into a wild pounding. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she prevaricated.

‘If you’re trading truth, then don’t lie about what you’re feeling with me. It destroys your credibility.’

He was throwing down his gauntlet. Rosalie threw down hers. ‘Okay. You’d like my suitcase in your hall for a while. I prefer to pass on that.’