is up to you?’
Rosie’s snort was involuntary. ‘Try telling Eva to shorten my name and see how far you get,’ she told him briskly. ‘And I seem to remember asking you quite often to call me Rosie. You never did.’
‘You didn’t ask—you commanded,’ he said with a faint smile. ‘I didn’t take kindly to being ordered about by a tiny snip some twelve years younger.’
You are not in love with him, she reminded herself with desperate insistence. You never have been.
All she had to do was get him out of her bloodstream, out of her head, and see him as a man, not the compelling, powerful, unattainable lover of her fantasies.
‘Dance with me.’
Her brave determination melted under a sudden surge of heat. To be in his arms again…
Resisting the seductive impact of that thought, she summoned a smile glinting with challenge. ‘And you have the audacity to accuse me of ordering people about?’
‘Perhaps I should rephrase my request,’ he said on a note that held more than a hint of irony. ‘Rosemary, would you like to dance with me?’
‘That’s much more like it,’ she said sedately, hanging on to her composure by a thread. ‘Yes, of course I’ll dance with you.’
His mouth quirked at her formality, and something jabbed her heart. It took a determined effort of will to walk beside him onto the dance floor.
But when Gerd took her in his arms her natural sense of rhythm almost deserted her. Concentrating fiercely, she followed his lead. In that dazzling, dazed summer they’d danced together several times and she’d never forgotten the sensation of being held against his big frame, the way she’d felt so deliciously overpowered by his size and latent strength.
Now, close to him again, every cell in her body sang a wanton song of desire.
You’re not in love with him, she repeated fervently. Not a bit. Never have been…
This was merely physical, a matter of hormones and hero-worship. He’d imprinted her the way a mother goose imprinted her goslings.
The thought curved her mouth in an involuntary smile. How apt. She was behaving just like a goose!
Gerd broke a silence that threatened to drag on too long. ‘How long is it since we’ve danced together?’
‘I don’t know.’
That was a stupid response, an instinctive attempt at defence. And he’d noticed. Defiantly Rosie cocked her head and met his unusual eyes, tawny and arrogant as an eagle’s.
Hoping her tone projected amusement tinged with nostalgia, she continued, ‘Oh, yes, of course I do. How could I forget? It was my first grown-up party, do you remember? You were on holiday in New Zealand that summer.’
‘I remember.’ His voice was lazy, as amused as hers, the dark lashes almost hiding his eyes.
‘You gave me my very first grown-up kisses,’ she told him, and laughed before adding, ‘Ones that set an impossibly high standard.’
If she’d thought to startle him, she failed.
‘There have been plenty to judge them by since then, I understand,’ he said austerely.
Disconcerted, she demanded, ‘How do you know that?’
Again he shrugged, the muscles flexing beneath her fingertips. ‘Information travels fast in this family of ours,’ he told her laconically.
Rosie pointed out, ‘Except that I’m not proper family. The only connection is that my father’s first wife was your cousin. A fairly distant cousin at that. So I’m actually flying false colours. Everyone seems to think I’m a Crysander-Gillan, instead of a very ordinary Matthews!’
‘Nonsense,’ he said negligently, adding with an oblique smile, ‘There’s nothing ordinary about you. Anyway, your half-brother is my blood relation as well as a good friend, and Alex would very properly have told me where to go if you hadn’t been invited.’
Of course she’d been aware that only Gerd’s ironbound sense of duty had led to this invitation, but his laconic acknowledgement of it stung nevertheless.
Stifling her hurt, Rosie switched her gaze to the half brother she’d never really known. Her parents’ marriage had disintegrated before she was old enough to realise that the boy who appeared occasionally in her life was actually related to her.
Gerd’s arm around her tightened; Alex forgotten, she followed the almost imperceptible command and matched her steps to her partner’s. A sensuous thrill ran through her as they pivoted, their bodies meeting for an intimate moment.
Heat flamed through her at that subtle pressure; she dragged in a painful breath, only to find it imbued with the potent aphrodisiac of Gerd’s faint body scent—pure, charged masculinity. She was becoming aroused, readying herself for a passion that would never be returned, never be appeased.
And then Gerd drew back and she felt the distance between them like a chasm.
Determined to break the sense of connection, the feverish hunger, she said bleakly, ‘You know Alex better than I do. My mother banished him to boarding school before I was born, and we rarely saw him.’
‘He told me you’re having difficulty finding a job.’
Startled, she lifted her head, parrying his coolly questioning survey. ‘For someone on the opposite side of the world from New Zealand you certainly keep your finger on the pulse,’ she said forthrightly. ‘Yes, the downturn in business has meant that inexperienced commerce graduates are in over-supply, but I’ll find something.’
‘Surely Alex could fit you into his organisation?’
‘Any position I get will be on my own merits,’ she told him abruptly.
‘I’m flattered you allowed him to pay your way here. He said he had to almost force you to accept the offer.’
Her brother had dropped in on her the day she got the invitation, and when she’d told him she couldn’t afford to go, he’d lifted one black brow and drawled, ‘Consider it your next Christmas present.’
She’d laughed and refused, but a few days later his secretary had rung to ask if she had a passport, and given her instructions to meet his private jet at Auckland’s airport. And her mother had applied pressure, no doubt hoping that a holiday among the rich and famous would make Rosie reconsider her next move—to find a job in a florist’s shop.
‘You might just as well be a hairdresser,’ Eva Matthews had wailed. ‘It was bad enough when you decided to take a commerce degree, but to turn yourself into a florist?’ She’d startled Rosie with her virulence. ‘Why, for heaven’s sake? Everyone says you’re clever as a cartload of monkeys, but you’ve done nothing—nothing at all!—with your brains. You were a constant disappointment to your father—what would he have thought of this latest hare-brained scheme?’
Rosie had shrugged. Starting with the
