to the road. ‘Are you one of those perfectly smart people who finds it so easy to get work that you’re currently drifting out here to join a cause in which you have no personal interest?’
‘You’re still suspicious of my motives?’
‘I’m reserving judgement. Although—’ she sighed ‘—I can, of course, understand how easy it is to get involved if you’re a nature-lover. Look around you at the open land. You can really breathe out here. The thought of it being handed over to a developer, so that houses can be put up and the trees chopped down, doesn’t bear thinking about.’
* * *
Art looked around him. There certainly was a great deal of open land. It stretched all around them, relentless and monotonous, acres upon acres upon acres of never-ending sameness. He’d never been much of a country man. He liked the frenetic buzz of city life, the feeling of being surrounded by activity. He made some appreciative noises under his breath and narrowed his eyes against the glare as the perimeters of his land took shape.
‘So you’ve lived here all your life,’ Art murmured as she slowed right down to access the bumpy track that followed the outer reaches of his property. ‘I’m taking it that some of the guys protesting are relatives? Brothers? Sisters? Cousins? Maybe your parents?’
‘No,’ Rose said shortly.
Art pricked up his ears, detecting something behind that abrupt response. It paid to know your quarry and Harold had been spot on when he’d said that there was next to no personal information circulating out there about the prickly woman next to him. Amazing. Social media was the staple diet of most people under the age of thirty-five and yet this woman had obviously managed to turn her back firmly on the trend.
Since he was similarly private about his life, he had to concede some reluctant admiration for her stance.
‘No extended family?’
‘Why the Spanish Inquisition?’ She glanced across at him. ‘What about you? Brothers? Sisters? Cousins? Will some of your extended family be showing up here to support us?’
‘You’re very prickly.’
‘I...don’t mean to be, Mr Frank.’
‘I think we should move onto a first name basis. That okay with you? My name’s Arturo. Arthur if you prefer the English equivalent.’ Which was as close to the truth as it was possible to get, as was the surname, which hadn’t been plucked from thin air but which was, in fact, his mother’s maiden name.
‘Rose.’
‘And you were telling me that you weren’t prickly...’
* * *
‘I’m afraid the whole business of an extended family is something of a sore point with me.’ She half smiled because her history was no deep, dark secret, at least locally. If Arthur, or Arturo because he looked a lot more like an exotic Arturo than a boring Arthur, ended up here for the long haul, then sooner or later he would hear the gossip. The truth was that her background had made her what she was, for which she was very glad, but it wasn’t exactly normal and for some reason explaining herself to this man felt...awkward and a little intimate.
Aside from that, what was with the questioning? Shouldn’t he be asking questions about the land instead of about her?
On a number of levels he certainly didn’t respond in the predicted manner and again Rose felt that shiver, the faintly thrilling feathery sensation of being in slightly unchartered territory.
‘You asked about me,’ he said smoothly, filling the silence which had descended between them, ‘and extended family is a sore point for me, as well. I have none.’
‘No?’ They had arrived at the protest site but Rose found that she wanted to prolong the conversation.
‘Do you feel sorry for me?’ Arturo grinned and Rose blinked, disconcerted by the stupendous charm behind that crooked smile. She felt it again, a whoosh that swept through her, making her breath quicken and her stomach swoop.
‘Should I? You don’t strike me as the sort of guy someone should be feeling sorry for. How is it that you have no extended family?’
‘First, I’ll take it as a compliment that you think I’m the kind of dominant guy people should fear, respect and admire instead of pity...’
‘Did I say that?’ But her mouth twitched with amusement.
‘And, second, I’ll tell you if you tell me. We can hold hands and have a girly evening sharing confidences...join me for dinner later. I’d love to get to know you better.’
Hot, flustered and suddenly out of her depth, Rose gaped at him like a stranded fish, scarcely believing her ears. She reddened, lost for words.
‘Is it a promising start that I’m taking your breath away?’ Arturo drawled, his voice rich with amusement.
‘No... I... You’re asking me on a date?’
‘You sound as though it’s something that’s never happened to you before.’
‘I...no... I’m very sorry, Mr Frank, but I...no. I can’t accept. But thank you very much. I’m flattered.’
‘Arturo.’ He frowned. ‘Why not?’
‘Because...’ Rose smoothed her wayward hair with her hand and stared off into the distance, all the while acutely aware of his dark, sexy eyes on her profile, making a nonsense of her level head and feet-firmly-planted-on-the-ground approach to life. She was no frothy, giggly bit of fluff but he was making her feel a bit like that and anyone would think that she was a giddy virgin in the company of a prince!
‘Because...?’
‘Well, it’s not appropriate.’
‘Why not? I may be about to join your cause, but you’re not my boss so no conflict of interest there.’
‘I...’ Rose licked her lips and eventually looked at him, leaning against the open window. ‘I...’
‘You’re not married. You’re not wearing a wedding ring.’
‘Observant. That’s hardly the point, though.’
‘Boyfriend?’
‘No...not that it’s any of your business, Mr Frank. Arthur. Arturo. Do you usually ask women you’ve only known for five seconds out on a date?’
‘How else am I supposed to get to know them for longer than five seconds if I don’t? So you’re not married, no boyfriend...gay?’
‘No!’
Arturo grinned and Rose was certain she was blushing furiously, her reddened cheeks thoroughly letting the side down. ‘Then where’s the problem?’
‘You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?’ Rose gathered herself and opened her door. It was very hot. A blazing summer afternoon, with the sun still high in the sky and the clouds little more than cotton
