Page 34 of Daring the Bad Boy

What they’d had was meant to be fleeting, flirtatious, not serious.

Tash didn’t look convinced. “You still have to go. Surely you can see that?”

“Why do I have to?” When it would only have her putting more stupid spins on everything. There was no such thing as love at first sight. And there was certainly no such thing as love at first fuck. She ought to know. Because she’d already learned that the hard way the night he’d rejected her.

“Because if you don’t, that would make you a coward,” Tash said, gravely. “And that’s something you’ve never been.”

Rosie wanted to deny it. Because she was a coward. Why else would she have run out on Cal instead of confronting him? But the denial stuck in her throat. Tash was right about one thing.

She needed to face Cal again. So she could start getting over him. Because not seeing him wasn’t working. She kept thinking about him, wondering how he was? How he was coping with the shocking revelation at his father’s funeral? And believing she could help, when he had made it clear he didn’t want her to.

She didn’t want to think about him. Not anymore. Perhaps seeing him again, having him treat her like a polite stranger would finally snap her out of her own delusions. Because missing him so much was exhausting her.

“Okay, I’ll go,” she said. She needed to see this exhibition to prove to herself that she couldn’t miss what she had never had. “But if this turns into the embarrassing disaster I think it will,” she added, “you’re supplying all the Ben and Jerry’s I’m going to need to get over it.”

“You’re on.” Tash grabbed her hand. “We’ll pick up Imo downstairs and clue her in en route.”

“Imo’s coming?” Rosie said as she was dragged down the corridor.

“Of course,” Tash said. “The invitation said guests didn’t it?”

Chapter Twelve

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“Every one of these pictures is of you Rosie.” Imo stuffed another free canapé into her mouth to contain her awe. “And they’re all incredible. I can’t believe you posed naked for him.”

Neither could Rosie, as she stared at the prints, mounted on the pristine white walls of the art gallery. But what she couldn’t believe even more was how stunning he’d made her look. The photographs were artistic and emotional, giving her a subtle sensuality that she had never known she possessed.

How had Cal seen this in her? Who she wanted to be instead of who she was? Had it actually been there, or had he just created it out of his artist’s imagination? Wherever it had come from, looking at herself, the way he had chosen to see her, made her feel raw and exposed. As if he’d pulled back a layer of her skin and exposed her dreams.

“I wasn’t exactly naked,” she managed. “I had a sheet.”

And she supposed she ought to be grateful for the sheet. At least all the expensively dressed and extremely important people milling about – several art critics she recognized, the director of the Academy, a world-famous architect, even a smattering of A-list actors – couldn’t see her totally naked. But she didn’t feel grateful, because the sheet didn’t make the photographs feel any less intimate, or revealing.

The only person she hadn’t spotted yet was Cal, but then she’d kept a deliberately low profile as soon as she’d arrived, flanked by Imo and Tash. Not nearly as sure now, that she was ready to see him again.

This had been an insane idea. What exactly was she going to prove? That her feelings for him had been a mistake? She already knew that. Seeing him again would only compound her stupidity. And the fatal flaw in her argument was even more glaring in the face of his photographs. If he could see inside her soul and still reject her so easily, what exactly did that leave her? Not even her

pride, apparently.

A waiter passed by with a tray bearing a plate of delicate filou pastries and several flutes of champagne. She snagged a glass and drained it.

“I need to leave,” she murmured to Tash, the desire to escape from what threatened to be a very public humiliation paramount.

Tash grabbed her arm. “It’s too late for that.”

Rosie’s gaze followed her friend’s. The chatter of voices, the clink of glasses dimmed at the sight of Cal heading through the crowd straight towards them.

The buzzing in her head became deafening. The urge to run and hide overwhelming. But it was like watching a truck crashing towards her in slow motion. Her feet remained rooted to the spot, her body trapped by that dark gaze, as her heart battered her ribcage.

“You came?” he said, as he drew level.

She barely had a chance to nod before he grasped her wrist and carried on walking. Tash whipped her empty champagne glass out of her hand as she stumbled past.

“Cal, stop,” she managed, around the thickening in her throat as he headed straight for the exit. “Where are you taking me?”

“To talk. In private.” He threw the words over his shoulder in staccato bursts while marching past groups of people all trying to get his attention. Rosie saw confusion, curiosity and what she was certain had to be contempt on their faces. They must all recognize her, from the photographs.

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