Читать книгу Red-Hot Summer: The Millionaire's Proposition / The Tycoon's Stowaway / The Spy Who Tamed Me - Kelly Hunter, Avril Tremayne - Страница 13

KATE WALKED OVER to him.

‘I love that dress,’ he said. ‘Love that dress. But take it off.’

Kate forced herself to go slowly as she reached for the sides of the dress and started to roll the fine silk between her fingertips, raising the hem gradually. Their first experience, in the office, had been frantic and fast, sudden and shocking and blind. This time she wanted to control it. To offer herself to him one piece at a time. Tease him. Wow him.

Payback.

Scott leaned forward in his seat, eyes intent on the hem inching upwards, until she reached her upper thighs. She paused there as Scott’s breathing became harsher, choppier. One more roll. Another. Bringing the hem higher up, up—until she was exposed from the hips down.

She saw Scott swallow as his eyes focused. ‘Like fire…’ he whispered. ‘Come closer.’

Kate took two steps until she was standing an arm’s length away. He reached out to touch, smoothed his fingers over the narrow strip of dark red hair.

‘Let me in.’

She adjusted her stance and Scott slipped his fingers between her legs, playing there until she was gasping.

He looked up at her. ‘Keep going. I want to see all of you.’

With that, Kate lost any desire for taking things slowly—so much for control!—and reefed the dress up and off. She tossed it to the floor and stood naked before him.

He kept his fingers moving in the moisture between her thighs while he looked up at her. He swallowed again as she pulled her hair back over her shoulders. The movement tightened her breasts, as if she was offering them to him.

His fingers stilled, slipped out of her, and Kate almost protested.

He sat back, eyes all over her. ‘You are the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,’ he said hoarsely, and with a determination that was almost intimidating bent to remove his sneakers.

He got to his feet, reached into his back pocket for a condom, held it out to her.

She took it and instantly started ripping the packet. Scott—with sharp, efficient movements—took off his T-shirt, unzipped his jeans, pushed them and his underwear down and off.

And, God, he was gorgeous. Hard. Huge. Perfect.

He reached for her, pulled her in, groaned long and low as their naked bodies connected, slid together.

‘I’m sorry, but this won’t take long,’ he said. ‘We’re not going to make it to the bedroom. Not this first time.’

He pulled back, jaw clenched tight. Nodded at the condom in her hand. ‘Put that on me and I’ll try not to come while you do it.’

Trembling, eager, Kate complied, while Scott uttered a string of low-voiced curses. And then he basically stumbled back, pulling Kate with him, until he was sitting on the chair again.

‘Straddle me,’ he said. ‘I can get more deeply into you from this position. And I want to go deep. Deep and hard. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ Kate said, in a breathy voice she hardly recognised as her own.

She slid onto his lap, wrapped her legs around him, around the chair. He held her hips, settling her, then shifted so her bottom was in his hands, manipulating her so she was more perfectly positioned for his entry. Another groan, this time against her neck, followed by a sucking kiss there. Then, with one almost vicious thrust, Scott was inside her, pulling her closer, closer. Another sucking kiss on her neck and then his mouth was on hers, kissing her deeply, tongue plunging within, licking her top lip, back inside her mouth.

‘Best—the best ever—to be inside you,’ he said against her lips.

And somehow those not very romantic words pushed Kate over the edge and into orgasm. She grabbed his face. Pulled his mouth closer, too close for words, and fed him gasping kisses until he followed her, with one long, last, deep thrust, into an explosive orgasm.

Best. Ever.

Those two small words were all Scott could think of as he came back to earth after the most mind-blowing release of his life.

Kate. So jaw-droppingly sexy. Looks that were almost taunting, they were so hot. She’d met him thrust for thrust, taken him as deep and as hard as he wanted to go, kissed the wits right out of his head.

He snuggled her close for a long, quiet moment, stroking her hair gently now that the first rampage of lust had passed. He felt her heartbeats and his, in unison, starting to slow. But he figured he’d never have a normal heartbeat around Kate. She fired his blood like nothing he’d ever experienced. Everyone else he’d ever been with paled in comparison. Every other one was a girl. But Kate was a woman.

And, for now at least, his woman.

At the thought, he felt himself start to harden again, still inside her.

She laughed, low and deep. She’d felt that, then.

She pulled back and looked into his eyes. Kissed him again, lush and soft, and he got harder still.

He stood, bringing Kate with him. Her legs wrapped automatically around him.

‘Bedroom’s back there,’ she said with a head movement.

‘I hope it’s a single,’ he said with a laugh as she squirmed against him. ‘Because anything wider than that is going to be a waste of space.’

Three hours later Scott got quietly out of Kate’s bed, pulled on his jeans and T-shirt, and looked down at her.

She was deeply asleep, no doubt exhausted after what he’d put her through. Even when he hadn’t been able to get it up after that third time he hadn’t stopped touching her. Mouth, hands…all over her.

Best. Sex. Ever.

He thought about leaving and going home—but that felt…wrong. Sneaking away as though he’d got what he came for and didn’t have to linger. Not that Kate would mind, given the contract. Sex—just sex. The end-game. He could sneak away and it wouldn’t be regarded as sneaking by either of them.

But they hadn’t had dinner and he was too hungry to leave. She would be too if she woke before morning. He padded into the kitchen, checking the contents of the cupboards and fridge. Not overly stocked, but he could fix omelettes.

Making himself at home—as he always seemed to do in kitchens—Scott got busy with eggs and whisk and was soon sliding his perfectly cooked omelette onto a plate. He grabbed a glass of wine—making a mental note to bring some beer to leave in Kate’s fridge—and pondered where he should sit to eat.

But it was no contest—and he knew it in his heart.

He’d said earlier that he wasn’t interested in the view from Kate’s apartment. And in that first hot burst of screaming desire it had been true—she was the only thing of interest to him.

But he knew what the view was, and now that the edge had been taken off his caveman libido he wanted to see it.

Rushcutters Marina, where he’d boarded his first yacht as a child and learned to sail. Sailing had become a passion. His one and only rebellion had been taking that year to sail in the Whitsundays rather than go straight to university the way his parents wanted, the way his perfect, by-the-book brother had. For Scott, sailing had been…freedom. And even though he’d given up sailing, there was something about boats that just kept pulling at him.

So he settled himself at Kate’s girl-sized outdoor table and looked out at the water as he ate. It should have been peaceful but, as ever, he found peace elusive.

He finished his omelette and walked over to the edge of the terrace, looking out at the water, listening to the gentle lap of it against the boats.

It was so different from the Whitsundays, and yet it made him remember that time eight years ago at Weeping Reef. The six of them—Willa, Luke, Amy, Chantal, Brodie and him—had formed what they’d imagined would be a lifelong bond, when their lives had been just beginning, only to see that bond disintegrate before that one summer was over.

All because of a love triangle.

One moment Chantal was Scott’s girl; the next she was Brodie’s. No words needed. Because everyone had been able to see it, just from the way they’d looked at each other.

Brodie was the only person Scott had ever confided in about all his childhood crap—and it had been hard to deal with his best friend slipping straight into the place his brother usually occupied in his tortured mind: the best, number one. As the white-hot knowledge had hit, Scott had lashed out, and everything had crashed and burned.

Scott and Chantal, both stuck working at Weeping Reef for the summer, had never recovered the friendship that had been between them before they’d become lovers.

Brodie had simply disappeared.

And Scott had missed him every single day. He still missed him.

The fight seemed so stupid, looking back. But that was what happened when you combined too many beers and too much unseasoned testosterone.

Chantal was just a girl—albeit it a smart, beautiful, wonderful girl—and what they’d had was a romance of proximity. They’d arrived at the resort before the others, and everyone had automatically assumed they were an item because they looked perfect together. A default relationship. With occasional sex that had been fun but hardly earth-shattering.

The fight hadn’t been about Chantal. Scott knew that with hindsight. That fight had been all about him. About never being quite good enough to win the prize. Never being quite good enough to be the prize.

At least he’d learned from the experience. Learned not to trust. Learned to take control of his emotions and hang on to that control at all costs. Learned to keep his pride intact. Learned not to care too deeply. About friends…or lovers.

Now, if only he could work out how to deal with the restlessness that had followed him ever since, he’d be happy. But it was as if he was in a constant battle with himself: let go and just be; don’t ever let go; let go; don’t let go; just be…

‘Couldn’t you sleep?’

The soft question from behind him startled him out of his heavy thoughts. Scott took a moment to school his features. And then he turned, dialled up a smile—one that was a little bit naughty, a little bit sex me up—which he routinely used on women he’d just laid.

Kate was wearing a loose, light dressing gown, and looked tousled and natural and lovely.

‘You wore me out, Katie,’ he said. ‘I needed fuel, so I made myself an omelette. I’ll make one for you too—because if you tell me I didn’t wear you out in return, I’ll die of shame.’

She chuckled. ‘Oh, I’m worn out, I promise. We’re equal.’

She came over to stand beside him and he found himself drawing her close, tucking her against his side, under his arm.

‘I think that qualifies as a PDA,’ Kate said.

‘We’re not in public, so how can it?’

He felt her sigh at his dodge-master answer but she didn’t say anything, so he kept her there, under his arm. It was…restful, somehow.

‘I love this view,’ she said after a long moment.

‘Best harbour in the world.’

‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘But it’s more about the boats for me. The thought of sailing away from your troubles, beginning a wonderful adventure. The freedom of it. I’ve often dreamt about stealing a yacht and just going.’

She must have felt the slight jerk he gave, because she turned her face up to his, frowning.

‘What?’

‘A lawyer? Stealing? Sacré bleu.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Yes, but that’s not really it, is it?’

Pause. And then he laughed—even managing to make it sound natural. ‘What you said just reminded me of my own sailing adventures, that’s all. And not that I want to burst your bubble, but reality will bite you on the arse wherever you are.’

‘Ah, of course—I forgot you were a sailing instructor at Weeping Reef. You and the other guy I haven’t met yet. Brodie?’

That was all it took for Scott to tense up. Brodie’s name coming out of Kate’s mouth. He didn’t want to talk about Brodie. It was too personal, too…raw. God, still.

‘So what part of it bit you?’ Kate asked.

‘Let’s just say I was too young to appreciate the experience,’ he said, and forced himself to smile down at her. This smile meant go no further—and he didn’t have to use it often because he didn’t let people get close enough to push his buttons.

‘And, no,’ he added quickly, thinking to nip in the bud any other question she might have brewing, ‘that’s not an invitation to tell me I’m still too young. I’m old enough to have made the sensible choice: sail back to Sydney, go to university, become an architect. All grown-up—just like you. Now, are you ready for your omelette?’

He could sense her slight hesitancy. Another question.? A comment.? But Kate finally shrugged, smiled. And thankfully gave up.

‘How lucky am I?’ she said. ‘A man who sizzles in bed and in the kitchen.’

‘I like cooking—the orderliness of it. You put a set number of ingredients together and, as long as you combine them in the right order, they come out at the other end in perfect formation.’

Kate grimaced. ‘My cooking doesn’t do that!’

‘Mine does. I insist on it.’

He leaned down and kissed her.

‘No kissing,’ Kate said, pulling away awkwardly after a moment. ‘Not outside of sex. Remember the rules.’

‘Oh, yeah, the rules.’

Well, Scott happened to think parts of her contract were ridiculous, as well as not being legally enforceable. So not only was he not going to be controlled by her rules, he was going to enjoy flouting them. The kissing clause was a case in point. He liked kissing Kate, so he was going to keep kissing her. Simple.

‘You know, Katie, a kiss isn’t a declaration of honourable intentions, if that’s what’s bothering you. I assure you my intentions are still entirely dishonourable—so relax. It shouldn’t surprise you, as the owner of that sexy-as-hell mouth, that men want to kiss it.’

‘But—’

Scott swooped before she could get another word out, kissing her again, drawing from the deep well of expertise he’d amassed during an impressive career of seduction. And this time it took her longer to pull away.

‘Scott!’

‘Hey, this is pre-contract,’ he argued. ‘We’re still on payback sex, by my reckoning.’

‘I owed you one orgasm. And I paid that back on the dining room chair. We’re on the clock now—and I can’t believe you’re blurring the rules on day one.’

‘Then if it makes you feel better,’ he said, grabbing her hands and pulling her in close, ‘this kiss is going to lead to sex.’

And with that, he lowered his head once more, put his mouth on hers. He felt her melt, melt, melting into him. That was control. He would control this. Control her through her precious contract. Take what he wanted when he wanted it with a clear conscience and no hard feelings when they said goodbye at the end. He’d finally achieved perfection in a relationship!

Not that this was a relationship.

Scott nudged her legs apart, settled himself between them, thrust against her. ‘See? I’m ready for you already.’

‘Is that perma-erection of yours a benefit of youth?’ she asked, leaning into him.

‘I could be a hundred years old and five days dead and still want you, Katie,’ he said in return. ‘Let’s go to bed and I’ll show you how much. And then I’ll make you an omelette before I head home.’