Читать книгу Red-Hot Summer: The Millionaire's Proposition / The Tycoon's Stowaway / The Spy Who Tamed Me - Kelly Hunter, Avril Tremayne - Страница 14

KATE DIDN’T KNOW if it was youthful vigour or if Scott just had more testosterone than the average man, but he’d been at her apartment nine nights in a row. He’d only skipped the tenth night because he had a pre-scheduled poker night—and he’d bemoaned not being able to get out of that!

Each time they’d both been insatiable, from the moment he stepped inside to the moment he staggered out, bleary-eyed, in the wee hours.

By tacit agreement Scott never stayed the night. That would have been too…intimate. And, okay, that seemed ridiculous, given the extent to which they’d examined each other’s bodies—she’d seen the kitten-shaped birthmark on Scott’s right butt cheek, for God’s sake, so cute it hurt—but there was something ‘next step’ about sleeping together. And the contract didn’t allow for next steps.

Their nine encounters had included two Play Times.

The first Play Time Scott had turned up as a doctor making a house call. Doctor/patient had been hilarious, to start with. But it had quickly progressed to hot, hot, hot as he’d gloved up and examined various parts of her body, sounding cool and professional with his ‘How does that feel?’ and ‘Is that helping?’ while she squirmed and gasped and orgasmed in a long, crazy, unending stream.

Their second Play Time, on their ninth night together, he’d opted for master/slave—but with a midway role-swap.

For the first part of the evening Kate had been the master. Which was just as well, because her phone had been running so hot she would have made an unsatisfactorily preoccupied sex slave. Her client Rosie was in crisis mode, having finally asked for a divorce, and was calling Kate every fifteen minutes for advice. Another client was desperate for help because his ex-wife was threatening to move interstate with their two children. And a colleague wanted advice on a property settlement.

None of it had seemed to faze Scott, who’d taken to his slave role like a duck to water and lavished attention on her as she’d stressed on the phone. Making her tea, massaging her shoulders and feet, rubbing her back, stroking her hair…

And when the phone had finally stopped ringing he’d reduced her to a state of orgasmic bliss. By which time she’d been dying to be his slave and would have agreed to anything he asked.

But Scott had issued only one command: that she accompany him to the Visionary Architect Awards dinner.

Which was how now, two nights later, Kate found herself in her best evening gown—a modernised cheongsam in royal purple satin—her hair pinned into a complicated bun, her face flawlessly made-up, essentials stuffed into a glittery silver evening bag…

And feeling all kinds of weird.

A date that wasn’t a date.

With a lover who wasn’t a boyfriend.

And, despite her being Scott’s ‘slave’ tonight, he’d insisted on coming to her door to get her, like an old-fashioned gentleman caller.

It was…confusing. And Kate knew she wouldn’t be any less confused by the end of the night. Because not only was Scott a master manipulator, adept at getting her to do whatever he wanted, he was also a champion question-deflector. If she asked him something he didn’t want to answer he would just kiss her! And if she complained about kissing being against the rules he would insist the kiss was going to lead to sex, and the next moment they’d be in bed.

Kate had never had so much sex in her life! Or so few answers.

And the upshot was that she wanted to know…well, everything!

She was even insanely curious about what Scott would be wearing tonight—something she’d never, ever contemplated ahead of dates with other men…not that this was a date. How ridiculous was that? It was a black-tie event: ergo, Scott would be in black tie. No need to be curious because all men looked pretty much the same in black tie.

A thought that went straight out of her head—along with the rest of her grey matter—when she opened the door to him and her heart did a thudding swoon.

He was just so gorgeous.

Tux in navy blue. Formal shirt in black, not white. He’d forgone the bow tie. Shoes that were buckled, not laced. He looked modern and edgy and scrumptious. Exactly the way an award-winning architect should look.

‘Wow!’ she said, after a moment of stunned silence.

‘Wow yourself!’ he responded, and kissed her. ‘I wish I’d come over after the game last night, because now I think I’m suffering withdrawal symptoms. I don’t know how I’m going to keep my hands off you during dinner.’

And as Kate’s heart swooned again—at the kiss, at his words—she wondered if she could invoke her first Play Time and whisk Scott off at some stage of the evening for some restroom sex. And she’d never wanted to try that before.

Scott took her hand—hmm, PDA or just giving her some support for her five-inch heels?—and didn’t let go until they reached his car. When Kate did a double-take, because it was a red Mini—not at all what she would have expected. Not that she’d given a lot of thought to what car Scott would drive, but shouldn’t it be a little less…well, cute? A little more macho? Like maybe a black off-road truck. Something that did not remind her that he had a kitten-shaped birthmark she would love to see right that second.

Scott opened the car door for her and helped her in before getting behind the wheel.

‘I hate these events,’ he said as he buckled his seat belt. ‘So thank you for not leaving me sad and dateless.’

‘I’m your slave, remember? I didn’t have a choice.’

‘Hey, yeah—I forgot!’ he said. ‘So in that case I would like a kiss for the road.’

‘Your wish…my command,’ Kate said, and leaned over to give him a steamy, lingering kiss. Even though that kiss was not going to lead to sex. Uh-oh. She was getting as bad as him.

But at least he was looking suitably scorched when she eased back.

‘Definitely not going to keep my hands off you during dinner,’ Scott said fervently.

Kate laughed. ‘Not that I believe for a moment that a phone call to the first name in your little black book wouldn’t have snagged you a date.’

‘Not wishing to sound like an egomaniac, but that is true. The fidelity clause, however, is a killer,’ he said. ‘How ungallant it would have been, beating off my lascivious companion at the end of the night.’

‘You’re not telling me your dates always end in sex?’

‘Aren’t I?’

Kate dutifully laughed—but the idea of him even thinking about sex with another woman was somehow unsettling. And the fact that it unsettled her was…well, that was unsettling too.

‘You’re the one who got fussy about that fidelity clause,’ she reminded him, aiming for a nonchalance she just couldn’t make herself feel. ‘If it’s a hardship to give up all those women out there panting for you, you only have to say the word.’

‘I’m not risking you ditching me that fast.’

‘Who says I’d ditch you? Maybe I wouldn’t care.’

He shot her a curious look. ‘You honest-to-God wouldn’t have minded if I’d done the deed elsewhere tonight?’

‘We’ll never know, will we?’

‘Yeah—not buying it,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t have liked it. And—just to remind you—I definitely would mind, so no going there for you.’ Quick, cheeky grin at her. ‘Not that you need to.’

‘Oh, the confidence of youth.’

Another grin. ‘Not youth—skill, Katie. And, for the record, it’s not that I couldn’t have resisted Anais—she’s the first A in my black book, by the way—because I could have. It’s that I didn’t want to hurt her feelings with a knockback she wouldn’t have been expecting. So, you see, you had to come to spare the poor girl’s feelings.’

‘Oh, so this is all about me doing Anais a favour!’

‘Well, you can’t deny you’ve got a soft spot for the oppressed.’

‘Has Willa been talking about my imminent canonisation again?’

‘Nope. I just know, Saint Kate. When you were on the phone two nights ago I sensed weeping aplenty and a fair amount of teeth-gnashing at the other end of the line—and I heard how you dealt with it.’ Scott reached for her hand, brought it to his mouth, kissed it. ‘All class.’

Kate, uncharacteristically flustered, had to swallow twice before she could force herself back into banter mode and once more to actually find her voice.

‘And poor Anais is oppressed how, exactly?’ she asked—and was relieved the question had come out light and amused.

‘All right, you got me,’ Scott said, rueful. ‘Anais is not oppressed. In fact, she tried to oppress me!’

‘You? Oppressed? Puh-lease.’

‘She did! Bondage and discipline. Ouch. Evil. I cried like a baby.’

Kate couldn’t help it. She laughed. ‘So that’s what I have to do to keep you in line, is it?’

‘No. I told you—I’m not into all that. All you have to do to keep me in line, Katie, is redirect your soft spot where it’s needed.’

‘And where would that be?’

‘Well, to me, obviously. Haven’t you been listening? I’m oppressed.’

‘You need a little more oppression,’ Kate said dryly, and when he laughed, sounding boyish and completely irresistible, she found herself wanting to kiss him again.

She decided a subject-change was required for her own sanity.

‘So, what are the chances of Silverston taking the prize tonight?’ she asked.

Scott waited a moment. ‘Did you look it up?’

‘Well, yes, of course. What kind of slave would I be if I didn’t know what award my master was up for? Creative Residential. Five finalists.’

‘I’m not expecting to win.’ He sounded offhand—but his hands had tightened on the steering wheel.

‘Why not?’ she asked.

A shrug, but no answer. Just one of those smiles that she thought he must have stacked up like a jukebox—pick one and play it.

‘I hope the food is good, because I’m starving,’ he said. ‘What’s the bet it’ll be smoked salmon out of a packet, followed by overdone steak with three vegetables on the side, then chocolate mousse?’

Which, of course, was not an answer. And it seemed she wasn’t going to get one, because Scott kept the conversation flowing around a host of boy subjects—which Kate suspected had been deliberately chosen—for the rest of the drive.

Sports results—please, kill her—action movies, gory television shows.

By the time they arrived at the five-star hotel where the event was being held, Scott had a new jukebox smile pasted on—a smile that said I’m here! No big deal!

But it became obvious very quickly to Kate that his arrival was, in fact, a very big deal—to everyone except him. As pre-event cocktails were served outside the ballroom people made their way to Scott in a steady stream, drawn as though by a magnet. But although Scott smiled, chatted, shook hands, kissed a score of female cheeks, he held everyone at bay…and they didn’t even realise he was doing it. He was effortlessly, carelessly charismatic, and people clearly wanted to be in his orbit, but he was essentially untouchable.

What the hell…?

Kate remembered what he’d said that day in her office. I don’t get hurt. She was starting to believe it was true. To get hurt you had to be close to someone. And dial-a-smile Scott wasn’t close. To anyone. The question was: why not?

‘Bored?’ Scott asked her, leaning in close.

‘No. Why?’

‘You were staring off into space.’

‘Oh, just…thinking. But not bored.’

‘Well, I’m bored. Slave or not, I’m going to have to think up a way to reward you for sacrificing your night to this tedium.’

‘Just win the prize,’ she said.

Instantly his eyes shuttered. ‘Hmmm.’

That was all he said. Hmmm.

What the hell…?

‘Have the organisers already notified the winners?’ Kate asked, puzzled. ‘Is that why you’re so sure you’re not going to win?’

‘No. It’s not—No.’

‘Then…what?’

One of those dismissive shrugs. ‘I just don’t.’

‘Don’t what?’

‘Win. That’s the way it is, Katie.’ He looked over her shoulder. ‘Ah, the doors are opening. Let’s go in and try not to…’ His eyes widened, his voice trailed off. Then, ‘Damn,’ he said under his breath. ‘He is here.’

Kate turned to see what he was seeing. ‘What? Who? Oh! He looks like—’

‘Me.’

‘Only—’

‘Taller.’

‘Well, yes, but—’

‘Better-looking.’

‘I was going to say “older”.’

His eyes zoomed to her. ‘Are you going to tell me he’s more age-appropriate for a thirty-two-year-old? Because if you are—don’t. I’m not up to another discussion about my age.’

Kate could only blink. She seemed to be thinking What the hell? a lot tonight but…well, what the hell…?

His eyes roamed behind her again. ‘Oh, for the love of God!’

Kate turned again as Scott’s lookalike descended on them.

‘Who is he?’ she asked.

‘My brother. His house is one of the finalists.’

That was all he had time to say before he was enveloped in a bear hug.

‘Scottie!’ his brother boomed out.

Scott stiffened, before giving his brother an awkward pat on the back.

Edging back as fast as he could, he took Kate’s elbow and brought her closer. ‘Kate—my brother Hugo.’

Hugo? As in Play Time? The word that would stop Scott in his tracks? What the freaking hell…? This evening was turning out to be very…instructive.

The resemblance between the two men wasn’t as strong close-up. Hugo was like a more refined version of Scott. His eyes were brown, not green. And he spoke with a slightly British accent—very different from Scott’s Aussie drawl. Kate thought the accent was an affectation until Hugo confessed, with the fakest attempt at self-deprecation Kate had ever heard, that he’d been to medical school in England.

He looked more conservative than Scott—from his sharp, perfect haircut to his traditional black-tie get-up. Hugo was more talkative, more…accessible. But there was something missing. That indefinable something Scott had in spades—that mix of charm and wit and sexy intrigue. Hugo was obviously smart. He was good-looking. A little stuffy, maybe, although he seemed like a decent guy. But nobody would rush to Hugo’s side the way they rushed to Scott’s.

Kate was on the point of filing that description away when Hugo raised the subject of the award, with a look at Scott that could only be described as pitying—and Kate’s hackles rose, sharp and hard. Okay, description revised. Hugo was not a decent guy; Hugo was a bastard.

‘So—Creative Residential! Who would have thought we’d end up competing again, Scottie?’ Hugo asked, with a heavy clap on Scott’s back. ‘I checked out Silverston on the website. Good job, Scottie. Really good job.’

‘Thank you,’ Scott said with a smile that was definitely forced.

Kate, hating that smile, blinked innocently up at Hugo. ‘You’re not a doctor and an architect, are you, Hugo?’

‘Well, no, but—’

‘So your architect is the finalist?’ More wide-eyed I don’t understand innocence.

‘Yes, my man Waldo.’

‘Oh, your man. I see. Scott’s client is leaving the honours to him. Credit where it’s due, right?’ Kate asked, and hoped Scott’s client wouldn’t embarrass her by appearing out of nowhere!

Hugo chuckled, oblivious to any insult. ‘Ah, but I had considerable input into Waldo’s design,’ he explained. ‘So when I asked if I could come along this evening, of course Waldo was only too happy. Especially when I told him there would be a little friendly family rivalry for the prize.’

Scott, whose eyes had frosted in a way that did not look at all friendly, raised his eyebrows. ‘Waldo let you have a say? Waldo Kubrick?’ He turned to Kate. ‘Waldo is brilliant—actually, the best. But he’s more temperamental than a busload of French chefs.’

Hugo gave Scott another pitying look. ‘Yes, he is the best, isn’t he?’ Then came an apologetic and yet not at all apologetic cough. ‘Sorry, Scottie.’

‘Sorry?’ Scott asked. ‘Why?’

There was something in Hugo’s eyes that Kate didn’t like. Something malicious.

‘Let’s just say Knightley is pretty special,’ he said. ‘The buzz is there.’

Kate felt a laugh building and had to bite the inside of her cheek hard. Knightley? His house was called Knightley?

‘Yes, it is,’ Scott said coolly, and gestured towards the ballroom. ‘Well, good luck, Hugo. We’re heading in.’

And then Scott turned to Kate—who was trying not to laugh and at the same time silently communicating to Scott that she knew why the name Hugo would stop him in his Play Time tracks—and something lit in his eyes as he took in the expression on her face. And his smile, for the very first time, was in his eyes.

And it was absolutely devastating.

Scott felt a little off-balance.

It had been a lightning-fast emotional shift—from the normal feeling of inadequacy he always experienced around his brother to wanting to take Kate in his arms right there in front of Hugo, to whom he never, ever introduced anyone. And not only take her in his arms but breathe her right into his body. All because she’d wanted to laugh. It didn’t seem to matter that he didn’t even know what had amused her. Not that Kate didn’t usually laugh—she did, a lot, and he loved that. But there was just something different about it tonight.

‘What’s so funny?’ he asked as he pulled out her chair.

She sat. Waited for him to sit beside her. ‘Not that I want to disparage your brother, Scottie—’

He groaned.

‘Sorry, but I owe you for all the Katies,’ Kate said.

Wince. ‘Yeah. I get it. No more Katies. Hand-on-heart promise.’

‘But what is with that house name? Is Hugo an Emma fan? Or maybe his wife? Naming the house after Mr Knightley, perhaps?’

‘Emma who?’

Kate rolled her eyes. ‘Never mind. I think the explanation is simpler. He named it after himself, didn’t he? Like one of those British stately homes?’ She was biting the inside of her cheek again. ‘Maybe he got the idea at med school…’

‘Knightley,’ Scott said slowly. ‘Knightley. Oh, my God. I didn’t even think—It never occurred—I mean—God!’ He sat, stunned, for a moment, and then he started laughing. ‘God!’

‘It’s not a laughing matter,’ Kate admonished, but Scott could see she was struggling to keep a straight face. ‘It’s de rigueur to name your home after yourself, you know.’ Her mouth was starting to twist. ‘My own apartment is c-called C-Castle C-Cleary.’

And then Kate was laughing too, and the sound of it was just so sexy he had to touch her. Needed to share this delicious absurdity with her physically.

He reached for her hand and she twined her fingers with his, still laughing. Even her eyes were laughing. What must that be like? To have eyes that laughed? Eyes that were warm like molten silver. Beautiful.

His throat closed over and the laughter jammed. Stuck in his throat. All he could think about was kissing her until she was breathless. As breathless as he felt just looking at her. Breathless. And perfect. For once, perfect…

Kate stopped laughing too, and then she reached out with her free hand. Touched his face as if she felt it too. The connection.

And then panic hit.

No! No connection. He didn’t want that.

He jerked back, away from her touch.

He looked at their joined hands, and the sight of their linked fingers jolted him like an electric shock. He let go.

He picked up his wine glass, took an urgent swallow. And then, eyes sliding away to some distant point, he cleared his throat.

Kate cleared her own throat, picked up her own wine glass, sipped. He heard the quick breath she took.

‘So…um…what’s it like?’ she asked, putting the words out hesitantly into the sudden, excruciating void.

Wine. He needed another sip. Took it. Put the glass down. ‘What’s what like?’

‘Knightley?’

Shrug. ‘I know as much as you do about Knightley. Just what I’ve seen on the awards website.’ He waved at someone across the room.

‘So it must be… Is it…? Is it brand-new, then? I mean that you haven’t seen it?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I just haven’t. Seen it, I mean.’

Their first course arrived, and Scott almost sagged with relief. He pasted on a cheerful smile, and at last he could look at her again. ‘Well, Kate—as you can see, I was on the money with the smoked salmon.’

From that point the seemingly endless procession of award presentations, cheesy entertainment and bland food courses proceeded exactly as Scott had expected. Except for one thing: a burning awareness of Kate beside him. Something he’d never felt with Anais or any of his other black-bookers at one of these insipid evenings.

And that bothered him.

Even the way she was captivating the architect on her other side was getting to him. Thank God Miles Smithers was sixty years old and happily married, or he’d probably want to smash the guy’s tee—

Whoa! Pull up. There was no thanking God required. Or teeth-smashing. It didn’t matter if Kate was captivating a sixty-year-old married architect or a thirty-two-year-old billionaire Greek god! If she was physically faithful she could captivate whomever the hell she wanted to captivate. None of his business.

And it wasn’t as though he was being a scintillating conversationalist himself. If not for Miles, Kate would be catatonic! He was being a first-class boor, barely grunting a reply when she asked him anything.

All because of that…that moment. That intense connection which he hadn’t bargained for and didn’t bloody well want.

Having Hugo sitting two tables away, already looking every inch the victor, wasn’t helping either.

Scott had known his brother wouldn’t be able to stay away tonight, wouldn’t be able to vacate the space, just for once, and let Scott occupy it. But he’d been anticipating a hand-wave and a superior nod across the room—that was their usual interaction. It must have been the sight of Kate that had prompted Hugo to dial it up a notch.

Kate. So glamorous and secure and beautiful. Out of his league. Which Hugo would have seen at a glance. So he probably should have guessed Hugo wouldn’t have been able to resist coming over in person to foreshadow his win.

And Knightley would win.

Because Hugo always won, even if he had to win via a third party like Waldo.

When the Creative Residential category was announced Hugo looked directly at him. There was a tiny narrowing of his eyes, an oh-so-poignant smile—a look Scott had being seeing all his life. A look that said Sorry, I just can’t help it that I’m so much better than you, little brother. Even more insufferable than usual because Kate saw it. And, God, how he wished he could get her out of there so she didn’t have to see it again when he lost. Why, why, why had he brought her?

Knightley was the second finalist announced. Pictures flashed up on the huge screen at the front of the room and—yes—it was a knockout. Hugo turned to clink glasses with Waldo, who had the grace to look uncomfortable about such precipitate celebration.

Two more finalists.

Then Scott’s name was announced. Silverston was being described in admiring detail and Kate turned to him, radiant, looking as if she was proud of him or something. She took his hand in hers as though that were entirely natural, held on.

PDA, Scott wanted to say—but couldn’t get it out of his tight throat. This was embarrassing. He wasn’t going to win. Kate would be giving him one of Hugo’s pitying looks in a minute, and having her hold his hand while she did so would only make it harder to stomach.

He wanted to disengage his hand, but couldn’t seem to let go. So he concentrated, instead, on making his hand go slack and dead. Let her interpret that. She’d be letting go of his hand any moment now. Any moment… Any…

Nope.

She wasn’t letting go. And everything was starting to blur in his head until he forgot why he shouldn’t be holding her hand.

Flashing images on the giant screen… The MC leaning into his microphone, saying something… A short blare of music… Spotlights swirling…

Scott found that, far from going slack and dead, his hand was gripping Kate’s. Hers was gripping right back.

And then she leaned in and kissed him briefly on the lips, and he thought, What?

And the applause was ringing out.

And the spotlight—it had stopped on him. It was shining on him. On him!

He blinked. Shook his head.

Kate laughed. Nodded.

And Scott knew. He’d won. He’d really won.

He was too shocked even to smile, let alone move. But Kate nudged him and somehow he got to his feet, started heading towards the stage—only to realise he was still holding Kate’s hand. He looked down at it, looked at her. She was laughing as she raised his hand to her lips, kissed it—the way he’d kissed hers in the car. And he needed exactly that, right at that moment. Exactly.

And then he was walking to the front of the room, up onto the stage.

‘Wow,’ he said when he got to the microphone. ‘Like…wow! Okay, this is like one of those moments where the award-winner says they never really expected to win…and then pulls out a just in case speech.’

General laughter.

Deep breath.

‘But I don’t have a just in case speech. So…so…um…thank you. I mean—to my client, to the team at Urban Sleek. The other finalists! So amazing. And…and Kate. Just…for…well. Thanks again. And…well, wow.’

Trophy in hand, Scott made his way back to the table, where Kate kissed him again, and he sat in a daze for the rest of the presentations, embarrassed at having given the worst speech in the history of all awards ceremonies everywhere in the world. But he’d just never expected to win. Why would he have prepared a speech? He never won. Never.

It wasn’t until the final award was being presented that he remembered Hugo. He looked over at Hugo’s table, saw his empty seat—bathroom visit?—and then forgot all about Hugo as formal proceedings gave way to the dancing and socialising part of the evening and what felt like a horde of people headed over to congratulate him.

He figured Kate must be longing to escape by the time the throng of well-wishers had dissipated, but when he opened his mouth to suggest they make a run for it, she smoothed a hand over his lapel and smiled at him—and his brain cells scrambled.

‘Don’t you think we should have a celebratory dance?’ she asked.

Scott looked from her to the dance floor, then back.

‘Scott?’ She smiled. ‘Dance?’

‘Er…’

Really? ‘Er…’ is the best you’ve got? Get it together.

Clearing of the throat. ‘Actually, I’m not much of a dancer, Kate.’

‘That’s all right, neither am I.’

‘No—I mean I don’t. Dance. Ever.’

She seemed startled by that. ‘You mean you never have?’

He checked his watch. ‘I was thinking… It’s late. I should get you home. You’ve suffered enough.’

Kate was watching him. Curious, a little wary. She seemed on the verge of asking something… But then she gave her head a tiny shake and said, ‘Sure.’

Scott was silent on the drive to Kate’s. Because the tension he’d been feeling all the way up to the announcement of his win was back. Tenfold. And it must have rubbed off on Kate because she was silent too, staring through the windscreen.

He pulled up outside her building and Kate unbuckled her seat belt. Then she just sat there, looking at him, waiting for him to turn off the ignition.

‘Aren’t you coming up?’ she asked at last.

‘I thought…it’s late… I thought…’

‘I thought you said all your dates ended with sex?’

Silence. Awkward.

‘Ah, but not tonight,’ Kate said. ‘Well, we only specified two nights a week, didn’t we? And we’ve hit that target. But, just so you know, slave girl ends now.’

With that throaty laugh he loved a little too much, she opened the car door and got out. But then she leaned down to look in at him. ‘Congratulations again, Scott. That was some house you designed.’

‘Thanks. And…and…’ Shrug. ‘Goodnight, Kate.’

Door closed.

Night over.

Thank God.

Scott drove off, up the street, around the corner, heading home.

Ordinarily he would have helped his date out of the car. That was what he always did, because that was the gentlemanly thing.

Ordinarily he would have walked his date to her front door—again, gentlemanly.

Ordinarily he would have followed his date inside, all the way into her bed. Gentlemanly? No. But expected. On both sides.

Ordinarily.

But with Kate…?

Well, it wasn’t a date.

It was supposed to have been just an easy fix for the night. Because he really hadn’t felt like going the black-book route and he really hadn’t wanted to do the sexual brush-off at the end—which he definitely would have done, because fidelity really was a sticking point for him and he really wasn’t interested in having sex with anyone except Kate. For now, he added, just to be clear on that. And, aside from all of that, it had been fun to manipulate Kate’s rules by negotiating her role tonight as part of Play Time.

An easy fix, a non-date, a fun manipulation.

But it had turned into something…else.

Because with her there, the award had been somehow more important than it should have been—and that had surprised him.

Because Hugo had tried to show off to her and she hadn’t thought he was anything special—in fact, she’d thought he was a little bit ridiculous.

Because they’d laughed together like…like that.

Because she’d had to go and get all proud and lovely about his award.

None of which had anything to do with the end-game.

And it was the end-game he wanted—not the something…else.

So it was best to re-establish some distance between them before he had sex with Kate again. And as for walking her to her front door…? He just hadn’t trusted himself to get that far and no further. Not with her.

Anyway, it wasn’t as if she was his responsibility. He didn’t have to usher her protectively behind locked doors. She wasn’t some vulnerable girl who couldn’t take care of herself. She could take care of herself. She wanted to take care of herself. She’d been arriving home from all kinds of dates—and this wasn’t even a date—for years. She’d laughed when he’d insisted on going to her door to pick her up tonight. She hadn’t looked at all put out that he wasn’t getting out of the car to walk her to her door at the end of the night. She didn’t want that kind of attention. She didn’t need—

Oh, dammit to hell!

Swearing fluently and comprehensively, Scott did a U-turn and sped back to Kate’s. He screeched to a stop, leapt from the car, raced to the apartment block and followed a semi-familiar resident into the building without having to press the intercom. Which was fortuitous, because he had no idea yet what he was going to say to explain his reappearance.

His heart was thumping when he reached Kate’s apartment and knocked on her door.

He still had no idea what to say, but he was suddenly so desperate to see her he was happy just to wing it. So answer…open the door…come on.

Kate opened the door cautiously.

Well, of course she was cautious! He could have been anyone.

‘You shouldn’t open the door without knowing who it is,’ he said. Yep, he had lost his freaking mind.

Her only response was to raise her eyebrows. God, he loved the way she did that—all haughty and amused.

She was still wearing that stunning dress, but her hair was half down and her feet were bare.

Scott cleared his throat. ‘I should have walked you to your door.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s the right thing to do.’

She shook her head, laughed as though to say silly boy—and that riled him.

So he reached for her, pulled her close and did what he’d been wanting to do all night.

He kissed her.