Читать книгу Red-Hot Summer: The Millionaire's Proposition / The Tycoon's Stowaway / The Spy Who Tamed Me - Kelly Hunter, Avril Tremayne - Страница 17

THE NEXT MORNING Scott was back at Rushcutters Bay, his finger frozen just short of the intercom buzzer, wondering what the hell he was doing.

Kate had made it clear she was going to be busy today, doing the work she’d planned to do the previous night if not for his inconvenient arrival. Code—and not exactly secret—for I don’t want to see you.

And yet here he was, trying to work out how to charm his way into her apartment, how to apologise for the way he’d run away last night. The way he kept running away.

But how did you tell someone you’d run because you were in too deep and wanted to pull back—even as you were fronting up for more?

He hadn’t intended to see her last night after she’d sent that irritatingly dismissive email about babysitting, but…well, he’d wanted to see her, dammit!

And he’d also known that if he didn’t see her he’d be looking down the barrel of another sleepless night. Because his frazzled brain kept circling round and around everything that had happened on Thursday night, urging him to prove to himself that the way he’d been feeling was a one-off, all caught up in the unforeseen angst of the occasion—Hugo; that shared moment when they’d both just got it; his winning—winning! That was why he’d smiled at her—okay, he smiled a lot…he even smiled at her a lot…but not like that. And that explained the sex too—so straighty one-eighty that it should not have seared him like a barbecued steak, and yet it had been on fire, plated up, skip the garnish, delicious.

So, yeah, last night, he’d intended to prove the one-offness of it all to himself. To turn up off-schedule, joke about Valentine’s Day, dazzle her with a little light-hearted banter, with the girls there to run interference and put the kybosh on anything emotional. Then they’d have sex in a manner in keeping with their contract—he’d thought of something highly technical that would mean they’d have to concentrate on not breaking a bone, so no time for losing themselves in the moment—and voilà: back to normal. Head back in the right place, heart untouched.

No watching her sleep or tracing his finger over her eyebrow, no sniffing her damned perfume when he was alone in her bathroom. None of that creepy stuff.

But instead his dumbass brain had started shooting off on tangents until he’d started thinking about kids. Redheaded, grey-eyed kids. How it would be to bring up kids the Cleary way, with people flinging gooey clumps of love at you—not the Knight way, where you had to prove yourself every damned day just to get a frosty nod. And then had come the blinding knowledge that he’d have to be married to the mother of his kids, so maybe the Cleary way would never work for him.

And then it had hit him that he was really, actually, contemplating fatherhood. Fatherhood! Him!

In too deep—caring too much—needing more—run.

He should have been happy to be barred today, so he could get his brain out of his gonads and back where it was supposed to be. But after one more sleepless night, thinking about that look on her face as he’d left, here he was.

Because… Well, what had that remote smile of hers meant? That she was finished with him? Well, no. Not happening until he was ready. So he was going to charm her into not finishing with him—while simultaneously stepping away from the too-deep chasm that was yawning at his feet.

Simple, right?

Yeah, simple. Sure.

Oh, for the love of God, man up!

He let his finger land on the buzzer. Waited, drumming his fingers on the wall.

By God, she’d better be at home after spinning him that line about work. She’d better not be out somewhere, with someone, doing something. Or he would—Would—Well, he’d…explode! Or…or something.

‘Hello?’ Her voice, husky and gorgeous—and for a moment his breath caught.

Get a grip. Get a damned grip!

‘It’s me,’ he said, and winced—because that aggressive tone of voice was not charming.

Long pause. Followed by an arctic, ‘Yes?’

‘Can I come up?’

‘Why?’

‘Because I want to see you.’

‘You saw me last night. That will have to tide you over until I can spare the time.’

Pause. Pages being riffled. What the hell—? Was she checking her schedule?

‘Probably Tuesday.’

Yes, she’d been checking her schedule! Scott felt his temper start to simmer.

‘No,’ he said, and there was absolutely nothing charming about that snapped-out word.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Past arctic and heading towards ice age.

‘Let me come up and explain.’

‘The contract doesn’t require explanation.’

The freaking contract. They didn’t need a contract to have sex. He hadn’t asked for a damned contract, had he? She’d forced it on him.

‘All right, I won’t explain,’ he said through clenched teeth. He made a mammoth effort to rein in his slipping temper. Charm. Charm, charm, charm. ‘So…since I’m obviously not coming up, why don’t you come down and keep me company while I have a cup of coffee at the cafe across at the marina? Ten minutes and you can get back to work.’

Long, long moment. He heard the breath she sucked in. Waited for the breath out—waited, waited…

And then the breath whooshed out and she said, albeit grudgingly, ‘All right.’

Not exactly effusive, but Scott closed his eyes in relief.

Five minutes later she was there, wearing a maxi-dress in sky-blue and a pair of flat silver sandals, her hair swinging in a ponytail. Delectable Sunday-morning fare.

His temper disappeared as if by magic just at the sight of her. He wanted to kiss her so badly he automatically leaned in—but Kate flinched backwards.

‘No kissing, remember?’ she said.

‘Sorry, Kate,’ he said, trying to look chastened but not quite managing it. He was just so happy to see her. God, what was happening to him?

They walked in silence to the cafe. Ordered coffee at the counter. A long black for him; a macchiato for Kate. Took their cups to one of the tables closest to the jetty.

‘About last night…’ Scott said, diving in.

Kate stirred sugar into her coffee. ‘I thought you weren’t going to explain.’

He ignored that. ‘It just got a little…a little…heavy. Talking about children—’

‘A subject you raised.’

‘And about… Well, about all that stuff.’ Shaky little laugh. ‘Love.’ Grimace. ‘And…and stuff. I didn’t sign up for deep and meaningful. Neither of us did. So I’m not sure how all that came spewing out.’

‘It happens,’ Kate said. ‘It’s normal.’

‘No, it’s not. Not for me. It’s not what we—’

‘Signed up for,’ she cut in dryly. ‘Got it. No need to labour the point. And no need to explain, remember?’

‘Anyway, I thought we needed a breather—that’s all,’ he mumbled, and hurriedly picked up his coffee, took a sip, burned his tongue and refused to show it. Because people in control didn’t burn their tongues on coffee. And he was. In control. Definitely.

‘And yet here you are, the very next morning. That’s a breather, is it?’

‘I just—I wanted to—’

‘Explain. Yep. Got it.’

Kate looked at him—the epitome of inscrutability. She drew in a breath. Seemed on the verge of speaking. But then something behind him caught her attention and her eyes widened.

‘Isn’t that…? Yes, surely…’

But it was a murmur directed at herself, not him.

She refocused on Scott. ‘That’s Brodie, isn’t it? He really is as gorgeous as his photo.’