Читать книгу Red-Hot Summer: The Millionaire's Proposition / The Tycoon's Stowaway / The Spy Who Tamed Me - Kelly Hunter, Avril Tremayne - Страница 20

KATE TOOK EXTRA-SPECIAL care getting ready for Play Time on Thursday. Her hair was swinging loose, artfully dishevelled, and she had on her favourite red lipstick—which was fine for today because there would be no kissing.

She was wearing her sexiest underwear. Nude mesh and lace, complete with suspender belt—and she’d gone for ultra-sheer black stockings as a contrast. Achingly high black stilettos. A taupe trench coat, tied but not buttoned.

That was it. Not one thing more. Perfect for the role she was playing.

A role that would not involve any of those pesky deep and meaningful fireside chats.

Scott would be happy about that. And, frankly, she was happy about it too. Having spent two soul-destroying days fighting to get her client’s little boy back, ‘Kate Cleary’ deserved the night off. Tomorrow she would take up the legal cudgels again—but tonight, Kate wanted to be someone else.

When Kate arrived at Scott’s house in East Sydney she had to recheck his business card to make sure she had the right address—because she was standing in front of an old church. She’d already guessed Scott’s house was going to be special, if Silverston was anything to go by. But this was something else. She couldn’t wait to see inside.

No! She caught herself up. She wasn’t a starry-eyed girlfriend, about to get a guided tour of her boyfriend’s architectural wonder of a home. Scott—who hadn’t even invited her here—was probably in there pacing the floor, hating the idea of her invading his private space. So she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being interested.

She noted the intercom in place of a doorbell, which reminded her that his house doubled as a second office. Perfect, since she was here on ‘business’.

She waited outside for seven o’clock to hit, using the time to layer on the persona she’d chosen, mentally steeling herself to resist the first heart-melting look at him, the first touch. And then, on the dot, she pushed the button.

Instant answer.

‘Kate?’ Sounding anxious. ‘There in two seconds.’

‘Oh, Mr Knight, has there been a mistake?’ she asked, all breathy and flustered.

Pause. And then, ‘Kate? It is Kate, right?’

‘It’s Lorelei, Mr Knight. Don’t you remember? You booked a home visit. Are you going to buzz me in?’

Another pause. Longer.

He would be processing that. Kate’s voice giving a name he’d never heard, referring to a job he hadn’t booked.

And then the intercom clicked off. So…was he not going to buzz her in?

But less than ten seconds later the door opened and he was there. He took her arm, drew her in. Tried to kiss her.

‘Oh, sorry, Mr Knight. Miss Kitty doesn’t like her girls to kiss the clients.’

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Despite Kate’s best efforts she couldn’t help giving the space just one sweeping glance. Soaring arched ceilings, like a…well, like a church. Stained-glass windows, stark white walls, honey wood floors, a staircase that provided a pop of colour, with steps painted a vivid red, leading up to a mezzanine.

Enough! Stop!

‘Where do you want me, Mr Knight?’ she asked.

He gestured to the staircase. ‘Go up.’

She walked quickly to the stairs and ascended. She paused at the top, needing direction—and had to close her eyes to stop herself peering over the half-wall. She was not going to look again. Not, not, not.

‘There,’ Scott said from behind her—and she opened her eyes to find him pointing to a long, intricately carved wooden screen at one end of the mezzanine floor.

Her heart started to race as she approached the screen. She was so excited to see what was behind it. And when she stepped around it she gasped. Just couldn’t keep it in.

More stained-glass windows—taking the place of a fancy bedhead—dominated the space. The walls were painted a dull gold. A huge bed of dark wood with a blood-red coverlet sat on a raised stone dais. There were Persian rugs on the wood floor surrounding the dais. Antique chairs—grand and austere—were positioned either side of the stone slab, with candlesticks as tall as Scott beside them. The room was heartbreakingly, unexpectedly beautiful.

Kate schooled her features to show nothing as she turned back to Scott and smiled—a professionally vacant smile.

He was watching her with a hint of disapproval that she forced herself to ignore. Conservative Scott Knight would disapprove of a prostitute—but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t enjoy the experience.

She undid her belt, held the coat wide. ‘Do you like what you see, Mr Knight?’

He swallowed, hard, as his eyes slid down her body and stuck at the tops of her black stockings. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I want to touch you.’

‘You can touch. Just no kissing.’ And with that, she shrugged out of the coat and went to lay it on one of the chairs.

But she didn’t make it that far. Because Scott was after her in a heartbeat.

Kate shivered as he grabbed her, as he spun her to face him, as he yanked her hair back to give him access to her neck, as he licked the pulse beating there.

And then he lowered his head, going straight for her nipple, taking it into his mouth through the mesh of her bra, sucking hard, harder, until she cried out. He didn’t stop, just moved to the other nipple, then back again. Back and forth.

She was a quivering mess of nerves and need by the time he stepped back, took her coat and threw it at the chair.

He swallowed hard again as his eyes dipped to her breasts. Her nipples were dark and distended, the mesh covering them wet. His hands moved to her breasts, fingers pinching where his mouth had been. Pinching, rolling. And then he was digging into the thin cups, tearing them down so that her nipples popped over the tops, and his mouth was back, suckling and nipping and licking her.

Her hands were in his hair, pulling hard enough to hurt—but to keep him there, not to drag him away. She could feel the unbearable wetness between her thighs, wanted his hands there, his mouth.

As though he’d divined that, he dropped to his knees, kissed the tops of her stockings—one, then the other—and licked, slooowly, along the top of each, where her thighs were naked. Kate was scared she’d collapse on the spot, it was so erotic.

And then, completely at odds with the languor of that, he yanked her panties down to her knees and shoved his tongue between her legs. Her tangled underwear trapped her and limited Scott’s access, forcing him to concentrate his tongue in one ravaging line. So…damned…good. She heard his ragged breathing, felt his fingers digging into the backs of her thighs, hard enough to bruise.

He growled something, impatient, and next moment was dragging her down onto the rug, ripping at her underwear, manoeuvring her onto her hands and knees. And then he was behind her, his mouth on her again, sucking her, forcing his tongue inside her until she was panting and whimpering with need.

A quick rustling sound, but his mouth didn’t stop. Condom. She heard the packet tear. Zip opening. She imagined him sheathing himself. Knew he would be inside her soon.

She pushed herself back against his mouth, urging him wordlessly to hurry, to fill her.

He moved, covered her, his mouth at her ear. ‘You’re going to have to ask me,’ he breathed.

‘Please…please.’

‘Please what?’

‘I want you inside me. Do it. Inside—now.’

The words weren’t even out of her mouth before he’d shoved himself into her. Holding her hips, screwing into her as though he had to get close, closer, closer still. Up to the hilt. Over and over. Pounding, pounding, pounding. And then he tensed, coming with a loud cry. His hands reached for her waist, yanked her upright, her back against his chest, and he was feeling for her clitoris, fingers forking either side, perfect pressure.

Ah, ahh, ahhhh.

‘Come for me, Kate. Come now…come.’

And, in a blast of almost excruciating pleasure, she exploded into orgasm.

Slowly, Scott withdrew from her. Sat back, turned her, hoisting her onto his lap

He tried again to kiss her, and she drew back. ‘No kissing,’ she said, but was horrified to find her voice wobbling.

Even worse—he’d heard it too.

He looked at her—sharp, concerned. ‘What is it, Kate?’

‘Lorelei. And no kissing.’

‘I’m not kissing Lorelei. I’m kissing Kate,’ Scott said.

He coaxed her to open her mouth, took his leisurely time, letting his tongue move from licking her lips to sliding inside.

After a long, delicious moment he stopped, edged a fraction away, smiled into her eyes. That smile she’d only seen once—that night—but it was even more devastating now, because it was layered with gentleness.

I am in such trouble here.

‘Kate…’ he said, and his voice shook.

Such trouble. And she didn’t need trouble.

Steeling herself, she smiled back. ‘Lorelei,’ she corrected. ‘And that will be two thousand dollars, Mr Knight.’

The shock on Scott’s face had her shrinking inside, but she forced herself to hold his eyes.

And then he smiled again—but it was back to the jukebox, pick a smile and whirl. ‘Your prices are too low. I would have paid five. In fact, I will pay five. Because, as I recall, I booked Lorelei’s services for a full night.’

‘We don’t stay overnight, Scott…you and I.’ Uh-oh, the wobble.

‘Miss Kitty says Lorelei does. And if you want your five thousand dollars that’s what you’re going to have to do.’ He gave her a boost off his lap. ‘So up you go. Whatever you’ve still got on, get it off. Then get into that bed.’

The next morning, after Lorelei had belted herself into her trench coat and left, Scott threw down three cups of coffee. He needed the caffeine to get his brain and his body functioning again.

But it didn’t work.

Something was bothering him. Very deeply.

And it was… Well, it was Play Time.

The whole ‘Lorelei’ thing was eating at him. After that one frenzied bout of lovemaking on the rug, when he’d kissed Kate, he’d felt such an overwhelming burst of joy. Kate…in his arms, in his house, and he’d wanted her so damned much.

And she’d responded by asking him for her fee.

So he’d decided to get his money’s worth. All night long he’d been at her, taking her with lips, tongue, fingers, his never-ending hard-on. And she’d met him move for move, always receptive—as ‘Miss Kitty’ expected—never saying no, opening her arms, her legs.

Everything but her mouth.

Because he’d tried to kiss her many times, and each time she’d pulled away with a coyly admonishing slap on the wrist, the shoulder, the butt, and a reminder of Miss Kitty’s rules.

He’d tried to talk to her in those respite periods while they’d recharged their burnt-out batteries. About the child custody case. Her mother’s art. Maeve and Molly, Shay and Lilith, Gus and Aristotle. Even about Deb. But every time he’d been frozen into crunchable cubes by her vacant ‘Lorelei’ stare.

The end result was that although he could have written his own sex manual after experimenting so comprehensively with Kate’s body during the night, he wasn’t satisfied.

And the flat fact was he didn’t like Play Time.

There. He’d admitted it.

He must be certifiable, but he couldn’t seem to whip up enthusiasm for any more fantasy-land stuff. It was like the sexual version of Brodie’s tattoo—nice in theory, but just not him. He must be more of a Knight than he’d thought. Conservative. Boring, even.

Did Kate find him boring? In bed? Out of it? Both? Because she was suddenly very interested in Play Time. No kissing. No talking. Just role play. Was Play Time the non-nautical equivalent of a yacht heading to the Whitsundays? Taking Kate away from humdrum in the bedroom?

He put his coffee cup down with a clatter.

She’d made him pay for it! He almost hadn’t believed it when Kate had demanded his cheque for five thousand dollars—and then had actually taken it when he’d jokingly written it out, before breezing out of the house.

A house she hadn’t expressed the slightest interest in.