Читать книгу The Complete Red-Hot Collection - Ким Лоренс, Kelly Hunter - Страница 29

SCOTT KNEW HE would never forget the sight of Kate lying on his dining table, letting him take her as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

He’d been so sure she would stop crying. That he could make her stop crying with the power of his depthless passion for her. But even as she’d succumbed to his body, as she’d soared with him into orgasm, her tears had kept coming…slow and silent.

Scott had been frantic. Scooping her off the table afterwards into his arms, holding her against his shaking body.

Wordless, she’d tried to leave. But he’d whispered that he wanted more, that he needed more. So she’d let him carry her upstairs to his bed. He’d kissed her for what felt like forever. But the tears had just kept coming. And even hating himself for her pain and his own desperation, he hadn’t been able to let her go.

He’d watched her as she slept. The frown on her face. The tear tracks. The divine mouth, swollen from the way he’d devoured her.

She hadn’t spoken one word to him—not since that last, ‘Take it…or leave it.’

And he’d taken it, all right. Taken, taken, taken. Hoping, selfishly, to sate himself at last. Hoping he would wake up and not want her any more. Hoping he’d be able to let her go in the morning.

But when he’d woken she was already gone and he’d had no choice to make; she’d made the choice for both of them.

He hated his bed—because she wasn’t in it.

So he went downstairs.

Where he decided he hated his house—because she wasn’t there.

In the dining room were the girls’ glittery boxes, waiting to be filled with whoopie pies. But the whoopie pies were nothing but a heap of broken biscuit and smeared cream on the floor, surrounded by shards of shattered plate. The plate he’d shoved off the table in his urgency to get to Kate.

As he looked at the mess and remembered how joyful he’d been, waiting for Kate to arrive, it hit him that what he hated most of all was his life—because she’d walked out of it.

And ringing in his ears, over and over, were her words. ‘I would move heaven and hell to have you.’

That was just so…her. Direct. Laying the argument out. Fighting to win. The way she always fought. To the death. To win the prize.

To win…the prize…

His breath hitched as he repeated that in his head. Fighting to win the prize.

The prize—her prize—was…him.

His heart started to thump. Loud, heavy, dull.

Why was he so scared about being her prize when she was everything that was wonderful? When she wasn’t scared to claim him even though he wasn’t anything wonderful at all?

But wasn’t that exactly it? That time on her terrace, when they’d talked about love, she’d said that real love—of any kind—gloried especially in a person’s flaws. She’d told him last night that she wanted to be imperfect…with him. She wanted them to just…be.

She knew everything. Chantal, Brodie, Hugo, his parents. Knew about all the times he’d lost. Had been with him when he’d finally won. She’d seen the very worst of him—because, God, he’d shown it to her—and she loved him anyway. He didn’t have to be perfect. He just had to…be.

Eyes stinging.

She’d said she would move heaven and hell to have him.

Chest aching.

That had to make him the best man in the world. Not second-best—the best.

Sweat ran down his back.

There might be smarter men, funnier men, better-looking men, more successful men, easier men—but not for Kate.

Breaths coming short and hard.

She would move heaven and freaking hell for him.

Whole body throbbing.

Exactly what he would do for her. Move heaven and hell.

Because she was his. Only his. And he wanted, at last, to reach for the prize, to claim the prize for himself—the only prize worth having. Kate.

The simplicity of that, the peace of it, burst in his head and dazzled him—but then the enormity of what he’d done to her, what he’d said, hit him and he staggered, grabbing for the closest chair.

Was it even possible to fix what he’d done?

Terrified, he grabbed his phone, called her mobile.

No answer.

Called her office.

Got Deb. Who had only two words for him: ‘Drop dead!’

He emailed Kate. Texted. Called her again.

He risked the wrath of Deb and called her again. Three words this time: ‘Drop dead, arsehole.’

So he tracked down Shay, because for sure Kate would have told her sister—she was a Cleary, not a Knight, and they were close—and maybe he could grovel by proxy.

And, yep—she’d told her sister, all right.

Dropping dead would have been a kindness compared to what Shay told him to do to himself, with a casual reference to Gus and Aristotle throwing knives at his corpse wrapped around a collection of four-letter words. She followed that up by telling him the most diabolical thing he could possibly hear. That Kate had never been in love before—but she was a Cleary, so that wouldn’t stop her from ripping the love out of her heart and stomping it to a violent death. The Cleary way: fight like the devil—but when you lose, move on. No second chances. No going back.

Shaken, Scott hung up and did the manly thing.

He called Brodie and suggested they get drunk.

It was only beer number one but Scott didn’t mince his words. There was no time to wait for the anaesthetising effects of booze. No time for tiptoeing.

‘I’m in trouble,’ he said.

Brodie took that with equanimity. ‘I think what you mean is I’m in love.’

‘Yep,’ Scott said, and swallowed a mouthful of beer.

Brodie took his own long, thoughtful sip. ‘I don’t see the problem—unless she doesn’t love you back.’

‘She said she does.’

‘And the problem, therefore, is…?’

‘I told her I had more tail than I knew what to do with.’ He grimaced. ‘And that that was how I wanted it to stay.’

Brodie said an enlightening, ‘Aha…’

‘Well?’ Scott demanded belligerently.

‘Well, basically…’ Pause for a swig of beer. ‘You are an idiot.’

‘Yeah, but what do I do?’

‘Call her.’

‘Tried. All day. Tried everyone. Her…her office…her sister. Her assistant told me to drop dead. And I won’t tell you what her sister told me to do with myself because it’s anatomically impossible but will still make your eyes water. I tried Willa. Then Amy. Just subtly, to see if they knew where she was going to be tonight. At least they don’t seem to have any idea there was anything between us, so I haven’t ruined that for her.’

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Brodie hooted out a laugh. ‘Are you kidding me? Nobody who saw you kiss Kate on that dance floor is in any doubt that you’re a goner. The bartender knew, you moron.’

‘Well, why didn’t I know?’

‘Idiot, remember?’

‘So what the hell am I going to do?’

Long, thoughtful pause. ‘Scott, I’m going to share something with you, even though you don’t deserve it—you big clunk. Four words: From Here to Eternity.’

‘Huh?’

‘That night at the bar, before we got there, the girls were talking about their idea of romantic moments.’

‘And…what?’

‘Four scenarios were mentioned. One was Willa’s—so let’s discount that, because it was something financial.’

‘Yep, that’s Willa.’

‘Then there was one about rose petals being strewn around the bedroom.’

Scott snorted out a laugh. ‘God!’

‘Yep. You wouldn’t say that was Kate, would you?’

‘Er—no!’

‘What about a knight on a white charger?’

‘What the—? I mean— What?’ Scott burst out laughing.

‘Not Kate?’ Brodie asked, his mouth twisting.

‘Hell, I hope not.’

‘Sure?’

Scott shook his head. Definitive. ‘No—that’s not her.’

Brodie gave him a sympathetic look. ‘Then I’m pegging her for From Here to Eternity.’

‘What the hell is that?’

‘A movie.’

‘About what?’

‘How the hell would I know? It’s got to be a chick flick. I mean, come on—eternity? But I’m guessing there’s a clue in that movie.’

‘How’s that going to help me?’

‘Well, dropkick, I’m going to download the movie and we’re going to watch it together. And—sidebar conversation—you are so going to owe me for this!’

‘Okay, okay—I’ll owe you. But what exactly are we going to do after we watch it?’

‘I don’t know—not yet. Which is why we’re watching it in the first place. To figure out what her most romantic moment is. And then, mate, you’re going to give her that moment—because words are not going to be enough. Action is what’s needed.’

Two hours later—mid-bite of a slice of seafood pizza—Brodie paused the film. ‘And there you have it,’ he said. ‘Have what?’ Scott asked warily.

‘That’s the scene.’

‘That? I mean…that? Seriously?’

Brodie replayed it. Nodded, very sure of himself. ‘That. Believe me. I know women, and that’s it.’

‘Looks…sandy…’

‘Suck it up, buddy. Suck. It. Up.’

‘I can tell you right now I am not writhing around in the surf on Bondi Beach surrounded by a thousand people.’

‘If that’s what she wants that’s what you’re going to do.’

‘Aw, hell…’

Brodie laughed. ‘I’m just messing with your head, Knight. Nothing that public will be required. I have a friend down the coast who, as it happens, lives near a beach that is chronically deserted.’

‘And just how am I going to get Kate to drive for hours along the coastline with me when I can’t even get her to pick up the phone?’

Brodie held up a hand for silence. Grabbed his phone off the coffee table. Dialled. Then, ‘Kate?’

Scott leapt off the couch, waving his hands like a madman and trying to grab the phone out of Brodie’s hand.

Brodie punched him in the arm. ‘Nope—haven’t seen him.’ Lying without compunction. ‘Why?’

Scott made another mad grab—got another punch.

‘No,’ Brodie said, holding Scott off with a hand on his forehead. ‘I just wanted to offer you another sailing lesson on Saturday.’

Pause while Scott almost exploded—but in silence.

‘Great,’ Brodie said into the phone. ‘Eight o’clock. See you then.’

Brodie disconnected and turned to Scott, grinning.

‘I want to teach her how to sail,’ Scott said.

‘So do it.’

‘Do it when, genius?’

‘After the beach clinch. I’m going to drop Kate off at a particular inlet down the coast on Saturday, just after lunch. You—having bought a neat little yacht I happen to know is for sale—will have sailed down there and will be waiting to drive her to that deserted beach.’

‘If I sail down there I won’t have a car.’

‘So hire one!’

‘And then what?’

‘And then you will roll around like a dumbass in the surf with her.’

‘And…?’

‘And you will sail her back to Sydney, teaching her the way you should have offered the first time she mentioned sailing to you. Honestly—do I have to do everything for you?’

Scott stared at Brodie. A grin started working its way across his face as he picked up a piece of pizza. ‘I should have known a guy who’d order a seafood pizza would know all about girly stuff,’ he said. ‘Pepperoni is where it’s at, mate. Pepperoni.’

‘Shove your pepperoni where the sun doesn’t shine, mate—and get me another beer.’

Scott laughed, and started to get off the couch to go to the fridge.

But Brodie stopped him, one hand on his forearm. ‘You’re it for her, you know? Don’t let that mangy brother of yours keep getting away with making you feel like second-best. Because he is not better than you.’

Scott gripped Brodie’s hand where it rested on his arm. ‘I know he’s not. She wouldn’t love me if he was.’

Brodie smiled. ‘And neither would I.’

‘Brode—mate—please!’ Scott said.

‘You are so uptight—I’m not at all sure I shouldn’t try to cut you out with Red,’ Brodie said.

‘You can try,’ Scott said, and then he laughed.