Kitabı oku: «The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection», sayfa 11
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
KATE WAS PREPARED for the Monday morning What the hell was that kiss about? calls from Willa and Amy. She offered up a perfectly nuanced laugh as she blamed the lethal combination of Scott’s beer and her Manhattans, positioning it as a Dirty Martini Barnaby moment gone a step too far. And if the girls didn’t sound exactly convinced, at least they let the subject drop.
She was less prepared for Deb’s darting, anxious eyes as she kept a steady flow of peppermint tea—her favourite stress remedy—pouring into Kate’s office—while very carefully not asking about ‘that nice Scott Knight’. Not that Deb had to ask; Kate was convinced she had psychic powers.
And she was not at all prepared for her mother’s visit on Tuesday morning.
Madeline Cleary swept into Kate’s office the way she swept through life: grandly, wearing a caftan, hot-pink lipstick and high heels.
She took a seat, fixing Kate with one of her don’t mess with me stares. ‘Okay, Kate, what’s this Deb’s been telling me?’
Deb! Psychic and traitor!
‘“This”?’ Kate asked, closing the door sharply—knowing it would drive Deb crazy not being able to listen in, which served her right.
‘Scott Knight,’ her mother said.
‘He’s an architect.’
‘Well, isn’t that lovely? Much more interesting than a barrister. But not really the pertinent fact at the moment, is it, Kate? Don’t bother with any of your legal obfuscation. Just tell me what’s happening.’
‘No.’
‘Okay, then bring him to dinner on Sunday and I’ll ask him instead.’
‘That won’t be happening. It’s not like that with us. I mean the…the family thing. It’s just…just…’ The words trailed off and she shrugged.
Her mother looked at her—very long, very hard. ‘It’s just that he’s the one, perhaps?’
Kate tried—failed—to laugh. ‘Nothing that romantic.’
‘So make it romantic.’
‘You can’t make these things happen.’
‘Not if you’re pussy-hearted. Which, of course, is not the way I raised my daughters. I raised lionesses.’ She leaned forward. ‘Kate, remember when I tried to dissuade you from going into family law?’
Eye-roll. ‘Yes.’
‘Not because I don’t like lawyers—’
Another eye-roll. ‘Although you don’t!’
‘But because you’re so tender-hearted. I knew you’d be running yourself ragged, fighting for the downtrodden and then bleeding all over the place when you lost a case.’ She sat back again. ‘And do you remember what you told me to do?’
Kate smiled—it blossomed despite her hideous mood. ‘I told you to shove it.’
Her mother beamed at her. ‘And I was so proud of you.’
Kate ran her hands over her face, laughing helplessly. ‘You’re a weirdo, Mum.’
‘It’s an artistic thing. So what?’
‘So I love you.’
‘And I love you. And I think you deserve a reward for all the crap you put up with day after day. And if he’s the reward you want, then you’re going to have him.’
‘He doesn’t want…that. The whole forever thing.’
‘From what I hear, he’s had plenty of what he wants.’
Arrgghh. Going to kill Deb. Boil her in a vat of peppermint tea.
‘So, Kate, it’s time for what you want. Which just might turn out to be what he wants too.’
‘He doesn’t.’
‘How do you know? Have you asked him?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Why “of course not”? Because he’s a boy and they have to ask first? Don’t make me slap you. Just ask him.’
Silence.
‘Kate, the reason I was so proud of you that day when you told me so eloquently to shove it was because you threw it all at me. How you felt, why you felt it, what it meant to you. You said you would move heaven and hell to do it. And that if it all came to nothing, or you couldn’t hack it, at least you’d have no regrets about not trying. And, really, Kate? If it’s you asking for something, fighting for something…’ She smiled—a smile so completely proud and understanding and just so family Kate wanted to cry. ‘Well, Kate, who would ever say no to you?’
Who would ever say no to you?
Oh, God. God! Scott would say no. He would.
‘So, Kate, tell him. What you feel. Why you feel it. What he means to you. And move heaven and hell. Because, of all of my daughters, you can. And then, whatever happens, at least you’ll have no regrets.’ She paused again, shrugged. ‘The alternative is that I tell your father what he’s done to you—and he and Aristotle have been playing with a new set of throwing knives, so I’d prefer not to go that route. At least not yet.’
Kate arrived at Scott’s on Tuesday ten minutes late.
She stayed in her car for another ten minutes, with her mother’s words going through her mind. Tell him, tell him, tell him.
But she couldn’t help feeling it would be like pulling the rug out from under him. I said it was only going to be sex, Scott, but it’s love.
What would he say?
Big sigh. Because she had no idea.
He’d sent so many mixed signals her way she was beyond knowing what he expected of her, what he wanted from her, how he felt about her. He’d been everything from distant to demanding, from impassioned to indifferent. From flippant to furious. Agreeing to the rules—and breaking them.
The way he’d looked at her in that alley on Friday night, when he’d taken her hands in his—that was not about sex. And that last Play Time, when he’d been so angry with her—irrational, emotional…
Wasn’t that a bit like love?
She sucked in a breath, because just saying that in her head made her heart flutter. Running a hand over her stomach, which was similarly fluttery, she wondered, maybe, if she should ask him.
But after Play Time. Because if Play Time involved her getting into a PVC cat suit or wielding some kind of implement…? Well, she couldn’t see herself talking about love after a dose of kink.
Sighing, she started to push the intercom button—but Scott opened the door before the chime even sounded. He took her in his arms, kissed her as though he’d been waiting a year and was starving for the taste of her.
And everything in her fluttered. Nervous and hopeful and a little bit terrified.
Releasing her slowly, Scott gestured for her to move into the house, and she was struck again by the magnificence of what he’d achieved—even more so today, when she was seeing it as Kate, who’d been invited, not Lorelei, who’d invited herself.
It was stylish, lavish, unusual. A manifestation of all those parts that made Scott who he was. The coolness, the control, the hidden fiery core.
Kate cleared her throat. ‘So. Play Time?’
He put his arm around her, led her into what she supposed was the living room—or living space, more correctly, since there were no internal walls, only strategically placed columns.
‘Yep,’ he said. ‘I’m calling it “The Architect and the Lawyer”.’
She halted as her hopes started to soar. ‘That sounds…normal.’
‘Ah, but with a twist. The way I’m seeing it is that the architect gives the lawyer a tour of his house. Along the way the lawyer tries to find a legal term appropriate for each space—extra points for Latin. And if the lawyer likes what she sees, she gets to touch the architect. And if the architect likes what the lawyer says…same deal. He gets to touch her. And then the architect—because he is multi-talented—prepares dinner. And they eat. And drink wine. And then, if all that touching has meant anything at all, they go upstairs to bed and negotiate the rollover of their contract for another month.’
‘Oh,’ she said as her hopes stopped soaring and started plummeting. The contract. One more month. Not exactly forever.
Scott took her briefcase, threw it onto his glamorous coffee-coloured couch with no regard for the potential damage its buckles could do to the fabric, and slowly turned her to the living area. ‘So—what do you think?’ he asked.
She tried to smile. ‘I guess I’ll start with…ab initio.’
‘Well, I’m going to have to kiss you for that.’
‘Do you even know what it means?’
‘No.’
And then he drew her close and kissed her cheek. Just her cheek…but she felt it tingle all the way through her body.
‘So what does it mean?’ he asked when he released her.
‘“From the beginning”,’ she said. ‘It’s commonly used to refer to the time a contract, statute, deed or…or marriage becomes legal.’ Oh, God—why had she mentioned marriage? She cleared her throat. ‘But in this instance we’ll use it for the start of the house tour.’
‘Suits me,’ Scott said. ‘Ab initio. We can use it for the start of our new month too.’
‘Hmm…’ Kate said. A vague, nothing noise. ‘Where to next?’
‘Library—which, you will be interested to note, used to be an altar.’
She could already see it, and walked slowly across the wooden floor and up the three steps. So beautiful. Coloured rugs. A fireplace—unlit in the heat of February. Books nestling in custom-made shelves; armchairs—some leather, some fabric—low wooden tables. She turned to face the main space, looking out at the expansive floor, partitioned into discrete zones via the columns—all spectacularly clean and modern, which made the library feel like an oasis of plush comfort.
‘It could do with a few of your mother’s paintings, but otherwise what do you think?’ Scott asked.
Mother. Her mother. Tell him, tell him. ‘Umm…’ She turned to him. ‘Ad coelum.’
Scott drew her in and kissed her eyelids. First one, then the other.
‘If you like it…aren’t you going to touch me?’ he asked, all husky.
Kate reached a hand up, cupped his face, ran her thumb over his cheekbone. ‘Want to know what it means?’ she asked.
‘Yes, as soon as you touch me again—you owe me for the living room.’
She brought up her other hand and now both hands cradled his face. She leaned up, kissed him gently on the mouth. And then she smiled into his eyes.
‘To the sky. It’s actually abbreviated from cuius est solum eius est usque ad coelum et ad inferos—which basically means whoever owns the soil owns that space, all the way up to heaven and down to hell. And this is just heavenly. Which seems apt for a converted church.’
‘You’ve got no idea how much you are turning me on, Kate.’
‘That’s the whole idea of Play Time, isn’t it?’
He frowned slightly, but said nothing. Simply took her arm and continued the tour.
Scott showed her all over the masterpiece that was the lower floor. And it was obvious why his renown as an architect was growing.
The huge arched panels of stained glass juxtaposed against the ultra-modern use of materials and neutral colours in most of the spaces were startling and lovely. The structure of the zones, flowing one into the next, was incredible. Scott’s stark office and the state-of-the-art kitchen and guest bathroom were top-notch contemporary. The surprising pops of colour, like the scarlet staircase and the chartreuse relaxation nook off a plant-filled atrium, were brilliantly eccentric. How could such disparate elements combine into something so blow-your-head-off gorgeous? But that was…Scott.
Kate had to concentrate hard in order to be able to spit out Latin legal phrases, only to have her thoughts scatter every time Scott chose a different part of her to kiss. It was agonising, this falling in love. Feeling it dig itself more deeply inside her with every gentle, lavishing touch of Scott’s fingers, his mouth, on her lips, her cheeks, her ears, her eyebrows—her damned eyebrows!—and her hair. Wishing so hard it meant something, the way his eyes closed, the way he held his breath as she touched him in turn. Shoulders, hands, neck, chest.
She was in torment by the time they circled back to the library, where Scott settled her with a drink while he finished preparing dinner. He was so jaunty as he left her—even whistling, as though he had everything he could possibly want.
But then, Scott did have everything he wanted. Exactly what he wanted. She was the one who didn’t have what she wanted. And she still had no idea how to get it—except to ask for it…and risk losing even the little of him she had.
Kate didn’t know how long had passed when Scott came to escort her through to the dining area. But she could feel time just generally slipping away. Four days until the twenty-eighth of February. When their contract would be terminated—or rolled over.
Scott held out a chair for her at the sleek wooden table and waited for her to sit.
‘You didn’t have to cook dinner,’ Kate said.
‘Well, you see, Kate, the fifty-fifty rule wasn’t working for me. So this—’ charming little shrug ‘—is my way of taking you to dinner. And before you tell me I’m breaking the rules, I’m going to remind you that extras are allowed in Play Time.’ He sat opposite her. ‘Cucumber soup. Perfect for a Sydney summer.’
But Kate was beyond taste as she silently filled her spoon, raised it to her mouth, swallowed. Time after time. Until her bowl was empty.
Scott—who’d done an excellent job of keeping up a flow of small talk—cleared the plates, then returned with something that looked so delicious Kate’s heart sank. He’d taken such care—but how was she supposed to eat it when her heart had swelled so gigantically it threatened to choke her?
‘Korean-style pork tenderloin with wild and brown rice pilaf and steamed pea pods,’ Scott announced.
As Kate doggedly forced the food down Scott explained a house design he was currently working on. Presumably she offered appropriate rejoinders, because he didn’t make an issue of her lack of vocal enthusiasm.
But then, why would he? It wasn’t conversation he wanted.
He cleared the plates a second time, and while he was gone Kate had a mini-meltdown, remembering her mother’s words. Make it romantic. How did a person turn a contract into something romantic? Move heaven and hell. How? What was the trigger? What would it take to make him love her?
And then he was back, carrying a tray. On the tray was a plate piled high with cookies of some kind and two exquisite boxes—one pink, one purple—decorated with fluttery fairies, shimmering with glitter, finished off with gauzy bows.
‘Whoopie pies,’ Scott said, depositing the tray in front of Kate and taking the seat beside her.
Unable to stop herself, Kate reached for one of the boxes, ran suddenly trembling fingers over the top, pulled the end of the ribbon through her fingertips.
‘Do you like those boxes?’ Scott asked.
She looked at him, said nothing.
‘They’re for Maeve and Molly. Because…’ He shrugged, blushed. ‘Well, you know… I spoke to them about baking whoopie pies and I… Well, since I didn’t know when I was going to see them again, and I was baking anyway, I thought they… Ah, hell, I thought they’d like them. That’s all. And I saw the boxes in a store near my office, so I…’ He cleared his throat. ‘I bought them. No big deal.’
Nice and defiant. Still blushing.
And everything surged in Kate—wrenching at her heart, racing through her blood, shattering every thought in her brain…flooding her with absolute crazy love. She was insanely, wildly in love with him.
She couldn’t pretend any more. Not for one more moment.
And the next moment of her life started precisely now.
‘Hugo,’ she said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SCOTT REELED BACK in his chair. ‘What’s he got to do with anything?’
‘I don’t know, Scott. Why don’t you tell me what he has to do with you, with us, or indeed with anything? Because you’ve told me precious little so far. So—Hugo.’
‘Oh, I get it. Is this—? This is about…about Play Time. Stopping Play Time, right?’
‘Yes, Scott, it is.’
‘But…why? What was so bad? Do you want to…to go back and start again?’
‘No.’
He blinked. ‘Okay, then, let’s skip it altogether and just go upstairs and—’
‘Hugo,’ Kate said again.
He tried to smile, but didn’t nail it. ‘You don’t know what I was going to suggest.’
Kate didn’t bother even trying to smile. ‘The fact that you said we should go upstairs—to bed, no doubt—tells me all I need to know. It tells me we don’t have a relationship.’
‘Sure we do.’
‘No, Scott, we don’t. We have a contract.’
‘You’re the one who wanted the contract.’
‘Semantics. With or without the signed piece of paper, we have an arrangement. An arrangement is not a relationship. And if you’re happy with that then I’m calling “Hugo”. As in enough. No more Play Time. No more anything.’
Scott shoved a hand into his hair. ‘Kate, if it’s the subject of my brother that’s bothering you—’
‘Didn’t you listen? Hugo—as in I’m finished.’
‘—he has nothing to do with us.’ Right over the top of her. ‘I never thought you’d meet him.’
‘Well, I did meet him, Scott, so how about you explain now?’
Silence. Scott’s jaw tightened.
‘Scott?’
‘You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met, Kate. I’m sure you worked it all out the night of the architect awards. Why do you need to wring the words out of me?’
Kate stared at him.
He stared back.
And then he shoved both his hands into his hair. ‘Dammit—all right. It’s no big deal.’
He took a moment. Placed his hands on the table, palms down. Very specific. Controlling them.
‘Very simply: my brother was the perfect child. Better than me at school, better than me at sport, better than me at everything. My parents let me know it in a thousand ways when we were growing up. And when Hugo hit the doctor target…? Big bonus points, there. Now he’s hit all the personal targets too—getting married, providing grandchildren. Long story short—Hugo is family all the way. And I’m…not. I’m number two. All the way.’
Kate reached for his hand but Scott pulled it back, out of the touch zone.
‘All the way,’ he repeated. ‘Want an example, Kate? What about that time I was in the Whitsundays, goofing off, teaching holidaymakers to sail, making a fool of myself over a girl who didn’t love me? What do you think my brother was doing?’ But the question was rhetorical. ‘He was one-upping me spectacularly by sailing solo around the world.’
‘So what?’ Kate asked, but it was hard to get that out because she wanted to cry.
‘So what?’ Scott laughed—harsh and awful. ‘So sailing was my thing. Why did he have to take that too? I swear, if he knew I liked cooking he’d go and get himself a publishing deal for a cookbook.’
‘Hugo didn’t win the architecture prize. You did.’
‘Wait until next year’s awards,’ Scott said. ‘He’ll pull a rabbit out of someone’s hat.’
‘Exactly, Scott! Out of someone else’s hat! Unlike you, wearing your own hat. Because you can’t tell me you simply follow blindly—not your parents, not your brother, not anyone. Otherwise you’d be a doctor like the rest of your family—you’re certainly smart enough.’
‘There’s no mystery there, Kate. I just wanted to be an architect.’
‘I know that. And I know why. Because it’s you. Creativity—and order. The perfect career for you! And I think your brother hates how good you are at it. Because you can bet that although you could be a doctor if you wanted to—’
‘Not as good as Hugo.’
‘Maybe…maybe not—but you could be some kind of doctor. Hugo, however, could never be any kind of architect.’
‘You can’t possibly tell that.’
‘Sure I can—because he wasn’t the one in the navy blue tux that night. He doesn’t have it. It. That thing you have. And what does it tell you that he didn’t even have the grace to come over and congratulate you when you won that award?’
Scott said nothing.
‘That he was jealous,’ Kate said. ‘Is jealous. Of you.’
Scoffing laugh. ‘He has nothing to be jealous of.’
‘Really? Because the way I see it, you have something Hugo wants badly but will never, ever have. I’ll bet your parents don’t have it either. I’ll bet none of them even understands it—which is why it’s three against one in the Knight family. You have creativity, and charisma, and wit, and decency, and…and adventure in your soul, and so much more. That’s why you went to the Whitsundays, and why Hugo had to make do with what he thought was one better. Except it wasn’t one better. He had to follow you to one-up you. And he had to one-up you because that’s the only way he can feel better than you. He can’t bear your success because he wants it all—all for himself. He can’t be you, so he steals from you. But he can’t steal the one thing he really wants because that would make him…you. And, no matter what he tries, he never will be you.’
Scott shook his head, wearing one of those smiles that meant nothing.
‘And the sailing thing?’ she said urgently. ‘I’d tell you to make it your thing again, if it bothers you, but you don’t have to make it your thing. Because it is your thing. It always was—and it will be waiting for you when you’re ready to let it all go and just be, Scott. Just be. Without comparing yourself to anyone.’
‘I’ve given up comparing myself, Kate.’ Scott took a deep, visible breath. ‘Number two is fine with me.’
Heart. Breaking.
‘You’re not number two. Not with me, Scott.’
‘Not yet. But give it time. Someone else will come along. Someone older, like that Phillip guy. Someone smarter, like Hugo. Someone not as stitched-up and closed-off and conservative, like Brodie. That’s why you danced with him. Why you went sailing with him. I’ll bet you even told him about your custody case.’
She was silent.
‘Did you, Kate?’ he asked, and she heard the edge of danger in his voice.
‘I don’t talk about my cases. Not in…in detail.’
‘Obfuscation? How very…legal.’ He shook his head, disgusted.
‘You sound like my mother. She really would like you, Scott.’
‘Did you tell him, Kate? It’s a simple question—one of those simple questions you say you don’t have a problem with.’
She took a quick breath. ‘Then, yes. That’s the answer. I did. I told him.’
Scott’s hand fisted, banged on the table, and Kate flinched.
‘Why?’ The word shot out like a bullet.
‘Because he asked. As a friend.’
‘I can’t believe this.’ Scott shot to his feet, paced away, then back. ‘What the hell am I, Kate? I’ve been trying to talk to you about it for a week.’
He banged both fists on the table this time.
‘Tell me!’ Another bang. ‘Tell me, Kate, dammit!’
Kate’s heart had jumped right into her throat as his fists hit the table, and for a moment all she could do was stare at him. He looked a heartbeat away from breathing fire.
Out of control—at last.
And now she had to find words, when all she wanted to do was fling herself at him and wrap herself around him and beg him to let her love him, to love her back.
She realised she’d left it too long to speak when, cursing, Scott started to pace away again. One step…two.
‘Wait,’ she said, standing, grabbing his swinging arm so fast her chair toppled backwards. ‘I’ll tell you.’
He was shaking his head as he turned, wrenched his arm free. ‘Don’t bother, Kate. Just…just don’t. It’s too damned late.’
‘I’m representing the father,’ she rushed out. ‘Who’s been sitting on the sidelines going slowly out of his mind while his ex-wife’s new boyfriend slaps his three-year-old son around. Something he’s reported over and over and over. But nobody believes him. Because there’s been enough mud slung to cast all sorts of doubts about him. His little boy screams and begs every time he has to go back to his mother after a scheduled visit.’
Kate’s breaths were heaving in and out and she’d started to shake with the fury of it.
‘My client ended up so desperate he kidnapped his own child to protect him. And what did he get for caring like that? No more visits. At all. That’s what.’
Her throat was clogged and swollen. The injustice of it was raging out of her, even though she’d won. Why? Why did it still get to her? No answer—it just did. And it was all too much. The case… Scott…her damned life.
‘So you want to know why I didn’t tell you, Scott?’ she asked as the tears started. ‘Because you didn’t sign up for deep and meaningful, remember? And that’s deep and meaningful to me. I needed you. But how could I tell you? What could I say? When you said—made it clear— Oh, God. I can’t. I…can’t. I…’
But she couldn’t go on. She was choking on tears. And suddenly she gave in to them, sobbing into her hands.
And then she was in Scott’s arms, held tightly against his chest. ‘Shh, shh, Kate… I’m here.’
‘No, Scott, you’re not,’ she sobbed into his shoulder. ‘You’re not here. Your body’s here—that’s all. Just your body.’
She tried to pull away but Scott held on. ‘I’m not letting you go, Kate, so stop struggling.’
‘And if I do? If I stop struggling?’ She looked up at him. ‘Then what? You’ll ask me to spit out a few legal terms and take me to bed?’
‘Yes,’ he said simply.
‘That’s not enough,’ she cried, and buried her face in his shoulder again. ‘I want more.’
‘So do I. That’s why we’re rolling it over.’
‘No, Scott, we’re not.’
‘You just said you wanted more.’
‘Not more sex! More…more.’
‘I don’t— I don’t—’
‘No, you don’t’ she cut in, half-despair, half-rage, as she pulled out of his arms. ‘That’s the problem. Well, I’m not hanging in limbo any more, like a suspended piñata, waiting to have the crap beaten out of me.’
‘A piña—?’ He stopped. Incredulous. ‘I’m not beating anything out of you. I would never hurt you.’
‘Oh, you’re hurting me, all right.’
‘I’m not hurting you,’ Scott said furiously. ‘I won’t hurt you. You won’t hurt me. That’s the whole point!’
‘And I’m telling you—you are hurting me. Because I love you. And you don’t love me back.’
The shock of it was plain on his face. ‘You don’t love me. Kate, you know you don’t.’ Pleading, almost. ‘You can’t. You don’t want love.’
She laughed, shrugged, helpless.
Waves of panic were emanating from Scott. ‘You said you’d never give someone that kind of power over you.’
‘Except that now I would give it to you.’
‘Cynical. We’re both cynical. It’s what made us perfect. Makes us perfect.’
‘I’m not cynical, Scott. Or if I am it doesn’t last—not if I have someone…’ she swallowed ‘… someone who’ll say to me, “Shh, I’m here”, like you just did. Putting things right for people is what I do, what I want to do, even if sometimes it gets too much. And perfect…? I don’t want to be perfect. And I don’t want you to be perfect either. I want to be imperfect—with you. I want children who are perfect or imperfect—who are anything as long as they’re yours. And I want to say to you, Shh, I’m here, when things get too much for you. Because I’m in love with you. And I would do anything—anything—for you to love me.’
His eyes were wild. ‘I…can’t do this.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t. Do this.’
‘You loved Chantal. Why can’t you love me?’
‘I didn’t love Chantal, Kate. And I don’t blame her for choosing Brodie. I never did. Anyone would choose him.’
‘Not me. Because I chose you. I’m choosing you. No—it wasn’t even a choice. It just happened. Love. I didn’t even know I was waiting for it. But I was. I was waiting for the right man to come along. Then there you were. And suddenly you were mine. The perfect imperfect man. The right man for me. Uptight…beer not cocktails…hell, no, to dancing…sport and poker games…with a kitten on your backside…wearing a blue tux and driving a red Mini…baking for two little girls. How could I not love you? And now, Scott, I want us to just…just be.’
He was shaking his head. His face was white, stark fear in his eyes. ‘I’m not the right guy for anyone, Kate. I’m the “friends with benefits” guy, with a bulging black book. I’ve never had a relationship—don’t you see? Never! And there’s a reason for that—because I know what I’m good at. Sex—no strings. My speciality. I’ve got more tail than I know what to do with. That’s me. And I’m fine with that.’
It was like a punch direct to Kate’s heart, killing it—that was how it felt. As if her heart was dead. A swollen lump she wished she could rip out of her chest.
‘T-T-Tail?’ Kate stammered over the word, her teeth chattering with reaction.
He looked at her, all hard-eyed. ‘Tail,’ he repeated.
God, the ache of it. Crushing. Ravaging. ‘So here I am, opening myself to you, telling you I would move heaven and hell and everything in between—everything—to have you—you, Scott. Not Brodie, not Hugo, not Phillip, but you. And your response is to tell me I’m a piece of tail?’
He stood there like a block of granite, silent.
‘Right,’ she said, and swallowed. ‘Right.’ She looked blindly around, head spinning. ‘Right.’ Was the blood draining out of her? That was what it felt like. ‘Saturday is the twenty-eighth of February. End of contract. We’ve had one session this week—Sunday. And we have tonight. We’ll make this the last one, because I’m not inclined to negotiate any extras for the week. Cadit quaestio—a settlement for our dispute has been reached. Sex—once more—and the issue is resolved.’
‘It’s not resolved.’
Agony twisted through her. He didn’t love her, but he wouldn’t let her go either. ‘What more do you want from me?’
‘I want… I want…’ His hands were diving into his hair again. But no more words emerged.
Kate took an unsteady breath. ‘Well, given everything you’ve just said to me, and all the things you can’t seem to say, I finally know what I want. I want out. I’m saying no to the rollover option. No to everything.’
‘You can’t do that.’
‘Now, you see, you should have read the contract when I told you to. Because I can do that. I am doing that. I’m not going to turn into one of those bitter people I see in court—hating you, trying to punish you because you don’t love me or need me the way I love and need you. If you don’t love me then I don’t want you.’
‘You do want me. I know you do.’
Kate started removing her clothes.
‘What the hell—? Kate, what are you doing?’
‘Getting undressed.’ She was down to her underwear in record time. ‘I’m taking back my “Hugo” and we’re restarting Play Time. As I recall, it was a dining experience you offered me—you bent the fifty-fifty rule to get it…clever you. So I’ll get on top of the dining table, you can put those whoopie pies all over me, and then—’
