Kitabı oku: «The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection», sayfa 12
But whatever she’d been about to say was whoomped out of her as Scott grabbed her by the arms. ‘You’re not lying on top of anything except my bed.’
She greeted that with a nice, brittle laugh. ‘How conservative of you.’
‘Yes, I am conservative. And I’m over all this Play Time stuff. I don’t want you on your knees in alleys, or stripping for me like a hooker, or blindfolding me like we’re in a B&D room, or any other kooky stuff.’
‘That’s exactly what you wanted—why do you think I was giving it to you?’
‘Well, I don’t want it now. Got it, Kate?’ He shook her, once. ‘Got it? I. Just. Want. You. As agreed. In bed. Okay?’
‘As agreed,’ she repeated. And the tears came. ‘No, Scott, it’s not okay.’
‘Why not? Why not, dammit?’
‘Because I love you. And loving you hurts like hell.’
He let her go, stepped back as though she’d struck him.
‘Come on, Scott. Look on the bright side. You never liked all those rules. Anais is going to make you a much more beneficial friend.’
‘I don’t want Anais.’
‘And after tonight I won’t want you. So here I am, offering you one last time. Take it…or leave it.’
‘They’re the only two options?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I’m taking it. Get on the table, Kate. Let’s say goodbye in style.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
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.
CHAPTER TWENTY
KATE COULDN’T DRUM UP any enthusiasm for the sailing lesson, but she was waiting at the jetty on the dot of eight o’clock, with a fake smile worthy of Scott himself pasted on.
Because it wouldn’t do for Brodie to report back to Scott that she was looking wan and miserable.
She climbed aboard and darted a look around the deck. Half expecting… Maybe hoping just a little…?
‘He’s not here, Kate,’ Brodie said.
She looked at him as the hope died. ‘You know?’ Short, unhappy laugh. ‘Of course you do. Best friends, right? You don’t have to badger confidences out of him.’
‘Are we going to talk about it?’ Brodie asked.
‘No,’ Kate said, and heard the dangerous wobble in her voice.
‘Okay, then.’ He took her bag, stowed it. ‘Remember I said we were sailing down the coast and going swimming when we got there?’ He gestured to her long cotton pants, her long-sleeved T-shirt. ‘You got your swimmers on under there?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Then we’re off.’
Kate tried to recapture some of the joy of her first sailing lesson, but that sense of freedom, of escape, was elusive. She was just so…so heartbroken.
Nevertheless, she threw herself into it—and if Brodie was a little less didactic this time around she wasn’t going to complain about getting special treatment. He was that kind of guy—the kind who read anguish and allowed for it. Not the kind to tell a girl she was a piece of tail…even if she was.
Hours passed, and Kate started to wonder if they were going to turn around any time soon—because at this rate they wouldn’t make it back to Sydney before Sunday morning. But they finally stopped at a calm, protected inlet for lunch.
Slowly Kate started to relax. But with relaxation came those horrible, useless, helpless tears. She hurried over to the bow of the boat, away from the others, trying to stem the flow. But it was no use. They welled in her eyes, clogged the back of her nose. Thank heaven she was wearing sunglasses, so Brodie wouldn’t see.
But almost before the thought had formed Brodie was there, standing just behind her. She knew it, but she couldn’t turn. Just couldn’t move. Because the tears were flowing freely.
‘He’s not good with words,’ he said. ‘Not the important words.’
Kate covered her face with her hands, dislodging her sunglasses.
Brodie turned her, took off her sunglasses, hugged her. ‘At least he didn’t punch you. That’s what he did to me the first time I told him I loved him.’
Kate started laughing then—and it was the weirdest thing, mixing laughter with tears.
Brodie tilted her face up. ‘You going to give him another chance?’
‘No. That doesn’t happen in my family.’
‘Well, at least you gave him one chance, I guess,’ Brodie said. ‘It’s more than his own family gave him.’
‘Oh, God. Don’t say that.’
‘It’s true. He needs a family, Kate. A new one. A real one.’
She was crying again.
‘And he’s over there on the shore, waiting for you to be it.’
Kate, stunned, turned to look.
And there he was. Tall and bulky, in jeans and T-shirt and aviator sunglasses, hands jammed into his pockets. Waiting for her.
Waiting…for her…
But waiting for what?
Kate didn’t even notice when Brodie took his arms from around her. Barely heard him call to one of the guys on the boat. Dinghy… Something about a dinghy…
Next thing she knew she and her bag were in the dinghy, heading towards the shore. Scott took off his sunglasses as she got closer, flinging them away as if he didn’t care what happened to them.
And then she was there, and he was reaching for her, helping her out of the dinghy, holding out his hand for her bag, wrapping her in his arms, holding on to her, holding tight. It felt electric—like a massive, hungry jolt—so different from the calm comfort of Brodie’s embrace.
And she knew it would always be like that with Scott. Because he was it. The only one for her. It was a thought that scared her so much she almost couldn’t breathe. Because it meant that without him she would be alone—forever. And she didn’t want to be alone any more.
But being alone was better than loving a man who didn’t love her back.
She took a deep breath, pulled out of his arms. ‘Scott, I meant what I said.’
‘Kate, please—just bear with me, okay? You’ll see.’
Without waiting for her to respond, he took her hand, led her away from the water, up to the road.
He opened the door of a nondescript car—where was his Mini?—and helped her in.
‘Where are we going, Scott?’ she asked tiredly as he got behind the wheel, started the car.
‘Don’t ask, Kate. I’ll stuff it up if I talk.’
So Kate simply sat as Scott drove—a total mess, almost ill from the way her heart was hammering.
He parked, got out of the car and came around to her side to help her out. He took her in his arms again and she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. She felt him shaking. Like a leaf.
‘Scared, that’s all,’ he said with an embarrassed shrug as she looked up at him.
‘Why?’
Short half-laugh. ‘You’ll see,’ he said again, and led her off the road towards a patch of scrub.
Her eyes widened. ‘In there?’
Scott winced. ‘Yep. In there. God help us.’
He led the way in until the thick scrub morphed into sparsely vegetated dunes. She could hear the roar and rush of surf, and then it was there. A tiny jewel of a beach, waves breaking in a constant sucking stream.
‘A surf beach?’ she said, poised on top of a dune.
‘Yeah, a surf beach,’ he said, grimacing, and trudged with her down onto the sand.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Kate said, trying to understand the grimace—trying to understand something. Anything. ‘And not a soul here except for that one surfer. Amazing.’
‘It’s a local secret,’ he said. ‘And apparently a little dangerous for swimming.’
‘So why are we here?’
Scott screwed his eyes shut and blushed. ‘From Here to Eternity,’ he said.
Kate’s mouth dropped open. It took her a moment to find her voice, but at least by the time she did Scott had opened his eyes.
‘Is this a joke?’ she asked icily.
‘No.’
‘Who told you?’
‘Brodie.’
She sucked in a tortured breath—felt the heat rush along her cheekbones. ‘And who told him?’
‘He figured it out. Something Jessica said that night at Fox.’
‘Jessica?’ she said ominously.
But Scott wasn’t listening. He looked a heartbeat away from a nervous breakdown.
‘Well, Kate, we’re here,’ he said. ‘Let’s do it.’
He stripped down to a pair of well-worn board shorts—in which he looked mouthwateringly good. And then he came to her, took her face in his hands. Licked slowly along one cheekbone, then along the other.
‘I’ve wanted to do that for the longest time,’ he said. ‘You are so absolutely beautiful when you blush.’
‘Scott, this is not going to work,’ she said a little desperately, hanging on to her resolve by a thread. ‘I told you. No rollover. I’m done.’
‘It’s not about the rollover and we’re not leaving until we do it—so get your gear off.’
‘That surfer—’
‘I can handle one surfer.’
‘But anyone could come past.’
‘Yeah—I know. It’s a bit like the night Officer Cleary frisked me in Ellington Lane.’
‘That was different.’
‘How so? Did you know we wouldn’t be caught?’
‘No, I didn’t know. But it was dark and I…’ She huffed out a breath, aggravated. ‘Really, I just didn’t care.’
‘And there I was, thinking you were law-abiding!’
‘I am. But I’m not conservative. And you are, Scott.’
He touched her hair. ‘And yet here I am, trying to get you out of your clothes on a beach in broad daylight,’ he said, and smiled—and his whole face lit up with it.
Her heart lurched. That smile. Devastating.
‘Scott, don’t do this to me,’ she said shakily. ‘Stop doing this to me.’
‘I have to do it. Kate, please. You’ve got to let me. Just this one thing. For you. Please, Kate. Please let me.’
Kate looked into Scott’s eyes—they were warm and serious and…and desperate. Looked at the waves. Back into Scott’s eyes.
Why was she fighting it? The man she was in love with was offering to make her a gift of her ultimate fantasy. She’d be like Willa and Chantal—her most romantic moment would be real. And she could pretend, couldn’t she, that it was love?
‘All right,’ she said, and wondered if he’d finally driven her mad as she stripped down to her one-piece black swimsuit.
Scott took her hand. Gave her a look redolent of bravery. ‘Shall we?’
She nodded, but wondered if this memory—precious though it would be—was going to be worth it, given that every time it surfaced in the future her heart would break all over again.
Scott led her into the surf, just far enough for them to duck under the water and get wet.
‘No further,’ he said. ‘I can feel the water tugging, and this is going to lose all its romance value if we get swept out to sea and either drown or get eaten by a shark.’
He pulled her into his arms.
‘And in any case…’ he said, backing her towards the shore. Backing her, backing her, backing her, and then dragging her to her knees, where the waves were breaking. ‘This is the money shot, right?’
And with that, he eased her flat onto the sand, and then he was on top of her, kissing her as if he’d happily drown as long as his mouth was on hers.
The water surged over them. Receded, surged, receded. For the longest time they stayed there, waves breaking over them, Scott’s mouth on hers, tongue thrusting, mirroring the breaking of the waves over their bodies. Over, over, over. Way longer than the scene in the movie.
Eventually he pulled back, just a fraction, smoothed her hair off her face, gazed down at her. And something was shining in his eyes that made her long to have him inside her. She wasn’t supposed to want it any more—she was supposed to have ripped him from her heart—and yet she did want it…did want him. She ached with need.
A sudden strong wave took Kate unawares and she choked on sea water. Scott grabbed her hand, dragged her out of the wash and up the beach to dry land, where she dropped to the sand and rolled onto her back, spluttering, laughing, coughing, eyes streaming.
And despite the fact that she was half drowned, deranged, probably a little snotty, Scott dropped to his knees beside her and looked at her as though she were the most wondrous thing he’d ever seen.
He was smiling, and there were tears—tears!—in his eyes as he rolled with her on the sand until she was on top of him.
She snaked her fingers into his wet hair, wanting him so much she thought she might seriously burst with it.
He looked up at her, so serious. ‘So, Kate, what’s the Latin for And so endeth the contract?’
She froze. And so endeth…?
Oh. Ohhh. Her breath caught as the pain hit.
It all made sense. Today was the twenty-eighth of February. The last day of their contract. She’d given herself to him at his house on Tuesday, fulfilled the contract to the letter, but he had to wring that little bit extra out of her—even after breaking her heart. Probably thinking she’d let him get away with this latest manipulation because he was using her secret fantasy to do it. And who wouldn’t want their ultimate Play Time, right?
Hating herself for letting him do this to her—hating him—Kate shoved herself off him, got to her feet, started pulling on clothes over the dampness and sand.
Scott had felt the change in Kate that split second before she’d rolled off him.
‘Did I stuff it up?’ he asked, getting to his feet. ‘Because I thought… I mean I watched the movie… I… I thought that was…’
The words tapered off as Kate skewered him with a glare.
Was this the part where she told him he was too late? That she didn’t love him any more? No, he couldn’t face that. Didn’t—wouldn’t—believe it.
Scott started dressing, just to keep his hands occupied while he waited for her to speak, to give him a clue about where he’d messed up. But she didn’t speak and he couldn’t take the silence.
‘Are you going to tell me what I did wrong, Kate?’
‘You know.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘The twenty-eighth of February,’ she said coldly.
Scott looked at her blankly.
‘February twenty-eighth!’ she snapped. ‘You couldn’t resist having the last word, could you, Scott? One last Play Time—and using my deepest, most secret fantasy to do it. Good job. For someone who said he would never hurt me, you sure wield a sharp knife.’
What the hell—?
She picked up her bag. ‘So when is Brodie coming back for me?’
‘Brodie’s on his way to Sydney,’ Scott said. ‘I’m taking you back.’
The blood drained out of Kate’s face.
‘What?’ he asked urgently. ‘What did I do?’
She laughed—and it wasn’t the joyful laughter they’d shared in the waves. ‘Today. Last day of the contract, right?’
‘Yes…’ Still bewildered.
‘I’ve spent three days tearing you out of my heart, and thanks to your little stunt today all that work is lost. I’ll have to start over.’
Scott’s mouth went dry—a dryness that had nothing to do with the ton of salt that had swirled in and out of his mouth with all that sea water. ‘I thought you wanted the contract to be over?’
‘I did. But not like— Oh, just forget it.’
He grabbed her arm. ‘No, tell me, Kate. If you don’t tell me, how can I explain?’
She wrenched free. ‘Under the terms of our contract you don’t have to explain.’
‘Dammit, Kate, I’ve had a gutful of the contract. It’s over! Over!’
‘It was over on Tuesday, but that wasn’t good enough for you, was it? Because I decided that. I decided it out of love. But you had to control the ending—out of…of…pique! And so here you are, controlling it—like you’ve controlled everything since the moment we met.’
‘That’s crap, Kate. I’ve never been in control. Not from the first moment I saw you. I don’t— I don’t want to be in control with you. And that—’ He shoved irritably at his hair. ‘That is not an easy thing for me to admit.’
‘Oh, you’ve been in the driver’s seat all the way along. Running rings around me. Flouting the rules. Turning up any time you wanted. All those calculated kisses to get me to shut up when I asked you a personal question—when I told you kissing was dangerous.’
‘You never told me that!’
‘It was implied! Because it’s obvious! To everyone except you. Kissing—no problem for Scott Knight, because Scott Knight doesn’t care and Scott Knight doesn’t feel.’
‘But I did—I mean I do—’
‘Shut up, Scott. Just shut up. Because I do feel. And every time you kissed me I felt more—and more and more. Wanted you more and more. But all you wanted was Play Time! So I gave that to you too, because I figured I could sex you into loving me. I would have done anything. Anything! But you wouldn’t even let me protect myself by sticking to a few simple rules.’
‘Kate, stop. I—’
‘You know what’s the stupidest thing of all? I started to think that maybe you were breaking all those rules because you didn’t want the contract.’
‘I didn’t. I wanted—’
‘I thought you just wanted to kiss me, see me, be with me—take it however it came. The more you broke the rules, the more I hoped. But you were breaking them because it was a game to you. I was a game.’
‘No, that isn’t—’
‘And that last night—what you said to me. Tail. A piece of tail. That’s what I was. All I was. All the way along. And you, with more tail than you know what to do with, could have anyone—so why me? Why did you still take and take from me that night? When you knew how…how painful it was for me to love you like I did? You knew I wanted to leave and you wouldn’t let me go.’
‘Okay, that’s enough, Kate!’ He grabbed her then, dragged her in. ‘I didn’t let you go because I couldn’t. I can’t, Kate. I can’t.’
‘But you will—because tomorrow is the first of March and we are done.’ She jerked out of his arms. ‘Done! Do you get it? A mensa et thoro—legal separation without divorce.’
‘Don’t talk Latin to me now.’
‘Res judicata—the final adjudication. No further appeals. Goodbye.’
Scott blanched. His shoulders were tight enough to snap his spine. Head drumming. Heart hammering. Hands clenching and unclenching.
‘Except for one thing, Kate,’ he said. ‘You love me.’
‘Well, you see, I’m going to let Phillip the barrister help me get over that. Tomorrow—the first of March—when there will be no possible suggestion that I am still under contract to you. Time for a new contract. This time I might even get the friend part of “friends with benefits”. Someone who w-won’t h-hurt me.’
‘I won’t hurt you.’
She turned away, breath hitching. ‘You already have, Scott.’
‘Then I’ll make it up to you.’
‘You can’t. You wouldn’t know how. Because you’ve never been hurt and you’ve never been in love.’
‘I have been hurt. When you left me. When you wouldn’t speak to me. More hurt than I thought was even possible. And you’re hurting me now. And I’m letting you because I deserve it. Hurt me all you want. Any way you want. But just don’t leave me, Kate.’
