Kitabı oku: «The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection», sayfa 8
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SCOTT’S HEART LURCHED as Kate took one step. Stopped.
She was backlit by a street lamp just outside the lane. Standing with her legs slightly apart, looking tough. Tight pants, high boots, hands on hips, wearing some kind of cap.
She started walking towards him—very slowly, very deliberately. Halfway, he could see she was wearing a police uniform—but a sexed-up, skintight version.
His mouth went dry—so dry that when she asked, ‘What seems to be the problem?’ he couldn’t answer.
And then she was in front of him, and he could smell tuberose, and he wanted to throw himself at her feet and beg.
‘Not talking?’ she asked, and there was a snap in her voice. ‘Then I’d say you’re up to no good. Turn around, hands wide on the wall.’
He did as he was told.
She kicked between his feet. ‘Spread ‘em.’
He spread ‘em with alacrity, and then breathed out a long, silent sigh of surrender as she plastered herself against his back.
‘So… Are you behaving yourself?’ she asked, and chuckled, low and breathy, right in his ear.
‘Yes, Officer,’ he said—or at least he tried to, but it came out as a half-strangled gargle.
‘Now, why don’t I believe you? What’s in your pockets?’
‘Nothing.’
‘I think I’ll check for myself.’
Next moment her hands were diving into the back pockets of his jeans.
‘Condom,’ she said. ‘Not exactly “nothing”. Not soliciting, are you?’
‘No.’
‘No what?’
‘No, Officer.’
‘I’ll hold on to this,’ she said, and he imagined her sliding the condom into the back pocket of her tight, tight pants.
‘Right. Let’s check your other pockets,’ she said.
And her hands were there, digging into his front pockets, making his heartbeat go off like a cracker as she ‘accidentally’ nudged against the erection straining fiercely against the denim.
‘All clear,’ she breathed against his ear. ‘So—why don’t you just tell me what you’ve been up to so I don’t have to keep searching?’
‘But I’ve done nothing wrong, Officer.’
‘So let me ask you, buddy: do you know the meaning of the term ignorantia juris non excusat?’
Oh, God. God, God, God.
‘No. But it sounds…sexy.’
‘Well, it’s not sexy,’ she said, despite the fact that she was unbuttoning his jeans, sliding his zipper down, sliding her hands inside, over his erection, squeezing, stroking. ‘It means ignorance of the law is not an excuse.’
He groaned.
‘Am I hurting you?’ she asked.
‘No. No, Officer, you’re not hurting me.’
‘Then why are you groaning?’
‘Can’t…ahh… help it. Sorry. J-Just what law am I ignorant of?’
‘The law that says you’re not allowed to bribe a police officer.’
‘But I’m not,’ he said, just as her hands went beneath his underwear, cool and silky and freaking wonderful. Another groan slipped out. Could a man die of lust? Because he was on the way.
‘Then maybe you should think about bribing me, so I’ll let you off the hook.’
‘Um… Um… Um…’ Seriously, his brain was fricasseed.
‘Something that doesn’t involve a condom, since I’ve confiscated that,’ she said.
‘Um…’
‘Turn around.’
He turned fast enough to give himself a corkscrew knee injury. Reached automatically for her.
‘No touching an officer,’ she barked. ‘Just stand there. Stand there and take it like a man.’
Before he knew what was happening she’d shoved him against the wall. And then she was on her knees in front of him, dragging his jeans down, just low enough to free him. Holding the base of him with one hand, cupping his balls with the other, she licked the very tip of him. Delicate, fluttery…gradually moving down the shaft, back up, down, then up. Alternately kissing and licking. Gradually increasing the pressure of her tongue, her lips.
He wanted to touch her hair, but she’d wound it up under the police cap. And looking at that cap as she worked on him was getting him more excited than he’d ever been in his life.
She tilted her head back, replaced her mouth with her hands, looked up at him, parted her lips, licked that heavy top lip…and with a quick, wicked smile closed her mouth over him.
Scott let loose with a whole string of groaning cries as she sucked him, using her lips, her tongue, her teeth, even the roof of her mouth. Stretching him, laving him, devouring him. Her hands were moving everywhere her mouth wasn’t until he was half insane with need. He felt the orgasm building, clawing to get out.
And then she did something with her tongue, and he looked down at the police cap, caught a glimpse of pale skin as she angled her head and her mouth performed a twist he’d never experienced before, and it was rushing at him.
‘Kate! Kate, I’m going to come!’ he said in urgent warning.
But she just kept right on going, shifting so that her hands were gripping his hips, keeping him inside her mouth, and he thought for a moment he was going to pass out with the pleasure of it. She kept up the pressure right through his explosion of a release, as his hips jerked under her hands and he spilled himself to the point of exhaustion.
And then she got to her feet. Looked at him as she licked that top lip again. ‘So, whatever you were doing tonight before I caught you—’ as though she’d just written him a ticket ‘—don’t do it again.’
And then she turned, started walking away.
Scott couldn’t believe, at first, that she would just leave him like that—but she kept going.
‘Kate!’ he called out, pulling up his jeans.
Stop. Turn. ‘It’s Officer Cleary.’
‘I’ll come with you. I owe you.’
‘Is that another bribe?’ She shook her head. ‘Now, you see, that’s why I don’t associate with criminals.’
‘But—’
‘You’ll receive a message from the station in a few days, once I’ve cleared your name, and then we’ll see.’
She turned again, walked briskly down the lane. And was gone.
He finished tucking in his shirt. Feeling both incredibly sated and hugely unsatisfied.
Because she was gone. Without having let him touch her once.
Gone. Just like Sunday morning.
Gone.
One thing Scott knew was that he wasn’t a fan of this ‘gone girl’ thing. He was going to have to let her know he didn’t appreciate her just leaving. Like, bang, leaving.
Even if it was essentially what he’d done to her on Saturday night—and without giving her any kind of release at all. But he’d had a reason. Self-preservation! Her? Tonight? What possible reason could she have had?
Bang. Gone.
Nope. He didn’t like it one bit.
The next day Scott left two phone messages for Kate.
Her response was to text him back.
Play Time. Thursday. Your house. 7 p.m.
He swore long and loud. Play Time was all very well, but he wanted to talk to her. That interrupted conversation from Sunday morning was still heavy on his mind and he wanted to fix it. Because things didn’t feel…right.
He tried to call her again—she didn’t pick up. So he called her office, spoke to Deb. Received the message that Kate was interstate, working on a child custody case.
‘And it’s a messy one,’ Deb told him. ‘So you’ve got no chance of getting hold of her and please don’t try. She’s…’
He could feel the hesitation. Teetering, teetering…Go on, tell me, tell me. But no.
‘Look, just leave her to it,’ Deb said, and hung up.
He found himself hanging on to the phone, reluctant to let it go. As if it was some line of communication he didn’t want to snap.
Which was just plain stupid.
He forced himself to disconnect.
He worried about what Deb had said. ‘She’s…’ Just the one word. Hesitant, hanging, worrying.
She’s…what? She’s…not interested in you any more? She’s…having a meltdown? Having a biopsy? Eating chicken for lunch. What, dammit? What?
He paced around his office, needing to speak to her, knowing he couldn’t.
Focusing on the first thing that had popped into his head—that she wasn’t interested in him any more—calmed him a little. Because if that were true she wouldn’t have sent him that Play Time text.
And they had a contract—which might be stupid but at least meant that even if she was over him she still had to see him for another week and a half. So he had time to work on her, get her back onside. Time to make the sex so phenomenal she’d be sorry she didn’t have a clause demanding seven nights a week instead of a lousy two.
Starting Thursday, when he saw her again. At his house, this time. In his bed.
He never brought women home, because…well, because. But Kate…?
He sucked in a breath as the image of her in his house shimmered in his head.
Would she like it?
In his bed?
How would she look there?
Not that those thoughts were germane! The germane thing was that it would be the perfect opportunity to gauge whether the wattage of their sexual attraction needed to be amped up. Although, frankly, much more wattage might just finish him off.
A new image popped into his head. Kate on her knees in that dark alley, going down on him. Refusing to allow him to touch her. Just leaving him there.
Okay, so he hadn’t calmed down.
He wouldn’t be calm until he spoke to her. Until he knew what was going on with her.
He wouldn’t be calm until she was calm.
Because he knew, knew, she wasn’t calm. He’d heard the worry in Deb’s voice. A child custody case. The kind that hit Kate the hardest. She would be stressed. And…and grieving. Interstate—on her own. With nobody to hold her and tell her it was going to be all right, even if it wasn’t. Just to be there. With her—for her.
And then he stopped himself. She had a family to turn to. A large, loving family. She didn’t need him.
Sex. No strings. That was what they had. She’d made that plain by responding to his voicemail messages with a text. She was going through hell…but for him she offered Play Time. Because that was the deal. He’d teased her that she was falling behind on the fantasies, so she was dishing them up. Twice in one week. Any man would want that. Phillip the aged barrister would be thrilled with that.
Scott found that his hands had balled into fists and determinedly unclenched them. Flexed them. Took a deep, calming breath.
Better.
It was no good getting bent out of shape over Phillip. Over Play Time. Or over Kate being alone dealing with hell. No damned good.
So he would take Deb’s advice. He would wait until Thursday. He would see what fantasy she came up with. He would respond sexually.
And that would be all.
CHAPTER TWELVE
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.
And his house was worth some level of interest from the woman he was exclusively sleeping with, dammit.
Not good enough, Kate.
He wanted to know what she thought about it. And he was going to force her to tell him. Did she like it? Hate it? Want to change it? What?
Scott gave her three hours—time to slough off that annoying Lorelei—then called her mobile. No answer. So he called her office.
Deb picked up the phone—and told him in no uncertain terms he wouldn’t be getting a look-in that day because Kate was in back-to-back meetings.
Well, he wasn’t going to put himself through the embarrassment of having his call go to voicemail, as had been happening with monotonous regularity. He would email her instead. And if she didn’t respond he would… He would… He would do something as yet undetermined! But something, at any rate.
Calmly, rationally, unemotionally, he tapped out a message suggesting they catch up for dinner that night and fired it off, knowing she’d pick up the email on her smartphone whether she was in a meeting or not.
And then he waited, refreshing his emails every thirty seconds, working himself into a lather over the fifty-fifty rule she’d probably insist on when the bill came tonight. Well, screw her stupid fifty-fifty rule—he would be picking up the tab. Like a normal guy who wasn’t a complete arsehole would do when he took a woman out for dinner.
Refresh, refresh, refresh…
Come on—respond!
Fifteen minutes later his phone buzzed.
Text message.
His stomach clenched as he reached for his phone. Because he just knew.
And, yep, there it was.
Play Time. Sunday. Noon. My apartment.
Scott hurled the phone across the room.
