Kitabı oku: «The Complete Red-Hot Collection», sayfa 10
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
KATE WOKE ON Sunday with full-blown jitters.
Because she didn’t have a clue what she was going to offer Scott for Play Time at noon.
It was almost more than her tired, slightly sunburned body could manage just to get out of bed, let alone plan a fantasy, because yesterday’s sailing lesson had been the most full-on physical three hours she’d ever spent.
Sailing was as freeing, as exhilarating, as wonderful as she’d always thought it would be—with an excellent side benefit: all that hauling of sheets and dodging of booms, being ordered around and shoved all over the deck by Brodie and his two cohorts, had left her with no time to think about Scott. Or about their upcoming Play Time either.
The guys had taken her out for a congratulatory drinking session afterwards, because apparently she had what it took, and by the time Kate had got home, she’d been so tired she’d fallen into bed.
She’d slept for a full three hours before thoughts of Scott had niggled her into wakefulness. And then had come the night-long tossing and turning she was learning to expect.
Fractured sleep, painful dreams, tortured thoughts. Wondering how Scott had felt, knowing she was on the water with his best friend. Rethinking every look, every word from Friday night. Trying to figure out what was behind the anger Scott refused to unleash—was it the way he felt about her, or residual mistrust from the eight-year-old Chantal/Brodie situation? Hoping he hadn’t—please, please, please—voided their contract by touching another woman.
After all that it was no wonder she was devoid of ideas.
Arabian nights, pirate and tavern wench, boss and secretary—all of which she’d considered—just seemed stupid.
How she wished she’d never thought of writing fantasies into the contract. She hated Play Time. Hated it!
So much so that in a fit of pique—yes, pique!—she decided to wear her most complicated dress. Buttons and zips and ties, with an exotic fold or two. An origami nightmare of a dress. Because Scott deserved to have to fight his way through to her for a change, rather than have her laying it all out for him to take.
He’d said the first time they met that for her he could get a little ‘gladiatorial’—so let him prove it by fighting his way past her dress! In fact, she would make it harder. She would blindfold him! And what was more, she would give him a time limit.
That was a good enough Play Time for her.
Scott buzzed on the dot of noon—he was nothing if not punctual—and she let him into the building without waiting to hear his voice.
‘We only have an hour,’ Kate said, all brisk and businesslike as she opened the door to him, holding two silk scarves at the ready.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’
‘Nothing to do with Brodie, if that’s what you’re wondering.’
‘I’m not wondering. Are you wondering?’
‘About Brodie?’
He just looked at her.
‘Oh, do you mean am I wondering about you and the hens on Friday night?’ she asked, and eked out a tinkling laugh. ‘No. You would have texted me, wouldn’t you, if anything had happened?’ She was forcing the panic back. ‘And anyway…well, pacta sunt servanda, right? Agreements must be kept. And as I recall, that was your sticking point. Fidelity.’
‘Pacta sunt servanda,’ he repeated. ‘You do remember how that legal talk turns me on, don’t you?’
Her breath caught in her throat. ‘Yes.’
‘Is that why you’re doing it?’
‘The more turned on you are, the faster we’ll be, right?’
He didn’t like that—she could tell by the way his whole face tightened. He walked past her and laid a flat parcel on her dining table.
‘Stand still while I do this,’ she said, coming up behind him.
And, although he stiffened, he let her tie the scarf over his eyes.
‘Play Time,’ she announced.
The set of his mouth was grim as she led him carefully into the bedroom, over to the bed. ‘Sit,’ Kate said.
But Scott did more than sit. He flopped onto his back, lying there as though he didn’t give a damn what she did to him, and Kate hesitated, wondering if he didn’t want her today. If he didn’t want her any more, period.
Pulse jittering, she looked at his body, laid out on the bed for her, wondering how she would be able to bear that…and saw that he was hard. She hadn’t even touched him and he was aroused—whether he wanted to be or not.
It took the edge off her sudden panic to know that whatever his I give up attitude was about, it wasn’t a lack of desire. She could work with that. She would make this so good for him he wouldn’t be able to pretend he didn’t want her.
‘I’m going to blindfold myself now,’ she told him, knowing how disorientating it must be for a control freak like Scott not to know what was happening. ‘No peeking today—by either of us. And no speaking either.’
‘No—?’ Short, tense pause. ‘No speaking, Kate?’
‘No. Just…feeling…’
Scott’s lips tightened but he said nothing.
And then Kate tied her own scarf and felt her way onto the bed. She lay next to him, turned to him, kissed him. A long, lush moan of a kiss. Not being able to see, she was even more conscious than usual of the uncompromising firmness of his mouth as he stayed stock-still for her to explore. The warmth of it, the taste, the way it fitted so perfectly against her own.
Slowly the tension left him, and at last he kissed her back, his tongue sliding into her mouth, and then he was taking over, reaching everywhere. Thank God.
A moment later his hands were wandering over her fully clothed body. Traversing the cotton of her dress. Pausing, testing, assessing the fastenings, the barriers.
Kate’s task was easier. She slid her hands under his T-shirt, smoothing them over his chest. She loved his chest. The breadth and strength of it, the texture of his warm skin, the spread of hair. The picture of him, flat on his back on her bed, was so strong in her mind…but the fact she couldn’t see it with her eyes somehow made the drug of touching him more potent. As if she could reach right through his chest and into his heart with nothing but the pads of her exploring fingers.
A push, a nudge, and his T-shirt was up, over his head, off. She checked quickly that the scarf was still secure around his eyes, and then her hands moved to his jeans. Unbuttoning, unzipping as his breathing turned harsh and laboured. She loved the way his breaths came like that when he was excited, almost past bearing but trying to control it—control himself, control everything.
She straddled him, facing his feet—which might have felt weird if they hadn’t both been masked, but now felt perfect. Her core was on his warm skin, just above the band of his boxer briefs. Just that was enough for her to long to have him inside her. She started pushing his jeans down his legs, hands stroking as she leaned further forward with each push. She loved his legs. Long, hard, strong, the perfect amount of hair. Down, down, down. And then—stop.
She’d forgotten about his sneakers. Well, blindfolded or not, she could undo a shoe. She fumbled with the laces, wrenched the sneakers off, threw them. They landed on the floor with a soft thud. Next she pushed his jeans off, threw them too. Started to turn around.
But Scott kept her exactly where she was with a hand on her back. She got the message and stopped, on her knees, one either side of his hips. Stayed…waited. What was he going to do?
And then the hand on her back was gone and both Scott’s hands were under her dress, reaching between her spread thighs, snagging against the French knickers she’d put on today before she’d come up with a plan that meant he wouldn’t actually see the frothy pink lace.
He didn’t seem to care about the lace, because his fingers were impatient, almost rough, as he yanked the knickers aside, his fingers sliding into her drenching wetness, in and out, until her breaths were nothing more than rasps and she was trembling. She felt so hot, so lush, aching as those fingers continued to dip in and out of her while the fingers of his other hand joined the action, circling her clitoris, precise, constant, inexorable.
She hadn’t removed his underwear, but that didn’t stop him thrusting hard against her bottom as he circled and slipped and probed every millimetre of her sex until she was coming in a luscious roll.
She didn’t know how it had happened, but a moment later she found herself flipped onto her back. She waited, breathless, for what Scott would do—regretting the damned dress, deciding she would help with her own unwrapping.
But before she could lift a finger to even one zipper, Scott had gripped the cotton at her neck and torn the dress right down the front, spreading the two halves wide…
‘Scott.’ she whispered, shocked.
‘No talking,’ he said, and reached for her bra straps, accurate despite the blindfold.
He yanked them down her arms until her breasts were bared. Unerringly, his mouth found her nipples, sucking, licking, building the pressure from barely there to strong and demanding, unrelenting as his cotton-clad erection strained against her.
She reached down to try to push his underwear off him, clumsy because of her bra straps, but he knocked her hands aside and kept up the suckling. Next moment he was scooting down her body, between her legs. The French knickers were shoved down and his mouth was there, licking fast and frantically, and she was coming again with a loud cry.
He kept his mouth there through the last undulation of her hips and then he came back up her body, kissing her almost brutally. He fumbled with the scarf over her eyes, ripping it away. Rising up over her, on his knees, he tore off his own blindfold. Stared down at her for a scorching moment.
Before Kate could reach for him he was off the bed, throwing his clothes on helter-skelter.
‘But— But— What about you?’
‘Owe me,’ he said, zipping up his jeans.
‘I can do it now.’
‘You should have grabbed a condom before the blindfolds went on. Because now I’ve ripped the masks off, Play Time’s over. We’re seeing…we’re talking. And that’s not in the rules for today, is it? You don’t want to talk to me today. You don’t want to see me today. I’d say you didn’t even really want me to touch you, or you wouldn’t have worn that chastity belt of a dress. You wanted it over with quickly today.’
He grabbed his sneakers, shoved his feet inside them, yanked on the laces.
‘Well, you’re done—all sorted, all serviced with time to spare—and now I’m going.’
‘Scott…’
But he was out of the room, and her curse was floating behind him.
‘Scott—wait,’ she said as she got off the bed, impatiently shedding her ruined dress, wrenching up her bra.
The door slammed before she was even out of the bedroom.
He was gone.
Eyes swimming, she walked over to the dining table, picked up the parcel he’d left there. Opened the brown paper. Removed a…a plaque? Yes, a simple metal plaque. Black type on dull silver. Two words: Castle Cleary.
Her swimming eyes overflowed.
To hell with Play Time, Scott thought savagely as he got into his car. And to hell with being made to feel like a male prostitute with an allocated time slot.
Not that the whole blindfold experience hadn’t been intense. He’d been insane with need by the end of it. So needy it had made no sense to run out when he did. She would have serviced him even without the blindfolds.
Serviced him.
And didn’t that say it all?
She would have serviced him. The way he’d serviced her.
Scott Knight, Escort Service, at your beck and call.
So what? his sane self asked.
It was perfect, wasn’t it? Exactly what he’d wanted? A sex contract. Month to month. No strings. No emotions. Complete control. No pretending they were forever. No need to call her unless it was to schedule a hot bout of sex. No deep and meaningful conversations. No conversations at all, lately—not with Lorelei, not with Officer Cleary. And not with Kate.
And today not only no speaking, but no looking either!
Just feeling—which was a good enough euphemism for just sex.
Just sex.
Perfect.
And he was a freaking idiot not to just take that and run with it.
Scott pulled out his phone. Stabbed the buttons.
Play Time, my house, Tuesday, 7 p.m.
Half a minute later, back came a reply.
Fine.
‘Right,’ he said out loud to his face in the rearview mirror.
But something about his face wasn’t normal. He looked like a freaking psycho killer!
Well, to hell with that too! He was not going to see that every time he glanced in the rearview mirror on the drive home. He’d have a crash if he had to see that.
He had to calm the hell down.
Cursing, he banged out of the car, strode across to the marina, focused on the boats.
Which made him feel even crazier. And just miserable again.
Kate had had her first sailing lesson yesterday. With Brodie. How had it gone? What had they talked about? Fireside chats aplenty with Brodie, for sure. Because Brodie was easy to talk to—easier than Scott. Easier, kinder. Better all round.
Everything inside Scott clenched—including the growl that he wouldn’t let loose from his chest.
And then he put his face in his hands—because the sight of the boats was suddenly unbearable.
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.
