Red-Hot Summer: The Millionaire's Proposition / The Tycoon's Stowaway / The Spy Who Tamed Me. Kelly HunterЧитать онлайн книгу.
make it sound natural. ‘What you said just reminded me of my own sailing adventures, that’s all. And not that I want to burst your bubble, but reality will bite you on the arse wherever you are.’
‘Ah, of course—I forgot you were a sailing instructor at Weeping Reef. You and the other guy I haven’t met yet. Brodie?’
That was all it took for Scott to tense up. Brodie’s name coming out of Kate’s mouth. He didn’t want to talk about Brodie. It was too personal, too…raw. God, still.
‘So what part of it bit you?’ Kate asked.
‘Let’s just say I was too young to appreciate the experience,’ he said, and forced himself to smile down at her. This smile meant go no further—and he didn’t have to use it often because he didn’t let people get close enough to push his buttons.
‘And, no,’ he added quickly, thinking to nip in the bud any other question she might have brewing, ‘that’s not an invitation to tell me I’m still too young. I’m old enough to have made the sensible choice: sail back to Sydney, go to university, become an architect. All grown-up—just like you. Now, are you ready for your omelette?’
He could sense her slight hesitancy. Another question.? A comment.? But Kate finally shrugged, smiled. And thankfully gave up.
‘How lucky am I?’ she said. ‘A man who sizzles in bed and in the kitchen.’
‘I like cooking—the orderliness of it. You put a set number of ingredients together and, as long as you combine them in the right order, they come out at the other end in perfect formation.’
Kate grimaced. ‘My cooking doesn’t do that!’
‘Mine does. I insist on it.’
He leaned down and kissed her.
‘No kissing,’ Kate said, pulling away awkwardly after a moment. ‘Not outside of sex. Remember the rules.’
‘Oh, yeah, the rules.’
Well, Scott happened to think parts of her contract were ridiculous, as well as not being legally enforceable. So not only was he not going to be controlled by her rules, he was going to enjoy flouting them. The kissing clause was a case in point. He liked kissing Kate, so he was going to keep kissing her. Simple.
‘You know, Katie, a kiss isn’t a declaration of honourable intentions, if that’s what’s bothering you. I assure you my intentions are still entirely dishonourable—so relax. It shouldn’t surprise you, as the owner of that sexy-as-hell mouth, that men want to kiss it.’
‘But—’
Scott swooped before she could get another word out, kissing her again, drawing from the deep well of expertise he’d amassed during an impressive career of seduction. And this time it took her longer to pull away.
‘Scott!’
‘Hey, this is pre-contract,’ he argued. ‘We’re still on payback sex, by my reckoning.’
‘I owed you one orgasm. And I paid that back on the dining room chair. We’re on the clock now—and I can’t believe you’re blurring the rules on day one.’
‘Then if it makes you feel better,’ he said, grabbing her hands and pulling her in close, ‘this kiss is going to lead to sex.’
And with that, he lowered his head once more, put his mouth on hers. He felt her melt, melt, melting into him. That was control. He would control this. Control her through her precious contract. Take what he wanted when he wanted it with a clear conscience and no hard feelings when they said goodbye at the end. He’d finally achieved perfection in a relationship!
Not that this was a relationship.
Scott nudged her legs apart, settled himself between them, thrust against her. ‘See? I’m ready for you already.’
‘Is that perma-erection of yours a benefit of youth?’ she asked, leaning into him.
‘I could be a hundred years old and five days dead and still want you, Katie,’ he said in return. ‘Let’s go to bed and I’ll show you how much. And then I’ll make you an omelette before I head home.’
KATE DIDN’T KNOW if it was youthful vigour or if Scott just had more testosterone than the average man, but he’d been at her apartment nine nights in a row. He’d only skipped the tenth night because he had a pre-scheduled poker night—and he’d bemoaned not being able to get out of that!
Each time they’d both been insatiable, from the moment he stepped inside to the moment he staggered out, bleary-eyed, in the wee hours.
By tacit agreement Scott never stayed the night. That would have been too…intimate. And, okay, that seemed ridiculous, given the extent to which they’d examined each other’s bodies—she’d seen the kitten-shaped birthmark on Scott’s right butt cheek, for God’s sake, so cute it hurt—but there was something ‘next step’ about sleeping together. And the contract didn’t allow for next steps.
Their nine encounters had included two Play Times.
The first Play Time Scott had turned up as a doctor making a house call. Doctor/patient had been hilarious, to start with. But it had quickly progressed to hot, hot, hot as he’d gloved up and examined various parts of her body, sounding cool and professional with his ‘How does that feel?’ and ‘Is that helping?’ while she squirmed and gasped and orgasmed in a long, crazy, unending stream.
Their second Play Time, on their ninth night together, he’d opted for master/slave—but with a midway role-swap.
For the first part of the evening Kate had been the master. Which was just as well, because her phone had been running so hot she would have made an unsatisfactorily preoccupied sex slave. Her client Rosie was in crisis mode, having finally asked for a divorce, and was calling Kate every fifteen minutes for advice. Another client was desperate for help because his ex-wife was threatening to move interstate with their two children. And a colleague wanted advice on a property settlement.
None of it had seemed to faze Scott, who’d taken to his slave role like a duck to water and lavished attention on her as she’d stressed on the phone. Making her tea, massaging her shoulders and feet, rubbing her back, stroking her hair…
And when the phone had finally stopped ringing he’d reduced her to a state of orgasmic bliss. By which time she’d been dying to be his slave and would have agreed to anything he asked.
But Scott had issued only one command: that she accompany him to the Visionary Architect Awards dinner.
Which was how now, two nights later, Kate found herself in her best evening gown—a modernised cheongsam in royal purple satin—her hair pinned into a complicated bun, her face flawlessly made-up, essentials stuffed into a glittery silver evening bag…
And feeling all kinds of weird.
A date that wasn’t a date.
With a lover who wasn’t a boyfriend.
And, despite her being Scott’s ‘slave’ tonight, he’d insisted on coming to her door to get her, like an old-fashioned gentleman caller.
It was…confusing. And Kate knew she wouldn’t be any less confused by the end of the night. Because not only was Scott a master manipulator, adept at getting her to do whatever he wanted, he was also a champion question-deflector. If she asked him something he didn’t want to answer he would just kiss her! And if she complained about kissing being against the rules he would insist the kiss was going to lead to sex, and the next moment they’d be in bed.
Kate had never had so much sex in her life! Or so few answers.
And