Red-Hot Summer: The Millionaire's Proposition / The Tycoon's Stowaway / The Spy Who Tamed Me

‘But you wouldn’t be like any of those parents.’

‘No. But a lot of women are good at choosing the wrong man.’

‘Then don’t choose the wrong man.’

‘Oh, simple!’ She turned to him. ‘So simple that I suppose if you found the right woman it would be a case of Bingo, let me impregnate you immediately!’

He laughed softly. ‘Since the longest I’ve been with a woman is two months, I’d say I’m hardly father material.’

Two months. The equivalent of one contract rollover. Consider yourself warned, Kate.

‘Well, at least you’ve got the uncle routine down pat,’ she said. ‘Judging by how you were with Maeve and Molly. Where did you learn that? Does Hugo have children?’

‘Yes, he does. One girl. One boy. Twins. A perfect set. My brother does all things to perfection.’

Kate caught the wryness—but before she could even wonder at it Scott had tugged her under his arm, leaned down for another that’s enough talking kiss.

‘I can’t wait to touch you,’ he said.

‘You are touching me,’ she said, all breathless—because that was what it did to her every time he kissed her.

‘I’m calling another Play Time next week, Kate.’

‘What do you want to do?’

‘Uh-uh. Secret. But you’re not keeping up. Come on—don’t you have a fantasy you want to try out? I’d love to indulge you.’

‘I do have something in mind for next week,’ Kate said, because since it was a damned sex contract, and she’d put that stupid clause in there herself, it would look strange if she didn’t have even one scenario in mind. But the truth was she could think of nothing she wanted more than just taking him into her body, holding him close.

‘Woo-hoo, I’ll be hanging out for that,’ Scott said. ‘But remember—no S&M, no B&D. I wasn’t kidding about that stuff. It creeps me out, the pain thing. I don’t enjoy it, and I sure as hell can’t see myself inflicting it on you. Oh—and while fruit and veg is acceptable, under certain circumstances, no wildlife, no livestock. I’m not that kinky.’

‘Wildlife?’ Kate spluttered out a laugh. ‘That is just disgusting. Is your black book annotated? Because maybe I’d better take a look at what you expect. I might have to rein you in.’

Scott grinned at her. ‘Just making sure we’re on the same page after seeing the way that guy in your boardroom was patting and kissing his little dog like it was his girlfriend.’

Another spluttered laugh. ‘Please! You’re going to give me nightmares. And Sugarplum isn’t a dog. She’s a shih tzu.’

‘The dog is called Sugarplum?’

‘Yep.’

‘Well, that is an abomination.’

Kate bit the inside of her cheek. ‘Actually, I have another name for her. Hostis humani generis.’

‘Is that a legal term?’

‘It is. It means “enemy of the human race”. Which I think is very apt in Sugarplum’s case.’

‘I’m going to have to kiss you for that. Because legal terms get me so damned hot! Can you say something with functus officio in it?’

She was laughing helplessly. ‘Not offhand, no.’

‘Then hostis humani generis it is.’

Kate was still laughing as Scott planted his mouth on hers…but not for long. By the time he slipped his tongue inside her mouth, she was tingly and dazed. And Scott seemed equally affected.

‘I love kissing you,’ he breathed against her lips.

‘People do tend to love doing things they’re particularly good at.’

‘You’re no slouch yourself—but even if you were, Kate, one look at your mouth is all I’d ever need to get me ready to dive inside you.’

She shivered. Closed her eyes briefly. He could turn her on too easily. So easily it was dangerous.

Change the subject.

‘Anyway, Sugarplum’s family is sorted. You won’t be seeing her around the office again.’

‘Who ended up getting the kids?’

‘Kids?’ Kate asked.

‘That couple. You know—the kids?’

‘Ah,’ Kate said, and winced.

‘Not kids?’

Another wince.

‘You’re not telling me that fight was about that evil little yapper, are you?’

She could see the horror—almost comical and yet not. The disbelief.

Kate shrugged.

‘So they don’t have kids?’ he asked.

‘I’m not saying that.’

‘So they do have kids, but the fight was over…’ Stop, stare. ‘You’re not serious?’ he said.

She raised her eyebrows.

He shook his head, stunned. ‘I hope they’re paying you a lot, because from where I’m standing your job sucks.’

‘Lately…yeah, it does suck.’

‘At least your family must be proud of you, though. Lawyers are like doctors—they’ve got the parental-pride market cornered.’

‘Actually, my mother would probably prefer an architect to a lawyer! She’s an artist, so creative stuff is more her speed.’

‘Your mother’s an artist?’ And then his eyes widened. ‘Oh! Ohh! Cleary! Madeline Cleary? Yes! Of course! The painting in your office and the one in your bedroom. Wow.’

‘Yes—wow. And my father is a playwright, but not as well known. What about your parents?’

‘Doctors times two. So…your mother… She’s not happy about you being a lawyer?’

‘She thinks I get too emotionally invested in my cases. Whenever I stress out, she says, “Kaaaaate, I warned you how it would be.” And then she adds something about thanking heaven for divorce—which is her way of telling me I’m doing the world a favour, and to just get on with the next uncoupling. It’s the Cleary way, you know—fight like hell, then move on.’

‘Now, you see, my mother would see divorce as an admission of failure. Which is why Knights don’t divorce. Failure is not an option.’

‘Even if the alternative is to stick with someone who’s horrible? Someone abusive? Divorce has got to be a better alternative.’

‘Then why do you stress out about it, Kate?’

Tve just…’ She paused, sighed. ‘I’ve had a run of nasty ones lately. And seeing people ripping each other apart, seeing the kids on the sidelines…’ Another pause. ‘It can make you cynical.’

‘Cynical. Now, that I understand.’

‘Which is when I start thinking about boat theft.’

‘I’m surprised you haven’t done it already.’

‘Maybe I would have—except for one small thing.’ She slanted him a glinting smile. ‘I can’t sail!’

He touched her face. Gentle, soft. ‘Ah, well—definitely a problem!’

‘And, you know, my job has compensations.’

‘Money?’

‘Yes, that’s one.’

‘And meeting handsome architects through your clients.’

‘Handsome egomaniacal architects, even,’ Kate said, and laughed. ‘But I’d definitely classify meeting Willa as compensation. It was…satisfying to fight for her.’

‘Yeah, I get that. From what I know of Wayne-the-Pain, he would have tried to screw her out of everything just to pay her back for wanting to be something more than an arm bauble. She said you fought like a demon. That it was your way—to fight to the death.’

‘Yes, like I said—the Cleary way. And definitely my way. Even more so for people I love—and I love Willa. She’s…special. Strong. So much tougher than people think. I admire her more than I can say. She deserves everything good and fine in the world. Joy. Peace. Security. And love. She deserves love.’

‘I think you’re a secret romantic, Kate.’ He nudged her playfully. ‘So where’s my Valentine’s Day card?’

‘It’s in the mail,’ Kate said, nudging him back. ‘Along with a few tools of oppression—handcuffs and hot wax to go with Anais’s whip, because I think she’s on to something there.’

Scott gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘I promise you, she is not.’ Pause. ‘Mind you, for a B&D aficionado, Anais has some remarkably pedestrian notions about love.’

‘What’s pedestrian?’

‘Let’s just say the idea of a straight up and down sex contract would never have entered her head. You and I… We’re…different. We know what we want and what we don’t. And we go for it.’

Kate thought about that for a moment. ‘Are you saying Anais believes in love, and that that’s pedestrian? Because I hate to break it to you, Scott, but I’m pedestrian in that way too. It’s impossible not to believe in love in my family. They throw it at you in great gooey clumps, whether you want it or not.’

‘Ah, but that’s a different kind of love to the romantic stuff.’

‘The principles are the same. Real love, of any kind, glories in a person’s strengths and talents and…and their flaws too. Especially their flaws. It accepts and it…it heals. It lets you just…be. Be who you are. A lot of divorces happen because that’s not the kind of love on offer.’ Stop. Breath. ‘And that’s when the lawyers come in—earning thousands of dollars negotiating whether it’s Mr or Mrs X who gets five hundred dollars’ worth of groceries in the settlement. And that’s a true story.’

‘But it’s not about the groceries, is it?’

‘No. It’s about power. Punishing someone because they can’t love you enough, or don’t need you enough, or won’t give you enough.’ She shivered. ‘It makes you wonder…’

‘Wonder?’

‘Why you’d ever let someone have that power over you.’

‘And that is why you and I—two sex-crazed cynics—are meant for each other.’

‘For the grand total of two more weeks.’

‘Rollover clause, remember?’ He eyed her closely. ‘You’re not finished with me yet, are you, Kate?’

‘No, I’m not finished with you.’ She clinked her glass against Scott’s beer bottle. ‘Here’s to not having to get divorced. Not that Clearys get divorced any more than Knights.’

‘But—’ He broke off, shook his head. ‘You said your mother’s in favour of divorce.’

‘And so she is—for all those people silly enough to get married in the first place.’

‘You mean…? Hang on, I’m not getting this.’

‘Clearys don’t get divorced because they don’t get married.’

‘You mean like…ever?’

‘Not in recent history.’

‘Your mother?’

‘Nope.’

‘Her mother?’

‘Absolutely not—Gran was all about free love.’

‘Molly and Maeve’s parents?’

‘No. It’s easier, you know, not to rely on a man. Or, in reverse, a woman. But don’t misunderstand me—our fathers were in our lives as much as they wanted to be, and it worked very well.’ She smiled. ‘Gus—my father—and Aristotle—Shay and my other sister Lilith’s father—even get along well together.’

‘So it’s one of those weird, blended, out-there families that are going to be the ruin of civilisation? The Knight family would be horrified!’

‘Are you? Horrified?’

‘I said the Knight family. I’m not really part of that.’

She looked at him sharply. ‘What does that mean?’

He shrugged. ‘I need another beer,’ he said, and went into the apartment.

Kate followed him inside. Waited while he grabbed a beer from the fridge.

‘What’s your family like, Scott?’

‘Doctors.’

‘No—I mean, what are they like?’

‘Well…doctors.’ He hunched a shoulder. ‘You’ve met Hugo. He’s pretty up and down perfect. That’s the standard. My family is not weird, blended and out-there. More like stultifyingly conventional.’

‘So you’re…what? The black sheep?’

‘More like the sheep with second-grade wool.’

‘Okay, what does that mean?’

He took a pull of his beer. ‘Nothing. Just that growing up as a Knight is… Well, it’s nothing a Cleary would understand.’

‘Try me.’

He paused. Looked at her. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Shook his head. ‘Forget it, Kate.’ One of those infuriating smiles that meant nothing. ‘It’s not germane. And—Ah, the intercom. Better go let your sister in.’

If Shay and Rick were surprised to find a man at Kate’s they didn’t show it. And Scott—well, he was all smooth charm. But in that closed-off, keep your distance way. A way that made Shay, who was unusually perceptive, narrow her eyes at him.

As Shay and Rick went to get the girls there was silence.

Kate racked her brain for a way to break it—a way to break through the sudden wall of reserve that was between them.

But in the end Scott was the one to break the silence. ‘So, Kate, I owe you.’ He reached in his pocket for his wallet.

‘Wh—What?’

‘Money for the pizza.’ He handed over some notes.

Kate stared at the money in her hand as he returned his wallet to his pocket. ‘Scott…?’

‘Fifty-fifty, remember?’ he said with a meaningless smile. ‘And now I’d better hit the ro—’

He broke off as Rick and Shay reappeared, carrying Maeve and Molly, who were drowsy and tousled and lovable.

Kate kissed the girls. And then watched, fascinated, as they each in turn leaned towards Scott for him to kiss them too. She saw Scott blush as he did so. The cool reserve was gone for those few moments, replaced by something perilously close to tenderness.

Scott…and children.

Something he couldn’t have because he never stayed with a woman long enough? Or because he was a Knight. Or…or what?

Shay, won over in that instant, smiled at him, and Scott blushed again.

And then Kate and Scott were alone again, and she wondered what was going to happen next. Given the way he’d kissed her out on the terrace, by rights she should have been flat against the door with Scott all over her the moment it closed behind her family…but Kate had a feeling that was not going to happen.

Scott took her face between his hands and she waited, breathless and curious.

‘You’re so beautiful, Kate,’ he said, but that fact didn’t seem to make him happy.

He leaned close, put his forehead on hers and just stopped. Not moving, not even breathing.

Kate wanted so badly to wrap her arms around him and tell him everything would be all right, even though she didn’t know what was wrong. But she stayed exactly as she was. Soaking in this moment where nothing happened, nothing changed.

And then Scott released her, stepped back. Smiled one of those smiles that didn’t reach his eyes.

‘I hope you appreciate that I did not kiss you then,’ he said. ‘Please note for future reference that I am capable of obeying the rules. No kissing if it isn’t going to lead to sex, right?’

‘But I thought—’

‘I just—I just think I’d better go home tonight.’

‘But you can still go home tonight. I mean, after…’

But at the look on his face—closed-off, determined—Kate forced herself to stop. She wasn’t going to beg. Not any man. Ever. And especially not this one, who was already running rings around her in every possible way.

Ring-running. For her own mental health, it was going to have to stop.

So she smiled, as remote as he was. ‘Yeah, we’re over our target, right?’

‘Right,’ Scott said. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then—new week, new target.’

‘Not tomorrow,’ Kate said.

‘But you said Sunday.’

‘And now I’m saying no.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘That sounds like pique, Kate. And we don’t have room for pique in our contract.’

‘No, we don’t have any allowances for pique in our contract, Scott,’ she said, very cool. ‘This is not pique. I wasn’t expecting you tonight—as you know very well. I was, in fact, planning to do some work once I’d put the girls to bed. Now I have to play catch-up tomorrow. So thank you.’

‘Ouch. I’m going to need that stapler,’ Scott said.

Then with a mock salute he was gone.

Kate looked at the door, wondering exactly what had happened out there on the terrace.

She crossed her arms against a chill premonition that things between them were not going to work out the way either of them expected.

CHAPTER NINE

THE NEXT MORNING Scott was back at Rushcutters Bay, his finger frozen just short of the intercom buzzer, wondering what the hell he was doing.

Kate had made it clear she was going to be busy today, doing the work she’d planned to do the previous night if not for his inconvenient arrival. Code—and not exactly secret—for I don’t want to see you.

And yet here he was, trying to work out how to charm his way into her apartment, how to apologise for the way he’d run away last night. The way he kept running away.

But how did you tell someone you’d run because you were in too deep and wanted to pull back—even as you were fronting up for more?

He hadn’t intended to see her last night after she’d sent that irritatingly dismissive email about babysitting, but…well, he’d wanted to see her, dammit!

And he’d also known that if he didn’t see her he’d be looking down the barrel of another sleepless night. Because his frazzled brain kept circling round and around everything that had happened on Thursday night, urging him to prove to himself that the way he’d been feeling was a one-off, all caught up in the unforeseen angst of the occasion—Hugo; that shared moment when they’d both just got it; his winning—winning! That was why he’d smiled at her—okay, he smiled a lot…he even smiled at her a lot…but not like that. And that explained the sex too—so straighty one-eighty that it should not have seared him like a barbecued steak, and yet it had been on fire, plated up, skip the garnish, delicious.

So, yeah, last night, he’d intended to prove the one-offness of it all to himself. To turn up off-schedule, joke about Valentine’s Day, dazzle her with a little light-hearted banter, with the girls there to run interference and put the kybosh on anything emotional. Then they’d have sex in a manner in keeping with their contract—he’d thought of something highly technical that would mean they’d have to concentrate on not breaking a bone, so no time for losing themselves in the moment—and voilà: back to normal. Head back in the right place, heart untouched.

No watching her sleep or tracing his finger over her eyebrow, no sniffing her damned perfume when he was alone in her bathroom. None of that creepy stuff.

But instead his dumbass brain had started shooting off on tangents until he’d started thinking about kids. Redheaded, grey-eyed kids. How it would be to bring up kids the Cleary way, with people flinging gooey clumps of love at you—not the Knight way, where you had to prove yourself every damned day just to get a frosty nod. And then had come the blinding knowledge that he’d have to be married to the mother of his kids, so maybe the Cleary way would never work for him.

And then it had hit him that he was really, actually, contemplating fatherhood. Fatherhood! Him!

In too deep—caring too much—needing more—run.

He should have been happy to be barred today, so he could get his brain out of his gonads and back where it was supposed to be. But after one more sleepless night, thinking about that look on her face as he’d left, here he was.

Because… Well, what had that remote smile of hers meant? That she was finished with him? Well, no. Not happening until he was ready. So he was going to charm her into not finishing with him—while simultaneously stepping away from the too-deep chasm that was yawning at his feet.

Simple, right?

Yeah, simple. Sure.

Oh, for the love of God, man up!

He let his finger land on the buzzer. Waited, drumming his fingers on the wall.

By God, she’d better be at home after spinning him that line about work. She’d better not be out somewhere, with someone, doing something. Or he would—Would—Well, he’d…explode! Or…or something.

‘Hello?’ Her voice, husky and gorgeous—and for a moment his breath caught.

Get a grip. Get a damned grip!

‘It’s me,’ he said, and winced—because that aggressive tone of voice was not charming.

Long pause. Followed by an arctic, ‘Yes?’

‘Can I come up?’

‘Why?’

‘Because I want to see you.’

‘You saw me last night. That will have to tide you over until I can spare the time.’

Pause. Pages being riffled. What the hell—? Was she checking her schedule?

‘Probably Tuesday.’

Yes, she’d been checking her schedule! Scott felt his temper start to simmer.

‘No,’ he said, and there was absolutely nothing charming about that snapped-out word.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Past arctic and heading towards ice age.

‘Let me come up and explain.’

‘The contract doesn’t require explanation.’

The freaking contract. They didn’t need a contract to have sex. He hadn’t asked for a damned contract, had he? She’d forced it on him.

‘All right, I won’t explain,’ he said through clenched teeth. He made a mammoth effort to rein in his slipping temper. Charm. Charm, charm, charm. ‘So…since I’m obviously not coming up, why don’t you come down and keep me company while I have a cup of coffee at the cafe across at the marina? Ten minutes and you can get back to work.’

Long, long moment. He heard the breath she sucked in. Waited for the breath out—waited, waited…

And then the breath whooshed out and she said, albeit grudgingly, ‘All right.’

Not exactly effusive, but Scott closed his eyes in relief.

Five minutes later she was there, wearing a maxi-dress in sky-blue and a pair of flat silver sandals, her hair swinging in a ponytail. Delectable Sunday-morning fare.

His temper disappeared as if by magic just at the sight of her. He wanted to kiss her so badly he automatically leaned in—but Kate flinched backwards.

‘No kissing, remember?’ she said.

‘Sorry, Kate,’ he said, trying to look chastened but not quite managing it. He was just so happy to see her. God, what was happening to him?

They walked in silence to the cafe. Ordered coffee at the counter. A long black for him; a macchiato for Kate. Took their cups to one of the tables closest to the jetty.

‘About last night…’ Scott said, diving in.

Kate stirred sugar into her coffee. ‘I thought you weren’t going to explain.’

He ignored that. ‘It just got a little…a little…heavy. Talking about children—’

‘A subject you raised.’

‘And about… Well, about all that stuff.’ Shaky little laugh. ‘Love.’ Grimace. ‘And…and stuff. I didn’t sign up for deep and meaningful. Neither of us did. So I’m not sure how all that came spewing out.’

‘It happens,’ Kate said. ‘It’s normal.’

‘No, it’s not. Not for me. It’s not what we—’

‘Signed up for,’ she cut in dryly. ‘Got it. No need to labour the point. And no need to explain, remember?’

‘Anyway, I thought we needed a breather—that’s all,’ he mumbled, and hurriedly picked up his coffee, took a sip, burned his tongue and refused to show it. Because people in control didn’t burn their tongues on coffee. And he was. In control. Definitely.

‘And yet here you are, the very next morning. That’s a breather, is it?’

‘I just—I wanted to—’

‘Explain. Yep. Got it.’

Kate looked at him—the epitome of inscrutability. She drew in a breath. Seemed on the verge of speaking. But then something behind him caught her attention and her eyes widened.

‘Isn’t that…? Yes, surely…’

But it was a murmur directed at herself, not him.

She refocused on Scott. ‘That’s Brodie, isn’t it? He really is as gorgeous as his photo.’

CHAPTER TEN

BRODIE.

Gorgeous Brodie.

Instinctively Scott hated that combination of words coming out of Kate’s mouth.

But then the reality of her words hit.

Brodie. Here.

They were about to come face to face. If he could make himself turn around.