Hugo? As in Play Time? The word that would stop Scott in his tracks? What the freaking hell…? This evening was turning out to be very…instructive.
The resemblance between the two men wasn’t as strong close-up. Hugo was like a more refined version of Scott. His eyes were brown, not green. And he spoke with a slightly British accent—very different from Scott’s Aussie drawl. Kate thought the accent was an affectation until Hugo confessed, with the fakest attempt at self-deprecation Kate had ever heard, that he’d been to medical school in England.
He looked more conservative than Scott—from his sharp, perfect haircut to his traditional black-tie get-up. Hugo was more talkative, more…accessible. But there was something missing. That indefinable something Scott had in spades—that mix of charm and wit and sexy intrigue. Hugo was obviously smart. He was good-looking. A little stuffy, maybe, although he seemed like a decent guy. But nobody would rush to Hugo’s side the way they rushed to Scott’s.
Kate was on the point of filing that description away when Hugo raised the subject of the award, with a look at Scott that could only be described as pitying—and Kate’s hackles rose, sharp and hard. Okay, description revised. Hugo was not a decent guy; Hugo was a bastard.
‘So—Creative Residential! Who would have thought we’d end up competing again, Scottie?’ Hugo asked, with a heavy clap on Scott’s back. ‘I checked out Silverston on the website. Good job, Scottie. Really good job.’
‘Thank you,’ Scott said with a smile that was definitely forced.
Kate, hating that smile, blinked innocently up at Hugo. ‘You’re not a doctor and an architect, are you, Hugo?’
‘Well, no, but—’
‘So your architect is the finalist?’ More wide-eyed I don’t understand innocence.
‘Yes, my man Waldo.’
‘Oh, your man. I see. Scott’s client is leaving the honours to him. Credit where it’s due, right?’ Kate asked, and hoped Scott’s client wouldn’t embarrass her by appearing out of nowhere!
Hugo chuckled, oblivious to any insult. ‘Ah, but I had considerable input into Waldo’s design,’ he explained. ‘So when I asked if I could come along this evening, of course Waldo was only too happy. Especially when I told him there would be a little friendly family rivalry for the prize.’
Scott, whose eyes had frosted in a way that did not look at all friendly, raised his eyebrows. ‘Waldo let you have a say? Waldo Kubrick?’ He turned to Kate. ‘Waldo is brilliant—actually, the best. But he’s more temperamental than a busload of French chefs.’
Hugo gave Scott another pitying look. ‘Yes, he is the best, isn’t he?’ Then came an apologetic and yet not at all apologetic cough. ‘Sorry, Scottie.’
‘Sorry?’ Scott asked. ‘Why?’
There was something in Hugo’s eyes that Kate didn’t like. Something malicious.
‘Let’s just say Knightley is pretty special,’ he said. ‘The buzz is there.’
Kate felt a laugh building and had to bite the inside of her cheek hard. Knightley? His house was called Knightley?
‘Yes, it is,’ Scott said coolly, and gestured towards the ballroom. ‘Well, good luck, Hugo. We’re heading in.’
And then Scott turned to Kate—who was trying not to laugh and at the same time silently communicating to Scott that she knew why the name Hugo would stop him in his Play Time tracks—and something lit in his eyes as he took in the expression on her face. And his smile, for the very first time, was in his eyes.
And it was absolutely devastating.
Scott felt a little off-balance.
It had been a lightning-fast emotional shift—from the normal feeling of inadequacy he always experienced around his brother to wanting to take Kate in his arms right there in front of Hugo, to whom he never, ever introduced anyone. And not only take her in his arms but breathe her right into his body. All because she’d wanted to laugh. It didn’t seem to matter that he didn’t even know what had amused her. Not that Kate didn’t usually laugh—she did, a lot, and he loved that. But there was just something different about it tonight.
‘What’s so funny?’ he asked as he pulled out her chair.
She sat. Waited for him to sit beside her. ‘Not that I want to disparage your brother, Scottie—’
He groaned.
‘Sorry, but I owe you for all the Katies,’ Kate said.
Wince. ‘Yeah. I get it. No more Katies. Hand-on-heart promise.’
‘But what is with that house name? Is Hugo an Emma fan? Or maybe his wife? Naming the house after Mr Knightley, perhaps?’
‘Emma who?’
Kate rolled her eyes. ‘Never mind. I think the explanation is simpler. He named it after himself, didn’t he? Like one of those British stately homes?’ She was biting the inside of her cheek again. ‘Maybe he got the idea at med school…’
‘Knightley,’ Scott said slowly. ‘Knightley. Oh, my God. I didn’t even think—It never occurred—I mean—God!’ He sat, stunned, for a moment, and then he started laughing. ‘God!’
‘It’s not a laughing matter,’ Kate admonished, but Scott could see she was struggling to keep a straight face. ‘It’s de rigueur to name your home after yourself, you know.’ Her mouth was starting to twist. ‘My own apartment is c-called C-Castle C-Cleary.’
And then Kate was laughing too, and the sound of it was just so sexy he had to touch her. Needed to share this delicious absurdity with her physically.
He reached for her hand and she twined her fingers with his, still laughing. Even her eyes were laughing. What must that be like? To have eyes that laughed? Eyes that were warm like molten silver. Beautiful.
His throat closed over and the laughter jammed. Stuck in his throat. All he could think about was kissing her until she was breathless. As breathless as he felt just looking at her. Breathless. And perfect. For once, perfect…
Kate stopped laughing too, and then she reached out with her free hand. Touched his face as if she felt it too. The connection.
And then panic hit.
No! No connection. He didn’t want that.
He jerked back, away from her touch.
He looked at their joined hands, and the sight of their linked fingers jolted him like an electric shock. He let go.
He picked up his wine glass, took an urgent swallow. And then, eyes sliding away to some distant point, he cleared his throat.
Kate cleared her own throat, picked up her own wine glass, sipped. He heard the quick breath she took.
‘So…um…what’s it like?’ she asked, putting the words out hesitantly into the sudden, excruciating void.
Wine. He needed another sip. Took it. Put the glass down. ‘What’s what like?’
‘Knightley?’
Shrug. ‘I know as much as you do about Knightley. Just what I’ve seen on the awards website.’ He waved at someone across the room.
‘So it must be… Is it…? Is it brand-new, then? I mean that you haven’t seen it?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I just haven’t. Seen it, I mean.’
Their first course arrived, and Scott almost sagged with relief. He pasted on a cheerful smile, and at last he could look at her again. ‘Well, Kate—as you can see, I was on the money with the smoked salmon.’
From that point the seemingly endless procession of award presentations, cheesy entertainment and bland food courses proceeded exactly as Scott had expected. Except for one thing: a burning awareness of Kate beside him. Something he’d never felt with Anais or any of his other black-bookers at one of these insipid evenings.
And that bothered him.
Even the way she was captivating the architect on her other side was getting to him. Thank God Miles Smithers was sixty years old and happily married, or he’d probably want to smash the guy’s tee—
Whoa! Pull up. There was no thanking God required. Or teeth-smashing. It didn’t matter if Kate was captivating a sixty-year-old married architect or a thirty-two-year-old billionaire Greek god! If she was physically faithfu
l she could captivate whomever the hell she wanted to captivate. None of his business.
And it wasn’t as though he was being a scintillating conversationalist himself. If not for Miles, Kate would be catatonic! He was being a first-class boor, barely grunting a reply when she asked him anything.
All because of that…that moment. That intense connection which he hadn’t bargained for and didn’t bloody well want.
Having Hugo sitting two tables away, already looking every inch the victor, wasn’t helping either.
Scott had known his brother wouldn’t be able to stay away tonight, wouldn’t be able to vacate the space, just for once, and let Scott occupy it. But he’d been anticipating a hand-wave and a superior nod across the room—that was their usual interaction. It must have been the sight of Kate that had prompted Hugo to dial it up a notch.
Kate. So glamorous and secure and beautiful. Out of his league. Which Hugo would have seen at a glance. So he probably should have guessed Hugo wouldn’t have been able to resist coming over in person to foreshadow his win.
And Knightley would win.
Because Hugo always won, even if he had to win via a third party like Waldo.
When the Creative Residential category was announced Hugo looked directly at him. There was a tiny narrowing of his eyes, an oh-so-poignant smile—a look Scott had being seeing all his life. A look that said Sorry, I just can’t help it that I’m so much better than you, little brother. Even more insufferable than usual because Kate saw it. And, God, how he wished he could get her out of there so she didn’t have to see it again when he lost. Why, why, why had he brought her?
Knightley was the second finalist announced. Pictures flashed up on the huge screen at the front of the room and—yes—it was a knockout. Hugo turned to clink glasses with Waldo, who had the grace to look uncomfortable about such precipitate celebration.
Two more finalists.
Then Scott’s name was announced. Silverston was being described in admiring detail and Kate turned to him, radiant, looking as if she was proud of him or something. She took his hand in hers as though that were entirely natural, held on.
PDA, Scott wanted to say—but couldn’t get it out of his tight throat. This was embarrassing. He wasn’t going to win. Kate would be giving him one of Hugo’s pitying looks in a minute, and having her hold his hand while she did so would only make it harder to stomach.
He wanted to disengage his hand, but couldn’t seem to let go. So he concentrated, instead, on making his hand go slack and dead. Let her interpret that. She’d be letting go of his hand any moment now. Any moment… Any…
Nope.
She wasn’t letting go. And everything was starting to blur in his head until he forgot why he shouldn’t be holding her hand.
Flashing images on the giant screen… The MC leaning into his microphone, saying something… A short blare of music… Spotlights swirling…
Scott found that, far from going slack and dead, his hand was gripping Kate’s. Hers was gripping right back.
And then she leaned in and kissed him briefly on the lips, and he thought, What?
And the applause was ringing out.
And the spotlight—it had stopped on him. It was shining on him. On him!
He blinked. Shook his head.
Kate laughed. Nodded.
And Scott knew. He’d won. He’d really won.
He was too shocked even to smile, let alone move. But Kate nudged him and somehow he got to his feet, started heading towards the stage—only to realise he was still holding Kate’s hand. He looked down at it, looked at her. She was laughing as she raised his hand to her lips, kissed it—the way he’d kissed hers in the car. And he needed exactly that, right at that moment. Exactly.
And then he was walking to the front of the room, up onto the stage.
‘Wow,’ he said when he got to the microphone. ‘Like…wow! Okay, this is like one of those moments where the award-winner says they never really expected to win…and then pulls out a just in case speech.’
General laughter.
Deep breath.
‘But I don’t have a just in case speech. So…so…um…thank you. I mean—to my client, to the team at Urban Sleek. The other finalists! So amazing. And…and Kate. Just…for…well. Thanks again. And…well, wow.’
Trophy in hand, Scott made his way back to the table, where Kate kissed him again, and he sat in a daze for the rest of the presentations, embarrassed at having given the worst speech in the history of all awards ceremonies everywhere in the world. But he’d just never expected to win. Why would he have prepared a speech? He never won. Never.
It wasn’t until the final award was being presented that he remembered Hugo. He looked over at Hugo’s table, saw his empty seat—bathroom visit?—and then forgot all about Hugo as formal proceedings gave way to the dancing and socialising part of the evening and what felt like a horde of people headed over to congratulate him.
He figured Kate must be longing to escape by the time the throng of well-wishers had dissipated, but when he opened his mouth to suggest they make a run for it, she smoothed a hand over his lapel and smiled at him—and his brain cells scrambled.
‘Don’t you think we should have a celebratory dance?’ she asked.
Scott looked from her to the dance floor, then back.
‘Scott?’ She smiled. ‘Dance?’
‘Er…’
Really? ‘Er…’ is the best you’ve got? Get it together.
Clearing of the throat. ‘Actually, I’m not much of a dancer, Kate.’
‘That’s all right, neither am I.’
‘No—I mean I don’t. Dance. Ever.’
She seemed startled by that. ‘You mean you never have?’
He checked his watch. ‘I was thinking… It’s late. I should get you home. You’ve suffered enough.’
Kate was watching him. Curious, a little wary. She seemed on the verge of asking something… But then she gave her head a tiny shake and said, ‘Sure.’
Scott was silent on the drive to Kate’s. Because the tension he’d been feeling all the way up to the announcement of his win was back. Tenfold. And it must have rubbed off on Kate because she was silent too, staring through the windscreen.
He pulled up outside her building and Kate unbuckled her seat belt. Then she just sat there, looking at him, waiting for him to turn off the ignition.
‘Aren’t you coming up?’ she asked at last.
‘I thought…it’s late… I thought…’
‘I thought you said all your dates ended with sex?’
Silence. Awkward.
‘Ah, but not tonight,’ Kate said. ‘Well, we only specified two nights a week, didn’t we? And we’ve hit that target. But, just so you know, slave girl ends now.’
With that throaty laugh he loved a little too much, she opened the car door and got out. But then she leaned down to look in at him. ‘Congratulations again, Scott. That was some house you designed.’
‘Thanks. And…and…’ Shrug. ‘Goodnight, Kate.’
Door closed.
Night over.
Thank God.
Scott drove off, up the street, around the corner, heading home.
Ordinarily he would have helped his date out of the car. That was what he always did, because that was the gentlemanly thing.
Ordinarily he would have walked his date to her front door—again, gentlemanly.
Ordinarily he would have followed his date inside, all the way into her bed. Gentlemanly? No. But expected. On both sides.
Ordinarily.
But with Kate…?
Well, it wasn’t a date.
It was supposed to have been just an easy fix for the night. Because he really hadn’t felt like going the black-book route and he really hadn’t wanted to do the sexual brush-off at the end—which he definitely would have done, because fidelity really was a sticking point for him and he really wasn’t interested in having sex with anyone except Kate. For now, he added,
just to be clear on that. And, aside from all of that, it had been fun to manipulate Kate’s rules by negotiating her role tonight as part of Play Time.
An easy fix, a non-date, a fun manipulation.
But it had turned into something…else.
Because with her there, the award had been somehow more important than it should have been—and that had surprised him.
Because Hugo had tried to show off to her and she hadn’t thought he was anything special—in fact, she’d thought he was a little bit ridiculous.
Because they’d laughed together like…like that.
Because she’d had to go and get all proud and lovely about his award.
None of which had anything to do with the end-game.
And it was the end-game he wanted—not the something…else.
So it was best to re-establish some distance between them before he had sex with Kate again. And as for walking her to her front door…? He just hadn’t trusted himself to get that far and no further. Not with her.
Anyway, it wasn’t as if she was his responsibility. He didn’t have to usher her protectively behind locked doors. She wasn’t some vulnerable girl who couldn’t take care of herself. She could take care of herself. She wanted to take care of herself. She’d been arriving home from all kinds of dates—and this wasn’t even a date—for years. She’d laughed when he’d insisted on going to her door to pick her up tonight. She hadn’t looked at all put out that he wasn’t getting out of the car to walk her to her door at the end of the night. She didn’t want that kind of attention. She didn’t need—
Oh, dammit to hell!
Swearing fluently and comprehensively, Scott did a U-turn and sped back to Kate’s. He screeched to a stop, leapt from the car, raced to the apartment block and followed a semi-familiar resident into the building without having to press the intercom. Which was fortuitous, because he had no idea yet what he was going to say to explain his reappearance.
His heart was thumping when he reached Kate’s apartment and knocked on her door.
He still had no idea what to say, but he was suddenly so desperate to see her he was happy just to wing it. So answer…open the door…come on.
Kate opened the door cautiously.
Well, of course she was cautious! He could have been anyone.
The Millionaire's Proposition Page 6
