The Millionaire's Proposition

by Avril Tremayne

  Amy nudged her shoulder against Scott’s. ‘I told Kate she should have asked you for lessons.’

  Scott cast Kate another brooding look and she felt her self blush almost by reflex. Everyone at the table would be working it out any minute if he kept that up.

  ‘I sold my boat,’ he said.

  ‘Well, you could hire one, couldn’t you?’ Amy asked. ‘What would it cost? To hire you and a boat and learn how to sail?’

  ‘Well…’ Scott said, and rubbed a jaw darkened by raspy shadow.

  It was the first time Kate had ever seen him anything but clean-shaven. His eyes looked strained too. Tired. And she was an idiot, with no instinct for self-preservation, because she wanted to hug him, and kiss him, and tell him to take better care of himself—

  ‘I’d say…’ Scott began again, with another look at Kate ‘… five thousand dollars? Or the barter system is okay. Trade a service for a service.’

  —and kill him. She wanted to kill him.

  Amy looked shocked. ‘Man, that’s expensive.’

  ‘But worth it,’ Scott said. One more look at Kate, and then he turned to Willa to say something.

  The conversation ebbed and flowed around Kate as, silent, she pondered the way her evening had started—four friends sharing their secret longings for romance. But Willa’s was real. Whereas Kate’s…? Pure Hollywood. Never going to happen.

  And it was probably time she admitted that she wanted it to be real. Wanted what Willa had. Wanted someone to trust her with his life.

  Because she could be trusted.

  People trusted her with their lives every day. They trusted her to extricate them from bad marriages with a whole skin and the means to live. They trusted her to do the best thing for their children. They trusted her to find a way for them to achieve closure, and keep their dignity, and get a fair deal.

  They trusted her…before moving on with their lives without her.

  And that wasn’t enough any more.

  She wanted someone who trusted her but didn’t want to move on with his life without her. She wanted someone complicated and creative, and strong and principled, and smart and funny, and sexy and…and…hers.

  She wanted love. She wanted, specifically, Scott Knight to love her. Not just the scent, the taste, the feel of her…but the whole of her. Wanted to trust him with her life and wanted him to trust her with his.

  She wanted him to tell her about growing up never feeling quite good enough, and she wanted to make sure he knew that he was. Good enough for anything—for everything.

  She wanted Scott to tell her about Weeping Reef. About Chantal and Brodie. How he’d felt, what it had meant, what it had done to him to feel so betrayed, if it still ate at him.

  She wanted to tell him she would never, ever hurt him like that. That she would never betray him. Couldn’t betray him. That she—

  ‘Kate?’

  Brodie—pulling her back.

  ‘Refill?’ he asked, nodding at her glass, which was empty again.

  ‘No,’ she said, and tried to smile. ‘And that’s my last—so don’t worry. There’ll be no heave-hoing over the gunwales tomorrow.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve held a girl’s hair out of the way, so don’t sweat it for my sake, Katie.’

  Scott clunked his beer glass on the table. Loud enough to make Amy, sitting beside him, jump.

  ‘Kate—not Katie,’ he said. And then he turned back to Willa as though he hadn’t just bowled that out loud and livid enough for everyone to marvel at, and asked, ‘When’s Luke coming home?’

  After a stunned moment, Willa gathered herself enough to speak. ‘No immediate plans, as far as I’m aware. He’s in the middle of a deal in Singapore he won’t tell me anything about. Confidential, apparently.’

  ‘Confidential,’ Amy repeated, but the tone of her voice—all dark, when Amy was basically the brightest, shiniest girl in the world—made Kate wonder if perhaps she wasn’t the only one hitting the cocktails a little too hard.

  ‘Yeah,’ Willa said, a little uneasily. ‘He’s like a clam about stuff like that.’

  Amy looked straight at Scott. ‘But you know.’

  ‘About Singapore?’ Scott asked. ‘Nope.’

  ‘Not Singapore. I mean what happened at Weeping Reef.’

  Kate wondered what she was missing and looked around at the others. Willa was looking startled—everyone else confused.

  Scott half sighed, half laughed, winced. ‘I think we all know what happened at Weeping Reef.’

  ‘I knew he’d told you. You know—at Willa’s party—when you said that…that thing about a gentleman never telling a lady’s secrets.’

  Nobody spoke.

  ‘Amy,’ Scott said into the awkward pause, ‘if you think I have a lady’s secret to tell—one that doesn’t involve me getting up to no good with a hooker called Lorelei…’ He waited while everyone at the table except a cringing Kate and a startled-looking Amy laughed. ‘Then please fill me in. Otherwise I’m going to go and fulfil my obligation to that clutch of hens—or flock, or brood, or whatever the hell a group of chickens is called. The ones who donated a chair to our cause when I first arrived.’

  He waited, watching Amy, who was blinking, stunned.

  ‘Right, I’ll take that as a no, then,’ he said, and stood. ‘Give me fifteen minutes,’ he said to the group at large.

  ‘Yeah—as if!’ Jessica said as he was sucked into the crowd. ‘It will only take him five minutes, max, to sort out his next one-night stand. He has the gift.’

  But Amy was looking at Willa, dazed and confused. ‘Luke really didn’t…?’

  Willa slid off Rob’s lap and into Scott’s vacated chair, right next to Amy, and took Amy’s hand. ‘No, Amy. He really didn’t.’

  ‘Well…wow!’ Amy said.

  Brodie turned to Kate. ‘We seem to be a little out of this loop, Kate. Shall we join the few brave souls venturing onto the dance floor?’

  Kate had a feeling Scott wouldn’t like her dancing with Brodie.

  But, then again, Scott was in the process of picking up a drunken bed partner on a hen night.

  And he’d told Brodie she was all his.

  And Scott didn’t love her.

  And he never would.

  And she wanted to die.

  What was one dance stacked against all that?

  ‘Sure,’ she said.

  Brodie led her onto the small dance floor. Without any hesitation—and completely ignoring the fact that every other couple on the floor was dancing without touching—he took Kate in his arms.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Brodie asked, without preamble.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You and Scott. Am I going to get my teeth smashed in for dancing with you?’

  ‘No. But I don’t think the threat of that scares you or you wouldn’t have asked me to dance, would you?’

  No answer. He simply pulled her a little closer.

  ‘So, Brodie, why did you ask me to dance?’

  ‘Because I love Scott.’

  ‘I don’t—’

  ‘And don’t tell me you don’t know what I mean, because you do.’

  There was a pause as she silently acknowledged the truth of that. ‘He won’t care that I’m dancing with you. He’s not the jealous type. Not with me anyway.’ She sighed and settled her head on Brodie’s comfortable shoulder. ‘We’re not…meant.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Kate ran through the reasons in her head and chose the least painful one she could think of. ‘For a start, he’s too young for me.’

  She heard the laugh rumble through Brodie’s chest. ‘Scott hasn’t been too young since he popped out of the womb—when he no doubt emerged not crying, just calmly looking around and wondering how to get fed without having to ask for help.’

  Kate choked on a sudden giggle. ‘That does sound like him.’

  ‘Yep—everything calculated, everything his way, no drama, no demands, keep your
distance. He has more self-control than anyone I’ve ever met. Too much.’ Pause. ‘I’ve only ever seen him lose it once.’

  ‘I know about Chantal,’ Kate said, looking up at him.

  ‘Yeah, I figured you did. And if he told you that—’

  ‘No,’ Kate interrupted. ‘He didn’t tell me. He doesn’t get personal. Not with me.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Yes, “ah”.’

  ‘But you want him to?’

  ‘What would be the point, when he’s off picking someone up for the night?’

  ‘Except that he’s not.’

  ‘Well, who knows?’

  ‘I do. Because if he was doing that he wouldn’t be heading this way looking like he’s about to deck me, would he?’

  ‘What?’ Kate squeaked, and Brodie spun them so she could see Scott as he approached.

  ‘I wonder if he’s about to cause the second scene of his life?’ Brodie asked, not seeming at all concerned. ‘Let’s hope so.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  SCOTT HAD NO IDEA what he was doing, but he was doing it anyway.

  He reached Kate and Brodie, then stood there like an idiot while he tried to contain the savage burst of possessiveness that was urging him to tear Kate out of Brodie’s arms. This was beyond that drunken punch at Weeping Reef. Because this wasn’t about Brodie, either as a love rival or as a Hugo substitute. This was about Kate and him. About wishing he did dance so it could be him dancing with her. Wishing it was him teaching her to sail. About hating himself because of all the things he wasn’t—but wanting to demand, anyway, what the hell she thought she was doing dancing with another man when she belonged to him.

  He barely noticed Brodie melting away as he reached for Kate, yanked her into his arms and kissed her. Right there on the dance floor. A scorching kiss, which he hoped said I want you, but suspected said something else. Something about need and desperation and all the things he didn’t want to risk.

  When he stopped, pulled back, looked down at her, she shivered. He felt it rip through him as though they were connected.

  ‘I think that qualifies as a PDA,’ she said.

  ‘That had nothing to do with affection. That kiss was not affectionate, Kate.’

  ‘That kiss is not going to lead to sex either.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘No. We have an appointment, and it’s not for tonight.’

  ‘We can negotiate, remember?’

  ‘You don’t negotiate. You do whatever the hell you want, whenever you want.’

  ‘That’s because your rules are stupid.’

  ‘You agreed to them.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have.’

  ‘But you did. And now you’ve gone and broken the confidentiality clause.’ She nodded towards their table. ‘Because your friends just saw you kiss me.’

  His only response was to grab her hand and drag her off the dance floor, out of the bar, into the night, around the corner into an alleyway that was only a step above Ellington Lane in terms of desolation. Without a word he took her in his arms again, kissed her almost savagely. He wanted her so much—so much.

  Her hands grabbed the front of his shirt, clutching fistfuls of it, anchoring her as she kissed him back, and he thought, Thank God. She wanted him. She still wanted him. Everything else would fall into place as long as that fact held. Because without it why would she keep seeing him?

  There was a burst of sound as the bar’s main doors opened, disgorging a group of people into the night, and sanity returned. The doors closed again. A low conversation, a trill of laughter from the departing patrons. Scott pulled back, waiting to see if he and Kate would be discovered, but the group passed by. All was quiet again.

  And Scott suddenly felt utterly, utterly miserable.

  He stepped away, shoved his hands in his hair, looked at Kate.

  ‘What was that about?’ she asked—as usual, going straight to the point in the way he just bloody loved.

  ‘I wanted to kiss you, that’s all.’ Could he sound any more defensive?

  ‘So what happens if I ask you—now—to come inside and dance with me, in public, in front of your friends?’

  Tight, fraught pause. Scott stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘I don’t dance.’

  ‘No, you don’t dance, do you? But that doesn’t mean I

  don’t, Scott, if I’m lucky enough to be asked. And I was dancing. Why did you drag me out here?’

  ‘Because—’ He broke off with a muffled curse.

  ‘Because… I was dancing with Brodie, perhaps?’

  One heavy heartbeat…two, three.

  And then, ‘Why is that a problem, Scott?’

  No answer. Because how could he explain without revealing everything that was wrong with him? All the reasons she would soon find someone better—whether it was Brodie or that barrister or someone else? How could he tell her that he needed to push it? Push it while he still had it in him to get over her when the inevitable happened?

  ‘Do you think I prefer him?’ Kate persisted.

  He shrugged as his hands dug a little deeper into his pockets. ‘If you do, that’s okay. Women…lots of women…do.’

  He said the words but his heart was threatening to leap into his brain and cut off his blood supply, oxygen, his synapse control—everything. Because it wasn’t okay. It would kill him.

  ‘Not lots of women, Scott,’ she said. ‘Chantal. And that’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Chantal. The only woman who ever got to you. Enough to make you lose that prized control.’ Scott registered the fact that she knew about Chantal. Who’d told her? Did it even matter? He tested that in his brain. No, it didn’t. Because Chantal didn’t matter. It had been Brodie who’d mattered all those years ago, not Chantal. And now…only Kate mattered. Only Kate.

  ‘I’ll teach you to sail,’ he said, which was so far from an adequate response as to be classified as a non sequitur.

  ‘You don’t have a boat, remember? And I don’t have five thousand dollars since I ripped up your cheque—which, in case you’re too stupid to realise it, was only ever a Play Time prop. So no need to trade sailing lessons for my services like I’m a real prostitute. I’m already under contract. You’re getting the goods for free. Until the twenty-eighth, anyway.’

  She turned to walk away and his temper surged, hot and wild. His hands came out of his pockets and he grabbed her, spun her, gripping her upper arms, furious. ‘Don’t talk about yourself like that.’

  ‘Then stop making me feel like that by trading me to your friends,’ she shot back. ‘“She’s all yours.” Remember?’

  ‘All you have to do is tell him no. No, you’re not going sailing tomorrow. Tell him, Kate,’ Scott said, wanting to explode with the emotions churning in his gut, but hanging on…and on, and on.

  ‘I am going sailing tomorrow,’ she said. ‘As planned. Because he offered, without having to be shamed into it. But don’t worry, Scott. If anything happens between me and Brodie I’ll advise you. As I expect you to tell me if you hook up with one of those giggly hens. And that will be that, won’t it? Agreement null and void, as per the contract. Okay?’

  They stared at each other. Scott’s hands unclenched, slipped down her arms to her hands, held. The words were there in his chest. Not okay. Don’t do it to me. Don’t. Please, please don’t. Choking him.

  ‘Kate. Oh, God, Kate. I just—’

  But the bar doors opened again and Scott let go, stepped back, re-jamming his hands in his pockets at the sudden burst of sound. People were walking past, talking, laughing.

  And up popped his shield, like some automatic reflex. ‘Okay,’ he said.

  ‘Okay?’ she said, incredulous. And then, ‘Okay…’

  Her eyes closed.

  Long moment, and then she opened her eyes. ‘I don’t understand any of this. Why did you let Rob talk you into coming here when you knew I’d be here? It’s not what we’re about, is it? Drinks with friends?’

  ‘I wanted—’ S
top. Swallow. Confess. ‘I wanted to see you.’

  ‘You’re seeing me on Sunday. At noon. Remember?’

  ‘I remember. But who’ll be opening the door? Kate? Officer Cleary? Or Lorelei?’

  ‘Who do you want to see, Scott?’

  Silence. Because the answer had stuck in his throat. The way words always did.

  He saw her shoulders slump, as if she was defeated. Knew he wasn’t handling this. Wasn’t handling her. Wasn’t handling anything.

  ‘Surprise me,’ he said, and forced a smile. His I’m cool with that smile.

  Except he wasn’t cool with it. He wanted her to call him on what he’d said. To fight with him. Rage at him. Slap him if she had to. To demand more. More! To tell him that she deserved more and she wanted more. And she wanted it from him. To say, So step up to the plate, Scott Knight, and if you can’t give it to me I’ll find it somewhere else. I’ll find someone else. Someone…else.

  Say it—say it, Kate. You want someone else. Say it!

  But she gave him smile for cool smile instead. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll make sure it’s memorable for you.’

  And then she patted her hair into place. Twitched at her dress.

  ‘But now I’m going to go back inside to get my things. I’ve had a big week. A bad week. And I need to go home.’

  He wanted to take her hands again, but he couldn’t seem to get them out of his pockets. ‘Tell me. What happened with the case?’

  She looked at him. And the tears in her eyes almost undid him. But when she spoke her voice was like crystal. Clear and smooth and cold.

  ‘No fireside chats, remember?’

  ‘But I—’

  ‘Stop, Scott. Just stop. I came out to relax with a few girlfriends and instead I’m standing in a dark alley with a man who’s not saying anything that makes sense. I just want to go in, pay my bill, grab my things and leave. You go back to that hen party, and text me before Sunday if you’ve been unfaithful.’ Short, strange laugh. ‘How quaint that sounds. Let’s say, instead, if you’ve adhered to the clause.’

  And with that, she stalked out of the alleyway.

  By the time Scott had himself enough under control to return to the table, Kate had been and gone.

  He picked up the fresh beer that was waiting for him because Brodie, who had his back like in the old days, had known he’d need one.