She took a quick breath. ‘Then, yes. That’s the answer. I did. I told him.’
Scott’s hand fisted, banged on the table, and Kate flinched.
‘Why?’ The word shot out like a bullet.
‘Because he asked. As a friend.’
‘I can’t believe this.’ Scott shot to his feet, paced away, then back. ‘What the hell am I, Kate? I’ve been trying to talk to you about it for a week.’
He banged both fists on the table this time.
‘Tell me!’ Another bang. ‘Tell me, Kate, dammit!’
Kate’s heart had jumped right into her throat as his fists hit the table, and for a moment all she could do was stare at him. He looked a heartbeat away from breathing fire.
Out of control—at last.
And now she had to find words, when all she wanted to do was fling herself at him and wrap herself around him and beg him to let her love him, to love her back.
She realised she’d left it too long to speak when, cursing, Scott started to pace away again. One step…two.
‘Wait,’ she said, standing, grabbing his swinging arm so fast her chair toppled backwards. ‘I’ll tell you.’
He was shaking his head as he turned, wrenched his arm free. ‘Don’t bother, Kate. Just…just don’t. It’s too damned late.’
‘I’m representing the father,’ she rushed out. ‘Who’s been sitting on the sidelines going slowly out of his mind while his ex-wife’s new boyfriend slaps his three-year-old son around. Something he’s reported over and over and over. But nobody believes him. Because there’s been enough mud slung to cast all sorts of doubts about him. His little boy screams and begs every time he has to go back to his mother after a scheduled visit.’
Kate’s breaths were heaving in and out and she’d started to shake with the fury of it.
‘My client ended up so desperate he kidnapped his own child to protect him. And what did he get for caring like that? No more visits. At all. That’s what.’
Her throat was clogged and swollen. The injustice of it was raging out of her, even though she’d won. Why? Why did it still get to her? No answer—it just did. And it was all too much. The case… Scott…her damned life.
‘So you want to know why I didn’t tell you, Scott?’ she asked as the tears started. ‘Because you didn’t sign up for deep and meaningful, remember? And that’s deep and meaningful to me. I needed you. But how could I tell you? What could I say? When you said—made it clear— Oh, God. I can’t. I…can’t. I…’
But she couldn’t go on. She was choking on tears. And suddenly she gave in to them, sobbing into her hands.
And then she was in Scott’s arms, held tightly against his chest. ‘Shh, shh, Kate… I’m here.’
‘No, Scott, you’re not,’ she sobbed into his shoulder. ‘You’re not here. Your body’s here—that’s all. Just your body.’
She tried to pull away but Scott held on. ‘I’m not letting you go, Kate, so stop struggling.’
‘And if I do? If I stop struggling?’ She looked up at him. ‘Then what? You’ll ask me to spit out a few legal terms and take me to bed?’
‘Yes,’ he said simply.
‘That’s not enough,’ she cried, and buried her face in his shoulder again. ‘I want more.’
‘So do I. That’s why we’re rolling it over.’
‘No, Scott, we’re not.’
‘You just said you wanted more.’
‘Not more sex! More…more.’
‘I don’t— I don’t—’
‘No, you don’t’ she cut in, half-despair, half-rage, as she pulled out of his arms. ‘That’s the problem. Well, I’m not hanging in limbo any more, like a suspended piñata, waiting to have the crap beaten out of me.’
‘A piña—?’ He stopped. Incredulous. ‘I’m not beating anything out of you. I would never hurt you.’
‘Oh, you’re hurting me, all right.’
‘I’m not hurting you,’ Scott said furiously. ‘I won’t hurt you. You won’t hurt me. That’s the whole point!’
‘And I’m telling you—you are hurting me. Because I love you. And you don’t love me back.’
The shock of it was plain on his face. ‘You don’t love me. Kate, you know you don’t.’ Pleading, almost. ‘You can’t. You don’t want love.’
She laughed, shrugged, helpless.
Waves of panic were emanating from Scott. ‘You said you’d never give someone that kind of power over you.’
‘Except that now I would give it to you.’
‘Cynical. We’re both cynical. It’s what made us perfect. Makes us perfect.’
‘I’m not cynical, Scott. Or if I am it doesn’t last—not if I have someone…’ she swallowed ‘… someone who’ll say to me, “Shh, I’m here”, like you just did. Putting things right for people is what I do, what I want to do, even if sometimes it gets too much. And perfect…? I don’t want to be perfect. And I don’t want you to be perfect either. I want to be imperfect—with you. I want children who are perfect or imperfect—who are anything as long as they’re yours. And I want to say to you, Shh, I’m here, when things get too much for you. Because I’m in love with you. And I would do anything—anything—for you to love me.’
His eyes were wild. ‘I…can’t do this.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t. Do this.’
‘You loved Chantal. Why can’t you love me?’
‘I didn’t love Chantal, Kate. And I don’t blame her for choosing Brodie. I never did. Anyone would choose him.’
‘Not me. Because I chose you. I’m choosing you. No—it wasn’t even a choice. It just happened. Love. I didn’t even know I was waiting for it. But I was. I was waiting for the right man to come along. Then there you were. And suddenly you were mine. The perfect imperfect man. The right man for me. Uptight…beer not cocktails…hell, no, to dancing…sport and poker games…with a kitten on your backside…wearing a blue tux and driving a red Mini…baking for two little girls. How could I not love you? And now, Scott, I want us to just…just be.’
He was shaking his head. His face was white, stark fear in his eyes. ‘I’m not the right guy for anyone, Kate. I’m the “friends with benefits” guy, with a bulging black book. I’ve never had a relationship—don’t you see? Never! And there’s a reason for that—because I know what I’m good at. Sex—no strings. My speciality. I’ve got more tail than I know what to do with. That’s me. And I’m fine with that.’
It was like a punch direct to Kate’s heart, killing it—that was how it felt. As if her heart was dead. A swollen lump she wished she could rip out of her chest.
‘T-T-Tail?’ Kate stammered over the word, her teeth chattering with reaction.
He looked at her, all hard-eyed. ‘Tail,’ he repeated.
God, the ache of it. Crushing. Ravaging. ‘So here I am, opening myself to you, telling you I would move heaven and hell and everything in between—everything—to have you—you, Scott. Not Brodie, not Hugo, not Phillip, but you. And your response is to tell me I’m a piece of tail?’
He stood there like a block of granite, silent.
‘Right,’ she said, and swallowed. ‘Right.’ She looked blindly around, head spinning. ‘Right.’ Was the blood draining out of her? That was what it felt like. ‘Saturday is the twenty-eighth of February. End of contract. We’ve had one session this week—Sunday. And we have tonight. We’ll make this the last one, because I’m not inclined to negotiate any extras for the week. Cadit quaestio—a settlement for our dispute has been reached. Sex—once more—and the issue is resolved.’
‘It’s not resolved.’
Agony twisted through her. He didn’t love her, but he wouldn’t let her go either. ‘What more do you want from me?’
‘I want… I want…’ His hands were diving into his hair again. But no more words emerged.
Kate took an unsteady breath. ‘Well, given everything you’ve just said to me, and all the things you can’t seem to say, I finally know what I
want. I want out. I’m saying no to the rollover option. No to everything.’
‘You can’t do that.’
‘Now, you see, you should have read the contract when I told you to. Because I can do that. I am doing that. I’m not going to turn into one of those bitter people I see in court—hating you, trying to punish you because you don’t love me or need me the way I love and need you. If you don’t love me then I don’t want you.’
‘You do want me. I know you do.’
Kate started removing her clothes.
‘What the hell—? Kate, what are you doing?’
‘Getting undressed.’ She was down to her underwear in record time. ‘I’m taking back my “Hugo” and we’re restarting Play Time. As I recall, it was a dining experience you offered me—you bent the fifty-fifty rule to get it…clever you. So I’ll get on top of the dining table, you can put those whoopie pies all over me, and then—’
But whatever she’d been about to say was whoomped out of her as Scott grabbed her by the arms. ‘You’re not lying on top of anything except my bed.’
She greeted that with a nice, brittle laugh. ‘How conservative of you.’
‘Yes, I am conservative. And I’m over all this Play Time stuff. I don’t want you on your knees in alleys, or stripping for me like a hooker, or blindfolding me like we’re in a B&D room, or any other kooky stuff.’
‘That’s exactly what you wanted—why do you think I was giving it to you?’
‘Well, I don’t want it now. Got it, Kate?’ He shook her, once. ‘Got it? I. Just. Want. You. As agreed. In bed. Okay?’
‘As agreed,’ she repeated. And the tears came. ‘No, Scott, it’s not okay.’
‘Why not? Why not, dammit?’
‘Because I love you. And loving you hurts like hell.’
He let her go, stepped back as though she’d struck him.
‘Come on, Scott. Look on the bright side. You never liked all those rules. Anais is going to make you a much more beneficial friend.’
‘I don’t want Anais.’
‘And after tonight I won’t want you. So here I am, offering you one last time. Take it…or leave it.’
‘They’re the only two options?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I’m taking it. Get on the table, Kate. Let’s say goodbye in style.’
Chapter Nineteen
SCOTT KNEW HE would never forget the sight of Kate lying on his dining table, letting him take her as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.
He’d been so sure she would stop crying. That he could make her stop crying with the power of his depthless passion for her. But even as she’d succumbed to his body, as she’d soared with him into orgasm, her tears had kept coming…slow and silent.
Scott had been frantic. Scooping her off the table afterwards into his arms, holding her against his shaking body.
Wordless, she’d tried to leave. But he’d whispered that he wanted more, that he needed more. So she’d let him carry her upstairs to his bed. He’d kissed her for what felt like forever. But the tears had just kept coming. And even hating himself for her pain and his own desperation, he hadn’t been able to let her go.
He’d watched her as she slept. The frown on her face. The tear tracks. The divine mouth, swollen from the way he’d devoured her.
She hadn’t spoken one word to him—not since that last, ‘Take it…or leave it.’
And he’d taken it, all right. Taken, taken, taken. Hoping, selfishly, to sate himself at last. Hoping he would wake up and not want her any more. Hoping he’d be able to let her go in the morning.
But when he’d woken she was already gone and he’d had no choice to make; she’d made the choice for both of them.
He hated his bed—because she wasn’t in it.
So he went downstairs.
Where he decided he hated his house—because she wasn’t there.
In the dining room were the girls’ glittery boxes, waiting to be filled with whoopie pies. But the whoopie pies were nothing but a heap of broken biscuit and smeared cream on the floor, surrounded by shards of shattered plate. The plate he’d shoved off the table in his urgency to get to Kate.
As he looked at the mess and remembered how joyful he’d been, waiting for Kate to arrive, it hit him that what he hated most of all was his life—because she’d walked out of it.
And ringing in his ears, over and over, were her words. ‘I would move heaven and hell to have you.’
That was just so…her. Direct. Laying the argument out. Fighting to win. The way she always fought. To the death. To win the prize.
To win…the prize…
His breath hitched as he repeated that in his head. Fighting to win the prize.
The prize—her prize—was…him.
His heart started to thump. Loud, heavy, dull.
Why was he so scared about being her prize when she was everything that was wonderful? When she wasn’t scared to claim him even though he wasn’t anything wonderful at all?
But wasn’t that exactly it? That time on her terrace, when they’d talked about love, she’d said that real love—of any kind—gloried especially in a person’s flaws. She’d told him last night that she wanted to be imperfect…with him. She wanted them to just…be.
She knew everything. Chantal, Brodie, Hugo, his parents. Knew about all the times he’d lost. Had been with him when he’d finally won. She’d seen the very worst of him—because, God, he’d shown it to her—and she loved him anyway. He didn’t have to be perfect. He just had to…be.
Eyes stinging.
She’d said she would move heaven and hell to have him.
Chest aching.
That had to make him the best man in the world. Not second-best—the best.
Sweat ran down his back.
There might be smarter men, funnier men, better-looking men, more successful men, easier men—but not for Kate.
Breaths coming short and hard.
She would move heaven and freaking hell for him.
Whole body throbbing.
Exactly what he would do for her. Move heaven and hell.
Because she was his. Only his. And he wanted, at last, to reach for the prize, to claim the prize for himself—the only prize worth having. Kate.
The simplicity of that, the peace of it, burst in his head and dazzled him—but then the enormity of what he’d done to her, what he’d said, hit him and he staggered, grabbing for the closest chair.
Was it even possible to fix what he’d done?
Terrified, he grabbed his phone, called her mobile.
No answer.
Called her office.
Got Deb. Who had only two words for him: ‘Drop dead!’
He emailed Kate. Texted. Called her again.
He risked the wrath of Deb and called her again. Three words this time: ‘Drop dead, arsehole.’
So he tracked down Shay, because for sure Kate would have told her sister—she was a Cleary, not a Knight, and they were close—and maybe he could grovel by proxy.
And, yep—she’d told her sister, all right.
Dropping dead would have been a kindness compared to what Shay told him to do to himself, with a casual reference to Gus and Aristotle throwing knives at his corpse wrapped around a collection of four-letter words. She followed that up by telling him the most diabolical thing he could possibly hear. That Kate had never been in love before—but she was a Cleary, so that wouldn’t stop her from ripping the love out of her heart and stomping it to a violent death. The Cleary way: fight like the devil—but when you lose, move on. No second chances. No going back.
Shaken, Scott hung up and did the manly thing.
He called Brodie and suggested they get drunk.
It was only beer number one but Scott didn’t mince his words. There was no time to wait for the anaesthetising effects of booze. No time for tiptoeing.
‘I’m in trouble,’ he said.
Brodie took that with equanimity. ‘I think what
you mean is I’m in love.’
‘Yep,’ Scott said, and swallowed a mouthful of beer.
Brodie took his own long, thoughtful sip. ‘I don’t see the problem—unless she doesn’t love you back.’
‘She said she does.’
‘And the problem, therefore, is…?’
‘I told her I had more tail than I knew what to do with.’ He grimaced. ‘And that that was how I wanted it to stay.’
Brodie said an enlightening, ‘Aha…’
‘Well?’ Scott demanded belligerently.
‘Well, basically…’ Pause for a swig of beer. ‘You are an idiot.’
‘Yeah, but what do I do?’
‘Call her.’
‘Tried. All day. Tried everyone. Her…her office…her sister. Her assistant told me to drop dead. And I won’t tell you what her sister told me to do with myself because it’s anatomically impossible but will still make your eyes water. I tried Willa. Then Amy. Just subtly, to see if they knew where she was going to be tonight. At least they don’t seem to have any idea there was anything between us, so I haven’t ruined that for her.’
There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Brodie hooted out a laugh. ‘Are you kidding me? Nobody who saw you kiss Kate on that dance floor is in any doubt that you’re a goner. The bartender knew, you moron.’
‘Well, why didn’t I know?’
‘Idiot, remember?’
‘So what the hell am I going to do?’
Long, thoughtful pause. ‘Scott, I’m going to share something with you, even though you don’t deserve it—you big clunk. Four words: From Here to Eternity.’
‘Huh?’
‘That night at the bar, before we got there, the girls were talking about their idea of romantic moments.’
‘And…what?’
‘Four scenarios were mentioned. One was Willa’s—so let’s discount that, because it was something financial.’
‘Yep, that’s Willa.’
‘Then there was one about rose petals being strewn around the bedroom.’
Scott snorted out a laugh. ‘God!’
‘Yep. You wouldn’t say that was Kate, would you?’
‘Er—no!’
The Millionaire's Proposition Page 16
