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‘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.’
CHAPTER SIX (#ude699323-210e-5ea0-b3a7-7fc68b14d887)
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 the upshot was that she wanted to know…well, everything!
She was even insanely curious about what Scott would be wearing tonight—something she’d never, ever contemplated ahead of dates with other men…not that this was a date. How ridiculous was that? It was a black-tie event: ergo, Scott would be in black tie. No need to be curious because all men looked pretty much the same in black tie.
A thought that went straight out of her head—along with the rest of her grey matter—when she opened the door to him and her heart did a thudding swoon.
He was just so gorgeous.
Tux in navy blue. Formal shirt in black, not white. He’d forgone the bow tie. Shoes that were buckled, not laced. He looked modern and edgy and scrumptious. Exactly the way an award-winning architect should look.
‘Wow!’ she said, after a moment of stunned silence.
‘Wow yourself!’ he responded, and kissed her. ‘I wish I’d come over after the game last night, because now I think I’m suffering withdrawal symptoms. I don’t know how I’m going to keep my hands off you during dinner.’
And as Kate’s heart swooned again—at the kiss, at his words—she wondered if she could invoke her first Play Time and whisk Scott off at some stage of the evening for some restroom sex. And she’d never wanted to try that before.
Scott took her hand—hmm, PDA or just giving her some support for her five-inch heels?—and didn’t let go until they reached his car. When Kate did a double-take, because it was a red Mini—not at all what she would have expected. Not that she’d given a lot of thought to what car Scott would drive, but shouldn’t it be a little less…well, cute? A little more macho? Like maybe a black off-road truck. Something that did not remind her that he had a kitten-shaped birthmark she would love to see right that second.
Scott opened the car door for her and helped her in before getting behind the wheel.
‘I hate these events,’ he said as he buckled his seat belt. ‘So thank you for not leaving me sad and dateless.’
‘I’m your slave, remember? I didn’t have a choice.’
‘Hey, yeah—I forgot!’ he said. ‘So in that case I would like a kiss for the road.’
‘Your wish…my command,’ Kate said, and leaned over to give him a steamy, lingering kiss. Even though that kiss was not going to lead to sex. Uh-oh. She was getting as bad as him.
But at least he was looking suitably scorched when she eased back.
‘Definitely not going to keep my hands off you during dinner,’ Scott said fervently.
Kate laughed. ‘Not that I believe for a moment that a phone call to the first name in your little black book wouldn’t have snagged you a date.’
‘Not wishing to sound like an egomaniac, but that is true. The fidelity clause, however, is a killer,’ he said. ‘How ungallant it would have been, beating off my lascivious companion at the end of the night.’
‘You’re not telling me your dates always end in sex?’
‘Aren’t I?’
Kate dutifully laughed—but the idea of him even thinking about sex with another woman was somehow unsettling. And the fact that it unsettled her was…well, that was unsettling too.
‘You’re the one who got fussy about that fidelity clause,’ she reminded him, aiming for a nonchalance she just couldn’t make herself feel. ‘If it’s a hardship to give up all those women out there panting for you, you only have to say the word.’
‘I’m not risking you ditching me that fast.’
‘Who says I’d ditch you? Maybe I wouldn’t care.’
He shot her a curious look. ‘You honest-to-God wouldn’t have minded if I’d done the deed elsewhere tonight?’
‘We’ll never know, will we?’
‘Yeah—not buying it,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t have liked it. And—just to remind you—I definitely would mind, so no going there for you.’ Quick, cheeky grin at her. ‘Not that you need to.’
‘Oh, the confidence of youth.’
Another grin. ‘Not youth—skill, Katie. And, for the record, it’s not that I couldn’t have resisted Anais—she’s the first A in my black book, by the way—because I could have. It’s that I didn’t want to hurt her feelings with a knockback she wouldn’t have been expecting. So, you see, you had to come to spare the poor girl’s feelings.’
‘Oh, so this is all about me doing Anais a favour!’
‘Well, you can’t deny you’ve got a soft spot for the oppressed.’
‘Has Willa been talking about my imminent canonisation again?’
‘Nope. I just know, Saint Kate. When you were on the phone two nights ago I sensed weeping aplenty and a fair amount of teeth-gnashing at the other end of the line—and I heard how you dealt with it.’ Scott reached for her hand, brought it to his mouth, kissed it. ‘All class.’
Kate, uncharacteristically flustered, had to swallow twice before she could force herself back into banter mode and once more to actually find her voice.
‘And poor Anais is oppressed how, exactly?’ she asked—and was relieved the question had come out light and amused.
‘All right, you got me,’ Scott said, rueful. ‘Anais is not oppressed. In fact, she tried to oppress me!’
‘You? Oppressed? Puh-lease.’
‘She did! Bondage and discipline. Ouch. Evil. I cried like a baby.’
Kate couldn’t help it. She laughed. ‘So that’s what I have to do to keep you in line, is it?’
‘No. I told you—I’m not into all that. All you have to do to keep me in line, Katie, is redirect your soft spot where it’s needed.’
‘And where would that be?’
‘Well, to me, obviously. Haven’t you been listening? I’m oppressed.’
‘You need a little more oppression,’ Kate said dryly, and when he laughed, sounding boyish and completely irresistible, she found herself wanting to kiss him again.
She decided a subject-change was required for her own sanity.
‘So, what are the chances of Silverston taking the prize tonight?’ she asked.
Scott waited a moment. ‘Did you look it up?’
‘Well, yes, of course. What kind of slave would I be if I didn’t know what award my master was up for? Creative Residential. Five finalists.’
‘I’m not expecting to win.’ He sounded offhand—but his hands had tightened on the steering wheel.
‘Why not?’ she asked.
A shrug, but no answer. Just one of those smiles that she thought he must have stacked up like a jukebox—pick one and play it.
‘I hope the food is good, because I’m starving,’ he said. ‘What’s the bet it’ll be smoked salmon out of a packet, followed by overdone steak with three vegetables on the side, then chocolate mousse?’
Which, of course, was not an answer. And it seemed she wasn’t going to get one, because Scott kept the conversation flowing around a host of boy subjects—which Kate suspected had been deliberately chosen—for the rest of the drive.
Sports results—please, kill her—action movies, gory television shows.
By the time they arrived at the five-star hotel where the event was being held, Scott had a new jukebox smile pasted on—a smile that said I’m here! No big deal!
But it became obvious very quickly to Kate that his arrival was, in fact, a very big deal—to everyone except him. As pre-event cocktails were served outside the ballroom people made their way to Scott in a steady stream, drawn as though by a magnet. But although Scott smiled, chatted, shook hands, kissed a score of female cheeks, he held everyone at bay…and they didn’t even realise he was doing it. He was effortlessly, carelessly charismatic, and people clearly wanted to be in his orbit, but he was essentially untouchable.
What the hell…?
Kate remembered what he’d said that day in her office. I don’t get hurt. She was starting to believe it was true. To get hurt you had to be close to someone. And dial-a-smile Scott wasn’t close. To anyone. The question was: why not?
‘Bored?’ Scott asked her, leaning in close.
‘No. Why?’
‘You were staring off into space.’
‘Oh, just…thinking. But not bored.’
‘Well, I’m bored. Slave or not, I’m going to have to think up a way to reward you for sacrificing your night to this tedium.’
‘Just win the prize,’ she said.
Instantly his eyes shuttered. ‘Hmmm.’
That was all he said. Hmmm.
What the hell…?
‘Have the organisers already notified the winners?’ Kate asked, puzzled. ‘Is that why you’re so sure you’re not going to win?’
‘No. It’s not—No.’
‘Then…what?’
One of those dismissive shrugs. ‘I just don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
‘Win. That’s the way it is, Katie.’ He looked over her shoulder. ‘Ah, the doors are opening. Let’s go in and try not to…’ His eyes widened, his voice trailed off. Then, ‘Damn,’ he said under his breath. ‘He is here.’
Kate turned to see what he was seeing. ‘What? Who? Oh! He looks like—’
‘Me.’
‘Only—’
‘Taller.’
‘Well, yes, but—’
‘Better-looking.’
‘I was going to say “older”.’
His eyes zoomed to her. ‘Are you going to tell me he’s more age-appropriate for a thirty-two-year-old? Because if you are—don’t. I’m not up to another discussion about my age.’
