‘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—’ Stop. 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.
‘Want to borrow my boat in the morning?’ Brodie asked.
Scott smiled—his all okay here smile. ‘No, I’m good. She’s all yours.’ Oh, God, no! He’d said it again. All yours.
‘I think we both know, Scott, that she’s all yours. But if you’ll take my advice you won’t take too long to claim her—because Kate doesn’t strike me as the type to wait forever.’
KATE WOKE ON Sunday with full-blown jitters.
Because she didn’t have a clue what she was going to offer Scott for Play Time at noon.
It was almost more than her tired, slightly sunburned body could manage just to get out of bed, let alone plan a fantasy, because yesterday’s sailing lesson had been the most full-on physical three hours she’d ever spent.
Sailing was as freeing, as exhilarating, as wonderful as she’d always thought it would be—with an excellent side benefit: all that hauling of sheets and dodging of booms, being ordered