‘It could do with a few of your mother’s paintings, but otherwise what do you think?’ Scott asked.
Mother. Her mother. Tell him, tell him. ‘Umm…’ She turned to him. ‘Ad coelum.’
Scott drew her in and kissed her eyelids. First one, then the other.
‘If you like it…aren’t you going to touch me?’ he asked, all husky.
Kate reached a hand up, cupped his face, ran her thumb over his cheekbone. ‘Want to know what it means?’ she asked.
‘Yes, as soon as you touch me again—you owe me for the living room.’
She brought up her other hand and now both hands cradled his face. She leaned up, kissed him gently on the mouth. And then she smiled into his eyes.
‘To the sky. It’s actually abbreviated from cuius est solum eius est usque ad coelum et ad inferos—which basically means whoever owns the soil owns that space, all the way up to heaven and down to hell. And this is just heavenly. Which seems apt for a converted church.’
‘You’ve got no idea how much you are turning me on, Kate.’
‘That’s the whole idea of Play Time, isn’t it?’
He frowned slightly, but said nothing. Simply took her arm and continued the tour.
Scott showed her all over the masterpiece that was the lower floor. And it was obvious why his renown as an architect was growing.
The huge arched panels of stained glass juxtaposed against the ultra-modern use of materials and neutral colours in most of the spaces were startling and lovely. The structure of the zones, flowing one into the next, was incredible. Scott’s stark office and the state-of-the-art kitchen and guest bathroom were top-notch contemporary. The surprising pops of colour, like the scarlet staircase and the chartreuse relaxation nook off a plant-filled atrium, were brilliantly eccentric. How could such disparate elements combine into something so blow-your-head-off gorgeous? But that was…Scott.
Kate had to concentrate hard in order to be able to spit out Latin legal phrases, only to have her thoughts scatter every time Scott chose a different part of her to kiss. It was agonising, this falling in love. Feeling it dig itself more deeply inside her with every gentle, lavishing touch of Scott’s fingers, his mouth, on her lips, her cheeks, her ears, her eyebrows—her damned eyebrows!—and her hair. Wishing so hard it meant something, the way his eyes closed, the way he held his breath as she touched him in turn. Shoulders, hands, neck, chest.
She was in torment by the time they circled back to the library, where Scott settled her with a drink while he finished preparing dinner. He was so jaunty as he left her—even whistling, as though he had everything he could possibly want.
But then, Scott did have everything he wanted. Exactly what he wanted. She was the one who didn’t have what she wanted. And she still had no idea how to get it—except to ask for it…and risk losing even the little of him she had.
Kate didn’t know how long had passed when Scott came to escort her through to the dining area. But she could feel time just generally slipping away. Four days until the twenty-eighth of February. When their contract would be terminated—or rolled over.
Scott held out a chair for her at the sleek wooden table and waited for her to sit.
‘You didn’t have to cook dinner,’ Kate said.
‘Well, you see, Kate, the fifty-fifty rule wasn’t working for me. So this—’ charming little shrug ‘—is my way of taking you to dinner. And before you tell me I’m breaking the rules, I’m going to remind you that extras are allowed in Play Time.’ He sat opposite her. ‘Cucumber soup. Perfect for a Sydney summer.’
But Kate was beyond taste as she silently filled her spoon, raised it to her mouth, swallowed. Time after time. Until her bowl was empty.
Scott—who’d done an excellent job of keeping up a flow of small talk—cleared the plates, then returned with something that looked so delicious Kate’s heart sank. He’d taken such care—but how was she supposed to eat it when her heart had swelled so gigantically it threatened to choke her?
‘Korean-style pork tenderloin with wild and brown rice pilaf and steamed pea pods,’ Scott announced.
As Kate doggedly forced the food down Scott explained a house design he was currently working on. Presumably she offered appropriate rejoinders, because he didn’t make an issue of her lack of vocal enthusiasm.
But then, why would he? It wasn’t conversation he wanted.
He cleared the plates a second time, and while he was gone Kate had a mini-meltdown, remembering her mother’s words. Make it romantic. How did a person turn a contract into something romantic? Move heaven and hell. How? What was the trigger? What would it take to make him love her?
And then he was back, carrying a tray. On the tray was a plate piled high with cookies of some kind and two exquisite boxes—one pink, one purple—decorated with fluttery fairies, shimmering with glitter, finished off with gauzy bows.
‘Whoopie pies,’ Scott said, depositing the tray in front of Kate and taking the seat beside her.
Unable to stop herself, Kate reached for one of the boxes, ran suddenly trembling fingers over the top, pulled the end of the ribbon through her fingertips.
‘Do you like those boxes?’ Scott asked.
She looked at him, said nothing.
‘They’re for Maeve and Molly. Because…’ He shrugged, blushed. ‘Well, you know… I spoke to them about baking whoopie pies and I… Well, since I didn’t know when I was going to see them again, and I was baking anyway, I thought they… Ah, hell, I thought they’d like them. That’s all. And I saw the boxes in a store near my office, so I…’ He cleared his throat. ‘I bought them. No big deal.’
Nice and defiant. Still blushing.
And everything surged in Kate—wrenching at her heart, racing through her blood, shattering every thought in her brain…flooding her with absolute crazy love. She was insanely, wildly in love with him.
She couldn’t pretend any more. Not for one more moment.
And the next moment of her life started precisely now.
‘Hugo,’ she said.
SCOTT REELED BACK in his chair. ‘What’s he got to do with anything?’
‘I don’t know, Scott. Why don’t you tell me what he has to do with you, with us, or indeed with anything? Because you’ve told me precious little so far. So—Hugo.’
‘Oh, I get it. Is this—? This is about…about Play Time. Stopping Play Time, right?’
‘Yes, Scott, it is.’
‘But…why? What was so bad? Do you want to…to go back and start again?’
‘No.’
He blinked. ‘Okay, then, let’s skip it altogether and just go upstairs and—’
‘Hugo,’ Kate said again.
He tried to smile, but didn’t nail it. ‘You don’t know what I was going to suggest.’
Kate didn’t bother even trying to smile. ‘The fact that you said we should go upstairs—to bed, no doubt—tells me all I need to know. It tells me we don’t have a relationship.’