Red-Hot Summer: The Millionaire's Proposition / The Tycoon's Stowaway / The Spy Who Tamed Me

‘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.’