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

He picked up his wine glass, took an urgent swallow. And then, eyes sliding away to some distant point, he cleared his throat.

Kate cleared her own throat, picked up her own wine glass, sipped. He heard the quick breath she took.

‘So…um…what’s it like?’ she asked, putting the words out hesitantly into the sudden, excruciating void.

Wine. He needed another sip. Took it. Put the glass down. ‘What’s what like?’

‘Knightley?’

Shrug. ‘I know as much as you do about Knightley. Just what I’ve seen on the awards website.’ He waved at someone across the room.

‘So it must be… Is it…? Is it brand-new, then? I mean that you haven’t seen it?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I just haven’t. Seen it, I mean.’

Their first course arrived, and Scott almost sagged with relief. He pasted on a cheerful smile, and at last he could look at her again. ‘Well, Kate—as you can see, I was on the money with the smoked salmon.’

From that point the seemingly endless procession of award presentations, cheesy entertainment and bland food courses proceeded exactly as Scott had expected. Except for one thing: a burning awareness of Kate beside him. Something he’d never felt with Anais or any of his other black-bookers at one of these insipid evenings.

And that bothered him.

Even the way she was captivating the architect on her other side was getting to him. Thank God Miles Smithers was sixty years old and happily married, or he’d probably want to smash the guy’s tee—

Whoa! Pull up. There was no thanking God required. Or teeth-smashing. It didn’t matter if Kate was captivating a sixty-year-old married architect or a thirty-two-year-old billionaire Greek god! If she was physically faithful she could captivate whomever the hell she wanted to captivate. None of his business.

And it wasn’t as though he was being a scintillating conversationalist himself. If not for Miles, Kate would be catatonic! He was being a first-class boor, barely grunting a reply when she asked him anything.

All because of that…that moment. That intense connection which he hadn’t bargained for and didn’t bloody well want.

Having Hugo sitting two tables away, already looking every inch the victor, wasn’t helping either.

Scott had known his brother wouldn’t be able to stay away tonight, wouldn’t be able to vacate the space, just for once, and let Scott occupy it. But he’d been anticipating a hand-wave and a superior nod across the room—that was their usual interaction. It must have been the sight of Kate that had prompted Hugo to dial it up a notch.

Kate. So glamorous and secure and beautiful. Out of his league. Which Hugo would have seen at a glance. So he probably should have guessed Hugo wouldn’t have been able to resist coming over in person to foreshadow his win.

And Knightley would win.

Because Hugo always won, even if he had to win via a third party like Waldo.

When the Creative Residential category was announced Hugo looked directly at him. There was a tiny narrowing of his eyes, an oh-so-poignant smile—a look Scott had being seeing all his life. A look that said Sorry, I just can’t help it that I’m so much better than you, little brother. Even more insufferable than usual because Kate saw it. And, God, how he wished he could get her out of there so she didn’t have to see it again when he lost. Why, why, why had he brought her?

Knightley was the second finalist announced. Pictures flashed up on the huge screen at the front of the room and—yes—it was a knockout. Hugo turned to clink glasses with Waldo, who had the grace to look uncomfortable about such precipitate celebration.

Two more finalists.

Then Scott’s name was announced. Silverston was being described in admiring detail and Kate turned to him, radiant, looking as if she was proud of him or something. She took his hand in hers as though that were entirely natural, held on.

PDA, Scott wanted to say—but couldn’t get it out of his tight throat. This was embarrassing. He wasn’t going to win. Kate would be giving him one of Hugo’s pitying looks in a minute, and having her hold his hand while she did so would only make it harder to stomach.

He wanted to disengage his hand, but couldn’t seem to let go. So he concentrated, instead, on making his hand go slack and dead. Let her interpret that. She’d be letting go of his hand any moment now. Any moment… Any…

Nope.

She wasn’t letting go. And everything was starting to blur in his head until he forgot why he shouldn’t be holding her hand.

Flashing images on the giant screen… The MC leaning into his microphone, saying something… A short blare of music… Spotlights swirling…

Scott found that, far from going slack and dead, his hand was gripping Kate’s. Hers was gripping right back.

And then she leaned in and kissed him briefly on the lips, and he thought, What?

And the applause was ringing out.

And the spotlight—it had stopped on him. It was shining on him. On him!

He blinked. Shook his head.

Kate laughed. Nodded.

And Scott knew. He’d won. He’d really won.

He was too shocked even to smile, let alone move. But Kate nudged him and somehow he got to his feet, started heading towards the stage—only to realise he was still holding Kate’s hand. He looked down at it, looked at her. She was laughing as she raised his hand to her lips, kissed it—the way he’d kissed hers in the car. And he needed exactly that, right at that moment. Exactly.

And then he was walking to the front of the room, up onto the stage.

‘Wow,’ he said when he got to the microphone. ‘Like…wow! Okay, this is like one of those moments where the award-winner says they never really expected to win…and then pulls out a just in case speech.’

General laughter.

Deep breath.

‘But I don’t have a just in case speech. So…so…um…thank you. I mean—to my client, to the team at Urban Sleek. The other finalists! So amazing. And…and Kate. Just…for…well. Thanks again. And…well, wow.’

Trophy in hand, Scott made his way back to the table, where Kate kissed him again, and he sat in a daze for the rest of the presentations, embarrassed at having given the worst speech in the history of all awards ceremonies everywhere in the world. But he’d just never expected to win. Why would he have prepared a speech? He never won. Never.

It wasn’t until the final award was being presented that he remembered Hugo. He looked over at Hugo’s table, saw his empty seat—bathroom visit?—and then forgot all about Hugo as formal proceedings gave way to the dancing and socialising part of the evening and what felt like a horde of people headed over to congratulate him.

He figured Kate must be longing to escape by the time the throng of well-wishers had dissipated, but when he opened his mouth to suggest they make a run for it, she smoothed a hand over his lapel and smiled at him—and his brain cells scrambled.

‘Don’t you think we should have a celebratory dance?’ she asked.

Scott looked from her to the dance floor, then back.

‘Scott?’ She smiled. ‘Dance?’

‘Er…’

Really? ‘Er…’ is the best you’ve got? Get it together.