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

He kissed her.

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ude699323-210e-5ea0-b3a7-7fc68b14d887)

SCOTT WAS STILL kissing her as he backed her into the apartment and kicked the door closed.

And Kate really wished he didn’t have the ability to turn her to mush—because she’d wanted to be the one closing the door. Slamming it. Right in his face.

Because…because… Well, because how dared he make tonight the first date in his life that wasn’t ending with sex? Not that it was a date, but still!

Pride might have forced her to laugh it off out there in the car, but she was furious. His first date not to end in sex and it was her? On this night of all nights? An important night he’d shared with her? A night when he’d finally shared something?

Yep—one hundred per cent furious.

But with Scott kissing her as though he wanted to suck her right into his soul, she felt the anger drain away. Because she could feel that it was more than a kiss. There was something there—something he wanted from her that he couldn’t, wouldn’t, articulate. Something that made her ache for him, long for him.

‘Scott, what’s wrong?’ she asked when he broke away to take a breath. ‘Tell me. Please tell me.’

But he kissed her again. ‘Just let me…’ he said. Kiss. ‘I want…’ Kiss. ‘I just…’

He didn’t finish those sentences. Kate wondered if he’d even finished them in his own head. Because he kept kissing her, for the longest time, as though there were no thoughts, just the kissing.

And for tonight, she decided, it was enough.

‘Come with me,’ Kate said, and led him to the bedroom.

Scott undressed her. First, the cheongsam—falling to the floor in a purple crumple. Next came her underwear. Her most expensive, coffee-coloured silk and lace, removed like an inconvenience. She smiled, remembering the excitement with which she’d donned that underwear, thinking to drive him wild tonight—and now he just didn’t care.

He reached into her hair, gently removed the remaining pins, tossed them to the floor. Ran his fingers through the red mass of it, seemingly more interested in her hair than the sight of her naked body.

It felt strange…and thrilling. The way his eyes stayed on her face, her hair.

‘Take my clothes off,’ he said, and his voice was a throb.

Kate chose first to put her mouth on his, to let it cling there. She took a moment to snuggle against him, feeling both vulnerable and wicked as his arms closed around her and she was held, naked, against his fully clothed body.

Not until he started to shake did she step back, slipping her hands under his jacket, over his shoulders, smoothing it back and off so that it dropped to the floor behind him. Next came his shirt buttons, slipped through their holes as Scott breathed out a long, slow prayer of a breath. Then she eased his cufflinks out.

They looked expensive, so she glanced towards her dressing table, thinking to put them somewhere safe—but Scott stopped her before she could step away.

‘Don’t leave,’ he said.

‘But I only—’

He took the cufflinks from her and tossed them over his shoulder as though they were no more valuable than her hairpins. He didn’t even blink as they hit the wall.

Kate slid the shirt from his body, stopped to kiss him again, her breasts against his chest, almost moaning at how wonderful that felt.

Next, she undid his pants. Eased them down. Knelt at his feet, unbuckled his shoes. She paused, rose on her knees. Perfect position for taking him in her mouth. She wanted to do that so badly.

But Scott, reading her mind, drew her up. ‘Not tonight,’ he said.

A minute later his shoes were off, his pants and underwear kicked away, and she was back in his arms, being held against him, while his hands smoothed down her back, over and over, as he breathed her in, his mouth against her hair. ‘Kate…’ he said. ‘Kate.’

But Kate didn’t think he even knew he was saying her name. He seemed to be in a kind of trance.

So she let him lead her to the bed, let him pull the covers back, draw her gently down beside him. He kissed her again, so softly. And then he eased slowly back, taking Kate with him. Wrapped her in his arms. Kissed her eyelids, her mouth, her neck, nuzzled into her hair.

She simply held him, opening to him in any way he wanted. Even the simple act of sliding a condom onto him, his hands lightly covering hers while she did it, seemed like a sensual discovery.

And when at last he positioned her beneath him and slid inside her welcoming heat, it was as though his body sighed and relaxed and just…was. For the longest moment he stayed still, taking her face between his hands, laying his mouth on hers, kissing her with an intensity that pierced through to her burning heart.

Tears started to Kate’s eyes and she didn’t even know why. She closed her eyes, knowing it would change things if he saw her cry. And she wouldn’t have changed this slow, sweet loving for anything.

She knew what was happening, and she wanted it. She was giving herself to him: I’m here, yours.

His. For tonight she was his. And Scott was hers. Hers alone. For tonight.

And when he spilled himself inside her, with a gasping, luscious groan into the mouth he was kissing so deeply, Kate held him tight, so tightly against her, and wrapped her legs around him, let herself join him in her own flowering release.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered into her ear.

For what? she wanted to ask, but she dared not break the spell by seeking answers he wouldn’t give.

And in any case Scott was holding her close, kissing the top of her head, stroking her back. And it really was enough.

So beautiful… Soothing… Lovely…

Ahhhh…

When Kate woke early the next morning she turned, smiling, to face Scott—only to find his side of the bed empty.

A quick walk through the apartment showed that all he’d left behind was a note, on the kitchen bench.

Saturday night?

S

Two words. One question mark. One initial.

Which brought home to Kate that last night had been just…well, just last night.

He hadn’t stayed until morning, the way she’d thought he might. She wouldn’t see him tonight, the way she’d hoped. And their relationship hadn’t metamorphosed into anything other than what it was: contractual sex.

Which brought her to Saturday night. Yes or no?

She sighed as she looked at the calendar on her fridge. Today was Friday the thirteenth—hopefully that wasn’t an omen!—and Saturday, tomorrow, was…

Oh.