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.
Clearing of the throat. ‘Actually, I’m not much of a dancer, Kate.’
‘That’s all right, neither am I.’
‘No—I mean I don’t. Dance. Ever.’
She seemed startled by that. ‘You mean you never have?’
He checked his watch. ‘I was thinking… It’s late. I should get you home. You’ve suffered enough.’
Kate was watching him. Curious, a little wary. She seemed on the verge of asking something… But then she gave her head a tiny shake and said, ‘Sure.’
Scott was silent on the drive to Kate’s. Because the tension he’d been feeling all the way up to the announcement of his win was back. Tenfold. And it must have rubbed off on Kate because she was silent too, staring through the windscreen.
He pulled up outside her building and Kate unbuckled her seat belt. Then she just sat there, looking at him, waiting for him to turn off the ignition.
‘Aren’t you coming up?’ she asked at last.
‘I thought…it’s late… I thought…’
‘I thought you said all your dates ended with sex?’
Silence. Awkward.
‘Ah, but not tonight,’ Kate said. ‘Well, we only specified two nights a week, didn’t we? And we’ve hit that target. But, just so you know, slave girl ends now.’
With that throaty laugh he loved a little too much, she opened the car door and got out. But then she leaned down to look in at him. ‘Congratulations again, Scott. That was some house you designed.’
‘Thanks. And…and…’ Shrug. ‘Goodnight, Kate.’
Door closed.
Night over.
Thank God.
Scott drove off, up the street, around the corner, heading home.
Ordinarily he would have helped his date out of the car. That was what he always did, because that was the gentlemanly thing.
Ordinarily he would have walked his date to her front door—again, gentlemanly.
Ordinarily he would have followed his date inside, all the way into her bed. Gentlemanly? No. But expected. On both sides.
Ordinarily.
But with Kate…?
Well, it wasn’t a date.
It was supposed to have been just an easy fix for the night. Because he really hadn’t felt like going the black-book route and he really hadn’t wanted to do the sexual brush-off at the end—which he definitely would have done, because fidelity really was a sticking point for him and he really wasn’t interested in having sex with anyone except Kate. For now, he added, just to be clear on that. And, aside from all of that, it had been fun to manipulate Kate’s rules by negotiating her role tonight as part of Play Time.
An easy fix, a non-date, a fun manipulation.
But it had turned into something…else.
Because with her there, the award had been somehow more important than it should have been—and that had surprised him.
Because Hugo had tried to show off to her and she hadn’t thought he was anything special—in fact, she’d thought he was a little bit ridiculous.
Because they’d laughed together like…like that.
Because she’d had to go and get all proud and lovely about his award.
None of which had anything to do with the end-game.
And it was the end-game he wanted—not the something…else.
So it was best to re-establish some distance between them before he had sex with Kate again. And as for walking her to her front door…? He just hadn’t trusted himself to get that far and no further. Not with her.
Anyway, it wasn’t as if she was his responsibility. He didn’t have to usher her protectively behind locked doors. She wasn’t some vulnerable girl who couldn’t take care of herself. She could take care of herself. She wanted to take care of herself. She’d been arriving home from all kinds of dates—and this wasn’t even a date—for years. She’d laughed when he’d insisted on going to her door to pick her up tonight. She hadn’t looked at all put out that he wasn’t getting out of the car to walk her to her door at the end of the night. She didn’t want that kind of attention. She didn’t need—
Oh, dammit to hell!
Swearing fluently