between them before they’d become lovers.
Brodie had simply disappeared.
And Scott had missed him every single day. He still missed him.
The fight seemed so stupid, looking back. But that was what happened when you combined too many beers and too much unseasoned testosterone.
Chantal was just a girl—albeit it a smart, beautiful, wonderful girl—and what they’d had was a romance of proximity. They’d arrived at the resort before the others, and everyone had automatically assumed they were an item because they looked perfect together. A default relationship. With occasional sex that had been fun but hardly earth-shattering.
The fight hadn’t been about Chantal. Scott knew that with hindsight. That fight had been all about him. About never being quite good enough to win the prize. Never being quite good enough to be the prize.
At least he’d learned from the experience. Learned not to trust. Learned to take control of his emotions and hang on to that control at all costs. Learned to keep his pride intact. Learned not to care too deeply. About friends…or lovers.
Now, if only he could work out how to deal with the restlessness that had followed him ever since, he’d be happy. But it was as if he was in a constant battle with himself: let go and just be; don’t ever let go; let go; don’t let go; just be…
‘Couldn’t you sleep?’
The soft question from behind him startled him out of his heavy thoughts. Scott took a moment to school his features. And then he turned, dialled up a smile—one that was a little bit naughty, a little bit sex me up—which he routinely used on women he’d just laid.
Kate was wearing a loose, light dressing gown, and looked tousled and natural and lovely.
‘You wore me out, Katie,’ he said. ‘I needed fuel, so I made myself an omelette. I’ll make one for you too—because if you tell me I didn’t wear you out in return, I’ll die of shame.’
She chuckled. ‘Oh, I’m worn out, I promise. We’re equal.’
She came over to stand beside him and he found himself drawing her close, tucking her against his side, under his arm.
‘I think that qualifies as a PDA,’ Kate said.
‘We’re not in public, so how can it?’
He felt her sigh at his dodge-master answer but she didn’t say anything, so he kept her there, under his arm. It was…restful, somehow.
‘I love this view,’ she said after a long moment.
‘Best harbour in the world.’
‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘But it’s more about the boats for me. The thought of sailing away from your troubles, beginning a wonderful adventure. The freedom of it. I’ve often dreamt about stealing a yacht and just going.’
She must have felt the slight jerk he gave, because she turned her face up to his, frowning.
‘What?’
‘A lawyer? Stealing? Sacré bleu.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Yes, but that’s not really it, is it?’
Pause. And then he laughed—even managing to make it sound natural. ‘What you said just reminded me of my own sailing adventures, that’s all. And not that I want to burst your bubble, but reality will bite you on the arse wherever you are.’
‘Ah, of course—I forgot you were a sailing instructor at Weeping Reef. You and the other guy I haven’t met yet. Brodie?’
That was all it took for Scott to tense up. Brodie’s name coming out of Kate’s mouth. He didn’t want to talk about Brodie. It was too personal, too…raw. God, still.
‘So what part of it bit you?’ Kate asked.
‘Let’s just say I was too young to appreciate the experience,’ he said, and forced himself to smile down at her. This smile meant go no further—and he didn’t have to use it often because he didn’t let people get close enough to push his buttons.
‘And, no,’ he added quickly, thinking to nip in the bud any other question she might have brewing, ‘that’s not an invitation to tell me I’m still too young. I’m old enough to have made the sensible choice: sail back to Sydney, go to university, become an architect. All grown-up—just like you. Now, are you ready for your omelette?’
He could sense her slight hesitancy. Another question.? A comment.? But Kate finally shrugged, smiled. And thankfully gave up.
‘How lucky am I?’ she said. ‘A man who sizzles in bed and in the kitchen.’
‘I like cooking—the orderliness of it. You put a set number of ingredients together and, as long as you combine them in the right order, they come out at the other end in perfect formation.’
Kate grimaced. ‘My cooking doesn’t do that!’
‘Mine does. I insist on it.’
He leaned down and kissed her.
‘No kissing,’ Kate said, pulling away awkwardly after a moment. ‘Not outside of sex. Remember the rules.’
‘Oh, yeah, the rules.’
Well, Scott happened to think parts of her contract were ridiculous, as well as not being legally enforceable. So not only was he not going to be controlled by her rules, he was going to enjoy flouting them. The kissing clause was a case in point. He liked kissing Kate, so he was going to keep kissing her. Simple.
‘You know, Katie, a kiss isn’t a declaration of honourable intentions, if that’s what’s bothering you. I assure you my intentions are still entirely dishonourable—so relax. It shouldn’t surprise you, as the owner of that sexy-as-hell mouth, that men want to kiss it.’
‘But—’
Scott swooped before she could get another word out, kissing her again, drawing from the deep well of expertise he’d amassed during an impressive career of seduction. And this time it took her longer to pull away.
‘Scott!’
‘Hey, this is pre-contract,’ he argued. ‘We’re still on payback sex, by my reckoning.’
‘I owed you one orgasm. And I paid that back on the dining room chair. We’re on the clock now—and I can’t believe you’re blurring the rules on day one.’
‘Then if it makes you feel better,’ he said, grabbing her hands and pulling her in close, ‘this kiss is going to lead to sex.’
And with that, he lowered his head once more, put his mouth on hers. He felt her melt, melt, melting into him. That was control. He would control this. Control her through her precious contract. Take what he wanted when he wanted it with a clear conscience and no hard feelings when they said goodbye at the end. He’d finally achieved perfection in a relationship!
Not that this was a relationship.
Scott nudged her legs apart, settled himself between them, thrust against her. ‘See? I’m ready for you already.’
‘Is that perma-erection of yours a benefit of youth?’ she asked, leaning into him.
‘I could be a hundred years old and five days dead and still want you, Katie,’ he said in return. ‘Let’s go to bed and I’ll show you how much. And then I’ll make you an omelette before I head home.’
KATE DIDN’T KNOW if it was youthful vigour or if Scott just had more testosterone than the average man, but he’d been at her apartment nine nights