The Complete Red-Hot Collection. Kelly Hunter

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СКАЧАТЬ had never had so much sex in her life! Or so few answers.

      And the upshot was that she wanted to know…well, everything!

      She was even insanely curious about what Scott would be wearing tonight—something she’d never, ever contemplated ahead of dates with other men…not that this was a date. How ridiculous was that? It was a black-tie event: ergo, Scott would be in black tie. No need to be curious because all men looked pretty much the same in black tie.

      A thought that went straight out of her head—along with the rest of her grey matter—when she opened the door to him and her heart did a thudding swoon.

      He was just so gorgeous.

      Tux in navy blue. Formal shirt in black, not white. He’d forgone the bow tie. Shoes that were buckled, not laced. He looked modern and edgy and scrumptious. Exactly the way an award-winning architect should look.

      ‘Wow!’ she said, after a moment of stunned silence.

      ‘Wow yourself!’ he responded, and kissed her. ‘I wish I’d come over after the game last night, because now I think I’m suffering withdrawal symptoms. I don’t know how I’m going to keep my hands off you during dinner.’

      And as Kate’s heart swooned again—at the kiss, at his words—she wondered if she could invoke her first Play Time and whisk Scott off at some stage of the evening for some restroom sex. And she’d never wanted to try that before.

      Scott took her hand—hmm, PDA or just giving her some support for her five-inch heels?—and didn’t let go until they reached his car. When Kate did a double-take, because it was a red Mini—not at all what she would have expected. Not that she’d given a lot of thought to what car Scott would drive, but shouldn’t it be a little less…well, cute? A little more macho? Like maybe a black off-road truck. Something that did not remind her that he had a kitten-shaped birthmark she would love to see right that second.

      Scott opened the car door for her and helped her in before getting behind the wheel.

      ‘I hate these events,’ he said as he buckled his seat belt. ‘So thank you for not leaving me sad and dateless.’

      ‘I’m your slave, remember? I didn’t have a choice.’

      ‘Hey, yeah—I forgot!’ he said. ‘So in that case I would like a kiss for the road.’

      ‘Your wish…my command,’ Kate said, and leaned over to give him a steamy, lingering kiss. Even though that kiss was not going to lead to sex. Uh-oh. She was getting as bad as him.

      But at least he was looking suitably scorched when she eased back.

      ‘Definitely not going to keep my hands off you during dinner,’ Scott said fervently.

      Kate laughed. ‘Not that I believe for a moment that a phone call to the first name in your little black book wouldn’t have snagged you a date.’

      ‘Not wishing to sound like an egomaniac, but that is true. The fidelity clause, however, is a killer,’ he said. ‘How ungallant it would have been, beating off my lascivious companion at the end of the night.’

      ‘You’re not telling me your dates always end in sex?’

      ‘Aren’t I?’

      Kate dutifully laughed—but the idea of him even thinking about sex with another woman was somehow unsettling. And the fact that it unsettled her was…well, that was unsettling too.

      ‘You’re the one who got fussy about that fidelity clause,’ she reminded him, aiming for a nonchalance she just couldn’t make herself feel. ‘If it’s a hardship to give up all those women out there panting for you, you only have to say the word.’

      ‘I’m not risking you ditching me that fast.’

      ‘Who says I’d ditch you? Maybe I wouldn’t care.’

      He shot her a curious look. ‘You honest-to-God wouldn’t have minded if I’d done the deed elsewhere tonight?’

      ‘We’ll never know, will we?’

      ‘Yeah—not buying it,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t have liked it. And—just to remind you—I definitely would mind, so no going there for you.’ Quick, cheeky grin at her. ‘Not that you need to.’

      ‘Oh, the confidence of youth.’

      Another grin. ‘Not youth—skill, Katie. And, for the record, it’s not that I couldn’t have resisted Anais—she’s the first A in my black book, by the way—because I could have. It’s that I didn’t want to hurt her feelings with a knockback she wouldn’t have been expecting. So, you see, you had to come to spare the poor girl’s feelings.’

      ‘Oh, so this is all about me doing Anais a favour!’

      ‘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.’

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