The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection. Kelly Hunter

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      To win…the prize…

      His breath hitched as he repeated that in his head. Fighting to win the prize.

      The prize—her prize—was…him.

      His heart started to thump. Loud, heavy, dull.

      Why was he so scared about being her prize when she was everything that was wonderful? When she wasn’t scared to claim him even though he wasn’t anything wonderful at all?

      But wasn’t that exactly it? That time on her terrace, when they’d talked about love, she’d said that real love—of any kind—gloried especially in a person’s flaws. She’d told him last night that she wanted to be imperfect…with him. She wanted them to just…be.

      She knew everything. Chantal, Brodie, Hugo, his parents. Knew about all the times he’d lost. Had been with him when he’d finally won. She’d seen the very worst of him—because, God, he’d shown it to her—and she loved him anyway. He didn’t have to be perfect. He just had to…be.

      Eyes stinging.

      She’d said she would move heaven and hell to have him.

      Chest aching.

      That had to make him the best man in the world. Not second-best—the best.

      Sweat ran down his back.

      There might be smarter men, funnier men, better-looking men, more successful men, easier men—but not for Kate.

      Breaths coming short and hard.

      She would move heaven and freaking hell for him.

      Whole body throbbing.

      Exactly what he would do for her. Move heaven and hell.

      Because she was his. Only his. And he wanted, at last, to reach for the prize, to claim the prize for himself—the only prize worth having. Kate.

      The simplicity of that, the peace of it, burst in his head and dazzled him—but then the enormity of what he’d done to her, what he’d said, hit him and he staggered, grabbing for the closest chair.

      Was it even possible to fix what he’d done?

      Terrified, he grabbed his phone, called her mobile.

      No answer.

      Called her office.

      Got Deb. Who had only two words for him: ‘Drop dead!’

      He emailed Kate. Texted. Called her again.

      He risked the wrath of Deb and called her again. Three words this time: ‘Drop dead, arsehole.’

      So he tracked down Shay, because for sure Kate would have told her sister—she was a Cleary, not a Knight, and they were close—and maybe he could grovel by proxy.

      And, yep—she’d told her sister, all right.

      Dropping dead would have been a kindness compared to what Shay told him to do to himself, with a casual reference to Gus and Aristotle throwing knives at his corpse wrapped around a collection of four-letter words. She followed that up by telling him the most diabolical thing he could possibly hear. That Kate had never been in love before—but she was a Cleary, so that wouldn’t stop her from ripping the love out of her heart and stomping it to a violent death. The Cleary way: fight like the devil—but when you lose, move on. No second chances. No going back.

      Shaken, Scott hung up and did the manly thing.

      He called Brodie and suggested they get drunk.

      It was only beer number one but Scott didn’t mince his words. There was no time to wait for the anaesthetising effects of booze. No time for tiptoeing.

      ‘I’m in trouble,’ he said.

      Brodie took that with equanimity. ‘I think what you mean is I’m in love.’

      ‘Yep,’ Scott said, and swallowed a mouthful of beer.

      Brodie took his own long, thoughtful sip. ‘I don’t see the problem—unless she doesn’t love you back.’

      ‘She said she does.’

      ‘And the problem, therefore, is…?’

      ‘I told her I had more tail than I knew what to do with.’ He grimaced. ‘And that that was how I wanted it to stay.’

      Brodie said an enlightening, ‘Aha…’

      ‘Well?’ Scott demanded belligerently.

      ‘Well, basically…’ Pause for a swig of beer. ‘You are an idiot.’

      ‘Yeah, but what do I do?’

      ‘Call her.’

      ‘Tried. All day. Tried everyone. Her…her office…her sister. Her assistant told me to drop dead. And I won’t tell you what her sister told me to do with myself because it’s anatomically impossible but will still make your eyes water. I tried Willa. Then Amy. Just subtly, to see if they knew where she was going to be tonight. At least they don’t seem to have any idea there was anything between us, so I haven’t ruined that for her.’

      There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Brodie hooted out a laugh. ‘Are you kidding me? Nobody who saw you kiss Kate on that dance floor is in any doubt that you’re a goner. The bartender knew, you moron.’

      ‘Well, why didn’t I know?’

      ‘Idiot, remember?’

      ‘So what the hell am I going to do?’

      Long, thoughtful pause. ‘Scott, I’m going to share something with you, even though you don’t deserve it—you big clunk. Four words: From Here to Eternity.’

      ‘Huh?’

      ‘That night at the bar, before we got there, the girls were talking about their idea of romantic moments.’

      ‘And…what?’

      ‘Four scenarios were mentioned. One was Willa’s—so let’s discount that, because it was something financial.’

      ‘Yep, that’s Willa.’

      ‘Then there was one about rose petals being strewn around the bedroom.’

      Scott snorted out a laugh. ‘God!’

      ‘Yep. You wouldn’t say that was Kate, would you?’

      ‘Er—no!’

      ‘What about a knight on a white charger?’

      ‘What the—? I mean— What?’ СКАЧАТЬ