The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection. Kelly Hunter

able to resist coming over in person to foreshadow his win.

      And Knightley would win.

      Because Hugo always won, even if he had to win via a third party like Waldo.

      When the Creative Residential category was announced Hugo looked directly at him. There was a tiny narrowing of his eyes, an oh-so-poignant smile—a look Scott had being seeing all his life. A look that said Sorry, I just can’t help it that I’m so much better than you, little brother. Even more insufferable than usual because Kate saw it. And, God, how he wished he could get her out of there so she didn’t have to see it again when he lost. Why, why, why had he brought her?

      Knightley was the second finalist announced. Pictures flashed up on the huge screen at the front of the room and—yes—it was a knockout. Hugo turned to clink glasses with Waldo, who had the grace to look uncomfortable about such precipitate celebration.

      Two more finalists.

      Then Scott’s name was announced. Silverston was being described in admiring detail and Kate turned to him, radiant, looking as if she was proud of him or something. She took his hand in hers as though that were entirely natural, held on.

      PDA, Scott wanted to say—but couldn’t get it out of his tight throat. This was embarrassing. He wasn’t going to win. Kate would be giving him one of Hugo’s pitying looks in a minute, and having her hold his hand while she did so would only make it harder to stomach.

      He wanted to disengage his hand, but couldn’t seem to let go. So he concentrated, instead, on making his hand go slack and dead. Let her interpret that. She’d be letting go of his hand any moment now. Any moment… Any…

      Nope.

      She wasn’t letting 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