The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection. Kelly Hunter

new image popped into his head. Kate on her knees in that dark alley, going down on him. Refusing to allow him to touch her. Just leaving him there.

      Okay, so he hadn’t calmed down.

      He wouldn’t be calm until he spoke to her. Until he knew what was going on with her.

      He wouldn’t be calm until she was calm.

      Because he knew, knew, she wasn’t calm. He’d heard the worry in Deb’s voice. A child custody case. The kind that hit Kate the hardest. She would be stressed. And…and grieving. Interstate—on her own. With nobody to hold her and tell her it was going to be all right, even if it wasn’t. Just to be there. With her—for her.

      And then he stopped himself. She had a family to turn to. A large, loving family. She didn’t need him.

      Sex. No strings. That was what they had. She’d made that plain by responding to his voicemail messages with a text. She was going through hell…but for him she offered Play Time. Because that was the deal. He’d teased her that she was falling behind on the fantasies, so she was dishing them up. Twice in one week. Any man would want that. Phillip the aged barrister would be thrilled with that.

      Scott found that his hands had balled into fists and determinedly unclenched them. Flexed them. Took a deep, calming breath.

      Better.

      It was no good getting bent out of shape over Phillip. Over Play Time. Or over Kate being alone dealing with hell. No damned good.

      So he would take Deb’s advice. He would wait until Thursday. He would see what fantasy she came up with. He would respond sexually.

      And that would be all.

       CHAPTER TWELVE

      KATE TOOK EXTRA-SPECIAL care getting ready for Play Time on Thursday. Her hair was swinging loose, artfully dishevelled, and she had on her favourite red lipstick—which was fine for today because there would be no kissing.

      She was wearing her sexiest underwear. Nude mesh and lace, complete with suspender belt—and she’d gone for ultra-sheer black stockings as a contrast. Achingly high black stilettos. A taupe trench coat, tied but not buttoned.

      That was it. Not one thing more. Perfect for the role she was playing.

      A role that would not involve any of those pesky deep and meaningful fireside chats.

      Scott would be happy about that. And, frankly, she was happy about it too. Having spent two soul-destroying days fighting to get her client’s little boy back, ‘Kate Cleary’ deserved the night off. Tomorrow she would take up the legal cudgels again—but tonight, Kate wanted to be someone else.

      When Kate arrived at Scott’s house in East Sydney she had to recheck his business card to make sure she had the right address—because she was standing in front of an old church. She’d already guessed Scott’s house was going to be special, if Silverston was anything to go by. But this was something else. She couldn’t wait to see inside.

      No! She caught herself up. She wasn’t a starry-eyed girlfriend, about to get a guided tour of her boyfriend’s architectural wonder of a home. Scott—who hadn’t even invited her here—was probably in there pacing the floor, hating the idea of her invading his private space. So she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being interested.

      She noted the intercom in place of a doorbell, which reminded her that his house doubled as a second office. Perfect, since she was here on ‘business’.

      She waited outside for seven o’clock to hit, using the time to layer on the persona she’d chosen, mentally steeling herself to resist the first heart-melting look at him, the first touch. And then, on the dot, she pushed the button.

      Instant answer.

      ‘Kate?’ Sounding anxious. ‘There in two seconds.’

      ‘Oh, Mr Knight, has there been a mistake?’ she asked, all breathy and flustered.

      Pause. And then, ‘Kate? It is Kate, right?’

      ‘It’s Lorelei, Mr Knight. Don’t you remember? You booked a home visit. Are you going to buzz me in?’

      Another pause. Longer.

      He would be processing that. Kate’s voice giving a name he’d never heard, referring to a job he hadn’t booked.

      And then the intercom clicked off. So…was he not going to buzz her in?

      But less than ten seconds later the door opened and he was there. He took her arm, drew her in. Tried to kiss her.

      ‘Oh, sorry, Mr Knight. Miss Kitty doesn’t like her girls to kiss the clients.’

      His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

      Despite Kate’s best efforts she couldn’t help giving the space just one sweeping glance. Soaring arched ceilings, like a…well, like a church. Stained-glass windows, stark white walls, honey wood floors, a staircase that provided a pop of colour, with steps painted a vivid red, leading up to a mezzanine.

       Enough! Stop!

      ‘Where do you want me, Mr Knight?’ she asked.

      He gestured to the staircase. ‘Go up.’

      She walked quickly to the stairs and ascended. She paused at the top, needing direction—and had to close her eyes to stop herself peering over the half-wall. She was not going to look again. Not, not, not.

      ‘There,’ Scott said from behind her—and she opened her eyes to find him pointing to a long, intricately carved wooden screen at one end of the mezzanine floor.

      Her heart started to race as she approached the screen. She was so excited to see what was behind it. And when she stepped around it she gasped. Just couldn’t keep it in.

      More stained-glass windows—taking the place of a fancy bedhead—dominated the space. The walls were painted a dull gold. A huge bed of dark wood with a blood-red coverlet sat on a raised stone dais. There were Persian rugs on the wood floor surrounding the dais. Antique chairs—grand and austere—were positioned either side of the stone slab, with candlesticks as tall as Scott beside them. The room was heartbreakingly, unexpectedly beautiful.

      Kate schooled her features to show nothing as she turned back to Scott and smiled—a professionally vacant smile.

      He was watching her with a hint of disapproval that she forced herself to ignore. Conservative Scott Knight would disapprove of a prostitute—but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t enjoy the experience.

      She undid her belt, held the coat wide. ‘Do you like what you see, Mr Knight?’

      He swallowed, hard, as his eyes slid down her body and stuck at the tops of her black stockings. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I want to touch you.’

      ‘You can touch. Just no kissing.’ And with that, she shrugged out of the coat and went to lay it on one of the chairs.

      But she didn’t make it that far. Because Scott was after her in a heartbeat.

      Kate shivered as he grabbed her, as he spun her to face him, as he yanked her hair back to give him access to her neck, as he licked the pulse beating there.

      And then he lowered his head, going straight for her nipple, taking it into his mouth through the mesh of her bra, sucking hard, harder, until she cried out. He didn’t stop, just moved to the other nipple, then back again. Back and forth.

      She was a quivering mess of nerves and need by the time he stepped back, took her coat and threw it at the chair.

      He swallowed hard again as his eyes dipped to her breasts. Her nipples were dark and distended, the