The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection. Kelly Hunter

And if the lawyer likes what she sees, she gets to touch the architect. And if the architect likes what the lawyer says…same deal. He gets to touch her. And then the architect—because he is multi-talented—prepares dinner. And they eat. And drink wine. And then, if all that touching has meant anything at all, they go upstairs to bed and negotiate the rollover of their contract for another month.’

      ‘Oh,’ she said as her hopes stopped soaring and started plummeting. The contract. One more month. Not exactly forever.

      Scott took her briefcase, threw it onto his glamorous coffee-coloured couch with no regard for the potential damage its buckles could do to the fabric, and slowly turned her to the living area. ‘So—what do you think?’ he asked.

      She tried to smile. ‘I guess I’ll start with…ab initio.’

      ‘Well, I’m going to have to kiss you for that.’

      ‘Do you even know what it means?’

      ‘No.’

      And then he drew her close and kissed her cheek. Just her cheek…but she felt it tingle all the way through her body.

      ‘So what does it mean?’ he asked when he released her.

      ‘“From the beginning”,’ she said. ‘It’s commonly used to refer to the time a contract, statute, deed or…or marriage becomes legal.’ Oh, God—why had she mentioned marriage? She cleared her throat. ‘But in this instance we’ll use it for the start of the house tour.’

      ‘Suits me,’ Scott said. ‘Ab initio. We can use it for the start of our new month too.’

      ‘Hmm…’ Kate said. A vague, nothing noise. ‘Where to next?’

      ‘Library—which, you will be interested to note, used to be an altar.’

      She could already see it, and walked slowly across the wooden floor and up the three steps. So beautiful. Coloured rugs. A fireplace—unlit in the heat of February. Books nestling in custom-made shelves; armchairs—some leather, some fabric—low wooden tables. She turned to face the main space, looking out at the expansive floor, partitioned into discrete zones via the columns—all spectacularly clean and modern, which made the library feel like an oasis of plush comfort.

      ‘It could do with a few of your mother’s paintings, but otherwise what do you think?’ Scott asked.

      Mother. Her mother. Tell him, tell him. ‘Umm…’ She turned to him. ‘Ad coelum.’

      Scott drew her in and kissed her eyelids. First one, then the other.

      ‘If you like it…aren’t you going to touch me?’ he asked, all husky.

      Kate reached a hand up, cupped his face, ran her thumb over his cheekbone. ‘Want to know what it means?’ she asked.

      ‘Yes, as soon as you touch me again—you owe me for the living room.’

      She brought up her other hand and now both hands cradled his face. She leaned up, kissed him gently on the mouth. And then she smiled into his eyes.

      ‘To the sky. It’s actually abbreviated from cuius est solum eius est usque ad coelum et ad inferos—which basically means whoever owns the soil owns that space, all the way up to heaven and down to hell. And this is just heavenly. Which seems apt for a converted church.’

      ‘You’ve got no idea how much you are turning me on, Kate.’

      ‘That’s the whole idea of Play Time, isn’t it?’

      He frowned slightly, but said nothing. Simply took her arm and continued the tour.

      Scott showed her all over the masterpiece that was the lower floor. And it was obvious why his renown as an architect was growing.

      The huge arched panels of stained glass juxtaposed against the ultra-modern use of materials and neutral colours in most of the spaces were startling and lovely. The structure of the zones, flowing one into the next, was incredible. Scott’s stark office and the state-of-the-art kitchen and guest bathroom were top-notch contemporary. The surprising pops of colour, like the scarlet staircase and the chartreuse relaxation nook off a plant-filled atrium, were brilliantly eccentric. How could such disparate elements combine into something so blow-your-head-off gorgeous? But that was…Scott.

      Kate had to concentrate hard in order to be able to spit out Latin legal phrases, only to have her thoughts scatter every time Scott chose a different part of her to kiss. It was agonising, this falling in love. Feeling it dig itself more deeply inside her with every gentle, lavishing touch of Scott’s fingers, his mouth, on her lips, her cheeks, her ears, her eyebrows—her damned eyebrows!—and her hair. Wishing so hard it meant something, the way his eyes closed, the way he held his breath as she touched him in turn. Shoulders, hands, neck, chest.

      She was in torment by the time they circled back to the library, where Scott settled her with a drink while he finished preparing dinner. He was so jaunty as he left her—even whistling, as though he had everything he could possibly want.

      But then, Scott did have everything he wanted. Exactly what he wanted. She was the one who didn’t have what she wanted. And she still had no idea how to get it—except to ask for it…and risk losing even the little of him she had.

      Kate didn’t know how long had passed when Scott came to escort her through to the dining area. But she could feel time just generally slipping away. Four days until the twenty-eighth of February. When their contract would be terminated—or rolled over.

      Scott held out a chair for her at the sleek wooden table and waited for her to sit.

      ‘You didn’t have to cook dinner,’ Kate said.

      ‘Well, you see, Kate, the fifty-fifty rule wasn’t working for me. So this—’ charming little shrug ‘—is my way of taking you to dinner. And before you tell me I’m breaking the rules, I’m going to remind you that extras are allowed in Play Time.’ He sat opposite her. ‘Cucumber soup. Perfect for a Sydney summer.’

      But Kate was beyond taste as she silently filled her spoon, raised it to her mouth, swallowed. Time after time. Until her bowl was empty.

      Scott—who’d done an excellent job of keeping up a flow of small talk—cleared the plates, then returned with something that looked so delicious Kate’s heart sank. He’d taken such care—but how was she supposed to eat it when her heart had swelled so gigantically it threatened to choke her?

      ‘Korean-style pork tenderloin with wild and brown rice pilaf and steamed pea pods,’ Scott announced.

      As Kate doggedly forced the food down Scott explained a house design he was currently working on. Presumably she offered appropriate rejoinders, because he didn’t make an issue of her lack of vocal enthusiasm.

      But then, why would he? It wasn’t conversation he wanted.

      He cleared the plates a second time, and while he was gone Kate had a mini-meltdown, remembering her mother’s words. Make it romantic. How did a person turn a contract into something romantic? Move heaven and hell. How? What was the trigger? What would it take to make him love her?

      And then he was back, carrying a tray. On the tray was a plate piled high with cookies of some kind and two exquisite boxes—one pink, one purple—decorated with fluttery fairies, shimmering with glitter, finished off with gauzy bows.

      ‘Whoopie pies,’ Scott said, depositing the tray in front of Kate and taking the seat beside her.

      Unable to stop herself, Kate reached for one of the boxes, ran suddenly trembling fingers over the top, pulled the end of the ribbon through her fingertips.

      ‘Do you like those boxes?’ Scott asked.

      She looked at him, said nothing.

      ‘They’re for Maeve and Molly. Because…’ He shrugged, blushed.