The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection. Kelly Hunter

parked, got out of the car and came around to her side to help her out. He took her in his arms again and she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. She felt him shaking. Like a leaf.

      ‘Scared, that’s all,’ he said with an embarrassed shrug as she looked up at him.

      ‘Why?’

      Short half-laugh. ‘You’ll see,’ he said again, and led her off the road towards a patch of scrub.

      Her eyes widened. ‘In there?’

      Scott winced. ‘Yep. In there. God help us.’

      He led the way in until the thick scrub morphed into sparsely vegetated dunes. She could hear the roar and rush of surf, and then it was there. A tiny jewel of a beach, waves breaking in a constant sucking stream.

      ‘A surf beach?’ she said, poised on top of a dune.

      ‘Yeah, a surf beach,’ he said, grimacing, and trudged with her down onto the sand.

      ‘It’s beautiful,’ Kate said, trying to understand the grimace—trying to understand something. Anything. ‘And not a soul here except for that one surfer. Amazing.’

      ‘It’s a local secret,’ he said. ‘And apparently a little dangerous for swimming.’

      ‘So why are we here?’

      Scott screwed his eyes shut and blushed. ‘From Here to Eternity,’ he said.

      Kate’s mouth dropped open. It took her a moment to find her voice, but at least by the time she did Scott had opened his eyes.

      ‘Is this a joke?’ she asked icily.

      ‘No.’

      ‘Who told you?’

      ‘Brodie.’

      She sucked in a tortured breath—felt the heat rush along her cheekbones. ‘And who told him?’

      ‘He figured it out. Something Jessica said that night at Fox.’

      ‘Jessica?’ she said ominously.

      But Scott wasn’t listening. He looked a heartbeat away from a nervous breakdown.

      ‘Well, Kate, we’re here,’ he said. ‘Let’s do it.’

      He stripped down to a pair of well-worn board shorts—in which he looked mouthwateringly good. And then he came to her, took her face in his hands. Licked slowly along one cheekbone, then along the other.

      ‘I’ve wanted to do that for the longest time,’ he said. ‘You are so absolutely beautiful when you blush.’

      ‘Scott, this is not going to work,’ she said a little desperately, hanging on to her resolve by a thread. ‘I told you. No rollover. I’m done.’

      ‘It’s not about the rollover and we’re not leaving until we do it—so get your gear off.’

      ‘That surfer—’

      ‘I can handle one surfer.’

      ‘But anyone could come past.’

      ‘Yeah—I know. It’s a bit like the night Officer Cleary frisked me in Ellington Lane.’

      ‘That was different.’

      ‘How so? Did you know we wouldn’t be caught?’

      ‘No, I didn’t know. But it was dark and I…’ She huffed out a breath, aggravated. ‘Really, I just didn’t care.’

      ‘And there I was, thinking you were law-abiding!’

      ‘I am. But I’m not conservative. And you are, Scott.’

      He touched her hair. ‘And yet here I am, trying to get you out of your clothes on a beach in broad daylight,’ he said, and smiled—and his whole face lit up with it.

      Her heart lurched. That smile. Devastating.

      ‘Scott, don’t do this to me,’ she said shakily. ‘Stop doing this to me.’

      ‘I have to do it. Kate, please. You’ve got to let me. Just this one thing. For you. Please, Kate. Please let me.’

      Kate looked into Scott’s eyes—they were warm and serious and…and desperate. Looked at the waves. Back into Scott’s eyes.

      Why was she fighting it? The man she was in love with was offering to make her a gift of her ultimate fantasy. She’d be like Willa and Chantal—her most romantic moment would be real. And she could pretend, couldn’t she, that it was love?

      ‘All right,’ she said, and wondered if he’d finally driven her mad as she stripped down to her one-piece black swimsuit.

      Scott took her hand. Gave her a look redolent of bravery. ‘Shall we?’

      She nodded, but wondered if this memory—precious though it would be—was going to be worth it, given that every time it surfaced in the future her heart would break all over again.

      Scott led her into the surf, just far enough for them to duck under the water and get wet.

      ‘No further,’ he said. ‘I can feel the water tugging, and this is going to lose all its romance value if we get swept out to sea and either drown or get eaten by a shark.’

      He pulled her into his arms.

      ‘And in any case…’ he said, backing her towards the shore. Backing her, backing her, backing her, and then dragging her to her knees, where the waves were breaking. ‘This is the money shot, right?’

      And with that, he eased her flat onto the sand, and then he was on top of her, kissing her as if he’d happily drown as long as his mouth was on hers.

      The water surged over them. Receded, surged, receded. For the longest time they stayed there, waves breaking over them, Scott’s mouth on hers, tongue thrusting, mirroring the breaking of the waves over their bodies. Over, over, over. Way longer than the scene in the movie.

      Eventually he pulled back, just a fraction, smoothed her hair off her face, gazed down at her. And something was shining in his eyes that made her long to have him inside her. She wasn’t supposed to want it any more—she was supposed to have ripped him from her heart—and yet she did want it…did want him. She ached with need.

      A sudden strong wave took Kate unawares and she choked on sea water. Scott grabbed her hand, dragged her out of the wash and up the beach to dry land, where she dropped to the sand and rolled onto her back, spluttering, laughing, coughing, eyes streaming.

      And despite the fact that she was half drowned, deranged, probably a little snotty, Scott dropped to his knees beside her and looked at her as though she were the most wondrous thing he’d ever seen.

      He was smiling, and there were tears—tears!—in his eyes as he rolled with her on the sand until she was on top of him.

      She snaked her fingers into his wet hair, wanting him so much she thought she might seriously burst with it.

      He looked up at her, so serious. ‘So, Kate, what’s the Latin for And so endeth the contract?’

      She froze. And so endeth…?

      Oh. Ohhh. Her breath caught as the pain hit.

      It all made sense. Today was the twenty-eighth of February. The last day of their contract. She’d given herself to him at his house on Tuesday, fulfilled the contract to the letter, but he had to wring that little bit extra out of her—even after breaking her heart. Probably thinking she’d let him get away with this latest manipulation because he was using her secret fantasy to do it. And who wouldn’t want their ultimate Play Time, right?

      Hating herself for letting him do this to her—hating him—Kate shoved herself off him, got to her feet, started pulling on clothes over the dampness and sand.

      Scott