The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection. Kelly Hunter

I watched that movie for you. I’m on this beach because I love you. I love you! And, so help me God, if you don’t call that weasel Phillip and tell him to back the hell away and stay the hell away, I am going to kidnap you.’

      ‘Kidnap me?’ she sputtered.

      ‘On the yacht I bought.’

      ‘You bought a yacht?’

      ‘And I bought music—so I can dance with you on it. And I’m going to teach you to sail, and take you to the Whitsundays, and…and… What’s so funny?’

      ‘You,’ Kate said, and laughed so hard she dropped to her knees. ‘The way you said “m-music”. Like it was p-poison.’

      ‘Kate,’ he said dangerously, ‘you do realise how many women would swoon to have me tell them I love them, right? But you’re the only one I’m ever, ever going to say it to.’

      ‘Egomaniac,’ Kate said, and kept laughing.

      ‘It’s not funny.’

      ‘No, it’s not. It’s a serious condition, egomania,’ she said, and laughed again.

      Pause. He was confused. But…hopeful.

      ‘Is laughter…? Is it good under these circumstances?’ he asked tentatively.

      ‘Accedas ad curiam.’

      ‘Yeah, smartarse—going to need a translation,’ he said, but a smile had started to stretch his mouth and he could feel it—feel it!—in his eyes too.

      ‘You may approach the court,’ she said. ‘That’s all I will say for now. And, Scott—just so you know—I have sand in every nook and cranny too.’

      ‘Well, I think I’m going to have to take a look at your crannies, in that case,’ Scott said, and dropped to his knees beside her.

      He kissed her, long and hard, until they were both breathless.

      ‘Are you going to take me to see your yacht?’

      ‘It’s not a yacht—it’s a Jeanneau 36. If you’re going to be a sailor you need to know these things.’

      ‘Does it have a name? Like…you know…a real name?’

      ‘It does,’ Scott said, and started laughing.

      ‘Which is?’

      ‘Which is…drumroll…Scottsdale.’

      Kate started laughing again and it reminded Scott of that night—the awards dinner—when they’d laughed about Knightley and he’d wanted her more than he’d wanted to breathe. He should have known right then that she was meant to be his. That she would be his.

      ‘Wait until Hugo hears I’ve copied him for once,’ Scott said, and then he stopped. Cleared his throat. ‘Kate, just one thing… About my family…’

      ‘That would be me,’ she said softly. ‘Just me.’

      ‘Oh, God, Kate, I love you,’ he said, and pulled her down to lie with him on the sand again. ‘But you have to know that I have a bit of a conservative streak, like all the Knights.’

      ‘You don’t say?’

      ‘So…divorce parties, break-ups, custody battles… They don’t apply to us.’

      ‘Don’t they?’

      ‘Because Knights don’t divorce. And I will not let you go.’ He stopped to kiss her. ‘If you try to end it I’ll make your life hell. I will fight tooth and nail—move heaven and hell and everything, everything, in between—to keep you. Exactly the way you fight. To the death. So better not to go there. You get all freaked out when marriages end badly. We don’t want you stressing.’

      ‘No more stress. Got it. But… Scott? Was that a proposal? Because we’re not exactly marriage-minded in my family.’

      ‘But I am. And, sorry to break it to you, but I have to be married to the mother of my children—conservative, I’m telling you, I hope your mother is going to cope. And one more thing. You’re not getting any younger, so we’ll have to get cracking on the kid thing.’

      With that, Kate pushed him away, got to her feet, ripped her T-shirt over her head. ‘My age? Are you seriously going there? Because if you are we’re going another round of From Here to Eternity.’

      Scott didn’t argue. He simply stood up and took off his clothes. And then he turned to Kate and held out his hand. ‘Or, as we like to say in legal circles, ad infinitum,’ he said. ‘Which means—’

      ‘Forever.’

      And then Scott grinned. ‘Okay, let’s put on a show for the surfer dude, and see how much more sand we can pack into our nooks and crannies.’

       The Tycoon’s Stowaway

      Stefanie London

      To my wonderful husband for supporting me from the very first time I wrote ‘Chapter One’. Thank you for always understanding my need to write, for keeping me sane through the ups and downs, and for holding my hand when I took the biggest leap of my life.

      I love you.

      Always.

       PROLOGUE

      HOT. LOUD. CRUSHING.

      The dance floor at the Weeping Reef resort bar was the perfect way to shake off the work day, and for Chantal Turner it was the perfect place to practise her moves. She swung her hips to the pulsating beat of the music, her hands raking through her hair and pushing damp strands from her forehead. A drop of perspiration ran in a rivulet down her back but she wouldn’t stop. At midnight, the night was still in its infancy, and she would dance until her feet gave out.

      She was enjoying a brief interlude away from her life plan in order to soak up the rays while earning a little money in the glorious Whitsundays. But the second she was done she’d be back on the mainland, working her butt off to secure a place at a contemporary dance company. She smiled to herself. The life in front of her was bright and brimming with opportunity.

      Tonight the majority of her crew hadn’t come out. Since Chantal’s boyfriend wasn’t much of a dancer he stood at the bar, sipping a drink and chatting to another resort employee. No matter—the music’s beat flowing through her body was the only companion she needed. Her black dress clung to damp skin. The holiday crowd had peaked for the season, which meant the dance floor was even more densely packed than usual.

      ‘Pretty girls shouldn’t have to dance on their own.’

      A low, masculine voice rumbled close to her ear and the scent of ocean spray and coconut surfboard wax hit her nostrils, sending a shot of heat down to her belly.

      She would know that smell anywhere. A hand rested lightly on her hip, but she didn’t cease the gentle rolling of her pelvis until the beat slowed down.

      ‘Don’t waste your pick-up lines on me, Brodie.’ She turned and stepped out of his grip. ‘There are plenty of other ladies in holiday mode who would appreciate your cheesy come-ons.’

      ‘Cheesy?’ He pressed a hand against his well-muscled chest. ‘You’re a harsh woman, Chantal.’

      The tanned expanse of his shoulders stretched out from under a loose-fitting black tank top, a tattoo peeking out at the neckline. Another tattoo of an anchor stretched down his inner forearm. He stared at her, shaggy sun-bleached hair falling around his lady-killer face