rolled her eyes. ‘Never mind. I think the explanation is simpler. He named it after himself, didn’t he? Like one of those British stately homes?’ She was biting the inside of her cheek again. ‘Maybe he got the idea at med school…’
‘Knightley,’ Scott said slowly. ‘Knightley. Oh, my God. I didn’t even think—It never occurred—I mean—God!’ He sat, stunned, for a moment, and then he started laughing. ‘God!’
‘It’s not a laughing matter,’ Kate admonished, but Scott could see she was struggling to keep a straight face. ‘It’s de rigueur to name your home after yourself, you know.’ Her mouth was starting to twist. ‘My own apartment is c-called C-Castle C-Cleary.’
And then Kate was laughing too, and the sound of it was just so sexy he had to touch her. Needed to share this delicious absurdity with her physically.
He reached for her hand and she twined her fingers with his, still laughing. Even her eyes were laughing. What must that be like? To have eyes that laughed? Eyes that were warm like molten silver. Beautiful.
His throat closed over and the laughter jammed. Stuck in his throat. All he could think about was kissing her until she was breathless. As breathless as he felt just looking at her. Breathless. And perfect. For once, perfect…
Kate stopped laughing too, and then she reached out with her free hand. Touched his face as if she felt it too. The connection.
And then panic hit.
No! No connection. He didn’t want that.
He jerked back, away from her touch.
He looked at their joined hands, and the sight of their linked fingers jolted him like an electric shock. He let go.
He picked up his wine glass, took an urgent swallow. And then, eyes sliding away to some distant point, he cleared his throat.
Kate cleared her own throat, picked up her own wine glass, sipped. He heard the quick breath she took.
‘So…um…what’s it like?’ she asked, putting the words out hesitantly into the sudden, excruciating void.
Wine. He needed another sip. Took it. Put the glass down. ‘What’s what like?’
‘Knightley?’
Shrug. ‘I know as much as you do about Knightley. Just what I’ve seen on the awards website.’ He waved at someone across the room.
‘So it must be… Is it…? Is it brand-new, then? I mean that you haven’t seen it?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I just haven’t. Seen it, I mean.’
Their first course arrived, and Scott almost sagged with relief. He pasted on a cheerful smile, and at last he could look at her again. ‘Well, Kate—as you can see, I was on the money with the smoked salmon.’
From that point the seemingly endless procession of award presentations, cheesy entertainment and bland food courses proceeded exactly as Scott had expected. Except for one thing: a burning awareness of Kate beside him. Something he’d never felt with Anais or any of his other black-bookers at one of these insipid evenings.
And that bothered him.
Even the way she was captivating the architect on her other side was getting to him. Thank God Miles Smithers was sixty years old and happily married, or he’d probably want to smash the guy’s tee—
Whoa! Pull up. There was no thanking God required. Or teeth-smashing. It didn’t matter if Kate was captivating a sixty-year-old married architect or a thirty-two-year-old billionaire Greek god! If she was physically faithful she could captivate whomever the hell she wanted to captivate. None of his business.
And it wasn’t as though he was being a scintillating conversationalist himself. If not for Miles, Kate would be catatonic! He was being a first-class boor, barely grunting a reply when she asked him anything.
All because of that…that moment. That intense connection which he hadn’t bargained for and didn’t bloody well want.
Having Hugo sitting two tables away, already looking every inch the victor, wasn’t helping either.
Scott had known his brother wouldn’t be able to stay away tonight, wouldn’t be able to vacate the space, just for once, and let Scott occupy it. But he’d been anticipating a hand-wave and a superior nod across the room—that was their usual interaction. It must have been the sight of Kate that had prompted Hugo to dial it up a notch.
Kate. So glamorous and secure and beautiful. Out of his league. Which Hugo would have seen at a glance. So he probably should have guessed Hugo wouldn’t have been 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
