7 p.m.
He swore long and loud. Play Time was all very well, but he wanted to talk to her. That interrupted conversation from Sunday morning was still heavy on his mind and he wanted to fix it. Because things didn’t feel…right.
He tried to call her again—she didn’t pick up. So he called her office, spoke to Deb. Received the message that Kate was interstate, working on a child custody case.
‘And it’s a messy one,’ Deb told him. ‘So you’ve got no chance of getting hold of her and please don’t try. She’s…’
He could feel the hesitation. Teetering, teetering…Go on, tell me, tell me. But no.
‘Look, just leave her to it,’ Deb said, and hung up.
He found himself hanging on to the phone, reluctant to let it go. As if it was some line of communication he didn’t want to snap.
Which was just plain stupid.
He forced himself to disconnect.
He worried about what Deb had said. ‘She’s…’ Just the one word. Hesitant, hanging, worrying.
She’s…what? She’s…not interested in you any more? She’s…having a meltdown? Having a biopsy? Eating chicken for lunch. What, dammit? What?
He paced around his office, needing to speak to her, knowing he couldn’t.
Focusing on the first thing that had popped into his head—that she wasn’t interested in him any more—calmed him a little. Because if that were true she wouldn’t have sent him that Play Time text.
And they had a contract—which might be stupid but at least meant that even if she was over him she still had to see him for another week and a half. So he had time to work on her, get her back onside. Time to make the sex so phenomenal she’d be sorry she didn’t have a clause demanding seven nights a week instead of a lousy two.
Starting Thursday, when he saw her again. At his house, this time. In his bed.
He never brought women home, because…well, because. But Kate…?
He sucked in a breath as the image of her in his house shimmered in his head.
Would she like it?
In his bed?
How would she look there?
Not that those thoughts were germane! The germane thing was that it would be the perfect opportunity to gauge whether the wattage of their sexual attraction needed to be amped up. Although, frankly, much more wattage might just finish him off.
A 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.
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