I mean, because you do.’
There was a pause as she silently acknowledged the truth of that. ‘He won’t care that I’m dancing with you. He’s not the jealous type. Not with me anyway.’ She sighed and settled her head on Brodie’s comfortable shoulder. ‘We’re not…meant.’
‘Why not?’
Kate ran through the reasons in her head and chose the least painful one she could think of. ‘For a start, he’s too young for me.’
She heard the laugh rumble through Brodie’s chest. ‘Scott hasn’t been too young since he popped out of the womb—when he no doubt emerged not crying, just calmly looking around and wondering how to get fed without having to ask for help.’
Kate choked on a sudden giggle. ‘That does sound like him.’
‘Yep—everything calculated, everything his way, no drama, no demands, keep your distance. He has more self-control than anyone I’ve ever met. Too much.’ Pause. ‘I’ve only ever seen him lose it once.’
‘I know about Chantal,’ Kate said, looking up at him.
‘Yeah, I figured you did. And if he told you that—’
‘No,’ Kate interrupted. ‘He didn’t tell me. He doesn’t get personal. Not with me.’
‘Ah.’
‘Yes, “ah”.’
‘But you want him to?’
‘What would be the point, when he’s off picking someone up for the night?’
‘Except that he’s not.’
‘Well, who knows?’
‘I do. Because if he was doing that he wouldn’t be heading this way looking like he’s about to deck me, would he?’
‘What?’ Kate squeaked, and Brodie spun them so she could see Scott as he approached.
‘I wonder if he’s about to cause the second scene of his life?’ Brodie asked, not seeming at all concerned. ‘Let’s hope so.’
SCOTT HAD NO IDEA what he was doing, but he was doing it anyway.
He reached Kate and Brodie, then stood there like an idiot while he tried to contain the savage burst of possessiveness that was urging him to tear Kate out of Brodie’s arms. This was beyond that drunken punch at Weeping Reef. Because this wasn’t about Brodie, either as a love rival or as a Hugo substitute. This was about Kate and him. About wishing he did dance so it could be him dancing with her. Wishing it was him teaching her to sail. About hating himself because of all the things he wasn’t—but wanting to demand, anyway, what the hell she thought she was doing dancing with another man when she belonged to him.
He barely noticed Brodie melting away as he reached for Kate, yanked her into his arms and kissed her. Right there on the dance floor. A scorching kiss, which he hoped said I want you, but suspected said something else. Something about need and desperation and all the things he didn’t want to risk.
When he stopped, pulled back, looked down at her, she shivered. He felt it rip through him as though they were connected.
‘I think that qualifies as a PDA,’ she said.
‘That had nothing to do with affection. That kiss was not affectionate, Kate.’
‘That kiss is not going to lead to sex either.’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘No. We have an appointment, and it’s not for tonight.’
‘We can negotiate, remember?’
‘You don’t negotiate. You do whatever the hell you want, whenever you want.’
‘That’s because your rules are stupid.’
‘You agreed to them.’
‘I shouldn’t have.’
‘But you did. And now you’ve gone and broken the confidentiality clause.’ She nodded towards their table. ‘Because your friends just saw you kiss me.’
His only response was to grab her hand and drag her off the dance floor, out of the bar, into the night, around the corner into an alleyway that was only a step above Ellington Lane in terms of desolation. Without a word he took her in his arms again, kissed her almost savagely. He wanted her so much—so much.
Her hands grabbed the front of his shirt, clutching fistfuls of it, anchoring her as she kissed him back, and he thought, Thank God. She wanted him. She still wanted him. Everything else would fall into place as long as that fact held. Because without it why would she keep seeing him?
There was a burst of sound as the bar’s main doors opened, disgorging a group of people into the night, and sanity returned. The doors closed again. A low conversation, a trill of laughter from the departing patrons. Scott pulled back, waiting to see if he and Kate would be discovered, but the group passed by. All was quiet again.
And Scott suddenly felt utterly, utterly miserable.
He stepped away, shoved his hands in his hair, looked at Kate.
‘What was that about?’ she asked—as usual, going straight to the point in the way he just bloody loved.
‘I wanted to kiss you, that’s all.’ Could he sound any more defensive?
‘So what happens if I ask you—now—to come inside and dance with me, in public, in front of your friends?’
Tight, fraught pause. Scott stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘I don’t dance.’
‘No, you don’t dance, do you? But that doesn’t mean I
‘Because—’ He broke off with a muffled curse.
‘Because… I was dancing with Brodie, perhaps?’
One heavy heartbeat…two, three.
And then, ‘Why is that a problem, Scott?’
No answer. Because how could he explain without revealing everything that was wrong with him? All the reasons she would soon find someone better—whether it was Brodie or that barrister or someone else? How could he tell her that he needed to push it? Push it while he still had it in him to get over her when the inevitable happened?
‘Do you think I prefer him?’ Kate persisted.
He shrugged as his hands dug a little deeper into
