The Complete Red-Hot Collection. Kelly Hunter
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had the common decency to buy me a chocolate or a cupcake or at the very least a soppy card, I’m eating half of that chocolate heart.’ Quick unholy grin. ‘And I’ll take mine molten…off your tummy.’
And with that gobsmacking pronouncement, Scott swaggered into the living room while the last of her resistance disintegrated.
‘Which one’s Maeve and which one’s Molly?’ he asked. ‘No, don’t tell me. My friend Willa told me Maeve is seven, so that would be…you.’ He pointed to Molly, who giggled. He did an over-the-top double-take. ‘Not you?’
Head-shake from Molly.
‘I’m Maeve,’ Maeve said, and Scott plonked himself down on the rug and leaned back against the couch next to her.
‘Okay—will you be my Valentine?’ he asked and handed over one of the hearts.
Her eyes lit as she shyly took the heart and nodded.
‘Ohhhhh!’ That came from the rug. ‘What about me?’
Scott nodded sagely at Molly. ‘Well, it just so happens I’m in the market for two Valentines tonight.’ He produced the other chocolate heart and a beaming Molly came over for long enough to take it from him and give him a sweet little hug before she resettled on the rug.
He turned to Maeve. ‘So, Maeve, what’s so interesting?’
Maeve flashed her book’s cover.
‘Ah, you’re going to be a chef,’ he said.
Maeve nodded, still shy.
‘I’m not bad in the kitchen myself,’ Scott said, and proceeded to talk about biscuits.
Biscuits? That was just so…random. Biscuits! And chocolate hearts on Valentine’s Day. And asking Willa about the girls. Kate didn’t know what to make of it all. What to make of him.
Unless it was that he was completely irresistible.
She called for pizza, then set the dining table, while Scott charmed her nieces—looking absolutely nothing like a confirmed bachelor as he did it.
The man knew his baking. The pros and cons of shortbread, ginger snaps, honey jumbles, chocolate chip cookies and macaroons were all discussed at length. And the absolute deliciousness of…what?…whoopie pies?…was being extolled? Kate had never heard of a whoopie pie.
‘They’re like little chocolate cookie sandwiches, with a creamy filling,’ Scott explained to Maeve—who’d never heard of them either. ‘Next time you’re here, we’ll bake them together.’
‘Can I bake too?’ Molly asked.
‘You sure can. Three of us can make three times the pies! What have you got there, Molly?’
In no time Scott was lying next to Molly on the floor, having the picture explained to him. Maeve abandoned her book to lie on Scott’s other side.
Scott gave a bit of improvement advice, explaining that it was his job to design houses, and as Kate paid for the pizzas she heard the girls asking him to redraw the house for them.
‘I’d be honoured,’ Scott said, and then got to his feet and helped the girls up. ‘But first—pizza!’
It was adorable the way he got the girls drinks, helped them choose the biggest pizza slices, chatted about the most beautiful houses he’d designed in a way that made them sound like magic castles. After dinner he stayed with Maeve and Molly while Kate cleared up, drawing in Molly’s sketchbook and making the girls ooh and ahh.
Yep, bona fide adorable.
And Kate just had to see the drawing. So she peeked over Scott’s shoulder.
Oh. Ohhhhh.
It was the perfect little girls’ house. Towers and turrets. Winding paths. A secret entrance to an underground treasure cave, a private elf garden, a sunken pool with a waterfall. He’d sketched two bedrooms, labelled ‘Molly’ and ‘Maeve’, with fairytale beds and magic mirrors and spiralling staircases.
When Kate took the girls off to clean their teeth and get ready for bed, each of the girls kissed Scott goodnight—one per cheek—and he blushed.
Scott Knight, who could talk more boldly about sex than any man she’d ever met, blushed.
Kate felt her heart do one of those swoons inside her chest, and thought, Uh-oh. This is bad. Very, very bad.
She read to Maeve and Molly until they drifted into sleep, and then—a little apprehensive—went to find Scott.
He was on the terrace, where he gravitated every time she left him alone.
‘I poured you a glass of wine. It’s there on the table. And sorry, Kate, but that table’s going to have to go, along with the chairs,’ he said. ‘It’s so fragile I feel like I’m going to break something every time I’m near that furniture.’
She had to agree it looked like a children’s toy set next to Scott’s imposing frame. Everything did. But she forbore from pointing out that she was not going to change her furniture for a man who wouldn’t be in her life for long.
Whew. That hit her. This was finite. It had a start date and it would come to an end. She couldn’t let herself forget that just because he’d smiled at her once as if he saw something wonderful in her. Or because he’d made love to her once as if he was embedding himself inside her.
Scott took a long pull of beer from the bottle in his hand, gazing out at the marina as Kate fetched her glass and joined him at the edge of the terrace.
‘What’s it like? Sailing?’ she asked.
‘It was fun.’
‘Was?’
‘I don’t sail any more.’
‘But…why? I mean, why not?’
‘It was just…’ Shrug. ‘Time to concentrate on the important things in life.’
‘Fun is important.’
He looked down at her. ‘I am having fun. With you,’ he said, and leaned down to kiss her.
‘I know why you do that,’ she said, when he pulled back. ‘Do what?’
‘Kiss me.’
‘Well, duh, Kate! I do it because I like kissing you.’
‘You do it to distract me. So you don’t have to answer my questions.’
‘And does it? Distract you?’
‘Yes. But why are such simple questions a problem for you?’
Pause. ‘Prying into my past is not part of the deal, Kate.’
Kate felt it like a slap—not just the words but the keep your distance tone. She found she was gripping her glass too hard, so put it on the broad top of the terrace railing.
She heard Scott sigh. Then he was smoothing his hand over her hair like an apology. ‘Kate, the sailing… It’s just something I set aside to focus on the realities of life—like studying and working. And look at me now—I’m an award-winner!’ Low laugh, with all the self-deprecation his brother lacked. ‘It’s enough for me.’
‘If it were enough you wouldn’t spend every moment I leave you alone out on the terrace, watching the boats.’
‘Pry-ing…’ he sing-songed.
‘It’s not prying to ask questions about a person you…you’re…’
‘Having sex with,’ he supplied. And sighed again. ‘You drew up the contract, Kate. There wasn’t a clause for fireside chats in there.’ Slight pause. ‘Right?’
‘Right.’