Red-Hot Summer: The Millionaire's Proposition / The Tycoon's Stowaway / The Spy Who Tamed Me. Kelly Hunter
Steeling herself, she smiled back. ‘Lorelei,’ she corrected. ‘And that will be two thousand dollars, Mr Knight.’
The shock on Scott’s face had her shrinking inside, but she forced herself to hold his eyes.
And then he smiled again—but it was back to the jukebox, pick a smile and whirl. ‘Your prices are too low. I would have paid five. In fact, I will pay five. Because, as I recall, I booked Lorelei’s services for a full night.’
‘We don’t stay overnight, Scott…you and I.’ Uh-oh, the wobble.
‘Miss Kitty says Lorelei does. And if you want your five thousand dollars that’s what you’re going to have to do.’ He gave her a boost off his lap. ‘So up you go. Whatever you’ve still got on, get it off. Then get into that bed.’
The next morning, after Lorelei had belted herself into her trench coat and left, Scott threw down three cups of coffee. He needed the caffeine to get his brain and his body functioning again.
But it didn’t work.
Something was bothering him. Very deeply.
And it was… Well, it was Play Time.
The whole ‘Lorelei’ thing was eating at him. After that one frenzied bout of lovemaking on the rug, when he’d kissed Kate, he’d felt such an overwhelming burst of joy. Kate…in his arms, in his house, and he’d wanted her so damned much.
And she’d responded by asking him for her fee.
So he’d decided to get his money’s worth. All night long he’d been at her, taking her with lips, tongue, fingers, his never-ending hard-on. And she’d met him move for move, always receptive—as ‘Miss Kitty’ expected—never saying no, opening her arms, her legs.
Everything but her mouth.
Because he’d tried to kiss her many times, and each time she’d pulled away with a coyly admonishing slap on the wrist, the shoulder, the butt, and a reminder of Miss Kitty’s rules.
He’d tried to talk to her in those respite periods while they’d recharged their burnt-out batteries. About the child custody case. Her mother’s art. Maeve and Molly, Shay and Lilith, Gus and Aristotle. Even about Deb. But every time he’d been frozen into crunchable cubes by her vacant ‘Lorelei’ stare.
The end result was that although he could have written his own sex manual after experimenting so comprehensively with Kate’s body during the night, he wasn’t satisfied.
And the flat fact was he didn’t like Play Time.
There. He’d admitted it.
He must be certifiable, but he couldn’t seem to whip up enthusiasm for any more fantasy-land stuff. It was like the sexual version of Brodie’s tattoo—nice in theory, but just not him. He must be more of a Knight than he’d thought. Conservative. Boring, even.
Did Kate find him boring? In bed? Out of it? Both? Because she was suddenly very interested in Play Time. No kissing. No talking. Just role play. Was Play Time the non-nautical equivalent of a yacht heading to the Whitsundays? Taking Kate away from humdrum in the bedroom?
He put his coffee cup down with a clatter.
She’d made him pay for it! He almost hadn’t believed it when Kate had demanded his cheque for five thousand dollars—and then had actually taken it when he’d jokingly written it out, before breezing out of the house.
A house she hadn’t expressed the slightest interest in.
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