Red-Hot Summer. Kelly Hunter
in, groaned long and low as their naked bodies connected, slid together.
‘I’m sorry, but this won’t take long,’ he said. ‘We’re not going to make it to the bedroom. Not this first time.’
He pulled back, jaw clenched tight. Nodded at the condom in her hand. ‘Put that on me and I’ll try not to come while you do it.’
Trembling, eager, Kate complied, while Scott uttered a string of low-voiced curses. And then he basically stumbled back, pulling Kate with him, until he was sitting on the chair again.
‘Straddle me,’ he said. ‘I can get more deeply into you from this position. And I want to go deep. Deep and hard. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ Kate said, in a breathy voice she hardly recognised as her own.
She slid onto his lap, wrapped her legs around him, around the chair. He held her hips, settling her, then shifted so her bottom was in his hands, manipulating her so she was more perfectly positioned for his entry. Another groan, this time against her neck, followed by a sucking kiss there. Then, with one almost vicious thrust, Scott was inside her, pulling her closer, closer. Another sucking kiss on her neck and then his mouth was on hers, kissing her deeply, tongue plunging within, licking her top lip, back inside her mouth.
‘Best—the best ever—to be inside you,’ he said against her lips.
And somehow those not very romantic words pushed Kate over the edge and into orgasm. She grabbed his face. Pulled his mouth closer, too close for words, and fed him gasping kisses until he followed her, with one long, last, deep thrust, into an explosive orgasm.
Best. Ever.
Those two small words were all Scott could think of as he came back to earth after the most mind-blowing release of his life.
Kate. So jaw-droppingly sexy. Looks that were almost taunting, they were so hot. She’d met him thrust for thrust, taken him as deep and as hard as he wanted to go, kissed the wits right out of his head.
He snuggled her close for a long, quiet moment, stroking her hair gently now that the first rampage of lust had passed. He felt her heartbeats and his, in unison, starting to slow. But he figured he’d never have a normal heartbeat around Kate. She fired his blood like nothing he’d ever experienced. Everyone else he’d ever been with paled in comparison. Every other one was a girl. But Kate was a woman.
And, for now at least, his woman.
At the thought, he felt himself start to harden again, still inside her.
She laughed, low and deep. She’d felt that, then.
She pulled back and looked into his eyes. Kissed him again, lush and soft, and he got harder still.
He stood, bringing Kate with him. Her legs wrapped automatically around him.
‘Bedroom’s back there,’ she said with a head movement.
‘I hope it’s a single,’ he said with a laugh as she squirmed against him. ‘Because anything wider than that is going to be a waste of space.’
Three hours later Scott got quietly out of Kate’s bed, pulled on his jeans and T-shirt, and looked down at her.
She was deeply asleep, no doubt exhausted after what he’d put her through. Even when he hadn’t been able to get it up after that third time he hadn’t stopped touching her. Mouth, hands…all over her.
Best. Sex. Ever.
He thought about leaving and going home—but that felt…wrong. Sneaking away as though he’d got what he came for and didn’t have to linger. Not that Kate would mind, given the contract. Sex—just sex. The end-game. He could sneak away and it wouldn’t be regarded as sneaking by either of them.
But they hadn’t had dinner and he was too hungry to leave. She would be too if she woke before morning. He padded into the kitchen, checking the contents of the cupboards and fridge. Not overly stocked, but he could fix omelettes.
Making himself at home—as he always seemed to do in kitchens—Scott got busy with eggs and whisk and was soon sliding his perfectly cooked omelette onto a plate. He grabbed a glass of wine—making a mental note to bring some beer to leave in Kate’s fridge—and pondered where he should sit to eat.
But it was no contest—and he knew it in his heart.
He’d said earlier that he wasn’t interested in the view from Kate’s apartment. And in that first hot burst of screaming desire it had been true—she was the only thing of interest to him.
But he knew what the view was, and now that the edge had been taken off his caveman libido he wanted to see it.
Rushcutters Marina, where he’d boarded his first yacht as a child and learned to sail. Sailing had become a passion. His one and only rebellion had been taking that year to sail in the Whitsundays rather than go straight to university the way his parents wanted, the way his perfect, by-the-book brother had. For Scott, sailing had been…freedom. And even though he’d given up sailing, there was something about boats that just kept pulling at him.
So he settled himself at Kate’s girl-sized outdoor table and looked out at the water as he ate. It should have been peaceful but, as ever, he found peace elusive.
He finished his omelette and walked over to the edge of the terrace, looking out at the water, listening to the gentle lap of it against the boats.
It was so different from the Whitsundays, and yet it made him remember that time eight years ago at Weeping Reef. The six of them—Willa, Luke, Amy, Chantal, Brodie and him—had formed what they’d imagined would be a lifelong bond, when their lives had been just beginning, only to see that bond disintegrate before that one summer was over.
All because of a love triangle.
One moment Chantal was Scott’s girl; the next she was Brodie’s. No words needed. Because everyone had been able to see it, just from the way they’d looked at each other.
Brodie was the only person Scott had ever confided in about all his childhood crap—and it had been hard to deal with his best friend slipping straight into the place his brother usually occupied in his tortured mind: the best, number one. As the white-hot knowledge had hit, Scott had lashed out, and everything had crashed and burned.
Scott and Chantal, both stuck working at Weeping Reef for the summer, had never recovered the friendship that had been between them before they’d become lovers.
Brodie had simply disappeared.
And Scott had missed him every single day. He still missed him.
The fight seemed so stupid, looking back. But that was what happened when you combined too many beers and too much unseasoned testosterone.
Chantal was just a girl—albeit it a smart, beautiful, wonderful girl—and what they’d had was a romance of proximity. They’d arrived at the resort before the others, and everyone had automatically assumed they were an item because they looked perfect together. A default relationship. With occasional sex that had been fun but hardly earth-shattering.
The fight hadn’t been about Chantal. Scott knew that with hindsight. That fight had been all about him. About never being quite good enough to win the prize. Never being quite good enough to be the prize.
At least he’d learned from the experience. Learned not to trust. Learned to take control of his emotions and hang on to that control at all costs. Learned to keep his pride intact. Learned not to care too deeply. About friends…or lovers.
Now, if only he could work out how to deal with the restlessness that had followed him ever since, he’d be happy. But it was as if he was in a constant battle with himself: let go and just be; don’t ever let go; let go; don’t let go; just be…
‘Couldn’t you sleep?’
The soft question from behind him startled him out of his heavy