Читать книгу The Complete Red-Hot Collection - Ким Лоренс, Kelly Hunter - Страница 37

ONCE THEY WERE back in Sydney, and the rest of group had gone their separate ways, Chantal couldn’t help but notice how alone she and Brodie were. Nervous energy crackled through her body, lighting up all her senses as though she were experiencing adrenaline for the first time.

It wasn’t good. She needed to be calm for her audition—she couldn’t stuff it up. If she did then she was fast running out of dance companies and productions to approach. What if she couldn’t find a real job? Would she be stuck working a pole like those other women at the bar? No, she wouldn’t let that happen.

She needed to focus on herself—just herself—no messy emotional entanglements, no betrayal, no disappointment. Just her and the stage.

Closing her eyes, she drew a long breath and held it for a moment before letting the air whoosh out. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Repeat.

Staying on the yacht with Brodie was a terrible idea—she needed all her focus right now. And Brodie was the kind of guy who could take a woman’s sanity and blow it to smithereens with a single look. He’d done it at Weeping Reef, he’d done it last night, and he would do it again.

But that kiss…

Chantal’s body tingled at the memory. Brodie’s kiss had been exactly what she’d thought kissing would be like as a teenager, before the reality of one too many slobbery guys had shattered the fantasy. Brodie had the kind of kiss that could make a girl’s bones melt.

That’s because he’s had a lot of practice.

‘What’s with the frown?’

Brodie’s voice cut through Chantal’s musings. He stood above her, holding out a hand to help her up from her Lotus Position.

A pair of faded jeans hugged his strong legs and a soft white T-shirt skimmed over the muscles in his shoulders and chest. A leather cuff encircled his right wrist—it looked as though he’d worn it for years. The leather was faded and smooth, and it accentuated the muscles in his arm. But Chantal’s eyes were drawn to the anchor tattoo on the inside of his forearm, as always. She had to resist the urge to reach out and trace it with her fingertip.

‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

‘Huh?’

‘Your audition. Where is it?’

‘Right over there,’ Chantal said, pointing across the Sydney Harbour Bridge. ‘It’s about ten minutes on foot.’

‘Great—let’s go.’ Brodie turned and made his way off the yacht.

‘You don’t need to come with me.’

She grabbed her bag and scrambled after him, her blood pressure shooting up. Having him watch her last night had been humiliating enough. The last thing she needed was for him to witness a more serious rejection today!

‘Don’t you want a little moral support?’

‘No.’ She hitched her dancing bag higher on her shoulder and looked Brodie squarely in the eye. ‘I’ve been doing this on my own for quite a while. I like it that way.’

‘What if I want to watch?’

He said it in such a way that Chantal almost lost her footing on the jetty.

‘You only get to watch when I say so.’

Her blood pulsed hot and fast, flooding her centre with an uncomfortable and entirely distracting throbbing sensation. She didn’t have time to be horny. She had an audition to nail and he was getting in her way.

‘Brodie, I don’t have time to argue.’ She waved him off. ‘Can’t I just meet you afterwards?’

‘If you insist.’ He shrugged and fell into step with her.

The sun beat down on Chantal’s bare shoulders, making her skin sizzle on the outside as much as Brodie was making her sizzle on the inside. Humid air made her skin glisten and frizzed her hair. She yanked the length behind her head and fastened it with a hair tie… Anything to keep her hands busy.

They walked past other yachts, most of them matching the size of Brodie’s boat. It was definitely more upscale than the place where they’d been docked last night. A family to their right boarded a boat that looked twice as big as the house Chantal had grown up in. The mother and daughter had identical long blond ponytails and carried matching designer bags.

‘Do your clientele look like that?’ She nodded towards the family.

‘Rich?’ Brodie gave them a cursory glance and shrugged. ‘Yeah, I guess. People who charter a private yacht tend to have money.’

‘More money than sense,’ she muttered under her breath.

‘It’s certainly not the kind of life I had growing up, that’s for sure.’

Chantal’s curiosity was piqued. Brodie hadn’t shared too much about his family while they’d all lived on the Whitsundays. She’d seen a picture of him with a group of younger girls whom she’d presumed to be his family. It had been pinned up on the wall in the room he’d shared with Scott. But other than that she knew little about his family, or where he was from…

‘I always got the impression you were well off.’

‘Why did you think that?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know… You always seemed so relaxed—so… at peace with the world. It seemed like you’d had an easy life.’

Brodie’s blond brows crinkled and they walked in silence for a few minutes. Had she hurt his feelings? She hadn’t intended it, but he seemed to lack the tough outer shell of someone who’d struggled their whole lives failing to keep up with everybody else. Someone like her.

‘We had our ups and downs,’ he said, talking slowly, as though he chose each word with care. ‘My family wasn’t different to anyone else’s.’

‘You never talked about your family much while we were working together.’

‘You and I never had a serious conversation about anything.’ He grinned. ‘Too busy playing cat and mouse.’

‘We did not play cat and mouse.’ She shook her head, but her cheeks filled with roaring heat.

‘You don’t think so? I used to do anything to rile you up, to get your attention. I’d drive you crazy by teasing you about being a stuck-up ballerina.’

‘And I’d try to correct you by explaining the difference between ballet and contemporary dance. But I don’t think that’s a game of cat and mouse.’

‘Why do you think I teased you?’

They hovered under the expressway, enjoying the cool reprieve of the shade while people milled around. Sunlight sparkled on the water and laughter floated up into the air as the crowd filtered past. Everywhere people soaked up the rays, ate ice cream and held hands. The Sydney Harbour Bridge stretched out above, the Opera House in the distance, with the sun coating everything in a golden gleam.

Chantal had to admit it. As much as she found the hustle and bustle of a big city overwhelming, Sydney was beautiful.

‘I thought you were hot.’ He slung an arm around her shoulder.

‘You shouldn’t have thought that.’

He leant down until his lips were close to her ear. ‘I still think you’re hot.’

Caring about his opinion was a mistake, but his words made something flutter low down in her belly. She’d never wanted to be attracted to Brodie, but he had this thing about him. It was indescribable, intangible, invisible… but it was there.

She said, ‘I think you’re full of crap.’

He threw his head back and laughed. ‘Prickly as ever, Chantal. Good to see some things don’t change.’

‘I have to get to my audition.’

She shrugged off his arm and strode in the direction of the Harbour Dance Company’s building at the other end of the wharf.

You cannot stuff this up. Focus, focus, focus.

As much as she hated to admit it to herself—and she would never admit it to another living soul—Brodie rattled her. He was the only person who could knock her off course with such effortless efficiency. She needed a little distance from him, and tonight she would ask him to take her back to the bar. The feelings he evoked were confusing, confrontational, and she didn’t have time for them.

Not now, not ever.

Perhaps if Chantal wasn’t so hot when she was mad he wouldn’t be tempted to tease her all the time. He loved it when she got all pink cheeked and pursed lipped. Eight years hadn’t dulled or lengthened her fuse—she still lit up like a firecracker when he baited her. Hot damn if he didn’t love it.

Up ahead, he saw her stride quicken, her full ponytail flicking with each step like the tail of an agitated cat. In all his years, through all the women he’d taken to bed, he’d never found a girl who got his pulse racing the way she did.

But he had to get it out of his head—had to get her out of his head. Sex with friends was a no-go zone. Normally he had enough choice that steering clear of any women he wanted to keep in his life was a piece of cake. Normally he could resist temptation… But Chantal was testing his limits.

Falling into a jog, he caught up with her. She counted the pier numbers, her gaze scanning the buildings until a soft, ‘Aha!’ left her lips.

‘I’ll be in there, but you really don’t need to wait,’ she said. ‘I’m quite equipped to manage this on my own.’

‘I’ve got nowhere else to be. Besides, I might spy a few hot dancers while I wait around for you.’

‘Don’t forget to leave a sock on the door if you get lucky,’ she quipped.

Her eyes flicked over his face, her lips set into a hard line. Was it his imagination or was there a note of jealousy in her voice? Wishful thinking.

‘You’re the only one coming home with me.’

She licked her lips, the sudden dart of her tongue catching him by surprise. He hardened, the ache for her strong and familiar as ever. How was it that she could reduce him to a hormone-riddled teenage boy with the simplest of actions?

He had to get it out of his system—otherwise she’d haunt him forever.

‘I’m coming back to the yacht with you—not coming home with you. Those two things are quite different.’

‘They don’t have to be different.’

‘Brodie…’

Her voice warned him, as it had done in the past. Stay away, hands off, do not get any closer.

‘Fine.’ He leant down and planted a kiss on her forehead, enjoying the way she sucked in a breath. ‘Good luck. I know you’ll kill it.’

‘Don’t jinx me.’ She mustered a smile and then turned towards the building marked ‘Harbour Dance Company’.

He hated to see her doubt herself. She had no cause to. If the people holding the audition couldn’t see her talent then they were blind. Perhaps he should follow her, just in case they needed convincing…

No. She was not his responsibility. He would wait for her, but he wouldn’t get involved. He wouldn’t get invested.

Brodie settled in to the café on the ground floor of the building, ordered a drink and set up at a small table by the window. Views of the pier with a backdrop of the bridge filled it. Sydney always made him feel small, but in a good way. As if he was only a tiny fleck on the face of the earth and his actions didn’t matter so much in the scheme of things. As if he could be anyone he wanted to be… could sail away and no one would notice.

He envied Chantal and the freedom she had. She was beholden to no one. He, on the other hand, was stuck in the constant clashing of his desire to be his own person and his obligation to his family. He would always look after his sisters, but sometimes he wanted a break without feeling as though he were abandoning them. Even holidaying in Sydney was tough. What if something happened with Lydia while he was away? What if she got stuck in the house on her own and couldn’t call for help?

He shoved aside the worry and reached for a newspaper, making sure to offer a charming smile to the waitress as she set down his coffee. She was cute—early twenties, blonde. But he didn’t feel the usual zing of excitement when she smiled back, lingering before heading to her station. Something was definitely amiss.

Several articles and a sports section later Brodie looked up. He’d downed his coffee and then switched to green tea—which tasted like crap—and a bottle of water. A beer would have hit the spot, but he’d skipped training that morning and tomorrow’s session would be hell if he didn’t get his act together. Ah, discipline… it was kind of overrated.

Chantal still hadn’t returned. How long had it been? Time had ticked by reluctantly, but she must have been gone an hour… maybe two. Was that a good sign? He hoped so.

The phone vibrating on the café table pulled his attention away from thoughts of Chantal. A photo of his youngest sister, Ellen, flashed up on screen. She looked so much like him. Shaggy blond hair that couldn’t be controlled, light green eyes, and skin that tanned at the mere mention of sun.

‘Ellie-pie, what’s happening?’

‘Not much.’ She sighed—the universal signal that there was, in fact, something happening. ‘Boy stuff.’

‘You know how I deal with that.’ Brodie frowned.

Trouble related to boys was squarely not in the realm of brotherly duties. Unless, of course, the solution to said boy problem involved him putting the fear of God into whichever pimply-faced rat had upset his little sister.

‘Yeah, I know. I wasn’t calling about that.’ Pause. ‘When are you coming home?’

‘I only left a couple of days ago.’ Not that it stopped the guilt from churning.

‘I know.’ She sighed again. ‘Hey, can I come and stay with you when you get back?’

He smiled. ‘Are the twins driving you crazy again?’

‘No. Lydia’s being difficult today.’

The relationship between his oldest and youngest sister had always been tense. And Lydia’s mood changes seemed to affect Ellen more than anyone; she was often the one at home, taking on the role of parent when Brodie and their mother were working and the twins were out living their lives.

It might have been easier with another parental figure around, but his dad was best described as an ‘absentee parent’. Even before the divorce his father had shunned responsibility, favouring activities that allowed him to ‘find his creativity’ over supporting his kids or his wife.

‘Lydia can’t help it. Her situation is tough—you know that.’

‘You always take her side,’ Ellen whined.

‘No, I don’t.’ He sighed, pressing his fingers to his temple.

‘You do—just like everyone else!’ The wobble in her voice signalled that tears were imminent.

‘I’m not taking sides, Ellen, and I understand you cop the brunt of it.’

That seemed to appease her. ‘I want to get out of the house for a bit. And I can’t go to Jamie’s… We broke up.’

Oh, boy. ‘Do I need to pay him a visit?’

‘No. It was mutual. We weren’t ready to settle down with one another.’

Not surprising—she was only nineteen. Brodie rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll call you when I get home. Then you can come and crash for the weekend.’

Chantal had arrived at the table, and a soft smile tugged at her lips. Was that because she’d had good news, or because she’d caught him playing big brother? He finished up his call with Ellen and shoved the phone into his pocket.

‘You’re still here.’

Her voice broke through the ambient noise of the café.

‘Of course I’m still here. I said I would be.’

She hovered by the edge of the table, hands twisting in front of her.

‘You don’t need an invitation,’ he said, but he stood anyway and drew back the seat next to him so she could sit down. ‘How did it go?’

‘I don’t know. It felt good.’ She shook her head and sat, tucking her feet up underneath her. ‘But that doesn’t always mean anything. They said they’ll get back to me.’

‘I’m sure you were amazing.’ He reached out and grabbed her hand, giving it a soft squeeze.

‘Amazing doesn’t always cut it.’

‘It doesn’t?’

‘No. You can’t just be a great dancer—you have to look right, have the right style…’ Her cheeks were stained pink and she rubbed her hands over her face. ‘These are the big guns too. They didn’t even open up for auditions last year.’

Her breath came out irregular—too fast, too shallow. He could see her mind whirring behind those beautiful soulful eyes. He could see the doubt painted across her face. He could imagine the words she didn’t say aloud. I hope it was enough. I hope I was enough.

Instead she said, ‘Some days I wonder if it’s worth it.’

‘Of course it’s worth it.’

How could she say something like that? People would kill for her talent.

‘Easy for you to say—you’re not the one up there, putting yourself out for every man and his dog to judge you.’

‘People judge each other every day,’ Brodie pointed out. ‘You don’t need a stage for that.’

She smiled, her shoulders relaxing as she loosened her hair. The dark strands fell around her shoulders, golden ends glinting in the sun streaming through the café’s window. ‘Is that a dig at me?’

‘It might be.’

He flagged down a waitress and ordered Chantal a coffee. They watched each other for a moment like two dogs circling. Wary. Charged.

‘Because I think you lead a charmed life?’

‘Because you don’t think I work for it.’ He took a long swig from his water bottle. ‘I do.’

‘I know you work for it. But you have to admit you seem to land on your feet, no matter what.’

‘And you don’t?’ He raked a hand through his hair.

‘No, I don’t.’

She let out a hollow laugh and the sound made him want to pull her tight against him.

‘You have no idea what it’s been like the last few years.’

‘So tell me?’

Silence. Perhaps she didn’t expect him to care. Chantal paused while the waitress set down her coffee. She cradled the cup in her small hands, blowing at the steam.

When she stayed quiet he changed tactic. ‘How come you never called?’

‘You never called either.’

She sipped her drink and set the cup down on the table. For a moment the view of the pier had her attention, and the tension melted from her face.

‘I wasn’t exactly keen to share that my career was going down the gurgler. Why else would I have called?’

‘Because we’re friends, Chantal, despite how it ended.’

‘You’re right.’ She nodded. ‘Friends.’

God, he wanted to kiss her. She was sex on legs. Perfection.

‘Friends who have the hots for each other.’

‘I don’t have the hots for you,’ she protested, but her cheeks flamed crimson and her gaze locked onto some invisible spot on the ground.

‘How about you look me in the eye when you say that?’

‘Okay—fine. You’re kind of a hottie.’ Red, redder, reddest. She still didn’t look up. ‘But you’re not my type.’

‘What’s your type?’

‘Tall, dark and handsome?’ she quipped with a wave of her hand. ‘No guys are my type at the moment. I have this little thing called a career that needs saving.’

‘It’s not that you don’t have time for guys—you just don’t have time for relationships.’ Brodie rolled the idea around in his head. ‘Maybe what you need is a little no-strings tension-reliever.’

‘Is that what the kids are calling it these days?’ She raised a brow at him and traced the edge of her coffee cup with a fingertip.

‘Doesn’t matter what it’s called so long as it feels good.’

‘I’m not a hedonist like you, Brodie. There are more important things in life than pleasure. I need my focus at the moment.’

‘Perhaps… But don’t you think you could do with a little pleasure right now?’

He reached out and cupped the side of her face. Their knees touched under the table and he could feel the heat radiating from her.

Her dark lashes fluttered. He wasn’t going to kiss her again—not yet. She’d run scared if he pushed too hard too soon… But he would draw her in. Relax her boundaries. Give her space to let her guard drop.

Then he would have her.