Читать книгу The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection - Ким Лоренс, Kelly Hunter - Страница 41

CHANTAL AWOKE WRAPPED in Brodie arms. Her face was pushed against his bicep, which was far cosier than it should have been, considering the guy was a rock-hard tower of muscle. His even breathing soothed the thumping of her heart.

From her days at Weeping Reef she knew Brodie was a heavy sleeper. She’d tested it on more than one occasion by sneaking into his room with Scott so they could play pranks on him. Like the time they’d switched the clothes in his drawers for frilly girls’ nightclothes, so that he had to wander down to Chantal’s room in a pink leopard-print negligee.

Not that he’d been too upset. He’d strutted his stuff as he did every day and the girls had fallen at his feet anyway.

Biting down on her lower lip, Chantal watched his peaceful face. Full lips were curved into a slight smile; thick lashes cast shadows on his cheekbones. His shaggy blond hair managed to look magazine perfect. Damn him.

Flashes of last night came back in a rush of needy, achy feeling. Every part of her body throbbed in a totally satisfied, pleasure-overload kind of way. Brodie was as good in bed as she’d suspected, but there was a tenderness to him that had been a complete surprise. The way he’d stroked her hair, the comforting embrace in the middle of the night, the gentle sweep of his hand along her arm—she hadn’t been prepared for that at all. If anything it would have been easier if he was cold and impersonal afterwards.

She couldn’t do this with him. It had been so much more than scratching an itch. He’d pushed her limits, bringing her to sensual heights she’d never known existed. He’d stirred her curiosity. The words inked on him revealed that he was so much more than the shallow charmer she’d labelled him. How could she look into those beautiful green eyes again without wanting to learn more? To dig deeper?

It was supposed to be about sex.

It is about sex. You don’t owe him anything. You got what you wanted—now move on and focus on your career. Playtime is over.

Careful not to wake him, Chantal extracted herself from his muscular hold. She slipped out of the bed, holding her breath as her feet touched the polished boards. It was like playing a game of Sleeping Giant—except that the giant was a hunky guy with whom she didn’t want to have awkward after-sex conversation.

How was she going to get back to Newcastle for her shift at the job from hell? Cringing, she tiptoed around the room. More importantly, where the hell was her dress? She’d managed to find every single one of Brodie’s clothing items from their stripping frenzy, but the little blue dress was nowhere to be seen. Normally she was a leave-nothing-behind kind of girl when it came to her clothes, but the blue dress would have to be sacrificed.

Changing slowly, and as silently as possible, Chantal pulled on the clothes she’d arrived in on the first night, grabbed her phone and slung her overnight bag over one shoulder.

Now she had to make her way to Newcastle without the aid of Brodie’s boat or her car—which was still parked at the bar. Simple… not. A cab was out of the question, since her wallet was frighteningly lean. Perhaps she could ring one of the girls and beg for a lift?

She bit down on her lip. She hated to ask. What if they already had plans? They probably would, and she would be interrupting. The bed squeaked as Brodie turned in his sleep, spiking her heart rate. She had to get out of there.

Pushing down her discomfort, she made her way off the boat and dialled Willa’s number. ‘Hey, I know it’s early, but I need a favour…’

Within twenty minutes she was in Willa’s car and on her way to Newcastle. There would be a price to pay for Willa’s generosity in giving up brunch with Rob… and it wasn’t going to be monetary.

‘So,’ Willa began, not bothering to hide the curiosity sparkling all over her face, ‘how was he?’

Chantal pretended to study an email on her phone. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh, come on! I did not miss out on baked ricotta and eggs to have you BS me, Chantal.’

‘Nothing happened.’

Willa chuckled. ‘Then why is your face the same shade as a tomato?’

‘Sunburn?’ Chantal offered weakly. ‘Okay—fine. I slept with him.’

‘Thank you, Captain Obvious. I’d figured that out already.’ Willa leant forward to watch the traffic as she merged onto the Bradfield Highway. ‘I don’t want confirmation—I want details.’

Where to begin? Images of last night flashed in front of Chantal’s eyes, snippets of sounds, feelings, sensations… Her body reacted as though he were right there in front of her. Damn him!

‘It was… satisfying.’

‘Just satisfying?’ Willa narrowed her eyes at Chantal. ‘Either you dish or it’s going to be a long walk to Newcastle.’

‘He was amazing.’

Shaking her head, she willed her heart to stop thumping and her core to stop throbbing. She should be satiated, considering he’d woken her up twice during the night to continue wringing as many orgasms from her as possible.

‘I’m sure he’s had plenty of practice,’ Chantal added, folding her arms across her chest.

‘Don’t go using that as a way to put distance between you. I can see what you’re doing there.’

‘I am not.’

‘That’s one thing I like about you, Chantal. You’re a terrible liar.’

She huffed. Perhaps she would have been better walking. ‘I don’t need to put any distance between us because we agreed that it would be a one-night-only thing. Then we’d pretend it had never happened.’

‘Gee, that sounds healthy.’ Willa rolled her eyes.

‘Why not? It’s just sex—nothing more.’ I don’t need any more, and I don’t need him.

‘If it was just sex then why do you need to pretend it didn’t happen?’

As much as she hated to admit it, Willa had a point. What was so bad about admitting that she’d had a one-night stand with Brodie?

Even thinking the words set a hard lump in her stomach. She’d been down this path before—men always started out fun, till the over-protectiveness stirred, control followed, and smothering wasn’t far behind.

‘Well, we don’t want to upset Scott…’

‘That’s not it. Scott is totally head over heels for Kate. She’s it for him. So I can guarantee he wouldn’t care about you and Brodie hooking up.’

Why did she feel so funny about it? Perhaps admitting it aloud meant it was real, and if it was real then it might happen again.

It’s a slippery slope to disaster—remember that.

‘Eight years is a long time to harbour feelings for someone. No wonder you’re scared.’

‘I’m not scared.’ Chantal’s lips pursed. ‘And I have most certainly not been harbouring feelings for Brodie Mitchell for the last eight years.’

‘I think the lady doth protest too much.’ Willa stole a quick glance at Chantal, her amusement barely contained in a cheeky smile. ‘You know, it is okay for you to like people—even annoyingly handsome men like Brodie.’

‘I don’t like him. I only wanted his body.’ Her lip twitched.

Feelings for his body were a little easier to deal with than the possibility of feelings for him as a person. She had to shut this down right now. She did not have feelings for Brodie and she most certainly didn’t want to start something permanent with him. It was a simple case of primitive, animalistic need. Relationships were not something on her horizon.

But no one had said anything about relationships, had they? Crap, why did it have to be so damn confusing? Head space came at a premium, and she could not afford to waste any spare energy on men, no matter how incredible their hands or mouth were.

‘Uh, Chantal? I asked you a question.’

‘Did you?’ Great—now she’d lost her ability to even sustain basic conversation.

‘Yes, I asked if you’d heard back after your audition.’

Sore point number two. ‘Not yet. But it was only yesterday. They could take a little while to get back to me.’

‘Do you think it went well?’

‘Who the hell knows?’ She sighed, rubbing her hands over her eyes. ‘I can’t tell any more.’

‘I’m sure you’ll land on your feet.’ Willa reached over and squeezed her hand.

For a moment Chantal was terrified that she might cry. She hadn’t allowed herself to shed any tears over her marriage or her failing career, and she didn’t plan on opening the floodgates now. All that emotion was packed down tight. There would be time to cry when she’d secured herself a position with a dance company. For the time being tears were a waste of time and energy.

Thankfully Chantal was able to steer Willa to a safer topic. She was all too happy to talk about how things were going with Rob. Other people’s lives were preferable talking points over the tricky, icky state of her career and her unwanted feelings towards Brodie.

Willa dropped Chantal off at the bar’s parking lot, and she was almost surprised to find her car was still there. It was too crappy to steal, apparently.

Hitching her overnight bag higher on her shoulder, Chantal made her way around the back of the bar to the staff accommodation. She needed a hot shower, a cup of coffee and a lie down before she even attempted to get herself ready for another night of humiliation.

Her unit was number four. The metal number hung upside down on the door, one of its nails having rusted and fallen out. Holding her breath, she shoved the key into the lock and turned. The room didn’t smell quite as bad as the bar, but the stale air still made her recoil as she entered the room.

‘Home sweet home,’ she muttered, dumping her bag onto the bed. ‘Not.’

The small room was almost entirely filled with an ancient-looking double bed covered in a faded floral quilt. A light flickered overhead, casting an eerie yellow glow over walls that were badly in need of a new paint job. A crack stretched down one wall, partially covered by a photo frame containing a generic scenery print. It was probably the picture that had come with the frame.

A quick peek at the bathroom revealed chipped blue tiles, a shower adorned with a torn plastic curtain and a sink that looked as though it needed a hardcore bleach application.

Chantal dropped down onto the bed and checked her phone. Nothing. What was she expecting? Brodie to be calling? Asking her to come back?

Something dark scuttled across the floor by her feet. Chantal drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs.

She would not cry. She would not cry.

Brodie woke to the sound of his phone vibrating against the nightstand. He stretched, palm smoothing over the space next to him in the bed. The empty space.

Grinding a fist into his eyes, he forced the fogginess away. What time was it? He groped for his phone, fumbling with the passcode. It was a text from Scott.

Bro, I thought we were going for a run? Where are you?

Run? It was three o’clock in the afternoon. Crap, how had that happened?

Sorry, got caught up. Will have to reschedule.

The bed sheets were tangled around his legs and he caught a brief flash of Chantal’s ocean-coloured dress peeking out from underneath his jeans in the corner of the room—a sure sign that the lavish images of losing himself in her body over and over weren’t from a dream.

His phone immediately pinged with a new message.

Got caught up with what? Or should I say who?

Ugh. Where was Chantal? His feet hit the ground, thighs protesting as he stood. Yep, that was a sign of one hell of a night. He stretched, forcing his arms up overhead and pressing against the tightness in his muscles. Damn, he felt good.

He poked his head into the en-suite bathroom. No Chantal there. Padding out to the kitchen, he typed a message back to Scott.

No comment.

She wasn’t in the kitchen either. Why hadn’t she woken him? He wandered out onto the deck to see if she was doing any of her yoga stuff. Nope, nothing there either.

He raked a hand through his hair, coming back to the kitchen and flicking the coffee machine on. It whirred, grinding beans and then flooding the room with its delicious, fresh-brewed coffee scent.

Weak. Not that it takes a genius to figure it out…

Scott had a point. It had been bound to happen between him and Chantal. Their tension had been through the roof back then, and eight years hadn’t dampened it at all. It had been a special kind of torture having Chantal back in his life… even if only for a short period of time.

Last night had been easily the best night of his life. But only because she was insanely hot and did things with her mouth that would make the most experienced of men blush. It was a conquest thing—a very long-awaited notch on his belt.

Yeah, right.

Okay, so maybe he normally woke up hoping the girl had made a quick exit… if he’d even brought her back to his place. Normally he opted to go to hers, so he had control over a quick getaway.

But something about Chantal’s leaving didn’t sit well with him. He felt the absence of her keenly—almost as if he wasn’t ready for it to be over. Understandable, since he’d been lusting after her for such a long time. He needed a little while longer to get it out of his system. Like forever.

So much for the ‘hands off your mates’ rule.

Frowning, he plucked his espresso cup from the coffee machine and breathed deeply. Where could she have disappeared to? Surely she hadn’t gone back to that crappy bar on her own? His chest clenched, fingers tightening around the china cup.

The thought of her getting back up on that stage, dancing in front of those men… It was enough to unsettle even the most relaxed guy. He sipped the coffee, relishing the rich flavour on his tongue, but it didn’t satisfy him as much as usual. After tasting Chantal all other flavours would pale in comparison, of that he was sure.

Perhaps the dance company had called her in for another audition? Not likely, since she’d only auditioned yesterday. She couldn’t be back at that bar. How would she have got there on her own? Her car had never come back to Sydney.

His phone vibrated again, and he was about to curse Scott’s name when Willa’s photo flashed up.

‘Hello?’

‘Hey, Brodes.’

The traffic in the background told him she was calling from the road.

‘I wanted to let you know I drove Chantal back to Newcastle.’

Dammit. ‘When?’

‘I dropped her off about an hour ago—I’m still on my way back. It’s a long drive! Thought you might want to know, since I got the impression she hadn’t said anything to you this morning.’

‘She hadn’t.’

‘I don’t like the idea of her staying at that place.’

He let out a sharp breath. ‘Neither do I. I wouldn’t have let her go…’

‘That’s probably why she didn’t tell you.’ She sighed. ‘I only took her because I knew she’d find her own way if I said no. I didn’t want her hitchhiking or anything like that.’

He swore under his breath. ‘She makes me lose my cool, Willa.’

‘She must be the only girl ever.’

He ignored the jibe. ‘I’ll go get her.’

‘Good.’

By the time Brodie had sailed back up the coast, the sun had dipped low in the sky and his blood had reached boiling point. He wasn’t sure what made him angrier: the fact that she’d left him the morning after or that she’d returned to a crappy job that was not only beneath her but a possible threat to her safety.

Okay, maybe he was overreacting, but that bar was shady. The guys who hung around it were rough. He could only imagine what the on-site accommodation looked like. The thought of one of those men following her after she’d finished her shift…

His fists clenched. He had to get her out of there.

He strode across the car park, ignoring the catcalls from a group of scantily clad girls leaning against a souped-up ute with neon lights and chrome rims. Inside, a band belted out metal music, the screaming vocals grating on his nerves.

Bypassing the growing crowd, he took the stairs up to the second floor. Would he be able to grab her before she performed or would he have to sit through the sweet torture of watching her up on that stage again?

The bass thumped deep in his chest as he climbed the stairs. Chantal wasn’t on stage. Instead the crowd was cheering for an older woman wearing sparkling hearts over her nipples. Brodie squinted. Were those tassels? The stage was littered with a pair of silk gloves, a feather boa, and something that looked like a giant fan made of peacock feathers. The woman shook her chest, sending the tassels flying in all directions.

Find Chantal now! Otherwise she might be the next one on stage, shaking her tassels.

Two girls who sat at the bar looked as though they might be dancers. Their sparkly make-up, elaborate outfits and styled hair certainly seemed to suggest it.

‘Excuse me ladies,’ he said, approaching them. ‘I’m looking for a friend of mine who dances here.’

‘I can be your friend who dances here.’ The blonde batted her false lashes at him, silver glitter sparkling with each blink.

‘We come as a pair.’ The redhead chuckled, tossing her hair over one shoulder.

‘That’s tempting,’ he said, turning on a charming smile. ‘And I’m sure you’re both a lot of fun. But I need to find a girl called Chantal.’

‘You can call me whatever you like, sugar.’ Red winked, blowing him a kiss from her highly glossed crimson lips.

‘Are you her boyfriend?’ asked Blonde, tracing a lacquered finger up the length of his shirt. ‘Most of the girls here don’t stick to one guy. They get too jealous.’

‘The guys?’

Blonde nodded. ‘They start fights. You’re not going to start a fight, are you?’

‘I’m a lover, not a fighter.’

He watched the bartender eyeing him. The guy was old, but his arms were covered in faded prison tattoos. Brodie directed his eyes back to the girls.

‘You sure look like a lover.’ Red licked her lips. ‘A good one, too. But all guys go crazy for the right girl.’

‘Chantal is a friend. So, have you seen her?’

‘A friend? Right.’ Blonde laughed. ‘If she was just a friend you wouldn’t be here with that puppy love face, looking for her.’

He opened his mouth to argue but snapped it shut. Trying to reason with these two would be a waste of time—time that could be better spent looking for Chantal and getting her the hell out of this hole.

‘Thanks for your time, ladies.’

‘Good luck, lover boy.’ Red chortled as he walked away.

He stood by the bar and scanned the room. Mostly men, a few women who might or might not be dancers, muscle stationed by the stairwell and by an exit on the other side of the stage. That must be where the dancers went backstage.

He was about to attempt to get past the muscle when he spotted Chantal. In denim shorts and a white tank top, she looked dressed for the beach rather than a bar. But her face and hair were made up for the stage. She had a bag over one shoulder. Perhaps she’d already danced?

As she attempted to weave through the crowd someone stopped her. A guy much bigger than her put his hands on her arms and she tried to wriggle out of his grasp. The bouncer looked on with mild amusement, but made no attempt to step in and protect Chantal.

Brodie rushed forward, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her back against him. She yelped in surprise, but relief flooded her face when she realised it was him. She stepped back, standing partially behind him.

‘Is there a problem, mate?’ The guy towered over Brodie, and he saw a snake tattoo peeking out of the edge of his dark T-shirt.

‘Yeah, you had your hands on my girl.’ He looked the guy dead in the eye, ready to fight if it came to that.

A wave of guilt washed over him. Was this how Scott had felt that night at Weeping Reef?

He shoved the thought aside and pushed Chantal farther behind him. Nothing mattered now but getting her out safely.

‘Maybe you shouldn’t be letting her parade around in next to nothing, then.’ He leered, exposing an aggressive gap-toothed smile. ‘Some of the guys here aren’t as easygoing as me.’

Brodie turned, wrapped his arm around Chantal’s shoulders and steered her towards the stairs. They moved through the throng of people and he didn’t let go of her. Not once.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked as they exited the bar. Her brows were narrowed, and her face was streaked with conflicting emotions.

It wasn’t dark yet. An orb of gold sat low on the horizon while the inky shades of night bled into the sky. Chantal hovered at the entrance of the bar, her eyes darting from the driveway to the accommodation and back to him. The red neon sign from the bar flickered at odd intervals.

‘I’m saving your butt—that’s what I’m doing.’ He raked a hand through his hair, tremors of adrenaline still running through him. ‘I’m giving you a place to stay.’

‘I have a place to stay.’ The defiance in her voice rang out in the night air, and her fists were balled by her sides.

‘And how is it? I’m assuming you came back here after you hauled arse this morning?’

The breeze ruffled her dark hair, sending a few strands into her eyes. She blew them away. ‘I did.’

‘And?’

She folded her arms across her chest. ‘It’s serviceable.’

‘And you’d take “serviceable” over a luxury yacht? Or would that just be to spite me?’

Why was he even worried? She either wanted to stay or she didn’t. They weren’t in a relationship. So why was the thought of her staying here alone like a stake through his gut?

Too many years playing big brother—that’s all it is.

‘I’m not trying to spite you, Brodie.’ She sighed. ‘But I don’t need you following me around playing macho protector.’

‘What would have happened if I hadn’t been here?’ He threw his hands up in the air, the mere thought of anyone harming her sending his instincts into overdrive.

‘I would have handled it.’

‘Oh, yeah? How?’

She waved a hand at him. ‘I can look after myself, Brodie. I’ve done it without your help for the last eight years.’

‘I would have been here the second you asked.’

Her face softened, but she didn’t uncross her arms. ‘But I didn’t ask, did I? That’s because I’m fine on my own.’

‘It didn’t look like you were going to be fine tonight.’

‘That’s your perception.’

How could she not see the danger? Was she actually that blind or was it all a ruse so he’d believe her strong and capable? He did think she was strong and capable, but the facts still stood. A huge guy would easily overpower her petite frame, no matter what skills she had. Her refusal to accept his help made him worry more.

‘Only an idiot couldn’t see the path that you almost went down.’

‘Only this idiot?’ She rolled her eyes, flattening her palm to her chest. ‘I’m not a damsel in distress—no matter how much you fantasise about it.’

‘You think I fantasise about you being in trouble?’ Rage tore through him. If only she knew the fear that had coursed through him when he’d realised where she was today.

She opened her mouth to retort, but changed her mind. ‘I don’t think that, Brodie. But I want you to understand that this thing between us is just sex. You’re not obligated to be my bodyguard.’

The words hit him like a sledge-hammer to his solar plexus. Just sex. Of course that was all it was. That was what they’d agreed last night… So why did he feel as if she was tearing something away from him?

‘Come back to the boat.’ He set a hard stare on her, challenging her. ‘For just sex.’

‘I don’t want you coming back into the bar.’ She loosened her arms, pursing her lips. Her eyes were blackened and heavy, her lips full. ‘You don’t need to rescue me.’

‘Fine.’

It went against every fibre of his being, but he would have agreed to anything to get her away from the bar at that point. He would deal with the consequences next time he turned up to rescue her—because hell would freeze over before he let her put herself in danger. She could get as mad as she liked.

She eyed him warily. ‘Okay, then. Let’s go.’