Читать книгу The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection - Ким Лоренс, Kelly Hunter - Страница 42

THEY WALKED AROUND the side of the bar to the staff accommodation so she could retrieve her bag. Going back to his boat felt like giving in, which seemed spineless after her great escape that morning. But the guy from the bar had shaken her. His disgusting words whispered into her ear along with the sickly scent of cheap whisky and Coke had made her stomach churn. Brodie had showed up at the right time and, though she would never admit it, she wasn’t quite sure how she would have got herself out of that situation.

But it was a slippery slope from accepting help to being controlled, and she would never go there again.

A pale yellow beam from an outside security light spilled into the tiny motel-like room, causing shadows to stretch and claw at the walls. She wanted to be here about as much as she wanted to stab herself in the eye with a stiletto. But the alternative wasn’t exactly peachy. Another night on Brodie’s boat… another night of searing temptation and slowly losing her mind.

True to his word, he hadn’t mentioned them sleeping together, but the evening was young. Something about the way he watched her pack told her he wasn’t here out of friendly concern alone.

‘How many more shifts do you have?’ he asked, hovering by the door.

He stayed close but didn’t touch her. Still, she was fully aware of the heat and intensity radiating off him. He wore a shirt tonight, soft white cotton with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A thin strip of leather hung around his neck, weighted with a small silver anchor. A silver watch sat on one wrist, contrasting against his deep tan.

‘I’ve got a month in total,’ she replied. ‘They’re pushing for more, though.’

‘You’re not going to stay, are you?’

‘If I don’t find something else I might not have a choice.’ She faced away from him, stuffing the few items she’d unpacked back into her overnight bag. ‘A girl’s gotta eat.’

He frowned. ‘There must be something else you could do.’

‘Yeah, I could wait tables or work as a checkout chick at a supermarket. No matter how bad this is, it’s still dancing. It means I haven’t given up.’

Slinging her bag over one shoulder, she walked out of the room and slammed the door shut behind her.

Silence. She sensed a begrudging acceptance from him.

‘No word on the audition?’

‘Not yet.’

Once on the yacht, Chantal stashed her things in the guest room, hoping it signalled to Brodie that she had no intention of sleeping with him again. Incredible as they were together, it was clear she needed to focus on her current situation. She was already taking way too much from Brodie. She couldn’t rely on him, his yacht or his money. She’d made this mess—she needed to get herself out of it.

‘Why don’t you grab a shower and I’ll get dinner on the go?’ he said, already pulling a frying pan from the kitchenette cupboard.

‘Are you trying to tell me I smell?’ She smirked, leaning against the breakfast bar.

Soft denim stretched over the most magnificent butt she’d ever laid eyes on as he bent down. He was the perfect shape. Muscular, but not OTT bulky. Broad, masculine, powerful. She swallowed, her mouth dry and scratchy.

‘If I thought you smelled I would come right out and say it.’ He looked over his shoulder, blond hair falling into his eyes.

He mustn’t have shaved this morning. Blond stubble peppered his strong jaw, making the lines look even sharper and more devastating. Golden hair dusted his forearms, and she knew that his chest was mostly bare except for a light smattering around his nipples and the trail from his belly button down. She couldn’t get that image out of her head.

‘Hurry up—before I drag you there myself.’

He said the words without turning around, and Chantal thanked her lucky stars that he didn’t. The words alone were potent enough, without the cheeky smile or glint she knew would be in his eyes.

‘Then you’ll be in trouble.’

The steam and hot water did nothing to wash away the tension in her limbs, nor the aching between her thighs. Wasn’t a shower supposed to be cleansing? The quiet sound of rushing water only gave her time to replay the most delicious parts of last night, and she stepped out onto the tiles feeling more wound up than before.

A mouth-watering scent wafted in the air as she slipped into a loose black dress, and padded barefoot into the kitchen. The table was set for two. Intimate… personal.

Two glasses held white wine the colour of pale gold. White china rimmed in silver sported a faint criss-cross pattern—simple, but undeniably luxurious. A bowl of salad sat in the middle of the table.

‘Pan-fried salmon with roasted potatoes and baby carrots.’ He brought two plates to the table. ‘Not fancy, but it is healthy—and pretty darn tasty, if I do say so myself.’

‘I didn’t know you could cook.’

‘I’m a man of many talents, Chantal.’ He set the plates down and dropped into the seat across from her. ‘I thought you would have figured that out by now.’

She rolled her eyes, cutting into the salmon steak and sighing at the sight of the perfectly cooked fish. ‘Does it get annoying, being good at everything?’

‘No.’ He grinned and speared a potato.

They picked up their glasses and clinked them together. The bell-like sound rang softly in the air. Crystal glasses. Of course they’re crystal—this is a boat for rich people… not people like you.

Chantal shoved the thought aside and sipped her wine. ‘Did you do a lot of cooking at home?’

‘I did, actually. I was probably the only fifteen-year-old kid who cooked dinner for the family most nights of the week.’

‘Really?’

She couldn’t hide her surprise. He hardly seemed like the kind of guy who would be in charge of a household. But the salmon melted on her tongue, and the tangy aromatics of a lemon and ginger marinade danced in sensational delight. He didn’t cook in the way most people did, where the food was functional first and foremost. He had talent—a knack for flavour and texture.

‘Yep. Mum was a nurse and she often worked afternoons and nights. The cooking was left up to me.’

‘What about your dad?’

‘He wasn’t around.’ Brodie frowned. ‘Dad was an artist, and he had a lot more passion for painting than he did for his family.’

‘That’s sad.’

‘Yeah… I was fine, but the girls really needed him—especially Lydia. She remembered him more than the twins and Ellen.’ He reached for his wine, looking as though he were about to continue the thread of conversation but changing his mind at the last minute. ‘What about you? Were you the house chef?’

‘I can do the basics. My mum worked long hours too, so I had to fend for myself a fair bit.’ She swallowed down the guilt that curled in her stomach whenever she thought about her mother. ‘I can do a basic pasta… salads. That kind of thing.’

‘What does your mother do?’

‘She’s a cleaner.’ Chantal bit down on her lip, wishing the memories weren’t still so vivid. ‘I don’t think she’s ever worked less than two jobs her whole life.’

His eyes softened. Damn him. She didn’t want his sympathy.

‘What about your dad?’

‘He left when I was ten.’ She shrugged, stabbing her fork at a lettuce leaf more forcefully than she needed to.

‘Siblings?’

‘None. Probably sounds strange to someone with such a big family.’ Good—turn the conversation back to him.

‘Yep—four sisters and never a moment of peace.’

She envied the contented smile on his lips. It was obvious his family was important to him. She’d bet they would be close, despite his father’s absence. The kind of family who had big, raucous Christmas gatherings and loads of funny traditions. So different from her. They’d been so poor at one point that her mother had wrapped her Christmas present—a Barbie doll from the local second-hand shop—in week-old newspaper. The memory stabbed at her heart, scything through the softest part of her. The part she kept under lock and key.

‘It drove me nuts, growing up,’ he continued. ‘But I became amazingly proficient at hair braids and reading bedtime stories.’

Her stomach churned. ‘You’ll make a great dad one day.’

A dark shadow passed over his face. The wall dropped down in front of him so fast and so resolutely that Chantal wondered what she’d said. A sardonic smile twitched the corner of his lips. Okay, so there were some things that put Brodie in a bad mood.

‘I don’t want the white-picket-fence deal.’ He drained the rest of his wine and reached for the bottle to empty the remaining contents into his glass. ‘Marriage, kids, pets… not for me. I’ve got enough responsibility now.’

‘Cheers to that.’ They clinked glasses again.

He quirked a brow. ‘But you got married.’

‘Just because I did it once it doesn’t mean I’ll do it again.’ Her cheeks burned. ‘That debacle is over for good.’

The wine had loosened her limbs a little, and it seemed her tongue as well. She probably shouldn’t have accepted the shot of whisky one of the other dancers had offered her before she went onstage. But she’d so desperately needed Dutch courage to force her back onstage.

‘Sounds like there’s a story there.’

‘Maybe.’ She shrugged.

Could she claw back her words? Brodie didn’t need to see the ugly bits of her life… especially not after she’d gone to such efforts to hide them. Then again, did it really matter?

‘I’ve seen you naked, remember.’ He grinned.

How could she possibly forget?

‘No point keeping secrets from me now.’

She took a deep breath and decided to throw caution to the wind. After all, he knew her most devastating secret: that her career had turned to crap. What harm could another failure do if it was out in the open?

‘The short version is that I was young, naive and I married the wrong guy.’

‘And the full version?’

‘I married my agent,’ she said, rolling her eyes and taking another sip of her wine. ‘What a bloody cliché. He seemed so worldly, and I was a wide-eyed baby. We met a month after I left Weeping Reef, and he promised he’d make me a star. He did—for a while—but then he started treating me like his student rather than his wife. He wanted everything his way, all the time.’

Brodie held his breath… Dammit. If she asked, wild horses wouldn’t keep him from finding the dude and teaching him a very painful, very permanent lesson. Fists clenched, he drew in a slow breath.

‘I couldn’t take it. The constant criticism, the arguing…’ Her olive eyes glittered and she shook her head. ‘Nothing I did met his expectations—he smothered me. Pushed all my friends away until I could only rely on him. I couldn’t forgive that.’

‘Good.’ The word came out through clenched teeth and Brodie realised his jaw had started to ache. ‘A guy like that doesn’t deserve your forgiveness. What an arse.’

‘Yeah, major arse.’ Her lips twisted into a grimace. ‘We ended up separating, and the divorce went through about six months ago. I’ve been trying to find work but I keep bombing out.’

‘Why do you think that is?’

‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head, despair etched into her face. ‘Maybe after being told for so long that I don’t work hard enough, that I’m not disciplined enough, I’ve started to believe it…’

‘That’s complete crap and you know it.’ He gripped the edge of his seat, knuckles white from lack of circulation. How could anyone not see the lengths that she went to in order to achieve her goals? She deserved every success in the world.

She managed a wan smile. ‘So there you have it: the failings of the not-so-great Chantal Turner. I can’t keep a career and I can’t keep a man. I can’t even book a goddamn dancing job without getting myself into trouble.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ he ground out. His stomach pitched, and the need to bundle her up in his arms thrashed like a wild beast inside him.

‘Oh, but it is.’

She drained another glass of wine. Was that two or three? Not that it mattered. He’d keep her safe on the boat tonight. He’d protect her.

‘I’ve done all these things myself. My judgment—my errors.’

‘You can ask for help.’

She shook her head, dark locks flicking around her shoulders. ‘No. I got myself in trouble—I’ll get myself out. Besides, I’d need to trust people. I can’t do that.’

Her vulnerability shattered him. She’d worked for everything she had—chased it and made sacrifices for it. It wasn’t fair that she was here, feeling as if she’d stuffed everything up. He wanted to erase the pain from her voice, smooth the tension from her limbs and barricade her from the dangers of the world.

‘You can’t go back to that accommodation.’ It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t a suggestion.

‘I need to stay somewhere, Brodie. I need to find a damn supermarket and cook myself a meal.’ She shook her head. ‘I need to get my life together.’

He wondered if, in her head, she’d told herself that she couldn’t rely on him. But he wanted her to… Against his better judgment, he wanted her to lean on him.

‘Stay here—at least for now. That will give you time to find something else… something safer.’ He grabbed her hand across the table, cursing internally when his blood pulsed hard and hot at the contact. ‘I’ll keep the boat docked here and you’ll be close to the bar. Then we can wander around during the day. Have fun. Pretend life isn’t such a pain in the butt.’

A small smile pulled at her lips as she retracted her hand from his grip. ‘I don’t know…’

‘You don’t have to trust me.’

Her eyes roamed his face before she shrugged her acceptance. ‘So that’s days and evenings sorted. What did you have planned for nights?’

He swallowed. It would be easy to come up with a list of things they could do at night, and most of them would make excellent use of her yoga flexibility. Hell, how would he keep his distance after what they’d shared last night? He didn’t need things getting messy between them, and he certainly didn’t want to do anything that would make him lose her again.

‘What about nights? We can watch movies, chill out on the deck. Keep it PG-13.’

Totally chivalrous—he was simply being a good friend. Keeping an eye out for her. Yeah, right.

She smirked. ‘Does PG-13 include kissing?’

‘It might.’

‘Heavy petting?’

‘That sounds like it could lead to something a little more X-rated.’

‘I want to know what kind of tricks you might try to pull—what loopholes you might use.’

‘If I want something I make it happen. Loopholes or no loopholes.’

‘Yes, you certainly do.’ Her eyes flashed, pupils widening as she shifted in her seat.

Her foot brushed his leg under the table. Had she done it on purpose? He couldn’t read her face—couldn’t tell whether her flirtatious tone was meant to bait him or mock him. She pushed her plate away and leant back in her chair. One bronzed leg crossed over the other and the hem of her dress crept up to reveal precious inches of thigh.

‘But you can’t blame a girl for trying to protect herself,’ she said.

‘Why do you think you need to protect yourself around me?’

‘To make sure history doesn’t repeat itself.’ She stretched her arms, dragging the dress farther up her thighs. If she kept up the pace she’d be naked soon, and he’d be on his knees. Not a bad thing, given the way she’d cried his name last night.

Cut it out. You’re supposed to be helping her—not plotting her future orgasms.

‘No more dancing?’

‘You’re far too tempting on the dance floor. All the girls at the resort thought so,’ she said. Her eyes focused on something distant, something lost in memory. ‘You’re a magnet for the ladies.’

He hadn’t cared too much what the other girls thought of him. Only Chantal’s opinion had stuck like a thorn in his side.

‘That was then.’

‘And it’s not the case now?’ She threw him a derisive look. ‘I see the way women look at you, Brodie.’

‘Are you jealous?’

‘Hardly.’ Her brows narrowed, pink flaring across the apples of her cheeks.

He stood, collected the dishes and carried them to the kitchen. He returned moments later with a tub of ice cream and two spoons. No bowls, which would save some washing up. It was only a bonus that they’d need to sit close to share the tub.

‘Anything else off-limits?’

He opened the tub and stuck his spoon in, scooping a small portion of the salted caramel and macadamia ice cream and shoving it into his mouth.

His eyes shut as the sensations danced on his tongue. Sweet, creamy vanilla ice cream, swirls of sticky, salty caramel, and the crunch of toasted nuts. It was heavenly.

It would taste even better if he was able to eat it off that deliciously flat stomach of hers.

Pleasure sounds came from the back of her throat as her lips wrapped around the other spoon. She dragged it out of her mouth slowly and Brodie salivated watching her. If the ice cream was delicious, then she was the dessert of the heavens.

‘I might have to make this ice cream off-limits. I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself polishing off the whole damn tub.’ She sighed and dug her spoon back in. ‘But we can’t let it go to waste—that wouldn’t be right.’

‘I’ll take you for a run tomorrow morning.’

He sucked another tasty morsel from his spoon, focusing on it rather than on Chantal and how her lips looked as if they were made for every kind of X-rated fantasy he’d ever had.

‘That should restore some balance.’

‘I don’t know if I could keep up with you,’ she said, tilting her head and toying with her spoon.

‘You can definitely keep up.’

Were they still talking about running? She stabbed the ice cream with her spoon, leaving the silver handle sticking straight up like an antenna.

‘Tell me more about your family,’ she said. ‘And please take that ice cream away before I eat myself into oblivion.’

He grabbed the tub, pulled out her spoon and replaced the lid before wandering into the kitchen with her close on his heels. As she climbed up onto a bar stool at the kitchen bench, her legs not quite touching the ground, he felt walls shoot up around him. Good. At least some of his defences remained intact. He’d been sure she’d somehow dismantled them.

‘Why the sudden interest in my family?’

‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘I felt like you were a bit of a mystery while we were at the reef… and you did say we were friends. I know most of my other friends better than I know you.’

‘I think we’ve had enough talking tonight.’ He shut the freezer door a little more forcefully than he needed to.

Images of her naked, bending into those damn yoga positions, trailing her hair across his stomach, all invaded him with equal combative power. He wanted her again… and again and again. But they were friends. She’d just confirmed it. Breaking the rule once was excusable—heat of the moment and all that—but twice was playing with fire.

He couldn’t afford to entangle himself in another relationship, no matter how temporary. He had his priorities all worked out: build his business, take care of his family. That was it. Simple. Straightforward. Uncomplicated.

Chantal Turner was like an addictive substance, and everyone knew the first hit was the best. He’d had his taste—time to move on. She needed to be put squarely in the friend zone.

‘I’m going to bed.’ He stretched his arms above his head, not missing the way her eyes lingered on him. ‘Got to get up early for that run.’

‘Sweet dreams.’ She hopped off the bar stool, her face in an unreadable mask, and headed to her room.

‘Undoubtedly,’ he muttered.

The digital clock in the bedroom mocked her with each hour that passed, its red glow holding sleep at an arm’s length. She tossed and turned, twisting the sheets into knots around her limbs. What was wrong with her?

Brodie refused to leave her mind alone. One minute he was hot for her and sharing things about himself, the next he was done talking and wanted to sleep.

It’s a good thing he had the guts to do what you couldn’t.

Was it possible that now he’d got what he wanted, she was out of his system? That thought shouldn’t have rankled, but it did—and with surprising force. Surely eight years of unrequited sexual tension couldn’t be over in one night?

Why should she care?

Shaking her head, she turned over onto her side and huffed. It was clear that she’d become unhinged. Perhaps her inability to find a real job was slowly driving her insane, making her more sensitive to things that should have meant nothing. Only Brodie didn’t mean nothing… did he?

The bedroom suddenly felt too confined, too tight for her to breathe. Chantal swung her legs out of the bed and stood, relishing the feeling of the smooth floorboards on her bare soles.

She padded out to the deck and tipped her face up, her breath catching at the sight of the full, ripe moon hanging in a cloudless sky dotted with stars. In Sydney the city lights illuminated everything twenty-four-seven and the stars weren’t visible. She’d missed them.

Growing up in a small coastal town had meant night after night of sparkling sky—endless opportunities to place a wish on the first one that winked at her. Perhaps that was why everything was falling to pieces now? It had been a long time since she’d made a wish. She closed her eyes, but her mind couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought. She knew what she wanted to wish for… didn’t she? Her stomach twisted itself into a knot and her breath shortened to shallow puffs.

What if things didn’t turn around? What if the dive bar was her best option? Don’t think like that, you have to be positive. You have to keep trying… try harder!

Alone, she felt tears prickle her eyes. The sadness was pushing its way to the surface, mingling with her ever-present panic like blood curling in water. She needed to hang on a little while longer—long enough to get something—anything—which would prove she hadn’t wasted her mother’s sacrifices and her own hard work. Then she could deal with the bad stuff.

‘What are you doing up?’

Brodie’s sleep-roughened voice caught her off guard. She whirled around, blinking back the tears and pleading with herself to calm down. She didn’t want him to see her like this—not when she felt she was about to fall apart at the seams.

‘Are you okay?’

She nodded, unable to speak for fear that releasing words might open the floodgates of all she held back. Her breathing was so shallow and fast that the world tilted at her feet. She pressed a palm to her cheek, mentally willing him to leave her. Her face was as warm as if she’d spent the night sleeping next to an open fire, and her skin prickled uncomfortably.

‘You don’t look okay.’ He stepped closer and captured her face in his hands, studying her with his emerald eyes.

That only made it worse. By now her palms were slick with perspiration and her stomach swished like the ocean during a storm. Tremors racked her hands and her dignity was slipping away faster than she could control it. She was drowning, and once again she was relying on him to save her.

‘Hey, it’s all right,’ he soothed, moving his hands to her shoulders and rubbing slowly up and down her arms. ‘Let’s get you a glass of water.’

He pulled her against his side, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and guiding her into the cabin. Setting her down on a stool, he grabbed a glass and pressed it against the ice machine on the fridge. Loud clinking noises filled the room as the ice tumbled into the glass, followed by the glug of water from a bottle in the fridge.

Breathe in—one, two, three. Out—one, two, three.

‘Drink it slowly—don’t gulp.’ He handed her the glass and smoothed her hair back from her face.

No doubt she looked like a crazy person, huffing and puffing like the wolf from that nursery rhyme. Her hair would be all over the place, sticking out like a mad professor’s. It was only then she realised that she was practically naked, with a pair of white lace panties her only keeper of modesty. She hadn’t thought it possible for her face to get any hotter, but it did.

‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, shaking her hair so it fell in front of her, covering her bare breasts.

She must have ditched her T-shirt while she was trying to get to sleep. Stress overheated her. Most of the time she slept in nothing at all—unless it was the dead of winter, and then she wore her favourite llama-print pyjamas. But it was warm on the boat and her body was reaching boiling point. She pressed the cool glass to her burning cheek.

You’re rambling in your head—not a good sign. Calm. Down. Now.

‘Do you want me to grab you something to wear?’

Brodie’s voice cut into her inner monologue and she nodded mutely, switching the glass of water to her other cheek. Her whole body flamed. Shame tended to do that. This was exactly why she should have said no to the invitation to Brodie’s boat in the first place! Now he knew… He knew what a mess she was. She couldn’t even fall asleep without working herself up.

‘Here.’

He took the glass from her hand and set it down, helping her weakened limbs into the armholes of a T-shirt and guiding her head through the neck opening.

The fabric swam on her, smoothing over her curves and giving her protection. The T-shirt was his—it smelled of him. Smelled of ocean air and soap and earthy maleness.

‘Are these panic attacks a recent thing?’ He leant against the bench, his face neutral.

‘No, I’ve had them a while.’ She couldn’t look him in the eye.

‘They suck,’ he said. ‘My little sister gets them pretty bad too. Water usually works for her.’

Chantal bit down on her lip, toying with the glass before taking another sip. Could she be any more humiliated right now?

‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You know that, right?’

He touched her arm, the gentle brush making her stomach flip. Her breathing slowed a little.

‘Ellen gets them a lot. She’s only nineteen, but she puts a lot of pressure on herself to do well. She wants to get into a performing arts school.’

‘What does she do?’ Curiosity piqued, she looked up.

Brodie dropped down onto the stool next to her, his knees inches from her thighs. ‘She plays piano pretty damn well, if I do say so myself. I used to run her to practise when I lived at home—went to all her recitals too. She’s ace.’

The pride in his voice was unmistakable. Chantal had often wondered what it would be like to have siblings—to look after someone other than herself, to worry about people all the time. She would have been a terrible sister—she couldn’t even keep her own life together, let alone help anyone else.

‘Then there’s the twins: Jenny and Adriana. They’re twenty-two, and as different as two people can be. Jenny is the loud one. She got into modelling a while ago and has done a fair bit of travelling with it. Adriana is still studying. She’s going to end up being a doctor of something one day.’ He smiled. ‘Then Lydia is the oldest… she’s twenty-four.’

His eyes darkened for a moment and she wondered if he was going to continue. His lips pulled into a flat line as he raked a hand through his hair, stopping to rub the back of his neck.

‘Lydia is in a wheelchair. She was in a car accident some years ago and she was paralysed from the waist down.’

‘That’s awful.’

‘Yeah.’ A sad smiled passed over his lips. ‘She wanted to be a dancer.’

Emotion ran through her—grief for this poor girl whom she didn’t even know, for the sadness on Brodie’s face and for what their family must have gone through. At least she could still dance. Her heart swelled. He cared so deeply about his family. For all her jokes about his carefree attitude, he was a good person.

He drew a breath, steadying his gaze on her. ‘So there you go. You wanted to know something else about my family—it’s not all sunshine and roses.’

‘I guess we’ve all got our stuff to deal with.’ She downed the rest of her water. ‘I nearly gave up dancing once.’

‘Really?’ His blond brows arched.

‘It wasn’t long after my dad left. We didn’t have a lot of money and Mum had lost her job cleaning one of the local motels.’ The memory flowed through her, singeing her heart with the same scorching hurt that came every time she remembered what life had been like back then. ‘She picked up cleaning work at my school. The kids used to tease me, so I told her that I wanted her to find another job… but there aren’t a lot of jobs in little beach towns.’

Why was she telling him this? She hadn’t told anyone this story—not because she was ashamed of having grown up with no money, but because she’d been so horrible to her mother. More than a decade and a half later, guilt over her behaviour lingered.

‘She gave me a choice. Give up dancing and she would quit her job at the school—because that’s what it was paying for. Otherwise, if I wanted to keep dancing, she had to keep working two jobs.’ She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. ‘So I gave up dancing for a week.’

‘You can’t blame yourself that. How old were you? Ten? You were just a kid.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever hurt her as much as I did then.’ She shook her head, amazed that it felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. ‘I wish I could take it back.’

‘I’m sure she knows how you feel.’

‘I hope so. She gave up so much for me to be able to continue dancing. She hardly ever came to my competitions or exams because she was always working, but she never complained.’ She let out a hollow laugh. ‘Not once.’

‘She never gave up?’

‘Nope.’ She shook her head. ‘Which means I can’t give up.’

‘Sounds like you got a lot of your tenacity from her.’

The tenderness in his voice sparked her insides, lighting up her whole body—as if he had a direct ‘on’ switch to her nervous system. Her hands were fluttering in her lap. The desire to reach out and touch him made her fingers tingle. If she didn’t put some distance between them—and fast—she’d do something stupid.

‘Thanks for the drink.’

She went to hop off her stool but Brodie’s hand came down on her bare thigh. His fingers skimmed over her knee, touching the hem of the T-shirt. The touch was so light she could easily convince herself that she was imagining things. Despite her brain shouting out warnings, she didn’t want this to be a dream.

‘Is it wrong that I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking about you?’ he asked.

His bare torso was the only thing she could look at. Broad shoulders, the ripple of muscle at his abdomen, the V that dipped below his cotton pyjama bottoms. He would be naked underneath them. She could tell from the inadequate way the thin fabric concealed the length of him.

Her breath hitched, and the sudden flutter of her heart had nothing to do with panic. ‘You were the one who wanted to go to sleep.’

His hand inched up, the tips of his fingers slipping under her hem of the T-shirt. Each millimetre his hand travelled stoked the fire low in her belly, stirred the tension in her centre. She pressed her thighs together, rocking gently against the stool in the hope that it would ease the need in her.

It didn’t.

Nothing would ease the need except him. He was the only solution to her problem, the only cure for her ailments. In that moment she was raw. Exposing her past had opened up something within her—a cavernous hunger long buried by insecurities and fear. He’d shown her it was safe to be who she was, to open up and allow herself to be vulnerable. She wanted nothing more than to wipe away the old hurt with new pleasures. To erase the parts of herself that clung to bad memories, to be a new person.

‘You were the one who wanted to figure out what loopholes I might use to make a move on you,’ he said, eyes blackened with desire.

‘Have you thought of any yet? Because I could use a loophole right about now.’