Читать книгу The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection - Ким Лоренс, Kelly Hunter - Страница 43

IT WAS ALL the invitation he needed. Willpower was a fragile thing, easily overridden by blazing attraction, pent-up sexual tension, and too many dirty dreams. Could he take her into his bed a second time, knowing that it wasn’t going anywhere? Knowing that he wouldn’t let it go anywhere because his life didn’t have room for her?

‘Brodie?’

A plump lower lip was being dragged through her teeth, and the desperation in her voice urged the increased thumping of his heart.

Even if he’d wanted to pretend he wasn’t interested he didn’t have the opportunity. She jumped down from her stool and stood between his legs, her hands finding the rigid muscles in his thighs, brushing the aching hardness of his erection.

‘We’re friends.’ He pushed off his stool and moved into the kitchen, opening the freezer door and pretending to look for something.

‘Friends who have the hots for each other.’ She echoed his words with a cheeky smile.

The cold of the freezer wasn’t making him any less hard or any less horny. In fact it had only drawn his eyes to a chilled bottle of vodka. He wrapped his hand around the neck, savouring the ice-cold glass against his heated palm. A cold shower would have been better, but getting naked might prove dangerous.

‘Tell you what,’ she said, reaching past him and grabbing the bottle out of his hand. ‘If you can drink a shot of this off me and still not want to sleep with me, I’ll let you go back to bed.’

He slammed the freezer door shut and turned, resting his back against it. ‘You’ll let me?’

‘Yes.’ She unscrewed the bottle. ‘I’ll let you. And I won’t mention it in the morning—or ever again.’

‘Why are you suddenly trying to seduce me with body shots when before you were more concerned about setting up barriers?’ He raked a hand through his hair and tried not to think about how naked she was under his T-shirt.

‘Why the psychoanalysis?’ She raised a brow. ‘Can’t a girl change her mind?’

‘I have a rule about sleeping with my friends.’

‘What happened to that rule last night?’ She smirked. ‘You didn’t seem to be too worried about rules then. Or are you afraid that you won’t be able to say no after your little drink?’

She knew how to fire up his competitive streak—and she did have a point. He hadn’t been all that worried about his rule last night. But the rule existed for a reason. Sleeping with her would be messy in both the best and worst ways. It would mean dealing with the awkward aftermath and potentially losing their friendship if things went pear-shaped. He’d made an exception for Chantal because he’d wanted to get her out of his system, but now he was caught between taking the safe route and taking what he wanted.

That backfired, didn’t it? Man up—do the shot and then go to bed.

‘Fine.’ He grabbed the bottle from her grip and located a shot glass.

As he turned around Chantal was slowly peeling off his T-shirt. The white lace scrap covering her sex was revealed first, then a flat bronzed plane of stomach, two perfectly formed breasts, collarbones and a long mane of dark hair as she whipped the T-shirt off. He’d need a drink now. His tongue felt dry and heavy in his mouth.

‘Ready?’ She hoisted herself onto the bench.

‘You still have to tell me why the sudden change of heart.’ With a shaking hand he poured vodka into the shot glass.

‘Maybe I realised that I should be grateful for the things I have, no matter how tough it is right now.’ She lay back and stared intently at a spot on the roof, lower lip between her teeth.

He’d got to her with the story about his sister. Though he was hoping she’d apply it more to cutting herself some slack and persisting with her dance career—not to mention leaving that trashy bar—rather than to jumping back into bed with him.

‘And you’re grateful for having sex with me?’

‘I’m grateful for orgasms.’ Her head tilted so she could look at him. ‘It’s been a long time since I let myself have any fun.’

‘It is fun, isn’t it?’ He stepped closer, smoothing a hand over her stomach. ‘Just a bit of fun—nothing more.’

He poured the vodka into her belly button, the excess liquid spilling out onto her stomach. She let out a sharp cry at the coldness but he dropped his head and sucked, lashing his tongue across her belly and catching the liquid before it spilled onto the bench. It burned for a second, and then a smooth warmth spread through him.

The alcohol mingled with the taste of her warm skin. He ran his tongue down to the edge of her underwear, watching the slick trail he left behind. Her fingers thrust into his hair as he snapped at the waistband with his teeth, a low groan rumbling from deep inside her. He should have pulled away then, but the vodka felt good. It softened his edges, warmed his limbs. It made it easier to forget that sleeping with her was a bad idea.

A tasty, satisfying, perfect bad idea.

‘Don’t worry—I don’t expect anything.’ Her voice had become rough, husky. ‘A bit of fun is exactly what I need. No strings, no obligation.’

‘So you’re not going to fall for me?’

The scratch of her lace underwear against his tongue sent a shiver through him. He pressed his lips to the peak of her sex and was rewarded with a gasp and the sharp bite of her nails against his scalp.

‘You wish.’

Smooth skin beckoned to him. Hooking a finger beneath the waistband, he peeled her underwear down to mid-thigh, trapping her legs and preventing them from opening. His lips found the bare smooth skin of her centre, pressing down with agonising slowness. A quick swipe of his tongue had her hips bucking against him.

‘This is cruel… and unusual.’ Her hands dug deeper into his hair, wrenching his head up. ‘I can’t move properly.’

‘Anticipation, Chantal. Just go with it.’

He grabbed her wrist and put her hand down by her hip, holding on so she couldn’t move. His other hand teased her, his thumb rubbing against the sensitive bud of her clitoris in slow, circular movements. His tongue followed, parting her so he could claim her most sensitive spot between his lips. Her movement was restricted by the underwear holding her prisoner and she writhed against him in unfulfilled need.

‘Please…’ she panted. Her eyes had rolled back; her mouth was slack with pleasure. Her hair trailed over the side of the bench, brushing against the kitchen cupboards as she moved.

The sight of her laid out like an extravagant dessert was almost enough to send him over. He wanted to taste every inch of her, keep her begging while he feasted. He released her from her lacy bindings and his fingers found her hot and wet. His mouth came up, capturing a bronzed nipple as she squirmed, grinding again his hand until her cries peaked.

She shouted his name over and over, until the syllables jumbled together into an incoherent decree of passion and release. Shock waves ran through her and he withdrew his hand slowly, gently. His mouth found hers, his tongue parting her lips and bringing her back to the moment.

‘Still think I’m cruel?’ he murmured against her mouth, sliding a hand beneath her neck to lift her into a sitting position.

She faced him, wrapping her legs around his waist. Heat enveloped him as her hand slid down the front of his pants and stroked his erection. She caressed him—long, slow movements designed to make him want something out of reach.

‘I think you’ve got magic hands,’ he said.

Hair tickled his chest as she rested her head against him, still touching him. He pressed into her hand, gasping at the sharp flare of pleasure that forced his eyes shut.

‘Brodie?’

Olive eyes met his, the black of her pupils wide. Her tongue swiped along his lower lip, the taste of her tempting him.

‘I want you inside me. Now.’

Her hands tugged down his pants, exposing him to the warmth of her thighs. He lifted her from the bench and carried her to the bedroom. They landed on the bed, her body pinned beneath his, and he reached out to his drawer and withdrew a condom. Sheathing himself, he plunged into her. His mouth slanted over hers, hot, demanding. He savoured her heat and tightness until she couldn’t hold on.

Her muscles clenched around him—thighs around his waist, arms around his neck. He couldn’t hold back, couldn’t stop the desire to drown in her warm skin and open mouth. Burying his face against her hair, he brought her close to the edge again. She shook, holding on as if she were about to fly away.

‘Let go,’ he whispered. ‘Just let go.’

And she did. Crying, shaking, gasping. Her orgasm ripped through her with an intensity that brought on his own release within seconds. He rode her slowly, until the waves of pleasure subsided.

The realisation that she wasn’t in her own bed came swiftly when morning broke. Sunlight filtered into the room—Brodie’s room—and the ache between her thighs confirmed that she hadn’t imagined those naughty images of them in his kitchen. It wasn’t a dream—it was the mind-bending truth.

Brodie was like peanut butter ice cream with extra fudge. Decadent, tasty, hard to say no to. But, like all delicious things, he wasn’t the best choice she could have made. What she needed was a steady diet of apples and focus—not ice cream and orgasms.

‘Morning,’ he murmured against the back of her neck.

One arm was slung over her mid-section, turned slightly to expose the edge of his anchor tattoo. She traced the outline with her fingertip. Something firm dug into her lower back. She moved under the guise of stretching her back, smiling when he groaned and pressed against her.

‘Don’t start what you can’t finish.’

She chuckled. ‘You’re insatiable.’

‘Says you, Miss Body Shot. I was perfectly happy sleeping on my own last night.’

‘Liar.’ She rolled over, catching his stubble-coated jaw with her cupped hand.

He didn’t hesitate to kiss her, his tongue delving and tangling with hers. A hand found her breast, fingers tugging and teasing her nipple until she gave in and let him roll on top of her.

‘Weren’t we supposed to be going for a run this morning?’ she asked, blinking her eyes at him with faux innocence.

‘I know a few other things we can do that will burn calories.’

Apples, not ice cream.

‘Worried you won’t be able to keep up?’

‘Ha!’ He grinned. ‘Like I said before, don’t start what you can’t finish.’

‘Oh, I can finish it.’ She tipped her chin up at him, giving his chest a playful shove. ‘Loser makes breakfast.’

‘You’re on.’

Chantal regretted making the challenge a few ks into the run, when it became clear that Brodie was much better at running than she was. He jogged effortlessly alongside her, breaking into a sprint every so often to prove he could. The Newcastle coast blurred past in a haze of blue skies, bluer waters and pale sand. How was it possible to be in such a beautiful place and not be able to enjoy the scenery?

‘Can we take a break?’ Chantal slowed to a walk and fanned her face.

‘Conceding defeat already?’ He jogged on the spot, a victorious grin on his face. ‘You know that means you’ll be making my scrambled eggs when we get back?’

‘Fine. You win.’ She waved him away as she took a long swig from her water bottle. ‘Looks like dancing fitness doesn’t translate to running fitness.’

‘No need to make excuses,’ he teased, and she elbowed him.

‘No need to be a smug winner.’

He reached for her water bottle, tipping it to his lips and gulping the liquid down. Muscles worked in his neck. It was hard not to stare at how he made the most regular of actions seem inherently male.

‘It’s not often I get one over you, so let me have my moment. Besides, I’ve got a long way to go if I’m going to run a half marathon.’

Her brows furrowed. ‘You’re training for a marathon?’

‘Half marathon,’ he corrected.

‘How far is that?’

‘Just over twenty-one k.’

‘Funny how you didn’t tell me that when you let me challenge you to a run.’ She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Cheater.’

A booming laugh erupted, startling a woman jogging past with her small dog. ‘That’s not cheating.’

‘Why on earth do you want to run that far?’

He shrugged. ‘To see if I can do it. A buddy challenged me, and you know how I am with challenges.’

‘It just seems…’ She took in the gleam of his tanned skin, the T-shirt that hugged his full biceps, the golden hair on his athletic legs. ‘Out of character.’

‘Why? Because I don’t have the discipline to be a runner?’ A bitter tone tainted the words.

‘No, I meant because you’re more of a water sports kinda guy.’ She cocked her head, studying him. ‘Windsurfing, sailing boats, water-skiing… that kind of thing.’

‘Oh.’ A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

‘I always wondered if you were half dolphin, since you spend so much time in the water.’

‘Wouldn’t that make me a mermaid?’

‘Merman,’ Chantal corrected, gesturing with her water bottle.

‘That’s not manly.’ He crossed his arms. ‘What about half shark?’

‘Whatever floats your boat, Mr Cheese.’

Strong hands grabbed her arms and hauled her to him. His mouth came down near her ear. Hot breath sent goosebumps skittering across her skin.

‘Looks like you finally fell for my cheesy lines after all.’

Uneasy waves rocked her stomach. She’d certainly fallen for something. Her attraction to Brodie had always been physical… at least that was what she’d told herself. She was attracted to him in spite of his joker, take-nothing-seriously personality. At least it had used to be in spite of that…

Now she was the one convincing him to pour vodka on her, challenging him to a competition, teasing him about being a merman. This wasn’t her. She was never this… relaxed.

‘I haven’t fallen for anything, Brodie. You’re just good in bed.’

‘Just sex.’ His eyes avoided hers and he bent to inspect his shoelaces. ‘That’s all I was aiming for.’

An awkward silence settled over them. Could the exchange have felt as hollow to him as it did to her? Could he sense the fear in her voice as she tried her hardest to pull a barrier up between them?

‘Let’s head back,’ he said, turning in the direction from which they’d come. ‘I’m ready for my winner’s breakfast.’

The tinkling of cutlery mingled with the rush of waves on the shoreline below. Tea light candles flickered in the gentle ocean breeze, and the smell of sea air mixed with the mouth-watering smells of steak and freshly cooked seafood.

‘What’s up?’ Scott took a swig of his beer. ‘You seem tense.’

Brodie had almost forgotten that Scott and Kate had agreed to make the trek up to Newcastle for a drink that night, at one of the beach hotels run by Brodie’s friend. Once Kate had caught wind that Chantal was staying on the boat she’d insisted they make it a double date of sorts. Having Chantal there meant he couldn’t forget their run earlier that day—couldn’t stop her comment swirling around in his head, kicking up all the memories and feelings he’d buried long ago.

I haven’t fallen for you, Brodie. You’re just good in bed.

In no possible situation should that have upset him… but he was off-kilter. Agitation flowed through him like a disruptive current, causing him to drum his fingers at the edge of the table where the group sat. Since when was being good in bed a bad thing?

‘Maybe all this water is turning your brain to sludge.’ Scott gestured towards Brodie’s tall glass of mineral water. ‘Why don’t you have a beer?’

‘The race is next week and I’ve reached my quota of indulgence.’ He put on a fake smile and hoped that Scott had consumed enough beers not to look too hard. ‘I’m winning that bet.’

The girls had gone to the bar for more refreshments. They stood side by side, giggling and chatting animatedly. Chantal’s short black skirt skimmed the backs of her thighs, leaving miles of long tanned legs gleaming in the golden early-evening light. Her shoulders were barely contained in a flowing white top with small gold flowers. A small tug would be all it would take to free her, to expose her breasts to his mouth.

Brodie watched as they fended off an enthusiastic approach from a group of guys who appeared to be on a bucks’ night.

‘Maybe I should see if the girls need a hand,’ Brodie said, frowning.

‘She’s got to you again, hasn’t she?’

‘Huh?’

Scott laughed, slapping him hard on the back. ‘Oh, man, I didn’t realise how bad it was. You get this look on your face when she’s around—don’t know how I missed it back at the reef.’

‘You’re full of crap.’

‘You’re an open book.’ Scott’s fist landed hard on his bicep. ‘And when it comes to Chantal—’

‘It’s just sex.’ Good sex, according to Chantal, but just sex.

‘Yeah, and a half marathon is just a run.’ Scott narrowed his eyes, studying Brodie in that analytical way of his.

‘You know me. I don’t do relationships. Surf, sand, bikinis—that’s what it’s all about.’

‘Maybe before.’ Scott shrugged. ‘Doesn’t explain why you look like you’re about to snap the table in two because some guys are talking to her.’

Brodie looked down. Sure enough, his white-knuckled grip on the table was a little unusual. ‘Says you. I thought you were going to deck me that time I danced with Kate.’

‘I thought I was too. And why was that, huh?’ Scott chuckled. ‘Anyway, I’m not letting you get away with changing the subject. You helped me and now it’s my turn to help you.’

‘I don’t need help.’ Brodie let go of the table and ran his palms down the front of his jeans.

‘You don’t want help, but you damn well need it.’

The girls arrived back at the table, champagne in hand, plus a beer for Scott and another mineral water for Brodie.

‘How does it feel, being a teetotaller?’ Kate asked, flipping her long red hair over one shoulder.

‘It’s temporary. I don’t think I could handle it long-term.’ Brodie twisted the cap on his bottle, waiting for the rush of bubbles to die down before removing it. ‘But temporarily it’s okay. I can handle temporary things.’

Scott kicked him under the table and rolled his eyes. Okay, so maybe subtlety wasn’t his strong suit. Nervous energy coursed through him, making the words in his head stumble and trip over one another. Kate eyed him curiously and Chantal pretended to be deeply involved in something on her phone.

Brodie contemplated smoothing things over, but his own phone vibrated against the table. Home.

‘Hello?’

‘Hey, Brodie.’ The voice of his youngest sister, Ellen, came through the line. Her voice was pinched—a sure-fire sign that she was about a hair’s breadth away from flipping out about something.

‘What’s up, Ellie-pie?’

‘It’s Lydia, she’s had a down day. She won’t eat her dinner. Mum’s at work, but she said I had to make sure Lydia eats.’

The words ran into one another, and the wobble in her voice twisted like a knife in his stomach.

‘Where are the twins?’

Sniffle. ‘Jenny’s at a party and Adriana hasn’t come home from uni.’

‘Put Lydia on the phone. I’ll get her to eat.’

Within moments he’d convinced his sister to have at least a salad, even if she didn’t want a full meal. It was hard for all of them to look after Lydia on her down days. There were times when she point-blank refused food and water for hours on end… sometimes days. He remembered a particularly bad patch when she’d ended up so dehydrated he’d had to rush her to the emergency ward. All she’d wanted was her dad—but of course they hadn’t been able to get hold of him. Typical.

Perhaps he should sail home early. It was hard for him to be away. Normally he spent more time in the office running his business than on a boat. This was the longest he’d been away for some time. His stomach curled.

He hung up the phone, receiving a text almost immediately from Ellen with THANK YOU! xx in big capital letters. He loved his sisters more than anything, and right now he felt as if he was being a terrible big brother by taking time off for himself.

‘Family emergency sorted,’ he said, forcing a jovial tone as he returned to the table.

Chantal sipped her champagne, watching him quietly. ‘Everything okay?’

‘Fine.’

He looked out to the picture-perfect view of the beach slowly being drowned in darkness. Vulnerability wasn’t something he did well—he didn’t want her to see that he was anything but his usual cool, calm self. ‘Just sex’ didn’t involve feelings or spilling your guts about family stuff… no more than he had already, anyway. In his defence, that had been to comfort her—not because he’d needed to get it off his chest.

‘I should probably head off,’ Chantal said, downing the rest of her drink and reaching out to give Kate a friendly hug. ‘Thanks for the company.’

‘Are you still dancing at the bar?’ Scott asked, looking from her to Brodie and back again.

‘Yep—I still need to make a living, don’t I?’ She seemed more comfortable about it than she had previously, there was light at the end of the tunnel. Her contract would run out eventually, and Brodie would make sure she didn’t sign on for more work there.

‘Don’t let the creeps get you down,’ Kate said.

‘Creeps?’ Brodie asked, his protective sensors going off.

‘It’s nothing.’ Chantal shot Kate a look. ‘You’ve seen the place. The clientele isn’t exactly the picture of genteel politeness.’

‘I’ll meet you out the front when you finish,’ Brodie said.

Chantal shook her head, shooting him a warning look as if to remind him of their argument last night. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘I’ll meet you out the front.’