Читать книгу The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection - Ким Лоренс, Kelly Hunter - Страница 47

HIGHWAY SCENERY BLURRED past as Sydney faded away in Chantal’s rearview mirror. Her old car struggled to keep up with the speed limit, but she was moving… and that was all that mattered.

Last night she’d stood tall in the face of criticism from the bar manager, keeping her head high and knowing that she would make it through to the end of the contract like the professional she was. Knowing that, no matter how dire her situation, she was supporting herself.

Thoughts of Brodie were insistent, but she cranked up the music to drown them out.

After spending the morning at her audition for the Harbour Dance Company she’d gone looking for a cheap apartment to rent. Luck must have been on her side. A tiny one-bedroom place had been vacant for a few weeks and the owner was desperate to get someone in. As she’d signed the paperwork a call had come from the dance company, congratulating her on a successful audition.

Now she was on her way to visit her mother and collect all the boxes she’d stored there. Everything had turned out the way she’d wanted it to—once her bar contract was over it would all be perfect. So why didn’t she have a sense of accomplishment and relief?

Brodie.

He’d been the only thing on her mind since she’d walked away. It had barely been three days and already there was a gaping hole in her life where he’d inserted himself in their short time together. She missed his cheeky smile, the way his arms felt as they squeezed her against him, his lips. The unmanageable desire that materialised whenever he was around. How could she have let herself fall so hard? So quickly and so deeply?

Her childhood home came into view as Chantal rounded the corner at Beach Road, where blue water lined the quiet coast of Batemans Bay. Home sweet home.

The roads were empty. Most of the tourists from Canberra would have gone home by now. Work would be slow for her mum… the motels and self-contained units that dotted the shoreline wouldn’t need extra cleaning services now that summer was over. Hopefully she still had a gig with the local high school to at least cover rent and bills. Though there would be little left over after the essentials were covered.

Chantal pulled into the parking bay of the apartment block and killed the engine. Stepping out of the car, she smiled at the way the number on their letterbox still hung at a funny angle and the squat garden gnome she’d given her mother one Christmas still guarded the steps up to their second-floor apartment.

The stairs were rickety beneath her feet, and the railing’s paintwork peeled off in rough chunks. She was certain it had been white at one point—now it looked closer to the colour of pale custard. The doorbell trilled and footsteps immediately sounded from within the front room. Her mother appeared and ushered Chantal inside with brisk familiarity.

‘You should have called. I would have put afternoon tea on.’ Her mother enveloped her in a quick hug.

Frances Turner’s affection was like everything else she did: quick, efficient and with minimal fuss. She’d never been overly demonstrative while Chantal was growing up, but age had softened her edges.

‘No need,’ Chantal said, smiling and waving her hand. ‘I’m here to visit you—not to eat.’

It was more that she hadn’t wanted her mother to feel obligated to go out and buy biscuits, or the fancy tea she liked to drink when Chantal came over. It was easy to see where her desire to keep up appearances had come from.

‘Sit, sit…’

Frances gestured to the couch—a tattered floral two-seater that had yellowed with age. Chantal remembered using the back of it as a substitute barre while practising for her ballet exams.

‘How are you?’

‘I’m good.’ She smiled brightly, pulling her lips up into a curve and hoping her mother didn’t look too closely. ‘I got a call this morning. I’m joining the Harbour Dance Company.’

Frances clapped her hands together. ‘I knew you could do it, baby girl.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘Why the sad face?’ Frances studied her with olive-green eyes identical to hers. Nothing got past those eyes. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ Chantal said, but she couldn’t force the tremble from her voice. ‘Boy problems.’

‘Derek’s not giving you trouble again, is he?’ Her thin lips pulled into a flat line. Her mother had hated Derek from day one—something Chantal should have paid more attention to.

‘No, Derek is long gone.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve been spending some time with an old friend. It got… confusing.’

‘How so?’ Frances motioned for Chantal to follow her into the kitchen.

Yellow floral linoleum covered the floor, matching the painted yellow dining chairs and the small round dining table. The kitchen was her favourite part of the unit—it was kind of garish and dated, but it had the heart of a good home.

She traced her fingertip along the length of a photo on the wall. Chantal stood with her mother, wearing a jazz dance costume they’d stayed up till midnight sequinning the night before a competition. She had a gap-toothed grin and her mother looked exhausted. She didn’t remember her mother looking that way at the time. All she’d cared about was the trophy clutched in her young hand.

Guilt scythed through her.

‘He doesn’t get me and I don’t get him. We’re different people.’

‘But you liked him enough to spend time with him?’ Frances twisted the tap, holding the kettle under the running water with her other hand.

‘I did.’ I do…

‘And you think it’s not good to be different?’ Her mother threw her a look she’d seen a lot growing up. She called it the Get off your high horse look.

‘It’s not that. It’s just…’ How could she explain it? ‘He wanted to do everything for me. And I’m capable of doing things myself. I want to do things myself. I don’t need some knight in shining armour to rescue me.’

Her mother would be the one person who would understand. She’d stood on her own two feet since Chantal’s father had walked out. She knew what it meant to be independent—what it meant to achieve things on your own.

‘And that bothers you?’

‘It does. It’s like he can’t understand that I need to fix my own problems.’ She sighed. ‘I want to be able to say that I made my way without any hand-outs.’

‘Accepting help is not the same as accepting a hand-out, Chantal. There’s no gold medal for struggling through life on your own.’

The kettle whistled, cutting into their conversation with a loud screech. Frances lifted it from the stove and poured the piping hot water into two mugs with pictures of cats all over them.

‘I know that.’

‘Don’t you think I would have accepted some help if it was available when you were growing up?’

The question rattled Chantal. ‘But you used to tell me that it was us against the world and we had to work hard.’

‘I wanted you to be strong, baby girl. I wanted you to be tough.’ She dropped the teabags into the bin and handed a mug to Chantal. ‘Sometimes being strong means knowing when you can’t do it on your own. Accepting help doesn’t make you weak.’

They moved to the table, and Chantal was glad to be sitting on something solid. Her knees had turned to jelly, and her breath was escaping her lungs in a long whoosh. Her mother had tipped all her long-held beliefs on their head.

‘I would have killed for someone to come along and offer a hand when you were younger.’ Frances blew on the curling steam from the tea. ‘Though I feel like I did a pretty good job with you, considering.’

A smile tugged at the corners of Chantal’s lips. ‘Would it be conceited if I agree?’

‘Not at all.’ Frances reached across the small table and patted the back of her hand.

‘I’ve stuffed up, haven’t I?’

Realisation flooded her, running across her nerves until her whole body was alight with the knowledge that she’d thrown away something important. Something special.

Brodie.

She didn’t want to have him back in her life. She didn’t want to love him.

But she did.

She’d known it was more than sex from the first time she’d woken up in his arms. But it hadn’t been until she’d stood at the edge of his boat, with the freedom of the open waters dancing in her hair, looking down at the dolphins, that she’d realised how much he would do for her. That he wanted to show her what she was missing out on by being so narrow-minded.

And what had she done to return the favour? She’d picked a fight with him… refused to let him in. She’d told him to go. No matter how much time passed, she’d never forget the hurt written on his face when she’d told him not to come after her.

How could she possibly fix it?

‘Nothing is irreversible, baby girl.’

Could she let herself believe that? Would she be able to handle the rejection if the damage was too much? Funny how a few weeks ago the thought of another dance company rejecting her had been her driving force. Now her victory seemed hollow without Brodie in her life. She loved dance—it was in her blood—but a world without him seemed… hopeless. Grey.

‘I need to get my stuff. I’ve got an apartment in Sydney now.’ Her voice was hollow, her movements stiff and jerky, as if she were being directed by puppet strings.

‘Go to him, Chantal. The stuff can wait. Things can wait.’ Frances stood and gave Chantal a gentle shove towards the front door. ‘He might not.’

‘I don’t know how to get to him.’ There were too many variables… too many things to deal with. What if he’d already left for Queensland?

‘Find a way—you always do.’

Chantal surprised her mother by pulling her in for a big hug—a real hug. Planting a kiss on her cheek, she grabbed her bag and headed for the front door. Canberra airport was the closest airport that would allow her to fly to Brisbane, but it was a two-hour drive away. She didn’t even know the name of his company.

Her sneakers hit the steps in quick succession and didn’t slow as she raced towards her car.

‘Call me when you find him!’ Frances called out.

‘I will.’

She slammed the door too hard in her haste, the sound ringing out like a shot. Was she doing this?

Chantal bit down on her lip and looked at her mobile phone in its holder on the inside of her windscreen. There was one person who could help her. She had no idea if his number was still the same, or if he would protect Brodie rather than talk to her. But she had to try.

As she paused for a red light Chantal tapped the screen and dialled a number.

‘Hello?’ Scott’s voice echoed through the car.

‘Scott, it’s Chantal. I’m hoping you can help me…’

Brodie stood in the helm, staring blankly out at the harbour. The moored boats were lined up in tidy rows, the Princess 56 blending into the Sydney scene better than it had in Newcastle. He couldn’t be anywhere on the boat without remembering Chantal.

Was she back in the city by now? Doubt rooted him to the deck. Not because he didn’t believe in his feelings for her, but because he had no idea if she would ever reciprocate. He couldn’t remember a time when a girl had left him so strung out… except for the Weeping Reef situation with Chantal the first time around.

Chantal: two. Brodie: zero.

Giggling came from a couple walking past the boat—the sound of two people in love. He looked away, focusing on the dials in the cockpit. He knew he should sail home, but something had stopped him from preparing the yacht. The beautiful views and the freedom of sailing felt wasted without Chantal. No matter how opulent the scenery, it was marked by her absence.

He turned his phone over in his hands. He could call her, invite her for a drink. Apologise for pushing too hard. Then what?

Those three little words hung over him like a dead weight. Three. Little. Words.

They changed everything. He’d never loved any woman before—he hadn’t thought he had any love left over after his family had taken their share. But she seemed to pull emotion from him that he’d never even known existed. It had forced him to do things he’d never thought he could… like confront his father.

The Princess 56 was waiting for him, ready and willing. It sat there patiently, needing him only to make a decision. He could either find out where Chantal was or he could sail home.

No, he wasn’t going home without her.

Scott was right—he had to try again. He had to be sure there wasn’t a chance for them. His attraction to her had always been more than he’d admitted. More than her gorgeous legs, her dancing, the sex. It was something so frighteningly intense and real that he’d been unable to process it until it was too late.

Brodie was about to pick up his phone to dial her number when it buzzed. Lydia’s smiling face flashed up on the screen.

‘Hey, Lyds.’

‘Hey, Brodie.’ There was hesitation in his sister’s voice. ‘So… Dad called.’

‘He did?’ Something lifted in Brodie’s chest. His father had ended their call earlier with a promise to get in touch with the girls more often, though Brodie still had his doubts. ‘What did he say?’

‘He’s coming to visit,’ Lydia replied. ‘Well, he says that, but we’ll see.’

‘Would you like him to visit?’

‘Yeah, I guess.’ She hesitated. ‘It would be good to see him.’

He sincerely hoped his father lived up to his promise. He’d got a sense that his father’s attitude had changed—there’d seemed to be something more receptive about him that had been lacking in the past. Something down in his gut told him that their conversation had been a shifting point for the older man—a reality check that his family needed him. That his daughters needed him.

Brodie could get by on his own, but he had plans to make Chantal a part of his life more permanently—and that meant he couldn’t always play the role of pseudo father. The girls needed to know they could rely on their real father as well. Hopefully this was the beginning of all that.

Lydia caught his attention by launching into a new problem—something to do with Ellen and how she was trying to mother her, even though she was the youngest sibling. But Brodie was no longer listening.

A figure hovered nearby on the jetty. Long legs, long dark hair.

Chantal.

‘Brodie, are you listening to me?’

Lydia’s indignant tone brought his attention back to the call. ‘Sorry, Lyds. I have to go.’

He stepped out onto the upper deck and tried to get a better look at the figure. Was it really her?

‘But I need your help.’ His sister sounded as though she were about to cry. ‘That’s why I called you.’

‘I’ll help you. But I need to do something for me first.’

She sniffled. ‘What’s more important than talking to your sister?’

He jogged over to the stairs, taking them as quickly as his legs would allow. ‘Love.’

‘Is this about that girl?’ Lydia asked, her voice returning to normal.

‘It is.’

‘You love her?’

‘I do, Lyds. I’m going to ask her if she loves me back.’

‘Dibs on being the maid of honour,’ Lydia said. ‘Call me later. Tell me everything.’

‘I promise.’

Brodie rushed to the jetty and looked around. Late afternoon had given way to early evening and the sun was lowering itself into the water along the horizon. Autumn had started weeks ago but it had only now taken on its first chill of the year, and the cool air prickled his exposed forearms.

People milled about, stopping to take photos of the yachts. Dodging a father towing two small children, Brodie jogged to where he’d seen the figure standing. He couldn’t locate Chantal amongst the swarming tourist crowd.

The girl with dark hair had disappeared—had it even been her?

He walked up past the yacht club entrance, past the other boats, until he neared the hotel that sprawled along the water’s edge.

He was going crazy. His imagination was playing him for a fool. Why would she come to him when he’d stuffed things up? He hadn’t even been able to tell her that he loved her. She deserved better than that.

He headed back to the boat, turning his phone over in his hands. His thumb hovered over the unlock button, ready to dial her number. As he walked across the boarding ramp and raked a hand through his hair he stopped to rub the tense muscles in his neck.

‘Brodie?’

Chantal walked out from the cabin, hands knotted in front of her. Long dark strands tumbled around her shoulders, the messy waves scattered by the gentle breeze. A skirt with blue and green shades bleeding into one another swirled around her ankles with each step. A long gold chain weighted by a blue stone glinted around her neck. She looked like a mermaid… a siren. A fantasy.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, his heart hammering against his ribs.

‘I thought you’d gone back to Queensland.’

She bundled her hair over one shoulder, toying with the ends as he’d noticed her doing whenever she was anxious. He noticed everything about her now.

‘I was supposed to.’

‘Why did you stay?’

Light flickered across her face—a ray of hopefulness that dug deep into his chest.

‘Unfinished business.’

‘With who?’

The question emerged so quietly it might have come from his imagination. But her lips had moved; her eyes were burning into his.

‘With you, Chantal. Why do you have to make everything so hard?’

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. ‘I’m difficult, I guess.’

‘You are.’

He rubbed at the back of his neck, wishing that his body would calm down so he could be in control of the conversation. Instead his central nervous system conspired against him by sending off signals left, right and centre. There was something about the mere presence of her that had him crackling with electricity. Those parts of him had been dead before her.

‘I’m sorry I pushed you away.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry I wouldn’t let you help. I’ve been afraid of letting anyone close—not just after my divorce but for a long time.’

‘You do seem to have trouble accepting help…’

What if he didn’t accept her apology? It would be her own fault. She’d been stubborn as a bull from day one, determined to keep a wall between her and the outside world. Only now she wanted to tear down anything standing between her and Brodie. She wanted to remove all barriers—even the ones that had been there so long that they had cemented themselves in.

‘I’m working on it,’ she said solemnly, swallowing against a rising tide of emotion. ‘I thought that I needed to do everything on my own because that’s what my mother did. I wanted to be strong… to be my own person.’

He rubbed a hand along his jaw. ‘It’s a lonely way to live.’

‘It is.’ She nodded. ‘I’ve been so concerned with making everyone think I was leading this successful life that I put no time into my reality. I only cared about my career, and I almost lost the best thing that ever happened to me.’

‘Which is…?’ His green eyes reached hers, the burning stare making her knees shake and her limbs quiver.

‘You, Brodie. You’re an amazing friend, and I lost you once because I refused to acknowledge my feelings. I’m not doing it again.’

She stepped towards him, resisting the urge to reach out and flatten her palms against the soft cotton shirt covering his chest.

‘I don’t want your friendship, Chantal.’ He ground the words out, his teeth gritted, jaw tense.

Her breath hitched. The flight response was tugging against her desire to fight. No! She’d come too far to turn away—she could make him see how much she cared. She could make him see that she could change. That she had changed already, thanks to him.

‘You asked me that night if I felt something for you.’ Memories flickered: the sensation of dancing in his arms. The scents. The heat. The intoxicating attraction. ‘I never had the chance to answer and then you were gone. I spent eight years convincing myself I’d made an error of judgment. I’d got caught up in the emotion. But I did feel something.’

‘And now?’

‘I want you in my life, Brodie. I want to sail away with you. I want your friendship, but I want more than that too.’ She squeezed her eyes closed for a moment so she would have the courage to speak again. ‘I love you.’

In the silence of waiting for his reaction she’d never felt so vulnerable in her life. No matter how many stages she’d performed on, no matter how much rejection she’d faced before—this was it. She was at a turning point, at the edge of falling into something wonderful. Her breath caught in her throat.

‘I’ll protect you even when you don’t think you need it—I can’t help that.’ His voice caught, the scratch edge telling her that he was fighting for control too. ‘But I’ll support you in being your own person.’

She nodded, her breath caught in her throat.

‘I’ll help you with everything. I will always be there for you.’

She sucked on her lower lip, her mind screaming out for her to touch him. But she didn’t want to stop his words, didn’t want to risk ruining things with him again. If only he would say those words back to her.

I love you.

‘I’ll make you part of my crazy needy family.’ He reached forward and drew her close. ‘But I know now that I don’t need to be your knight in shining armour. I pushed too hard at the bar. I understand that you need your independence. So I propose that we be our own people… together.’

‘Oh, Brodie.’ Relief coursed through her, buckling her knees so she sagged against him. The warmth of his body relaxed her, calmed her.

‘As much as I love my family, I want to be my own person too. You made me see that. I’m going to put my own needs first for a change—and that starts with loving you.’

She looked up at him, catching his mouth as it came down to hers. The taste of him sent her senses into a spin, the gentle pressure of his lips making her feel as if she’d come home. His tongue met with hers, all the relief and desire and love exploding within her like New Year’s fireworks. This was it—this was how life was meant to be.

She broke away from the kiss. ‘What needs might they be?’

‘Specific needs,’ he whispered against her ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down her spine. ‘Needs that can only be met by stubborn brunette dancers who like to practise yoga.’

‘I might know someone who fits the bill.’ She ran her hand under his T-shirt and pressed against the hard muscles in his stomach, as if memorising every ridge and detail of him. ‘But she’s pretty busy these days. I heard a rumour that she finally made it into a dance company.’

His eyes lit up and he hoisted her up in the air. ‘You did?’

The harbour lights blurred as he spun them around. The sky darkened as each moment passed. Somehow it felt as though the universe was cementing their decision to be together.

‘I did.’ She laughed as he brought her back down. Solid ground would never feel the same again.

‘I never had any doubts.’

‘You were the only one.’ She shot him a rueful smile.

‘Not true.’ He cupped her face with his hands and pressed another exploratory kiss to her lips. ‘But you do need a little help with the constant doubt.’

‘Are you testing me?’

‘Maybe.’ A sly smile pulled at his lips.

‘Well, I accept your help.’ She jabbed a finger into the centre of his chest, unable to conceal a grin. ‘So there.’

‘Chantal, I need to be able to help you. I need to be part of your life in a way that no one else can. I’ll give you everything you deserve. I’ll do everything I can to give you the life you want.’

The thumping of his heart reverberated against her ear.

‘I’m going to run the business from Sydney.’

‘Can you do that?’ Her head jerked up.

‘That’s the best bit about being the boss.’ He grinned. ‘I can do whatever I like.’

‘But what about your family?’

‘I put a call in to my father. He’s going to start sharing the load with me.’ A flash of vulnerability streaked across Brodie’s eyes. ‘‘Bout time.’

‘Really? That’s wonderful.’

‘Besides, Queensland is only a state away, and I’m sure you’ll need a break at some point. I’ll have to split my time across the two states but I know I can manage it.’ He chuckled. ‘Besides, the girls will be desperate to meet you.’

‘I’d love to meet them. I never had what you had growing up. I know your family isn’t perfect, but I’ve never been part of a family like that before.’

The idea was frightening—what if his sisters hated her?

‘They’ll love you. I know it.’ He stroked her hair, pressing his lips to her forehead. ‘But you were right to point out that I hide behind my family responsibilities. I have been hiding.’

She smiled against his chest. ‘You can’t hide any more.’

‘I don’t want to. I love you, Chantal.’

He spoke into her hair, his arms tight around her shoulders, his hand caressing her back.

Music wafted over the night air from the boat next to them.

Brodie wrapped his arms around her waist, moving her to the music. ‘And I always said pretty girls shouldn’t have to dance on their own.’

‘I won’t dance on my own ever again.’