Stefanie London – The Tycoon's Stowaway (страница 7)

Chantal’s old doubts and fears crept back, their dark claws hooking into the parts of her not yet healed. She was not the person she claimed to be, and they would all know that now. They would know what a fraud she was.

Her breath caught in her throat, the familiar shallow breathing returning and forcing her heart rate up. She had a sudden desire to flee, to return to the dingy bar where she probably looked as if she belonged.

She didn’t fit in here. Not with these classy girls and their beautiful hair. Not with Brodie, who’d made a success of himself, and not with Scott, whom she’d betrayed.

She sucked in a deep breath, her feet rooted to the ground. Panic clutched at her chest, clawing up her neck and closing its cold hands around her windpipe. She couldn’t do it.

‘Chantal?’ Brodie looked down at her, his hand at the small of her back, pushing gently.

She bit down on her lip, shame seeping through her every limb until they were so heavy she couldn’t move. Why did you come? You’re only setting yourself up to be laughed at. You’re a failure.

‘Come on.’ Brodie grabbed her hand and tugged her forward. ‘We don’t want to get left behind.’

CHAPTER THREE

BRODIE WANTED TO look anywhere but at Chantal, yet her dancing held him captive. Her undulating figure, moving perfectly to the beat, looked even more amazing than it had at the bar. In casual clothes, with her face relaxed, her limbs loose, she looked completely at ease with the world.

Unable to deal with the lust flooding his veins, he’d caved in and had a beer. The alcohol had hit him a little harder since he’d been abstaining the past few weeks. But he needed to dull the edges of his feelings—dull the roaring awareness of her. He’d hoped the uncontrollable desire to possess her had disappeared when he’d left the reef. However, it had only been dormant, waiting quietly in the background, until she’d brought it to full-colour, surround-sound, 3-D life.

When they’d first stepped onto the yacht Chantal had hesitated, almost as if she wasn’t sure she should be there. But Scott had given her a friendly pat on the shoulder and a playful shove towards the girls. They’d brought her into the fold and she’d relaxed, dancing and giggling as though she’d been there all night. Every so often Brodie caught her eye: a quick glance here or there that neither of them acknowledged.

‘You should get out there and dance with her.’ Scott dropped down next to him, another beer in his hand.

Brodie’s eyes shifted to Scott and he waited to see what would come next. He’d harboured a lot of guilt over the way things had ended between them at Weeping Reef—not just because he’d hurt Scott, but because he’d hurt Chantal as well.

‘Come on, man. You know there’s no hard feelings.’ Scott slapped him on the back. ‘We talked about this already.’

‘It’s not your feelings I’m worried about.’

‘Since when do you worry about anything?’

Brodie frowned. People often took his breezy attitude and laissez-faire approach to mean he didn’t care about things. He knew when Scott was teasing him, but still…

‘Some things are meant to be left in the past.’ Some people were meant to be left in the past… especially when he couldn’t possibly give her what she deserved. Not long-term anyway.

‘You sound like a girl.’ Scott laughed. ‘Don’t be such a wuss.’

He was being a wuss, hiding behind excuses. Besides, it was only a dance. How much harm could it do?

Keep telling yourself it’s harmless—maybe one day you’ll believe it.

Brodie pushed aside his gut feeling and joined the girls. Loud music pumped from the yacht’s premium speakers and the girls cheered when he joined their little circle. His eyes caught Chantal’s—a flicker of inquisitive olive as she looked him over and then turned her head so that she faced Amy.

He took a long swig of his beer, draining the bottle and setting it out of the way. Moving closer to Chantal, he brushed his hand gently over her hip as he danced. She turned, a shy smile curving on her lips. She wasn’t performing now—this was her and only her. Green eyes seemed to glow amidst the smudgy black make-up… Her tanned limbs were moving subtly and effortlessly to the beat.

‘Want a refill?’ Brodie nodded to the empty champagne flute she’d yet to discard.

She hesitated, looking from the glass to him. Was it his imagination, or had Willa given her a little nudge with her elbow?

‘Why not?’ She smiled and followed him into the cabin. The music seemed to throb and pulsate around them, even at a distance from the speakers. But that was how music felt when she moved to it. It came to life.

‘I’m sad to say this yacht is bigger than my apartment.’ She held out her champagne flute. ‘Well, my old apartment anyway.’

Brodie reached for a fresh bottle of Veuve Cliquot and wrapped his hand around the cork, easing it out with a satisfying pop. He topped up her glass, the fizzing liquid bubbling and racing towards the top a little too quickly.

She bent her head and caught the bubbles before they spilled. ‘You’re a terrible pourer.’

He watched, mesmerised, as the pink tip of her tongue darted out to swipe her lips. Her mouth glistened, tempting and ripe as summer fruit.

‘I’m normally too busy driving the boat to be in charge of drinks. But I’ll make an exception for you.’

‘How kind.’ She smirked and leant against the white leather sofa that curved around the wall. ‘Are you always on the boats?’

‘No, I have to run the business, which keeps me from being out on the water as much as I’d like. I have a townhouse on the Sunshine Coast, but it’s a bit of a tourist trap up there. Sometimes I stay with the family in Brisbane, and then other times I stay on the yacht.’

‘What a life.’ Her voice was soft, tinged with wonder. ‘You float along and stop where you feel like it.’

‘It has a little more structure than that… but essentially, yeah.’

‘Now, that sounds a little more like the Brodie I know.’

Her words needled him. He wasn’t the surfer bum loser she’d labelled him in Weeping Reef. Sure, he might have dropped out of his degree and taken his time to find his groove, but he was a business owner now… a successful one at that.

‘How’s the arts world treating you?’ It could have sounded like a swipe, given what he’d seen tonight, but he was genuinely interested.

She managed a stiff smile. ‘Like any creative industry, it can be a little up and down.’

A perfectly generic response. Perhaps her situation was worse than he’d thought. He stayed silent, waiting for her to continue. For a moment she only nodded, her head bobbing, as if that would be enough of an answer. But he wanted more.

‘I’m waiting to hear back from a big company,’ she continued, her voice tight.

He suspected it wasn’t true, or that she’d coloured the truth.

‘Tonight was one of those fill-the-gap things. I’m sure it wasn’t what you were expecting to see.’

Her eyes dipped and her lashes, thick and sultry, fanned out, casting feathery shadows against her cheekbones. She gathered herself and looked up, determined once more.

‘It wasn’t what I expected,’ Brodie said, watching her face for subtle movements. Any key to whether or not she would let him in. ‘But that’s not to say I didn’t enjoy it.’

How could he possibly have felt any other way? Watching her work that stage as if she owned the place had unsettled him to his core. A thousand years wouldn’t dull that picture from his memory. Even thinking about it now heated up his skin and sent a rush of blood south, hardening him instantaneously.

‘I could have done without the men ogling you.’

Her lips curved ever so slightly. ‘You say that like you have some kind of claim over me.’

It was a taunt, delivered in her soft way. She hit him hardest when she used that breathy little voice of hers. It sounded like sin and punishment and all kinds of heavenly temptation rolled into one.

Brodie stepped forward, indulging himself in the sight of her widening eyes and parted lips. She didn’t step back. Instead she stilled, and the air between them was charged with untameable electricity—wild and crackling and furious as a stormy ocean. She tilted her head up, looking him directly in the eye.

Brodie leant forward. ‘I did see you first.’

‘It doesn’t work like that.’ Her voice was a mere whisper, and she said it as though convincing herself. ‘It’s not finders keepers.’

‘What is it, then?’

‘It’s nothing.’

He grabbed her wrist, his fingers wrapping around the delicate joint so that his fingertips lay over the tender flesh on the inside of her arm. He could feel her pulse hammering like a pump working at full speed, the beats furious and insistent.

‘It’s not nothing.’

She tried to pull her wrist back. ‘It’s the champagne.’

‘Liar.’

A wicked smile broke out across her face as she downed her entire drink. A stray droplet escaped the corner of her mouth and she caught it with her tongue. God, he wanted to kiss her.

‘It’s the champagne.’

‘Well, if you keep drinking it like that…’

‘I might get myself into trouble?’ She pulled a serious face, her cheeks flushed with the alcohol.

She’d looked like this the night he’d danced with her at Weeping Reef. Chantal had always been the serious type—studious and sensible until she’d had a drink or two. Then the hardness seemed to melt away, she loosened up, and the playful side came out. If she’d been tempting before, she was damn near impossible to resist now.