Chantal had to admit it. As much as she found the hustle and bustle of a big city overwhelming, Sydney was beautiful.
‘I thought you were hot.’ He slung an arm around her shoulder.
‘You shouldn’t have thought that.’
He leant down until his lips were close to her ear. ‘I still think you’re hot.’
Caring about his opinion was a mistake, but his words made something flutter low down in her belly. She’d never wanted to be attracted to Brodie, but he had this thing about him. It was indescribable, intangible, invisible… but it was there.
She said, ‘I think you’re full of crap.’
He threw his head back and laughed. ‘Prickly as ever, Chantal. Good to see some things don’t change.’
‘I have to get to my audition.’
She shrugged off his arm and strode in the direction of the Harbour Dance Company’s building at the other end of the wharf.
You cannot stuff this up. Focus, focus, focus.
As much as she hated to admit it to herself—and she would never admit it to another living soul—Brodie rattled her. He was the only person who could knock her off course with such effortless efficiency. She needed a little distance from him, and tonight she would ask him to take her back to the bar. The feelings he evoked were confusing, confrontational, and she didn’t have time for them.
Not now, not ever.
Perhaps if Chantal wasn’t so hot when she was mad he wouldn’t be tempted to tease her all the time. He loved it when she got all pink cheeked and pursed lipped. Eight years hadn’t dulled or lengthened her fuse—she still lit up like a firecracker when he baited her. Hot damn if he didn’t love it.
Up ahead, he saw her stride quicken, her full ponytail flicking with each step like the tail of an agitated cat. In all his years, through all the women he’d taken to bed, he’d never found a girl who got his pulse racing the way she did.
But he had to get it out of his head—had to get her out of his head. Sex with friends was a no-go zone. Normally he had enough choice that steering clear of any women he wanted to keep in his life was a piece of cake. Normally he could resist temptation… But Chantal was testing his limits.
Falling into a jog, he caught up with her. She counted the pier numbers, her gaze scanning the buildings until a soft, ‘Aha!’ left her lips.
‘I’ll be in there, but you really don’t need to wait,’ she said. ‘I’m quite equipped to manage this on my own.’
‘I’ve got nowhere else to be. Besides, I might spy a few hot dancers while I wait around for you.’
‘Don’t forget to leave a sock on the door if you get lucky,’ she quipped.
Her eyes flicked over his face, her lips set into a hard line. Was it his imagination or was there a note of jealousy in her voice? Wishful thinking.
‘You’re the only one coming home with me.’
She licked her lips, the sudden dart of her tongue catching him by surprise. He hardened, the ache for her strong and familiar as ever. How was it that she could reduce him to a hormone-riddled teenage boy with the simplest of actions?
He had to get it out of his system—otherwise she’d haunt him forever.
‘I’m coming back to the yacht with you—not coming home with you. Those two things are quite different.’
‘They don’t have to be different.’
‘Brodie…’
Her voice warned him, as it had done in the past. Stay away, hands off, do not get any closer.
‘Fine.’ He leant down and planted a kiss on her forehead, enjoying the way she sucked in a breath. ‘Good luck. I know you’ll kill it.’
‘Don’t jinx me.’ She mustered a smile and then turned towards the building marked ‘Harbour Dance Company’.
He hated to see her doubt herself. She had no cause to. If the people holding the audition couldn’t see her talent then they were blind. Perhaps he should follow her, just in case they needed convincing…
No. She was not his responsibility. He would wait for her, but he wouldn’t get involved. He wouldn’t get invested.
Brodie settled in to the café on the ground floor of the building, ordered a drink and set up at a small table by the window. Views of the pier with a backdrop of the bridge filled it. Sydney always made him feel small, but in a good way. As if he was only a tiny fleck on the face of the earth and his actions didn’t matter so much in the scheme of things. As if he could be anyone he wanted to be… could sail away and no one would notice.
He envied Chantal and the freedom she had. She was beholden to no one. He, on the other hand, was stuck in the constant clashing of his desire to be his own person and his obligation to his family. He would always look after his sisters, but sometimes he wanted a break without feeling as though he were abandoning them. Even holidaying in Sydney was tough. What if something happened with Lydia while he was away? What if she got stuck in the house on her own and couldn’t call for help?
He shoved aside the worry and reached for a newspaper, making sure to offer a charming smile to the waitress as she set down his coffee. She was cute—early twenties, blonde. But he didn’t feel the usual zing of excitement when she smiled back, lingering before heading to her station. Something was definitely amiss.
Several articles and a sports section later Brodie looked up. He’d downed his coffee and then switched to green tea—which tasted like crap—and a bottle of water. A beer would have hit the spot, but he’d skipped training that morning and tomorrow’s session would be hell if he didn’t get his act together. Ah, discipline… it was kind of overrated.
Chantal still hadn’t returned. How long had it been? Time had ticked by reluctantly, but she must have been gone an hour… maybe two. Was that a good sign? He hoped so.
The phone vibrating on the café table pulled his attention away from thoughts of Chantal. A photo of his youngest sister, Ellen, flashed up on screen. She looked so much like him. Shaggy blond hair that couldn’t be controlled, light green eyes, and skin that tanned at the mere mention of sun.
‘Ellie-pie, what’s happening?’
‘Not much.’ She sighed—the universal signal that there was, in fact, something happening. ‘Boy stuff.’
‘You know how I deal with that.’ Brodie frowned.
Trouble related to boys was squarely not in the realm of brotherly duties. Unless, of course, the solution to said boy problem involved him putting the fear of God into whichever pimply-faced rat had upset his little sister.
‘Yeah, I know. I wasn’t calling about that.’ Pause. ‘When are you coming home?’
‘I only left a couple of days ago.’ Not that it stopped the guilt from churning.
‘I know.’ She sighed again. ‘Hey, can I come and stay with you when you get back?’
He smiled. ‘Are the twins driving you crazy again?’
‘No. Lydia’s being difficult today.’
The relationship between his oldest and youngest sister had always been tense. And Lydia’s mood changes seemed to affect Ellen more than anyone; she was often the one at home, taking on the