‘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