‘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