‘There’s no doubt in my mind about that.’
‘Why do you say it like that?’
‘Your career before everything else. I have no doubt it’s the most important thing in your life.’
‘It is.’ She tilted her head, watching him as he flicked on the coffee machine and pulled two cups from the cupboard. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘I think your career is like my family. It’s important… sometimes too important.’
‘So you agree you need space from your family?’ She grinned, swinging her legs.
‘That’s about as much agreement as you’ll get from me.’
‘You’re so stubborn!’
‘Ha! You should take a look in the mirror some time.’
The coffee machine hissed, steam billowing out of the nozzle in coils of white condensation. Black liquid ran into the cups, filling the air with a rich, roasted scent. He splashed milk into the first cup and handed it to Chantal. A grin spread over her lips and she blew on the steam, waiting for him to make the first move.
She wore the black skirt and white top she’d had on at drinks earlier that evening, but she’d ditched her shoes and jewellery. The gold threads in her top glinted under the light, making it seem as if she were glowing. It wasn’t possible for her to look any more at home on the boat. He wondered what it would be like if they both tossed their obligations overboard and set sail. They had a boat—he had money. It could be the two of them. Together. Alone.
What is it about ‘just sex’ that you don’t understand? She doesn’t want you like that. You’re just a body. A good lay.
‘Are we going to keep dancing around like this or are you going to invite me to bed?’
She looked over the edge of her cup, the white porcelain barely hiding a cheeky smile. Her dark lashes fluttered and warm pink heat spread through her cheeks.
‘Who’s insatiable now?’
‘Time’s ticking. I want to enjoy this arrangement while I still can.’
It doesn’t have to stop.
The words teetered on the edge of his tongue, willing his lips to open so they could pour out. But he couldn’t let them. Instead he walked around to the other side of the breakfast bar and pulled her into his arms. His lips crushed down on hers, seeking out the hot, open delight of her mouth. The taste of fresh coffee mingled with the honeyed sweetness of her.
‘As you wish.’
Chantal woke to the sound of something vibrating, but the haze of slumber refused to release her. Groggy, she pushed herself into a sitting position, smiling as Brodie reached for her in his sleep. Fingertips brushed her thigh and he sighed, rolling over. Blond lashes threw feathered shadows across his cheekbones and his full lips melted into a gentle smile.
‘You look so damn innocent,’ she muttered, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. He didn’t stir. ‘But I know better.’
The vibrating stopped and a loud ping signalled a text message. Removing Brodie’s hand from her leg, she set off in search of her phone. It wasn’t in the bedroom, though everything else of hers appeared to be—a lacy thong, matching bra, white and gold top, stretchy black skirt.
A laugh bubbled in her throat. Her clothes were strewn so far around the room it looked almost staged. But her aching limbs told the truth. They’d spent another amazing, pulse-racing, heart-fluttering, boundary-breaking night together.
Danger! Emotions approaching—full speed ahead.
It was just sex… wasn’t it? She could stop any time. Spoken like a true addict, Turner.
Huffing, she stomped out to the kitchen. She didn’t want to be having thoughts like this. Brodie was a bit of fun. A friend, yes, but nothing more. She couldn’t let it be any more… not when he’d already shown that he had the same protective urges as her ex. No matter how well intentioned he was, she would not let herself be smothered again.
A flashing blue light caught her attention. One new voicemail. It had better not be the bar, pushing her to extend her contract. She’d officially be admitting defeat if she signed with them for another month. Then again, it wasn’t as if she had other offers to consider, and this thing with Brodie had to come to an end. He’d be sailing home at some point, and she couldn’t exactly stow away on his boat to avoid her problems. No, she needed an apartment, a job… a better job. She needed her independence back.
She tapped in her password and dialled the voicemail number. Her pulse shot up as the caller introduced himself as being from the Harbour Dance Company. They wanted her to come in for a chat about the company and a second audition. She hadn’t flunked it!
By the time she hung up the phone Brodie had ambled into the kitchen. Cotton pyjama pants hung low on his hips. A trail of blond hair dipped below the waistband. He was a god—a tattooed, tanned, six-pack-adorned god.
‘Good news?’
‘How could you tell?’ She put her phone back on the table and bounded over to him, throwing her arms around his neck.
‘Your greetings are usually a little less enthusiastic than this,’ he said, chuckling, and lifted her up so that her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. ‘Not to mention you were bouncing around so much I thought you’d been stung by a jellyfish.’
‘They want a second audition!’ She didn’t have time to counter his teasing. She was so brimming with relief that she had to let it out.
‘Why wouldn’t they? You’re pretty damn fantastic.’ He backed her up against the breakfast bar, bringing his mouth down to hers. ‘So that means we’ll be heading back to Sydney?’
‘I’ll be heading back to Sydney. The audition isn’t till the end of the week, and you’re taking off then… aren’t you?’
He hesitated, the jovial grin slipping from his lips as he avoided her eyes. ‘Yeah, I’ll be heading back soon.’
Had he been thinking about staying? For her? That was too confusing a thought to process, so she pushed a hand through his hair and kissed the tip of his nose.
‘No more swanning around on yachts for me.’
‘No.’
‘All good things must come to an end, as they say.’ She wished the cheerful tone of her voice mirrored her thoughts. But the words had as much substance as fairy floss.
What was wrong with her? This was Brodie. Beach bum. Playboy. Dreamer. Drifter. Flake.
Only he wasn’t any of those things in reality. He was a successful businessman. A friend, a great cook, a family man, the best sex of her life. He was complex, layered, and not at all as she’d labelled him. Could it get any worse?
‘We should celebrate,’ he said, cutting through her thoughts by setting her down. ‘How about I take you out on the water and we’ll have lunch?’
‘I have to be back for a shift tonight, but that would be great.’
‘Of course,’ he said, a hint of bitterness tainting his voice. ‘How could I forget about the bar?’
‘Don’t start, Brodie… it won’t go on forever.’ She wasn’t going to let that scummy bar ruin their celebration.
‘Why don’t you have a shower and I’ll get us underway.’
‘Are you trying to tell me I smell again?’ She shoved him in the shoulder and his smile returned… almost.
‘You smell like sex.’
‘Gee,