The Tycoon's Stowaway. Stefanie London

      ‘I thought your husband would be here to watch out for you.’ He was back to being stern again. ‘He should be keeping you safe.’

      ‘I think he’s keeping someone else safe these days.’ She sighed. Why did all guys think it was their job to be the protector? She’d been happy to see the back of her ex-husband and his stifling, control-freak ways.

      ‘So that means you’re single?’

      She nodded. ‘Free as a bird and loving it.’

      ‘All the more reason to have someone look out for you.’

      Chantal bit her down on her lip and kept her mouth shut. No sense in firing him up by debating her ability to look out for herself. She wasn’t stupid, her mother had made her take self-defence classes in high school, and she was quite sure she could hit a guy where it hurt most should the need arise.

      They walked in silence for a moment, the thumping bass from the bar fading as they moved farther away. The yacht club glowed up ahead, with one large boat sticking out amongst a row of much smaller ones. She didn’t have to ask. Of course he had the biggest boat there.

      ‘Are you over-compensating?’ Chantal asked, using sarcasm to hide her nervousness at being so close to him… at being alone with him.

      ‘Huh?’

      ‘The boat.’ She pointed. ‘It’s rather… large.’

      ‘You know what they say about men with large boats.’ He grinned, his perfect teeth gleaming against the inky darkness.

      She stifled a wicked smile. ‘They have large steering wheels?’

      He threw his head back and laughed again, slinging an arm around her shoulder.

      The sudden closeness of him unsettled her, but his presence was wonderfully intoxicating when he wasn’t waxing lyrical about her need for protection. He smelled exactly the same as she remembered: ocean spray and coconut. That scent had haunted her for months after she’d left Weeping Reef, and any time she smelled a hint of coconut it would thrust her right back onto that dance floor with him.

      Her hip bumped against his with each step. The hard muscles of his arm pressed around her shoulder, making her insides curl and jump.

      ‘It’s not my personal boat. My company owns it.’

      ‘Your company?’ Chantal looked up, surprised.

      Brodie was not the kind of guy to start a company; he’d never had an entrepreneurial bone in his body. In fact she distinctly remembered the time Scott had threatened to fire him for going over time on his windsurfing lessons because his students had been having so much fun. He had a generosity of spirit that didn’t exactly match bottom-line profits.

      ‘After I left Weeping Reef I bummed around for a while until I got work with a yacht charter company off the Sunshine Coast. It was a lot of fun. I got promoted, and eventually the owners offered me a stake in the company. I bought the controlling share about a year ago, when they were ready to retire.’

      ‘And now you run a yacht tour company?’

      He nodded as their conversation was interrupted by a loud shriek as they strolled onto the marina. The girls had clearly got into the champagne and were dancing on deck, with an amused Scott watching from the sidelines. Willa waved down to her and motioned for them to join the party.

      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.’