The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection. Kelly Hunter

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СКАЧАТЬ sun beat down on Chantal’s bare shoulders, making her skin sizzle on the outside as much as Brodie was making her sizzle on the inside. Humid air made her skin glisten and frizzed her hair. She yanked the length behind her head and fastened it with a hair tie… Anything to keep her hands busy.

      They walked past other yachts, most of them matching the size of Brodie’s boat. It was definitely more upscale than the place where they’d been docked last night. A family to their right boarded a boat that looked twice as big as the house Chantal had grown up in. The mother and daughter had identical long blond ponytails and carried matching designer bags.

      ‘Do your clientele look like that?’ She nodded towards the family.

      ‘Rich?’ Brodie gave them a cursory glance and shrugged. ‘Yeah, I guess. People who charter a private yacht tend to have money.’

      ‘More money than sense,’ she muttered under her breath.

      ‘It’s certainly not the kind of life I had growing up, that’s for sure.’

      Chantal’s curiosity was piqued. Brodie hadn’t shared too much about his family while they’d all lived on the Whitsundays. She’d seen a picture of him with a group of younger girls whom she’d presumed to be his family. It had been pinned up on the wall in the room he’d shared with Scott. But other than that she knew little about his family, or where he was from…

      ‘I always got the impression you were well off.’

      ‘Why did you think that?’

      She shrugged. ‘I don’t know… You always seemed so relaxed—so… at peace with the world. It seemed like you’d had an easy life.’

      Brodie’s blond brows crinkled and they walked in silence for a few minutes. Had she hurt his feelings? She hadn’t intended it, but he seemed to lack the tough outer shell of someone who’d struggled their whole lives failing to keep up with everybody else. Someone like her.

      ‘We had our ups and downs,’ he said, talking slowly, as though he chose each word with care. ‘My family wasn’t different to anyone else’s.’

      ‘You never talked about your family much while we were working together.’

      ‘You and I never had a serious conversation about anything.’ He grinned. ‘Too busy playing cat and mouse.’

      ‘We did not play cat and mouse.’ She shook her head, but her cheeks filled with roaring heat.

      ‘You don’t think so? I used to do anything to rile you up, to get your attention. I’d drive you crazy by teasing you about being a stuck-up ballerina.’

      ‘And I’d try to correct you by explaining the difference between ballet and contemporary dance. But I don’t think that’s a game of cat and mouse.’

      ‘Why do you think I teased you?’

      They hovered under the expressway, enjoying the cool reprieve of the shade while people milled around. Sunlight sparkled on the water and laughter floated up into the air as the crowd filtered past. Everywhere people soaked up the rays, ate ice cream and held hands. The Sydney Harbour Bridge stretched out above, the Opera House in the distance, with the sun coating everything in a golden gleam.

      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, СКАЧАТЬ