Kitabı oku: «The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection», sayfa 17
You always take her side.
I do not.
‘Is your sister a bit of a handful?’ Rob asked.
‘Sisters,’ Brodie corrected. ‘I’ve got four of them—all younger.’
‘Jeez.’ Rob let out a low whistle. ‘Your parents must have been gluttons for punishment.’
‘Not really,’ Scott chipped in. ‘Brodie always did most of the work with them.’
‘Just doing my job.’ Brodie waved off the comment. He’d done what any big brother would have. His father’s absence had left a gaping hole in his sisters’ lives. If he hadn’t looked after them who would have?
‘Family comes first, but you have to find some balance,’ Rob said.
Brodie shrugged. ‘The rest of my life is pretty carefree. I sail when I feel like it, work on my business, cruise around the country. Meet lots of interesting people.’
‘Brodie has never had any trouble meeting interesting people.’ Scott rolled his eyes and turned to Rob. ‘He used to have the girls falling at his feet when we were all at the reef.’
‘It’s the tatts,’ Brodie replied. ‘Something about a little ink makes them go crazy.’
‘What’s that about tattoos?’ Willa wandered over and immediately tucked herself against Rob.
Rob gave her a squeeze and grinned. ‘Apparently girls go gaga for Brodie’s ink. What do you think, Willa?’
‘I don’t think it’s just the ink,’ she said, smirking.
‘Should I be getting jealous?’ There wasn’t a hint of jealousy in Rob’s voice, but Willa shook her head anyway. She only had eyes for Rob, anyone could see that.
The rest of the girls had filtered out of the cabin and now joined the discussion. Rob took the opportunity to make Brodie squirm.
‘What do you think, Chantal? Tatts or no tatts?’ His eyes glittered and he fought back a smile when Brodie shot daggers at him.
‘On the right guy it looks good,’ she responded carefully, her eyes flicking from Brodie to Rob and back again, as though she were trying to work out who’d instigated the suggestive discussion. ‘Though looks aren’t everything.’
‘Aren’t they?’ joked Kate, flipping her long red ponytail over one shoulder as she laughed at Scott’s serious face. ‘Joking!’
This time the group wasn’t crashing on the yacht. Scott and Kate were staying at a hotel for the night, Amy and Jessica were going to continue the festivities at a local bar, and Willa and Rob were retiring back to their newly rented penthouse.
But what about Chantal?
‘Are you sure you don’t want to join us, Brodie?’ Amy asked with a coy smile.
‘I would love to party it up with you lovely ladies, but I have training tomorrow.’ Brodie pulled Amy in for a friendly hug. ‘Literally at the crack of dawn—and you know how much I hate mornings.’
She grinned. ‘How about you, Chantal?’
Brodie held his breath. This was it. If she stayed then he would do everything in his power to make her come—over and over and over.
She shifted on her strappy tan heels and raked a hand through her long, wavy hair.
‘I’ve got work tomorrow.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘I think I’m going to need all my energy for it.’
Amy stifled a smile and nodded.
The crew filtered off the boat, leaving Brodie and Chantal completely alone. She hovered by his side, refusing to look up at him. Not that it mattered where she looked, so long as it was his name on her lips.
‘I hope you weren’t serious about needing energy tomorrow,’ he said as they waved the group off. ‘You’re not getting any sleep tonight.’
CHAPTER SIX
WAS SHE MAKING a colossal mistake? Her body seemed to think not. In fact her body acted as though it had been served up a certifiable slice of heaven, complete with whipped cream, cherries and sprinkles.
‘Sleep is for the weak.’
His hands found her waist and pulled her close. Air rushed from her lungs with the delicious contact. His pelvis was hard against her, the ridge of his burgeoning erection pressing into her belly through the thin material of her dress.
His full lips curved into an impossibly sexy smile. ‘I’m glad we’re on the same page.’
‘We will be if we never speak of this again.’
‘Romantic,’ he quipped. ‘I like it.’
She ran her palms up the front of his chest, feeling the smooth cotton of his shirt glide against her skin. Each muscle in his chest was crisply defined, all hardness and athletic perfection. Her fingers hovered at the top button, tracing the outline in slow, deliberate circles.
‘I don’t want anything beyond one night. Clear?’
‘Crystal.’
Chantal swallowed, Brodie had agreed more readily than she’d expected. But that was the kind of guy he was, the kind of life he led—easygoing, breezy, sans strings. She shouldn’t be disappointed.
‘Any more rules I should be aware of?’ he asked, trailing feather-light kisses from her temple to her jaw.
In heels, she didn’t feel quite so small next to him—though he still had a head on her. Perhaps she’d leave the heels on.
A wicked smile curved her lips. ‘Ladies first.’
‘Hmm…’ The throaty growl was hot against her neck. ‘A woman after my own heart.’
She thrust her hands into his hair and wrenched his face down to hers, slanting her mouth over his and stripping away any doubts, fears or reservations with a hot, combative kiss. He came back with equal force, his hands sliding down her back until they cupped her behind and forced her against him.
He was hard, salty and heavenly. She moaned, the sound lost between them.
A chorus of cheers and laughter from a neighbouring boat broke them apart.
A giggle bubbled up between her heavy breaths and Chantal pressed her hands to burning cheeks. ‘Looks like we’re putting on a bit of a show.’
‘You are a performance artist.’
Brodie lifted her and she instinctively wrapped her legs around him, groaning as her centre made contact with the hard length beneath his jeans.
‘But now it’s time for a private show.’
He walked them into the cabin, through the lounge and to the bedroom. His bedroom. A huge bed dominated the centre of the room. It was a hell of a lot bigger than Chantal had imagined it would be on a boat. It was a bed not made for sleeping but for hot, Kama Sutra–referencing, scream-at-the-top-of-your-lungs sex.
Brodie turned and sat on the edge of the bed, still holding her so that she was in his lap. The friction of his jeans against the wispy material of her underwear drove her crazy. She bucked, rolling her hips to increase the pressure. His mouth came down on hers, lush and open and intoxicating.
‘Dance for me,’ he growled.
Cheeks burning, she pushed hard against his chest so he toppled back. She straddled him, grinding her hips in a slow circular motion. ‘But it’s so good here.’
‘I want to watch you.’
‘You only get to watch when I say so.’ She echoed her words from earlier in the day, heat flooding her body and throbbing out of control.
His eyes blazed like green fire and darkness. ‘I’ll make it worth your while.’
‘How?’ The question escaped her lips before she could think, before she could reason. She needed to hear his answer. Needed to absorb the experience of being with him through her every sense.
Warm palms slid up her thighs, bunching blue material around her waist. His hand brushed her sex, sending a jolt of pleasure through her. Toying with the edge of her underwear, he traced the pattern on the lace with his fingertip.
‘If you can walk, talk or function on any level tomorrow then I haven’t done my job.’
Her lips trembled. It wasn’t enough. She wanted detail. She wanted all of it with a greedy, hedonistic gluttony.
‘More.’
‘I’m going to take you to the point where you think there’s nothing left and I’m going to make you beg.’ His eyes were wild, his pulse throbbing in his neck. ‘I’m going to make you forget any word you’ve ever spoken except for my name. I’m going to be the only thing you know. I’m going to be your everything.’
‘Brodie…’ she whispered, the throbbing between her legs ceaseless. She ached to the point of pain. It had been so long… so very long.
‘Dance for me.’ His voice was rough, scratched up and torn apart with desire.
She pushed back, balancing on her heels and taking a step away from the bed. Her hands trembled, and her mouth was suddenly devoid of moisture as her hips swayed to a non-existent beat.
She wasn’t passionate… her dancing wasn’t passionate. Hadn’t that been Derek’s parting shot as he’d walked out of their house for the last time?
‘You’re a technical dancer, Chantal, but you’re all business. No passion. No one wants to watch that. You’ll never make it without me.’
Her throat closed in on itself, her heart jackhammering against her ribs. This was Brodie—not her controlling, possessive ex-husband. Smoking hot, life-loving Brodie. She could be herself around him because tomorrow this wouldn’t exist. This would never have happened.
Safe in the impermanence of their situation, she ran her hands up her body, over the curve of her bust, the ridges of her collarbones, the column of her neck, into her hair. Fingers divided the strands, shaking her hair out until it fell around her shoulders.
‘God, Chantal…’ Her name was a strangled plea on his lips. ‘Your body is incredible.’
She reached for the hidden zip that ran down the side of her rib cage, drawing it open with agonising slowness. Cool air rushed in, tickling her exposed skin. Stepping closer to him, she pulled him into a sitting position and dragged his hands to her hips so he could feel the movement.
Her head tilted back. There was nothing but the invisible beat and his hands on her. He pulled her between his legs, thrusting the dress up over her hips. His lips made contact with the flat of her belly above the waistband of her black lacy underwear. His tongue flicked out, filled with the promise of what was to come.
She yanked the dress over her head and flung it away.
‘Perfection,’ he breathed, and the hot air caressed the apex of her thighs.
His hand slid up over her rib cage to clasp her naked breast. Deft fingers toyed with her already hardened nipple, wringing a low moan from the back of her throat.
‘Your turn.’ She reached for his shirt, unbuttoning him quickly, urgently.
‘You’re far too good at that,’ he chuckled, blackened eyes looking up at her.
‘Dance costumes—fiddly buttons are no match for my fingers.’
‘You do have beautiful fingers.’ He pulled one of her hands to his lips and kissed each fingertip in turn. ‘Beautiful palms.’
His mouth was hot in the centre of her hand, tracing a line over her wrist and up to her elbow.
‘Beautiful everything.’
‘Don’t distract me.’ She pushed the shirt from his shoulders, exposing golden skin stretched tight over a wall of muscle.
The cross tattoo caught her eye. She bent to kiss it, her hands falling to his belt. She wrenched at the closure, making his hips jerk forward as she released the belt.
‘Easy, girl.’ He covered her hands with his as she lowered the zip.
Within seconds he was completely naked. Ink covered more of his body than she remembered. The cross on his chest had been joined by scrolling words down the side of his rib cage and another anchor lower down, with numbers surrounding it. The sharp V of muscle drew her eyes… then her hands, then her mouth.
Her fingers brushed over the hard length of him, tracing the tip before she sank to her knees and drew him into her mouth. The mixture of earthy masculine scents and the subtle taste of him intoxicated her.
‘Didn’t I say easy girl?’ he moaned, his hands fisting in her hair. She wasn’t sure if he meant to hold her in place or pull her away.
She ran her tongue along the length of him before looking up. ‘I heard you. I just didn’t listen.’
‘Come here.’
He hauled her on top of him, tilting them both back so that she straddled his hips. The hard weight of his erection dug into her thigh.
‘We’ve got the whole night. You’re not rushing me.’
Stretching his hand back, he found the drawer beside his bed and produced a foil packet. He reached down, sheathed himself, and before she knew what was happening he thrust up into her. The sudden movement was the perfect blend of pleasure and shock… with the tiniest, most delicate hint of pain.
Strong arms held her flat against him, her breasts pushed up against his chest, her lips at his neck. Each moan shot fire through her, and each thrust of his hips bumped her most sensitive part, making her body hum. Orgasm welled within her, climbing, peaking and pushing.
His hands were in her hair again, yanking her face up to his so his lips could slant over hers. Teeth tugged at her mouth, the taste of him drawing her closer and closer to release. She ground against him. So close… so close.
‘Come for me, Chantal. I want to feel you shake around me.’ His voice was tight, his breath coming in hard bursts.
‘Brodie…’ Her voice trembled, release a hair’s width away.
‘Scream for me.’
And she did.
On and on and on she cried out his name, eyes clamped shut, fists bunched in the pillow, face pressed against his neck. The bubble burst and she tumbled down, down, down. As she clamped around him he found his own release, groaning long and low into her hair.
Silence washed over them. The air was cool on their sweat-dampened skin. He held her close, clinging on as if he wanted to stay that way forever. She didn’t move in case he let go.
He could officially die a happy man. The gentle weight of her comforted him. One of her legs had wound around his; her foot was tucked against his calf. As her breathing slowed he stroked her hair, breathing in the heady scent of her perfume mingled with perspiration and sex.
Beside his head her hands were still clutching the pillow. Outside, Saturday-night parties raged on, contrasting with inside, where a hazy silence had settled over them.
‘That was okay, I guess,’ she mumbled against his neck, chuckling when he turned to look her in the eye. ‘If you like that kind of thing.’
Glossy dark strands of hair covered half her face and he pushed them aside, drinking in her drugged gaze with satisfaction. Her lips were swollen and parted, her cheeks bright pink. Tracing her lower lip with his thumb, he brought her head down for a slow, teasing kiss.
‘And do you like that sort of thing?’
‘Nah—orgasms are overrated.’ She grinned, pushing herself up so she straddled his hips.
The view was pretty damn good from this angle.
‘Blasphemy.’
‘Total blasphemy.’ She planted a kiss on the tip of his nose and traced the lines of his latest tattoo. ‘This is new.’
‘It’s twelve months old.’
‘“In the waves of change we find our true direction”.’ She read the words that had been etched onto him forever. ‘That’s beautiful. Why that quote?’
‘I thought it made me sound intelligent,’ he joked, hiding his sudden vulnerability with a wink.
How did she do that? She had a homing beacon aimed straight for his most sensitive areas… and not the good kind!
She smirked. ‘What’s the real reason?’
‘I felt like I needed a reminder that change is necessary… healthy.’ He sighed, and rolled so that she came down and landed on the bed next to him.
He’d meant to move away, but her body immediately curled into his, finding the groove between his arm and his chest. It felt so damn good to have her by his side, to finally be able to wrap his arms around her without the guilt of the past. He only had one night—he might as well let himself enjoy it.
What if one night wasn’t enough?
Bookings were piling up. He’d be sailing back to Queensland soon enough to bury himself in work and his family. Even if they did stretch this fiasco on for more than a night his time here had a solid end date. Normally that was what he liked. But he wasn’t experiencing his usual sense of relief at their ring-fenced sleeping arrangements.
‘Do you think you need to change?’
‘Everyone needs to change,’ he replied, running a fingertip up and down her arm.
‘What do you want to change?’
He laughed, shaking his head. ‘What’s with the twenty questions? I thought I’d signed on for a night of steamy sex—not the Spanish Inquisition.’
‘Is that so?’ She reached for him, the brush of her fingertips hardening him. ‘What if I’m done?’
‘I’ll say when you’re done.’
Rolling on top of her, he mentally thanked the king-size bed for its endless space.
Pinned, she tilted her face up at him, a defiant glint in her eye. ‘You’re not the boss of me,’ she said.
Yeah, right. He had her exactly where he wanted her. Kissing his way down her neck, he sucked on her skin, only stopping to draw a still-hard nipple into his mouth. Her breasts were perfect: smallish, but firm, topped with bronzed peaks that were oh-so-responsive to his touch. She arched, stifling a groan. He licked, nipped, tugged until she let out the heavenly sounds of pleasure.
‘That’s it,’ he murmured against her breast. ‘Don’t keep that wonderful sound from me. I want to hear you.’
‘Bossy boots.’ Her head lolled back against the pillow. Her eyes were closed, but a wicked smile curved her lips.
‘Damn straight.’
‘We were talking.’ Strong fingers gripped his hair, pulling his head up so she could look down her body at him.
‘And now we’re not.’
‘Why are you so averse to talking?’
‘I’m not averse, but I prefer touching you.’ To illustrate his point he kissed a trail down to her hip, swirling his tongue over the slightly protruding bone.
‘You’re such a guy.’
With her hands still in his hair he made his way to the juncture of her thighs, blowing cool air on her heated skin. ‘Want me to stop?’
‘What if I say yes?’
Her voice wavered. Victory.
‘I’ll call your bluff.’
Delicate licks drew an anguished moan from her.
‘Stop.’
‘Okay.’ He pulled his head away but she pushed him back into place.
‘Damn you.’
He laughed against the inside of her thigh, nipping at the sensitive flesh before moving back to her sex. The honeyed scent of her made his head swim, made him want to ravish her. It wouldn’t be right to push her over the edge too quickly. She would have to wait while he had his fill.
He drew the sensitive bud of her clitoris into his mouth, working her, teasing her, tasting her. Smooth legs draped over his shoulders; demanding hands pushed and pulled him into place. Chantal was clear about what she wanted, and that was exactly the way he liked it.
‘Brodie…’ she gasped. ‘For the love of…’
‘Want me to stop again?’
‘No!’ The tension built within her, tremors rippling through her legs. ‘Please.’
He bore down, giving her what she wanted until orgasm ripped through her. This time there was no holding back. She cried out so loudly that the neighbouring boats were sure to hear.
He clutched at his drawer, grabbing another condom and burying himself in her, riding the final waves of her release as he lost himself in her pleasure.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHANTAL AWOKE WRAPPED in Brodie arms. Her face was pushed against his bicep, which was far cosier than it should have been, considering the guy was a rock-hard tower of muscle. His even breathing soothed the thumping of her heart.
From her days at Weeping Reef she knew Brodie was a heavy sleeper. She’d tested it on more than one occasion by sneaking into his room with Scott so they could play pranks on him. Like the time they’d switched the clothes in his drawers for frilly girls’ nightclothes, so that he had to wander down to Chantal’s room in a pink leopard-print negligee.
Not that he’d been too upset. He’d strutted his stuff as he did every day and the girls had fallen at his feet anyway.
Biting down on her lower lip, Chantal watched his peaceful face. Full lips were curved into a slight smile; thick lashes cast shadows on his cheekbones. His shaggy blond hair managed to look magazine perfect. Damn him.
Flashes of last night came back in a rush of needy, achy feeling. Every part of her body throbbed in a totally satisfied, pleasure-overload kind of way. Brodie was as good in bed as she’d suspected, but there was a tenderness to him that had been a complete surprise. The way he’d stroked her hair, the comforting embrace in the middle of the night, the gentle sweep of his hand along her arm—she hadn’t been prepared for that at all. If anything it would have been easier if he was cold and impersonal afterwards.
She couldn’t do this with him. It had been so much more than scratching an itch. He’d pushed her limits, bringing her to sensual heights she’d never known existed. He’d stirred her curiosity. The words inked on him revealed that he was so much more than the shallow charmer she’d labelled him. How could she look into those beautiful green eyes again without wanting to learn more? To dig deeper?
It was supposed to be about sex.
It is about sex. You don’t owe him anything. You got what you wanted—now move on and focus on your career. Playtime is over.
Careful not to wake him, Chantal extracted herself from his muscular hold. She slipped out of the bed, holding her breath as her feet touched the polished boards. It was like playing a game of Sleeping Giant—except that the giant was a hunky guy with whom she didn’t want to have awkward after-sex conversation.
How was she going to get back to Newcastle for her shift at the job from hell? Cringing, she tiptoed around the room. More importantly, where the hell was her dress? She’d managed to find every single one of Brodie’s clothing items from their stripping frenzy, but the little blue dress was nowhere to be seen. Normally she was a leave-nothing-behind kind of girl when it came to her clothes, but the blue dress would have to be sacrificed.
Changing slowly, and as silently as possible, Chantal pulled on the clothes she’d arrived in on the first night, grabbed her phone and slung her overnight bag over one shoulder.
Now she had to make her way to Newcastle without the aid of Brodie’s boat or her car—which was still parked at the bar. Simple… not. A cab was out of the question, since her wallet was frighteningly lean. Perhaps she could ring one of the girls and beg for a lift?
She bit down on her lip. She hated to ask. What if they already had plans? They probably would, and she would be interrupting. The bed squeaked as Brodie turned in his sleep, spiking her heart rate. She had to get out of there.
Pushing down her discomfort, she made her way off the boat and dialled Willa’s number. ‘Hey, I know it’s early, but I need a favour…’
Within twenty minutes she was in Willa’s car and on her way to Newcastle. There would be a price to pay for Willa’s generosity in giving up brunch with Rob… and it wasn’t going to be monetary.
‘So,’ Willa began, not bothering to hide the curiosity sparkling all over her face, ‘how was he?’
Chantal pretended to study an email on her phone. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Oh, come on! I did not miss out on baked ricotta and eggs to have you BS me, Chantal.’
‘Nothing happened.’
Willa chuckled. ‘Then why is your face the same shade as a tomato?’
‘Sunburn?’ Chantal offered weakly. ‘Okay—fine. I slept with him.’
‘Thank you, Captain Obvious. I’d figured that out already.’ Willa leant forward to watch the traffic as she merged onto the Bradfield Highway. ‘I don’t want confirmation—I want details.’
Where to begin? Images of last night flashed in front of Chantal’s eyes, snippets of sounds, feelings, sensations… Her body reacted as though he were right there in front of her. Damn him!
‘It was… satisfying.’
‘Just satisfying?’ Willa narrowed her eyes at Chantal. ‘Either you dish or it’s going to be a long walk to Newcastle.’
‘He was amazing.’
Shaking her head, she willed her heart to stop thumping and her core to stop throbbing. She should be satiated, considering he’d woken her up twice during the night to continue wringing as many orgasms from her as possible.
‘I’m sure he’s had plenty of practice,’ Chantal added, folding her arms across her chest.
‘Don’t go using that as a way to put distance between you. I can see what you’re doing there.’
‘I am not.’
‘That’s one thing I like about you, Chantal. You’re a terrible liar.’
She huffed. Perhaps she would have been better walking. ‘I don’t need to put any distance between us because we agreed that it would be a one-night-only thing. Then we’d pretend it had never happened.’
‘Gee, that sounds healthy.’ Willa rolled her eyes.
‘Why not? It’s just sex—nothing more.’ I don’t need any more, and I don’t need him.
‘If it was just sex then why do you need to pretend it didn’t happen?’
As much as she hated to admit it, Willa had a point. What was so bad about admitting that she’d had a one-night stand with Brodie?
Even thinking the words set a hard lump in her stomach. She’d been down this path before—men always started out fun, till the over-protectiveness stirred, control followed, and smothering wasn’t far behind.
‘Well, we don’t want to upset Scott…’
‘That’s not it. Scott is totally head over heels for Kate. She’s it for him. So I can guarantee he wouldn’t care about you and Brodie hooking up.’
Why did she feel so funny about it? Perhaps admitting it aloud meant it was real, and if it was real then it might happen again.
It’s a slippery slope to disaster—remember that.
‘Eight years is a long time to harbour feelings for someone. No wonder you’re scared.’
‘I’m not scared.’ Chantal’s lips pursed. ‘And I have most certainly not been harbouring feelings for Brodie Mitchell for the last eight years.’
‘I think the lady doth protest too much.’ Willa stole a quick glance at Chantal, her amusement barely contained in a cheeky smile. ‘You know, it is okay for you to like people—even annoyingly handsome men like Brodie.’
‘I don’t like him. I only wanted his body.’ Her lip twitched.
Feelings for his body were a little easier to deal with than the possibility of feelings for him as a person. She had to shut this down right now. She did not have feelings for Brodie and she most certainly didn’t want to start something permanent with him. It was a simple case of primitive, animalistic need. Relationships were not something on her horizon.
But no one had said anything about relationships, had they? Crap, why did it have to be so damn confusing? Head space came at a premium, and she could not afford to waste any spare energy on men, no matter how incredible their hands or mouth were.
‘Uh, Chantal? I asked you a question.’
‘Did you?’ Great—now she’d lost her ability to even sustain basic conversation.
‘Yes, I asked if you’d heard back after your audition.’
Sore point number two. ‘Not yet. But it was only yesterday. They could take a little while to get back to me.’
‘Do you think it went well?’
‘Who the hell knows?’ She sighed, rubbing her hands over her eyes. ‘I can’t tell any more.’
‘I’m sure you’ll land on your feet.’ Willa reached over and squeezed her hand.
For a moment Chantal was terrified that she might cry. She hadn’t allowed herself to shed any tears over her marriage or her failing career, and she didn’t plan on opening the floodgates now. All that emotion was packed down tight. There would be time to cry when she’d secured herself a position with a dance company. For the time being tears were a waste of time and energy.
Thankfully Chantal was able to steer Willa to a safer topic. She was all too happy to talk about how things were going with Rob. Other people’s lives were preferable talking points over the tricky, icky state of her career and her unwanted feelings towards Brodie.
Willa dropped Chantal off at the bar’s parking lot, and she was almost surprised to find her car was still there. It was too crappy to steal, apparently.
Hitching her overnight bag higher on her shoulder, Chantal made her way around the back of the bar to the staff accommodation. She needed a hot shower, a cup of coffee and a lie down before she even attempted to get herself ready for another night of humiliation.
Her unit was number four. The metal number hung upside down on the door, one of its nails having rusted and fallen out. Holding her breath, she shoved the key into the lock and turned. The room didn’t smell quite as bad as the bar, but the stale air still made her recoil as she entered the room.
‘Home sweet home,’ she muttered, dumping her bag onto the bed. ‘Not.’
The small room was almost entirely filled with an ancient-looking double bed covered in a faded floral quilt. A light flickered overhead, casting an eerie yellow glow over walls that were badly in need of a new paint job. A crack stretched down one wall, partially covered by a photo frame containing a generic scenery print. It was probably the picture that had come with the frame.
A quick peek at the bathroom revealed chipped blue tiles, a shower adorned with a torn plastic curtain and a sink that looked as though it needed a hardcore bleach application.
Chantal dropped down onto the bed and checked her phone. Nothing. What was she expecting? Brodie to be calling? Asking her to come back?
Something dark scuttled across the floor by her feet. Chantal drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs.
She would not cry. She would not cry.
Brodie woke to the sound of his phone vibrating against the nightstand. He stretched, palm smoothing over the space next to him in the bed. The empty space.
Grinding a fist into his eyes, he forced the fogginess away. What time was it? He groped for his phone, fumbling with the passcode. It was a text from Scott.
Bro, I thought we were going for a run? Where are you?
Run? It was three o’clock in the afternoon. Crap, how had that happened?
