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Kitabı oku: «The Complete Red-Hot Collection», sayfa 19
‘I might have to make this ice cream off-limits. I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself polishing off the whole damn tub.’ She sighed and dug her spoon back in. ‘But we can’t let it go to waste—that wouldn’t be right.’
‘I’ll take you for a run tomorrow morning.’
He sucked another tasty morsel from his spoon, focusing on it rather than on Chantal and how her lips looked as if they were made for every kind of X-rated fantasy he’d ever had.
‘That should restore some balance.’
‘I don’t know if I could keep up with you,’ she said, tilting her head and toying with her spoon.
‘You can definitely keep up.’
Were they still talking about running? She stabbed the ice cream with her spoon, leaving the silver handle sticking straight up like an antenna.
‘Tell me more about your family,’ she said. ‘And please take that ice cream away before I eat myself into oblivion.’
He grabbed the tub, pulled out her spoon and replaced the lid before wandering into the kitchen with her close on his heels. As she climbed up onto a bar stool at the kitchen bench, her legs not quite touching the ground, he felt walls shoot up around him. Good. At least some of his defences remained intact. He’d been sure she’d somehow dismantled them.
‘Why the sudden interest in my family?’
‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘I felt like you were a bit of a mystery while we were at the reef… and you did say we were friends. I know most of my other friends better than I know you.’
‘I think we’ve had enough talking tonight.’ He shut the freezer door a little more forcefully than he needed to.
Images of her naked, bending into those damn yoga positions, trailing her hair across his stomach, all invaded him with equal combative power. He wanted her again… and again and again. But they were friends. She’d just confirmed it. Breaking the rule once was excusable—heat of the moment and all that—but twice was playing with fire.
He couldn’t afford to entangle himself in another relationship, no matter how temporary. He had his priorities all worked out: build his business, take care of his family. That was it. Simple. Straightforward. Uncomplicated.
Chantal Turner was like an addictive substance, and everyone knew the first hit was the best. He’d had his taste—time to move on. She needed to be put squarely in the friend zone.
‘I’m going to bed.’ He stretched his arms above his head, not missing the way her eyes lingered on him. ‘Got to get up early for that run.’
‘Sweet dreams.’ She hopped off the bar stool, her face in an unreadable mask, and headed to her room.
‘Undoubtedly,’ he muttered.
The digital clock in the bedroom mocked her with each hour that passed, its red glow holding sleep at an arm’s length. She tossed and turned, twisting the sheets into knots around her limbs. What was wrong with her?
Brodie refused to leave her mind alone. One minute he was hot for her and sharing things about himself, the next he was done talking and wanted to sleep.
It’s a good thing he had the guts to do what you couldn’t.
Was it possible that now he’d got what he wanted, she was out of his system? That thought shouldn’t have rankled, but it did—and with surprising force. Surely eight years of unrequited sexual tension couldn’t be over in one night?
Why should she care?
Shaking her head, she turned over onto her side and huffed. It was clear that she’d become unhinged. Perhaps her inability to find a real job was slowly driving her insane, making her more sensitive to things that should have meant nothing. Only Brodie didn’t mean nothing… did he?
The bedroom suddenly felt too confined, too tight for her to breathe. Chantal swung her legs out of the bed and stood, relishing the feeling of the smooth floorboards on her bare soles.
She padded out to the deck and tipped her face up, her breath catching at the sight of the full, ripe moon hanging in a cloudless sky dotted with stars. In Sydney the city lights illuminated everything twenty-four-seven and the stars weren’t visible. She’d missed them.
Growing up in a small coastal town had meant night after night of sparkling sky—endless opportunities to place a wish on the first one that winked at her. Perhaps that was why everything was falling to pieces now? It had been a long time since she’d made a wish. She closed her eyes, but her mind couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought. She knew what she wanted to wish for… didn’t she? Her stomach twisted itself into a knot and her breath shortened to shallow puffs.
What if things didn’t turn around? What if the dive bar was her best option? Don’t think like that, you have to be positive. You have to keep trying… try harder!
Alone, she felt tears prickle her eyes. The sadness was pushing its way to the surface, mingling with her ever-present panic like blood curling in water. She needed to hang on a little while longer—long enough to get something—anything—which would prove she hadn’t wasted her mother’s sacrifices and her own hard work. Then she could deal with the bad stuff.
‘What are you doing up?’
Brodie’s sleep-roughened voice caught her off guard. She whirled around, blinking back the tears and pleading with herself to calm down. She didn’t want him to see her like this—not when she felt she was about to fall apart at the seams.
‘Are you okay?’
She nodded, unable to speak for fear that releasing words might open the floodgates of all she held back. Her breathing was so shallow and fast that the world tilted at her feet. She pressed a palm to her cheek, mentally willing him to leave her. Her face was as warm as if she’d spent the night sleeping next to an open fire, and her skin prickled uncomfortably.
‘You don’t look okay.’ He stepped closer and captured her face in his hands, studying her with his emerald eyes.
That only made it worse. By now her palms were slick with perspiration and her stomach swished like the ocean during a storm. Tremors racked her hands and her dignity was slipping away faster than she could control it. She was drowning, and once again she was relying on him to save her.
‘Hey, it’s all right,’ he soothed, moving his hands to her shoulders and rubbing slowly up and down her arms. ‘Let’s get you a glass of water.’
He pulled her against his side, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and guiding her into the cabin. Setting her down on a stool, he grabbed a glass and pressed it against the ice machine on the fridge. Loud clinking noises filled the room as the ice tumbled into the glass, followed by the glug of water from a bottle in the fridge.
Breathe in—one, two, three. Out—one, two, three.
‘Drink it slowly—don’t gulp.’ He handed her the glass and smoothed her hair back from her face.
No doubt she looked like a crazy person, huffing and puffing like the wolf from that nursery rhyme. Her hair would be all over the place, sticking out like a mad professor’s. It was only then she realised that she was practically naked, with a pair of white lace panties her only keeper of modesty. She hadn’t thought it possible for her face to get any hotter, but it did.
‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, shaking her hair so it fell in front of her, covering her bare breasts.
She must have ditched her T-shirt while she was trying to get to sleep. Stress overheated her. Most of the time she slept in nothing at all—unless it was the dead of winter, and then she wore her favourite llama-print pyjamas. But it was warm on the boat and her body was reaching boiling point. She pressed the cool glass to her burning cheek.
You’re rambling in your head—not a good sign. Calm. Down. Now.
‘Do you want me to grab you something to wear?’
Brodie’s voice cut into her inner monologue and she nodded mutely, switching the glass of water to her other cheek. Her whole body flamed. Shame tended to do that. This was exactly why she should have said no to the invitation to Brodie’s boat in the first place! Now he knew… He knew what a mess she was. She couldn’t even fall asleep without working herself up.
‘Here.’
He took the glass from her hand and set it down, helping her weakened limbs into the armholes of a T-shirt and guiding her head through the neck opening.
The fabric swam on her, smoothing over her curves and giving her protection. The T-shirt was his—it smelled of him. Smelled of ocean air and soap and earthy maleness.
‘Are these panic attacks a recent thing?’ He leant against the bench, his face neutral.
‘No, I’ve had them a while.’ She couldn’t look him in the eye.
‘They suck,’ he said. ‘My little sister gets them pretty bad too. Water usually works for her.’
Chantal bit down on her lip, toying with the glass before taking another sip. Could she be any more humiliated right now?
‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You know that, right?’
He touched her arm, the gentle brush making her stomach flip. Her breathing slowed a little.
‘Ellen gets them a lot. She’s only nineteen, but she puts a lot of pressure on herself to do well. She wants to get into a performing arts school.’
‘What does she do?’ Curiosity piqued, she looked up.
Brodie dropped down onto the stool next to her, his knees inches from her thighs. ‘She plays piano pretty damn well, if I do say so myself. I used to run her to practise when I lived at home—went to all her recitals too. She’s ace.’
The pride in his voice was unmistakable. Chantal had often wondered what it would be like to have siblings—to look after someone other than herself, to worry about people all the time. She would have been a terrible sister—she couldn’t even keep her own life together, let alone help anyone else.
‘Then there’s the twins: Jenny and Adriana. They’re twenty-two, and as different as two people can be. Jenny is the loud one. She got into modelling a while ago and has done a fair bit of travelling with it. Adriana is still studying. She’s going to end up being a doctor of something one day.’ He smiled. ‘Then Lydia is the oldest… she’s twenty-four.’
His eyes darkened for a moment and she wondered if he was going to continue. His lips pulled into a flat line as he raked a hand through his hair, stopping to rub the back of his neck.
‘Lydia is in a wheelchair. She was in a car accident some years ago and she was paralysed from the waist down.’
‘That’s awful.’
‘Yeah.’ A sad smiled passed over his lips. ‘She wanted to be a dancer.’
Emotion ran through her—grief for this poor girl whom she didn’t even know, for the sadness on Brodie’s face and for what their family must have gone through. At least she could still dance. Her heart swelled. He cared so deeply about his family. For all her jokes about his carefree attitude, he was a good person.
He drew a breath, steadying his gaze on her. ‘So there you go. You wanted to know something else about my family—it’s not all sunshine and roses.’
‘I guess we’ve all got our stuff to deal with.’ She downed the rest of her water. ‘I nearly gave up dancing once.’
‘Really?’ His blond brows arched.
‘It wasn’t long after my dad left. We didn’t have a lot of money and Mum had lost her job cleaning one of the local motels.’ The memory flowed through her, singeing her heart with the same scorching hurt that came every time she remembered what life had been like back then. ‘She picked up cleaning work at my school. The kids used to tease me, so I told her that I wanted her to find another job… but there aren’t a lot of jobs in little beach towns.’
Why was she telling him this? She hadn’t told anyone this story—not because she was ashamed of having grown up with no money, but because she’d been so horrible to her mother. More than a decade and a half later, guilt over her behaviour lingered.
‘She gave me a choice. Give up dancing and she would quit her job at the school—because that’s what it was paying for. Otherwise, if I wanted to keep dancing, she had to keep working two jobs.’ She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. ‘So I gave up dancing for a week.’
‘You can’t blame yourself that. How old were you? Ten? You were just a kid.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever hurt her as much as I did then.’ She shook her head, amazed that it felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. ‘I wish I could take it back.’
‘I’m sure she knows how you feel.’
‘I hope so. She gave up so much for me to be able to continue dancing. She hardly ever came to my competitions or exams because she was always working, but she never complained.’ She let out a hollow laugh. ‘Not once.’
‘She never gave up?’
‘Nope.’ She shook her head. ‘Which means I can’t give up.’
‘Sounds like you got a lot of your tenacity from her.’
The tenderness in his voice sparked her insides, lighting up her whole body—as if he had a direct ‘on’ switch to her nervous system. Her hands were fluttering in her lap. The desire to reach out and touch him made her fingers tingle. If she didn’t put some distance between them—and fast—she’d do something stupid.
‘Thanks for the drink.’
She went to hop off her stool but Brodie’s hand came down on her bare thigh. His fingers skimmed over her knee, touching the hem of the T-shirt. The touch was so light she could easily convince herself that she was imagining things. Despite her brain shouting out warnings, she didn’t want this to be a dream.
‘Is it wrong that I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking about you?’ he asked.
His bare torso was the only thing she could look at. Broad shoulders, the ripple of muscle at his abdomen, the V that dipped below his cotton pyjama bottoms. He would be naked underneath them. She could tell from the inadequate way the thin fabric concealed the length of him.
Her breath hitched, and the sudden flutter of her heart had nothing to do with panic. ‘You were the one who wanted to go to sleep.’
His hand inched up, the tips of his fingers slipping under her hem of the T-shirt. Each millimetre his hand travelled stoked the fire low in her belly, stirred the tension in her centre. She pressed her thighs together, rocking gently against the stool in the hope that it would ease the need in her.
It didn’t.
Nothing would ease the need except him. He was the only solution to her problem, the only cure for her ailments. In that moment she was raw. Exposing her past had opened up something within her—a cavernous hunger long buried by insecurities and fear. He’d shown her it was safe to be who she was, to open up and allow herself to be vulnerable. She wanted nothing more than to wipe away the old hurt with new pleasures. To erase the parts of herself that clung to bad memories, to be a new person.
‘You were the one who wanted to figure out what loopholes I might use to make a move on you,’ he said, eyes blackened with desire.
‘Have you thought of any yet? Because I could use a loophole right about now.’
CHAPTER NINE
IT WAS ALL the invitation he needed. Willpower was a fragile thing, easily overridden by blazing attraction, pent-up sexual tension, and too many dirty dreams. Could he take her into his bed a second time, knowing that it wasn’t going anywhere? Knowing that he wouldn’t let it go anywhere because his life didn’t have room for her?
‘Brodie?’
A plump lower lip was being dragged through her teeth, and the desperation in her voice urged the increased thumping of his heart.
Even if he’d wanted to pretend he wasn’t interested he didn’t have the opportunity. She jumped down from her stool and stood between his legs, her hands finding the rigid muscles in his thighs, brushing the aching hardness of his erection.
‘We’re friends.’ He pushed off his stool and moved into the kitchen, opening the freezer door and pretending to look for something.
‘Friends who have the hots for each other.’ She echoed his words with a cheeky smile.
The cold of the freezer wasn’t making him any less hard or any less horny. In fact it had only drawn his eyes to a chilled bottle of vodka. He wrapped his hand around the neck, savouring the ice-cold glass against his heated palm. A cold shower would have been better, but getting naked might prove dangerous.
‘Tell you what,’ she said, reaching past him and grabbing the bottle out of his hand. ‘If you can drink a shot of this off me and still not want to sleep with me, I’ll let you go back to bed.’
He slammed the freezer door shut and turned, resting his back against it. ‘You’ll let me?’
‘Yes.’ She unscrewed the bottle. ‘I’ll let you. And I won’t mention it in the morning—or ever again.’
‘Why are you suddenly trying to seduce me with body shots when before you were more concerned about setting up barriers?’ He raked a hand through his hair and tried not to think about how naked she was under his T-shirt.
‘Why the psychoanalysis?’ She raised a brow. ‘Can’t a girl change her mind?’
‘I have a rule about sleeping with my friends.’
‘What happened to that rule last night?’ She smirked. ‘You didn’t seem to be too worried about rules then. Or are you afraid that you won’t be able to say no after your little drink?’
She knew how to fire up his competitive streak—and she did have a point. He hadn’t been all that worried about his rule last night. But the rule existed for a reason. Sleeping with her would be messy in both the best and worst ways. It would mean dealing with the awkward aftermath and potentially losing their friendship if things went pear-shaped. He’d made an exception for Chantal because he’d wanted to get her out of his system, but now he was caught between taking the safe route and taking what he wanted.
That backfired, didn’t it? Man up—do the shot and then go to bed.
‘Fine.’ He grabbed the bottle from her grip and located a shot glass.
As he turned around Chantal was slowly peeling off his T-shirt. The white lace scrap covering her sex was revealed first, then a flat bronzed plane of stomach, two perfectly formed breasts, collarbones and a long mane of dark hair as she whipped the T-shirt off. He’d need a drink now. His tongue felt dry and heavy in his mouth.
‘Ready?’ She hoisted herself onto the bench.
‘You still have to tell me why the sudden change of heart.’ With a shaking hand he poured vodka into the shot glass.
‘Maybe I realised that I should be grateful for the things I have, no matter how tough it is right now.’ She lay back and stared intently at a spot on the roof, lower lip between her teeth.
He’d got to her with the story about his sister. Though he was hoping she’d apply it more to cutting herself some slack and persisting with her dance career—not to mention leaving that trashy bar—rather than to jumping back into bed with him.
‘And you’re grateful for having sex with me?’
‘I’m grateful for orgasms.’ Her head tilted so she could look at him. ‘It’s been a long time since I let myself have any fun.’
‘It is fun, isn’t it?’ He stepped closer, smoothing a hand over her stomach. ‘Just a bit of fun—nothing more.’
He poured the vodka into her belly button, the excess liquid spilling out onto her stomach. She let out a sharp cry at the coldness but he dropped his head and sucked, lashing his tongue across her belly and catching the liquid before it spilled onto the bench. It burned for a second, and then a smooth warmth spread through him.
The alcohol mingled with the taste of her warm skin. He ran his tongue down to the edge of her underwear, watching the slick trail he left behind. Her fingers thrust into his hair as he snapped at the waistband with his teeth, a low groan rumbling from deep inside her. He should have pulled away then, but the vodka felt good. It softened his edges, warmed his limbs. It made it easier to forget that sleeping with her was a bad idea.
A tasty, satisfying, perfect bad idea.
‘Don’t worry—I don’t expect anything.’ Her voice had become rough, husky. ‘A bit of fun is exactly what I need. No strings, no obligation.’
‘So you’re not going to fall for me?’
The scratch of her lace underwear against his tongue sent a shiver through him. He pressed his lips to the peak of her sex and was rewarded with a gasp and the sharp bite of her nails against his scalp.
‘You wish.’
Smooth skin beckoned to him. Hooking a finger beneath the waistband, he peeled her underwear down to mid-thigh, trapping her legs and preventing them from opening. His lips found the bare smooth skin of her centre, pressing down with agonising slowness. A quick swipe of his tongue had her hips bucking against him.
‘This is cruel… and unusual.’ Her hands dug deeper into his hair, wrenching his head up. ‘I can’t move properly.’
‘Anticipation, Chantal. Just go with it.’
He grabbed her wrist and put her hand down by her hip, holding on so she couldn’t move. His other hand teased her, his thumb rubbing against the sensitive bud of her clitoris in slow, circular movements. His tongue followed, parting her so he could claim her most sensitive spot between his lips. Her movement was restricted by the underwear holding her prisoner and she writhed against him in unfulfilled need.
‘Please…’ she panted. Her eyes had rolled back; her mouth was slack with pleasure. Her hair trailed over the side of the bench, brushing against the kitchen cupboards as she moved.
The sight of her laid out like an extravagant dessert was almost enough to send him over. He wanted to taste every inch of her, keep her begging while he feasted. He released her from her lacy bindings and his fingers found her hot and wet. His mouth came up, capturing a bronzed nipple as she squirmed, grinding again his hand until her cries peaked.
She shouted his name over and over, until the syllables jumbled together into an incoherent decree of passion and release. Shock waves ran through her and he withdrew his hand slowly, gently. His mouth found hers, his tongue parting her lips and bringing her back to the moment.
‘Still think I’m cruel?’ he murmured against her mouth, sliding a hand beneath her neck to lift her into a sitting position.
She faced him, wrapping her legs around his waist. Heat enveloped him as her hand slid down the front of his pants and stroked his erection. She caressed him—long, slow movements designed to make him want something out of reach.
‘I think you’ve got magic hands,’ he said.
Hair tickled his chest as she rested her head against him, still touching him. He pressed into her hand, gasping at the sharp flare of pleasure that forced his eyes shut.
‘Brodie?’
Olive eyes met his, the black of her pupils wide. Her tongue swiped along his lower lip, the taste of her tempting him.
‘I want you inside me. Now.’
Her hands tugged down his pants, exposing him to the warmth of her thighs. He lifted her from the bench and carried her to the bedroom. They landed on the bed, her body pinned beneath his, and he reached out to his drawer and withdrew a condom. Sheathing himself, he plunged into her. His mouth slanted over hers, hot, demanding. He savoured her heat and tightness until she couldn’t hold on.
Her muscles clenched around him—thighs around his waist, arms around his neck. He couldn’t hold back, couldn’t stop the desire to drown in her warm skin and open mouth. Burying his face against her hair, he brought her close to the edge again. She shook, holding on as if she were about to fly away.
‘Let go,’ he whispered. ‘Just let go.’
And she did. Crying, shaking, gasping. Her orgasm ripped through her with an intensity that brought on his own release within seconds. He rode her slowly, until the waves of pleasure subsided.
The realisation that she wasn’t in her own bed came swiftly when morning broke. Sunlight filtered into the room—Brodie’s room—and the ache between her thighs confirmed that she hadn’t imagined those naughty images of them in his kitchen. It wasn’t a dream—it was the mind-bending truth.
Brodie was like peanut butter ice cream with extra fudge. Decadent, tasty, hard to say no to. But, like all delicious things, he wasn’t the best choice she could have made. What she needed was a steady diet of apples and focus—not ice cream and orgasms.
‘Morning,’ he murmured against the back of her neck.
One arm was slung over her mid-section, turned slightly to expose the edge of his anchor tattoo. She traced the outline with her fingertip. Something firm dug into her lower back. She moved under the guise of stretching her back, smiling when he groaned and pressed against her.
‘Don’t start what you can’t finish.’
She chuckled. ‘You’re insatiable.’
‘Says you, Miss Body Shot. I was perfectly happy sleeping on my own last night.’
‘Liar.’ She rolled over, catching his stubble-coated jaw with her cupped hand.
He didn’t hesitate to kiss her, his tongue delving and tangling with hers. A hand found her breast, fingers tugging and teasing her nipple until she gave in and let him roll on top of her.
‘Weren’t we supposed to be going for a run this morning?’ she asked, blinking her eyes at him with faux innocence.
‘I know a few other things we can do that will burn calories.’
Apples, not ice cream.
‘Worried you won’t be able to keep up?’
‘Ha!’ He grinned. ‘Like I said before, don’t start what you can’t finish.’
‘Oh, I can finish it.’ She tipped her chin up at him, giving his chest a playful shove. ‘Loser makes breakfast.’
‘You’re on.’
Chantal regretted making the challenge a few ks into the run, when it became clear that Brodie was much better at running than she was. He jogged effortlessly alongside her, breaking into a sprint every so often to prove he could. The Newcastle coast blurred past in a haze of blue skies, bluer waters and pale sand. How was it possible to be in such a beautiful place and not be able to enjoy the scenery?
‘Can we take a break?’ Chantal slowed to a walk and fanned her face.
‘Conceding defeat already?’ He jogged on the spot, a victorious grin on his face. ‘You know that means you’ll be making my scrambled eggs when we get back?’
‘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.
