The Tycoon's Stowaway(23)

'Family emergency sorted,' he said, forcing a jovial tone as he returned to the table.

Chantal sipped her champagne, watching him quietly. 'Everything okay?'

'Fine.'

He looked out to the picture-perfect view of the beach slowly being  drowned in darkness. Vulnerability wasn't something he did well-he  didn't want her to see that he was anything but his usual cool, calm  self. 'Just sex' didn't involve feelings or spilling your guts about  family stuff …  no more than he had already, anyway. In his defence, that  had been to comfort her-not because he'd needed to get it off his chest.

'I should probably head off,' Chantal said, downing the rest of her  drink and reaching out to give Kate a friendly hug. 'Thanks for the  company.'

'Are you still dancing at the bar?' Scott asked, looking from her to Brodie and back again.

'Yep-I still need to make a living, don't I?' She seemed more  comfortable about it than she had previously, there was light at the end  of the tunnel. Her contract would run out eventually, and Brodie would  make sure she didn't sign on for more work there.

'Don't let the creeps get you down,' Kate said.

'Creeps?' Brodie asked, his protective sensors going off.

'It's nothing.' Chantal shot Kate a look. 'You've seen the place. The  clientele isn't exactly the picture of genteel politeness.'

'I'll meet you out the front when you finish,' Brodie said.

Chantal shook her head, shooting him a warning look as if to remind him of their argument last night. 'I'll be fine.'

'I'll meet you out the front.'





CHAPTER TEN


THOUGH SUMMER HAD drawn to a close a few weeks back, the air still hung  heavy with humidity. Brodie stood by the railing outside the bar,  waiting for Chantal to appear. He'd spent a good five minutes deciding  whether or not to go in, but the temptation of hauling her off the stage  had been too much to bear, and he didn't want to show her he was having  doubts about his feelings towards the temporary nature of their  arrangement.

Instead he waited outside, fending off requests for cigarettes, wishing  that somehow Chantal had wriggled her way out of the contract. He wasted  the time away by texting Ellen, hoping that she didn't hold his absence  against him.

'I'm with someone.'

Chantal's voice caught him by surprise. He whipped around and saw her  backing away from a big guy whose tank top said 'Team Bogan'. The guy  looked at Brodie, sizing him up.

'See.' Chantal gestured to Brodie. 'This is my boyfriend-Axl.'

Brodie raised a brow. Axl …  really? The guy lumbered away, distracted by a  group of girls who didn't appear to have boyfriends waiting for them.  Chantal used the opportunity to jog over to him, and sling her arm  around his waist.

'Axl was the best you could do?' He shook his head. 'Never picked you for a Guns N' Roses fan.'

'Sorry.' She laughed, holding on to him as they made their way out of  the bar's parking lot. 'The band was playing one of their songs as I was  walking out. Mum used to listen to them all the time when I was young.'                       
       
           



       

'Better than the music I listened to growing up. Mum was a huge country fan-I hated it.'

Stars winked at them from the inky sky. Away from the hustle and bustle  of Sydney the darkness wasn't diluted by the glow from skyscrapers and  headlights. It reminded him of home-of the outdoorsy beauty of  Queensland he'd grown to love after returning home from Weeping Reef.

'Have you talked to the guy who runs the bar about skipping out early?'

Chantal shook her head. 'No, and I haven't heard back about my audition  yet, so I'm not giving up a paying job if there isn't something else to  go to.'

'I'll lend you some money.'

'Over my dead body.' She tucked close against him as they walked,  melting into him though her tone still revealed a touch of hesitation.  'It's kind of you to offer but I don't take loans-especially when I'm  unsure how long it will take me to pay it back.'

'I know you're good for it.'

'Doesn't matter. I'll finish out this contract, see where I am, and figure out my next move.'

'Why are you so against asking for help?' he asked drily.

'I don't need charity.'

They walked through the yacht club and down to where his boat was  docked. On board, they sat on the cosy leather-lined seat that curved  around the deck. Chantal found a spot next to him, sitting with her head  and shoulders resting against his chest. He draped his arm over her and  skimmed his fingers along her stomach. It was frighteningly intimate  and comfortable. Familiar.

'Haven't you heard the saying Many hands make light work?'

'Some of those hands get burned,' she said. 'I prefer doing things on my  own. That's how it was growing up and I like my independence. Nothing  wrong with that.'

'There's a difference between being independent and being stubborn to the point of self-detriment.'

'Asking for help hasn't ever got me anywhere to date. I trust the wrong people.'

'Do you think it's wrong to trust me?'

'I trust you as much as I'll ever trust anyone, but I'm still my own  person. I do my own thing. That's why this isn't anything but two  friends enjoying one another while it lasts.'

'Right.'

Raucous laughter floated on the breeze from a neighbouring boat. Chantal  shifted against him, stroking his knuckles with her fingertips. It was a  light touch, casual in its intimacy, and yet it flooded him with  awareness. She was far from being out of his system. If anything, she'd  burrowed herself deep without even trying. Without wanting to.

He couldn't be falling for her-not when he had a life and a family in  Queensland to get back to and she had a dream to follow. Different  worlds. Disconnected goals. They were wrong, wrong, wrong.

'Was everything really okay with your family today?'

A lump lodged in his throat. He didn't want to talk about that now-not  when Chantal had made it clear that there was nothing real between them.  But then he would be a hypocrite, wouldn't he? He couldn't berate her  for not accepting help if she was willing to lend an ear and he didn't  take it.

'Nothing major. Lydia was having a bad day. It happens every so often.'  He rested his cheek against the top of her head, breathing in the scent  of her faded flowery perfume and his coconut shampoo in her hair. 'Ellen  was on her own, trying to deal with it. But she's only a kid  herself-she needed help.'

'Ellen's the youngest, right?'

'Yeah. She's a good kid-they all are.' He swallowed against the lump in  his throat. 'After the accident I was the one who looked after Lydia on a  day-to-day basis. She listens to me. Whereas she's big sister to the  other girls and yet feels like she can't do anything for them because of  her paraplegia.'

'I bet she's grateful she had a big brother to take care of her.'

'She would have preferred to have Dad around. If that didn't make him  come home nothing would. But the world didn't stop turning because she  couldn't walk any more.' He sighed. 'Mum still had to bring home the  bacon …  the girls still had to get to school. I was the one who made sure  she got to her appointments, made sure she did her exercises, helped  her while she was still adjusting to her wheelchair.'

'That must have been tough.' Her hand curled into his and she snuggled farther down against him.

'It's hard to be away from them. Mum's always working, and Dad just … ' He  shook his head. 'The guy can barely manage a call on their birthdays.  He'll disappear for months at a time, then show up out of the  blue-usually because he needs money.'                       
       
           



       

'Where does he disappear to?'

'Who knows? He's a painter, the creative type, and he always seems to be  off somewhere unreachable. Then he comes back, tries to make amends  with Mum, and it goes well for a while until he asks for money.' Brodie  cursed under his breath. 'Every time it happens he breaks the girls'  hearts all over again …  Mum's included.'

'And your mum's okay with him coming and going?'

'Not really-she did divorce him after all. But she puts her feelings for  him before the girls.' Brodie laughed, the sound sharp and hollow.  'See? I told you my family wasn't picture perfect.'

'You don't have to be the parent. You do know that, right?'

But he did have to. Whether he liked it or not, he was responsible for  looking after those girls. They relied on him-on his advice, on his life  experience, on his care. Especially Lydia.

'You shouldn't feel guilty for taking a little time away,' she continued. 'You have to live your own life.'

'I am living my own life. I'm here, away from home, seeing my friends and spending time with you.'

'And you feel guilty as all hell, don't you?'

How could she read him like that? Silky hair brushed against his cheek.  Her body was warm beneath his hands. How could she read him as though  they were far more than friends who happened to be having very casual,  very temporary sex?