Should she bid him a formal goodbye? Thank him for giving her a place to stay? Probably.
Instead she left, heading towards the bar with a hard knot rocking the pit of her stomach. Keep going … one foot in front of the other. You need distance and so does he.
She was doing the right thing. Staying would only be prolonging the inevitable breakdown of their relationship … whatever that was. She didn't know how to label it.
At some point he'd been a mere acquaintance, a secret crush. Then a friend. Then a friend with benefits … And now?
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the persistent thumping at the base of her skull. Dancing tonight would be tough, but she had to get through it. Light was most certainly at the end of the tunnel … so long as she kept Brodie out of her head.
'What's wrong, Brodes? You sound upset.' Lydia's voice floated through the phone, her concern twisting something sharp in his chest.
'I'm fine. It's the sound of relaxation. You know how long it's been since I took a holiday.'
'Yeah.' She laughed. 'You work too hard. You don't sound relaxed, though.'
'It's nothing.'
'Swear?'
He gritted his teeth. He'd never sworn on a lie to any one of his sisters and he wasn't about to start now. Perhaps if he didn't say anything she'd get bored and move on.
Lydia audibly smirked into the silence. 'What's her name?'
Damn. 'Her name doesn't matter.'
'Oh, come on. I don't get to do the boy thing much-how about a little vicarious living?'
She said it with such calm acceptance that he wanted to hang up the phone and get to her in any way possible. It wasn't fair that she didn't have a boyfriend simply because she couldn't walk. Although with the way Chantal had left him with a permanent imbalance perhaps it was a good thing.
'Her name is Chantal. She's a friend.'
'But you want more?'
'No, I don't. We agreed to keep things … friendly.' His brow creased. He was so not talking about this with his little sister.
'Do you love her?'
He hesitated. 'Of course not. I only have enough love for you guys … There's only so many women a guy can have in his life before he goes crazy.'
Lydia huffed and he could practically see her rolling her green eyes at him. 'You sound like Dad.'
There was a scary image. I take care of you girls. I don't run away from my family when the whim takes me.
'When was the last time you heard from Dad?'
'Touché,' Lydia said with a sigh. 'Why won't you be more than friends with Chantal?'
'We're not having this conversation, Lyds.'
'But-'
'Not. Having. This. Conversation.'
'OMG, you're so boring.'
He could hear the laughter in her voice and he thanked the heavens that she was having a better day today.
'I miss you.'
'I miss you too.' There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. 'I would like it if you got married one day.'
'Marriage isn't for me.' He shook his head, wondering how on earth he'd got roped into talking about relationships. 'Besides, you already have three sisters. You don't need another one.'
'But I might not get married and I'd like to be in a wedding. Why wouldn't you want to do it?'
Brodie swallowed the lump in his throat at the thought of all the things he took for granted. Why wouldn't he want to do it? Did he even know why? He told himself he didn't have room in his life for a relationship … but then again Chantal was different from his ex. She wasn't clingy or needy … quite the opposite! He'd sworn off long-term relationships because he knew he'd have to choose between them and his family. What if he'd been wrong? What if he could have both?
'You'll get married one day, Lyds. Not until I've checked the guy out, though. I'll need to make sure he's good enough for you.'
She laughed. 'You'd better not scare any potential husbands away.'
'Watch me.'
He hung up the phone and made a mental note to pop in and see Lydia as soon as he got back to Queensland. Perhaps he'd head back earlier than planned. It wasn't as if Chantal would be coming back to the boat after their argument. Without her he didn't have a reason to stay.
And where would she stay? A cold tremor ran the length of his spine, settling in the pit of his stomach. The bar accommodation wasn't safe, he believed that even more now after what she'd told him today. He'd noted the single lock on the door while Chantal had packed her bags in front of him. That door needed at least another five locks before it became remotely secure. Not that the cheap wood door would withstand a well-aimed kick or the swing of a crowbar …
He dropped onto a sun lounger and put his head in his hands. How had it gone downhill so quickly? One minute they were out on the ocean, racing the dolphins, and the next they were yelling at one another. That was definitely not in the vein of their friends-with-benefits arrangement.
Maybe he could convince her to let him pay for a hotel room. There was a suitable beach resort down the road from the bar. It wasn't anything fancy, but it would be more secure than her room. He could give her a couple hundred bucks, make sure she was safe, and then leave her the hell alone.
Would she take the money from him? Not likely, but he had to try. The thought of anything happening to her filled him with cold, hard dread. He cared about her. She was a friend-of course he cared about her. That was normal, wasn't it?
He paced the length of the helm, his muscles tightening with each agitated step. Chantal valued her independence, that was for sure, but he had a right to step in if she was endangering herself. It was his duty … as a friend.
Jogging down the stairs to the lower deck, he went on the hunt for his wallet and phone. She was gone. Her bags were nowhere to be found and the bedroom was so tidy it was as if she'd never been there. But her presence hung in the air like perfume-sweet and memory-triggering. All the scraps of lace that had littered the floor after their various escapades had been removed, and the small pile of her jewellery on his bedside table had vanished too.
He snatched up his keys from the hook on his bedroom wall and jammed his wallet into the pocket of his shorts. She was going to be royally pissed at him trying to buy her a room, but he didn't care. Having her angry at him was better than any of the other alternatives. She'd have to deal with her anger. He wasn't going to take no for an answer.
CHAPTER TWELVE
BACKSTAGE AT THE BAR, Chantal tried to psych herself up for her performance. Truth was she wanted to run away with her tail between her legs and never come back. But she was a professional, a trooper. She never backed down.
Part of her wanted to get out there on that stage to prove a point. Brodie had treated her as if she was made of crystal-as if she'd break with the slightest knock. But she didn't break. She'd been through her share of tough times and she always kept going. No matter what.
'Don't look so down, honey.' A blonde girl in a sparkling corset pouted at her. 'If I had natural boobs like that I wouldn't be frowning.'
Chantal instinctively crossed her arms over her chest. 'I'm fine.'
'Is this your first time dancing?'
'No, not at all.' Did she look that nervous? Hell, what had Brodie done to her? She was wound up tighter than a spring.
'It'll be okay.' The blonde nodded and gave her shoulder a light pat. The woman's long silver nails glinted like tiny blades. 'Don't let the audience frighten you. They're big old lugs. Only here for the tits and the booze, never mind that fabulous dancing we all do.'
Chantal couldn't help but smile. The blonde gave a little shimmy, flicking the black fringe edging her corset back and forth. Her stockings stopped at mid-thigh, biting into her generous flesh, and she wore black gloves that stretched up over her elbows. She looked at ease with herself … with what she was doing.
'Just have fun. Leave your worries behind!' She sang the last few words, twirling and shaking her ample booty.
'I think I need to take a leaf out of your book,' Chantal said, smiling.
'Good idea. I always get a little tipsy before I dance.' The blonde leaned in conspiratorially. 'A couple of shots of tequila. Boom! Loose hips.'
Chantal practised her routine in the small space next to the mirror-lined bench. Sure, this wasn't the best place on earth, and it wasn't what she wanted for her career, but she could get through it. To hell with Brodie. She'd be fine and she didn't need anyone else to take care of her. She would stand on her own two feet.
The dancer before her gyrated on stage, using the pole to complete some gravity-defying tricks. The audience roared, catcalls and wolf-whistles drowning out all but the heavy thump of the bass. Then it was her turn. She peeked out as the other dancer finished up. The crowd had swelled considerably since she'd first arrived.