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The Tycoon's Stowaway(6)

By:Stefanie London


She followed him, watching the way his butt moved beneath a pair of  well-worn jeans. He'd filled out since she'd seen him last-traded his  boy's body for one which was undeniably adult. She licked her lips,  hating the attraction that flared in her and threatened to burn wild,  like a fire out of control.

It was strange to be attracted to someone again. She hadn't felt that  way in a long time …  possibly not since Weeping Reef. Her marriage hadn't  been about attraction-it had been about safety, security …  Until that  security had started to feel like walls crushing in on her.

They made their way out of the bar and into the cool night air. The  breeze caught her sweat-dampened skin and caused goosebumps to ripple  across her arms. She folded them tight, feeling vulnerable and exposed  in the sudden quiet of the outdoors.

'You didn't have to wait,' she said, falling into step with him.

Their steps echoed in the quiet night air, their strides perfectly matched.

He turned to her and shook his head. 'Of course I did. I was worried you  wouldn't make it out of the bar on your own, let alone down the  street.'

The disapproving tone in his voice made her stomach twist. The last  thing she needed was another over-protective man in her life.

'I can take care of myself.'

'Your bravado is admirable, but pointless. Even the smallest guy in there would have at least a head on you.'

His face softened into a smile-he never had been the kind of guy who could stay in a bad mood for long.

'Not to mention those skinny little chicken legs of yours.'

'I do not have chicken legs.' She gave him a shove and he barely broke stride, instead throwing his head back and laughing.

The bubble of anxiety in her chest dissolved. Brodie always had that  effect on her. He was an irritating, lazy charmer, who talked his way  through life, but he was fun. She often found herself smiling at him  even when she wanted to be annoyed-much to her chagrin.

'No, you don't have chicken legs …  not any more.' He grinned, his perfect teeth flashing in the night. 'You grew up.'

'So did you,' she said, but the words were lost as a motorcycle raced down the road.

They had eight years and a lot of issues between them. Issues, of  course, was a code word for attraction. But issues sounded a little more  benign and a little less like a prelude to something she would regret.                       
       
           



       

'I thought your husband would be here to watch out for you.' He was back to being stern again. 'He should be keeping you safe.'

'I think he's keeping someone else safe these days.' She sighed. Why did  all guys think it was their job to be the protector? She'd been happy  to see the back of her ex-husband and his stifling, control-freak ways.

'So that means you're single?'

She nodded. 'Free as a bird and loving it.'

'All the more reason to have someone look out for you.'

Chantal bit her down on her lip and kept her mouth shut. No sense in  firing him up by debating her ability to look out for herself. She  wasn't stupid, her mother had made her take self-defence classes in high  school, and she was quite sure she could hit a guy where it hurt most  should the need arise.

They walked in silence for a moment, the thumping bass from the bar  fading as they moved farther away. The yacht club glowed up ahead, with  one large boat sticking out amongst a row of much smaller ones. She  didn't have to ask. Of course he had the biggest boat there.

'Are you over-compensating?' Chantal asked, using sarcasm to hide her  nervousness at being so close to him …  at being alone with him.

'Huh?'

'The boat.' She pointed. 'It's rather …  large.'

'You know what they say about men with large boats.' He grinned, his perfect teeth gleaming against the inky darkness.

She stifled a wicked smile. 'They have large steering wheels?'

He threw his head back and laughed again, slinging an arm around her shoulder.

The sudden closeness of him unsettled her, but his presence was  wonderfully intoxicating when he wasn't waxing lyrical about her need  for protection. He smelled exactly the same as she remembered: ocean  spray and coconut. That scent had haunted her for months after she'd  left Weeping Reef, and any time she smelled a hint of coconut it would  thrust her right back onto that dance floor with him.

Her hip bumped against his with each step. The hard muscles of his arm  pressed around her shoulder, making her insides curl and jump.

'It's not my personal boat. My company owns it.'

'Your company?' Chantal looked up, surprised.

Brodie was not the kind of guy to start a company; he'd never had an  entrepreneurial bone in his body. In fact she distinctly remembered the  time Scott had threatened to fire him for going over time on his  windsurfing lessons because his students had been having so much fun. He  had a generosity of spirit that didn't exactly match bottom-line  profits.

'After I left Weeping Reef I bummed around for a while until I got work  with a yacht charter company off the Sunshine Coast. It was a lot of  fun. I got promoted, and eventually the owners offered me a stake in the  company. I bought the controlling share about a year ago, when they  were ready to retire.'

'And now you run a yacht tour company?'

He nodded as their conversation was interrupted by a loud shriek as they  strolled onto the marina. The girls had clearly got into the champagne  and were dancing on deck, with an amused Scott watching from the  sidelines. Willa waved down to her and motioned for them to join the  party.

Chantal's old doubts and fears crept back, their dark claws hooking into  the parts of her not yet healed. She was not the person she claimed to  be, and they would all know that now. They would know what a fraud she  was.

Her breath caught in her throat, the familiar shallow breathing  returning and forcing her heart rate up. She had a sudden desire to  flee, to return to the dingy bar where she probably looked as if she  belonged.

She didn't fit in here. Not with these classy girls and their beautiful  hair. Not with Brodie, who'd made a success of himself, and not with  Scott, whom she'd betrayed.

She sucked in a deep breath, her feet rooted to the ground. Panic  clutched at her chest, clawing up her neck and closing its cold hands  around her windpipe. She couldn't do it.

'Chantal?' Brodie looked down at her, his hand at the small of her back, pushing gently.

She bit down on her lip, shame seeping through her every limb until they  were so heavy she couldn't move. Why did you come? You're only setting  yourself up to be laughed at. You're a failure.

'Come on.' Brodie grabbed her hand and tugged her forward. 'We don't want to get left behind.'





CHAPTER THREE


BRODIE WANTED TO look anywhere but at Chantal, yet her dancing held him  captive. Her undulating figure, moving perfectly to the beat, looked  even more amazing than it had at the bar. In casual clothes, with her  face relaxed, her limbs loose, she looked completely at ease with the  world.                       
       
           



       

Unable to deal with the lust flooding his veins, he'd caved in and had a  beer. The alcohol had hit him a little harder since he'd been  abstaining the past few weeks. But he needed to dull the edges of his  feelings-dull the roaring awareness of her. He'd hoped the  uncontrollable desire to possess her had disappeared when he'd left the  reef. However, it had only been dormant, waiting quietly in the  background, until she'd brought it to full-colour, surround-sound, 3-D  life.

When they'd first stepped onto the yacht Chantal had hesitated, almost  as if she wasn't sure she should be there. But Scott had given her a  friendly pat on the shoulder and a playful shove towards the girls.  They'd brought her into the fold and she'd relaxed, dancing and giggling  as though she'd been there all night. Every so often Brodie caught her  eye: a quick glance here or there that neither of them acknowledged.

'You should get out there and dance with her.' Scott dropped down next to him, another beer in his hand.

Brodie's eyes shifted to Scott and he waited to see what would come  next. He'd harboured a lot of guilt over the way things had ended  between them at Weeping Reef-not just because he'd hurt Scott, but  because he'd hurt Chantal as well.

'Come on, man. You know there's no hard feelings.' Scott slapped him on the back. 'We talked about this already.'

'It's not your feelings I'm worried about.'

'Since when do you worry about anything?'

Brodie frowned. People often took his breezy attitude and laissez-faire  approach to mean he didn't care about things. He knew when Scott was  teasing him, but still …

'Some things are meant to be left in the past.' Some people were meant  to be left in the past …  especially when he couldn't possibly give her  what she deserved. Not long-term anyway.

'You sound like a girl.' Scott laughed. 'Don't be such a wuss.'