that dance eight years ago. The alcohol rushed to her head, weakening the bonds of her control. The heat from his body drew her in, forcing her to him as if by magnetic force.
‘I always said pretty girls shouldn’t have to dance on their own,’ he murmured into her ear.
‘And I always said I would never fall for your cheesy lines.’ She turned her head slightly, meaning to give him the brush-off, but his arm snaked around her waist and closed the gap between them. Her butt pressed against his pelvis and she resisted the urge to rock against him. ‘Besides, I’m not on my own.’
‘I know. You’re with me.’
He spun her around and drew her to him. In sneakers, she could almost reach his collarbone with her lips, and she had an urge to kiss the tattoo that peeked out of his top. She was always fascinated by ink. The idea of permanence appealed to her. But life had taught her that everything was fleeting: money, success, love…
‘I’m not with you, Brodie. You should stop confusing fantasy with reality.’
‘It’s hard to do when you have all that black make-up on.’
Her cheeks flamed and he laughed, holding her tight. It was all she could do to remain upright. With each knock of his hips, his knees, his thighs, her resolve weakened. Maybe one kiss wouldn’t hurt—just so she could see if it was as good as she’d always imagined. Just so she could see if he tasted as amazing as he smelled.
His hand skated around her hip, a finger slipping under the hem of her tank top to trace the line of skin above her shorts. She squeezed her legs together and willed the throbbing to stop. Clearly she had a little pent-up frustration to deal with, but that wasn’t an excuse to let Brodie unravel her.
Chantal spun back around and stepped out of his grip. The others had started to drift away. Kate and Scott had retired into the cabin; Amy and Jessica were finishing off the last of the bubbles and sat with their legs dangling over the edge of the boat. Willa was sitting next to them, her phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear.
‘What are you going to do now, Little Miss Perfect?’ Brodie’s lips brushed her ear. ‘It’s just us.’
His fingertip traced from the base of her ear down her neck, until he plucked at the strap of her tank top. She burned all over with hot, achy, unfulfilled need. The music had been turned down but the bass still rumbled inside her, urging her to swing her hips and brush against him.
‘I’m dancing.’
‘You’re taunting me.’
The unabashed arousal in his voice tore at the last shreds of her sanity, and with each throaty word she came further undone.
It had been so long since she’d been with anyone—so long since she’d experienced any kind of pleasure like this. Just one kiss… just one taste.
She turned, gathering all her energy to say no, but when his hands cupped her face the protest died on her lips. He came down to her with agonising slowness, and rather than crushing his mouth against hers he teased her with a feather-light touch.
‘All that teasing isn’t nice, is it?’
‘I never teased you.’ She frowned, but her body cried out for more.
‘Back then your every step teased me, Chantal. You were the epitome of wanting what I couldn’t have.’
His tongue flicked out against hers, his teeth tugging ever so gently on her lower lip. So close, but not enough. Nowhere near enough.
‘You should have got in first.’
His green eyes glinted, the black of his pupils expanding with each heavy breath. ‘I thought it wasn’t finders keepers?’
‘Sometimes you have to take what you want,’ she whispered.
So he did.
His lips came down on hers as he thrust his hands into the tangled length of her hair, pulling her into place. She offered no resistance, opening to him as one might offer a gift. His scent invaded her, making her head swim and her knees weaken.
One large hand crept around her waist and crushed her to him. The hard length of his arousal pressed against her. Unable to stop herself, she slipped her hands under his shirt, smoothing up the chiselled flesh beneath. The feel of each stone-like ridge shot fire through her as their tongues melded. His knee nudged her thighs apart and she gasped as though she were about to come on the spot.
What happened to banishing bad choices and focusing on your career? Abs do not give you a free pass.
She jerked back, and the cool night air rushed to fill the void between them. She shook her head, though in response to what she wasn’t sure. Her head should have been in the game, focusing on getting her into a proper dance company. Instead she was gallivanting around on a yacht, kissing a man she should have stayed the hell away from the first time.
‘I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have…’ She struggled to catch her breath, emotions tangling the words in her head.
He waved his hand, ever the cool customer. ‘Alcohol and sea air—it’s a dangerous combination.’
The stood barely a foot apart, unmoving. The muscles corded in his neck as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, pupils flaring. He might look calm on the outside, but his eyes gave a glimpse to the storm within.
Around them the night was inky and dark. The breeze rolled past them, caressing her skin as he had done moments ago.
‘Very dangerous.’
Brodie woke with a start, the feel of Chantal’s lips lingering in his consciousness. Had he dreamed it? He rubbed his hands over his face, pushing his hair out of his eyes. White cotton sheets were tangled around his limbs like a python, holding him hostage lest he get out of bed and do something stupid.
Groaning, he sat up and stretched. His mouth was dry and he desperately wanted a shower. The digital clock beside his bed told him it was barely seven-thirty—why was he up at this ungodly hour? He listened to see if a noise had woken him. Were his guests up already? But the only sound that greeted him was the gentle slosh of waves against the boat and the occasional cry of a seagull.
Brodie showered, relishing the cool water on his overheated skin, and then made his way to the kitchen. He didn’t drink much coffee, but there was something about being awake before eight in the morning that necessitated a little caffeine.
He fired up the luxurious silver espresso machine; it had been chosen specifically to balance the champagne tastes of the company’s clientele with ease of use. Within seconds hot, dark liquid made its way into his cup and he added only the smallest splash of milk before wandering outside.
He stopped at the edge of the cabin, realising he wasn’t the only early bird this morning.
Chantal stood in the middle of the deck, balancing on one leg with the other bent outwards, the sole of her foot pressed against her inner thigh, hands above her head. She stayed there for a moment before lowering her foot and bending forward until her hands were flattened to the ground, her butt high in the air. Brodie gulped, unable to tear his eyes away from the fluid movement that looked as though it should
