tomorrow.’ Brodie pulled Amy in for a friendly hug. ‘Literally at the crack of dawn—and you know how much I hate mornings.’
She grinned. ‘How about you, Chantal?’
Brodie held his breath. This was it. If she stayed then he would do everything in his power to make her come—over and over and over.
She shifted on her strappy tan heels and raked a hand through her long, wavy hair.
‘I’ve got work tomorrow.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘I think I’m going to need all my energy for it.’
Amy stifled a smile and nodded.
The crew filtered off the boat, leaving Brodie and Chantal completely alone. She hovered by his side, refusing to look up at him. Not that it mattered where she looked, so long as it was his name on her lips.
‘I hope you weren’t serious about needing energy tomorrow,’ he said as they waved the group off. ‘You’re not getting any sleep tonight.’
WAS SHE MAKING a colossal mistake? Her body seemed to think not. In fact her body acted as though it had been served up a certifiable slice of heaven, complete with whipped cream, cherries and sprinkles.
‘Sleep is for the weak.’
His hands found her waist and pulled her close. Air rushed from her lungs with the delicious contact. His pelvis was hard against her, the ridge of his burgeoning erection pressing into her belly through the thin material of her dress.
His full lips curved into an impossibly sexy smile. ‘I’m glad we’re on the same page.’
‘We will be if we never speak of this again.’
‘Romantic,’ he quipped. ‘I like it.’
She ran her palms up the front of his chest, feeling the smooth cotton of his shirt glide against her skin. Each muscle in his chest was crisply defined, all hardness and athletic perfection. Her fingers hovered at the top button, tracing the outline in slow, deliberate circles.
‘I don’t want anything beyond one night. Clear?’
‘Crystal.’
Chantal swallowed, Brodie had agreed more readily than she’d expected. But that was the kind of guy he was, the kind of life he led—easygoing, breezy, sans strings. She shouldn’t be disappointed.
‘Any more rules I should be aware of?’ he asked, trailing feather-light kisses from her temple to her jaw.
In heels, she didn’t feel quite so small next to him—though he still had a head on her. Perhaps she’d leave the heels on.
A wicked smile curved her lips. ‘Ladies first.’
‘Hmm…’ The throaty growl was hot against her neck. ‘A woman after my own heart.’
She thrust her hands into his hair and wrenched his face down to hers, slanting her mouth over his and stripping away any doubts, fears or reservations with a hot, combative kiss. He came back with equal force, his hands sliding down her back until they cupped her behind and forced her against him.
He was hard, salty and heavenly. She moaned, the sound lost between them.
A chorus of cheers and laughter from a neighbouring boat broke them apart.
A giggle bubbled up between her heavy breaths and Chantal pressed her hands to burning cheeks. ‘Looks like we’re putting on a bit of a show.’
‘You are a performance artist.’
Brodie lifted her and she instinctively wrapped her legs around him, groaning as her centre made contact with the hard length beneath his jeans.
‘But now it’s time for a private show.’
He walked them into the cabin, through the lounge and to the bedroom. His bedroom. A huge bed dominated the centre of the room. It was a hell of a lot bigger than Chantal had imagined it would be on a boat. It was a bed not made for sleeping but for hot, Kama Sutra–referencing, scream-at-the-top-of-your-lungs sex.
Brodie turned and sat on the edge of the bed, still holding her so that she was in his lap. The friction of his jeans against the wispy material of her underwear drove her crazy. She bucked, rolling her hips to increase the pressure. His mouth came down on hers, lush and open and intoxicating.
‘Dance for me,’ he growled.
Cheeks burning, she pushed hard against his chest so he toppled back. She straddled him, grinding her hips in a slow circular motion. ‘But it’s so good here.’
‘I want to watch you.’
‘You only get to watch when I say so.’ She echoed her words from earlier in the day, heat flooding her body and throbbing out of control.
His eyes blazed like green fire and darkness. ‘I’ll make it worth your while.’
‘How?’ The question escaped her lips before she could think, before she could reason. She needed to hear his answer. Needed to absorb the experience of being with him through her every sense.
Warm palms slid up her thighs, bunching blue material around her waist. His hand brushed her sex, sending a jolt of pleasure through her. Toying with the edge of her underwear, he traced the pattern on the lace with his fingertip.
‘If you can walk, talk or function on any level tomorrow then I haven’t done my job.’
Her lips trembled. It wasn’t enough. She wanted detail. She wanted all of it with a greedy, hedonistic gluttony.
‘More.’
‘I’m going to take you to the point where you think there’s nothing left and I’m going to make you beg.’ His eyes were wild, his pulse throbbing in his neck. ‘I’m going to make you forget any word you’ve ever spoken except for my name. I’m going to be the only thing you know. I’m going to be your everything.’
‘Brodie…’ she whispered, the throbbing between her legs ceaseless. She ached to the point of pain. It had been so long… so very long.
‘Dance for me.’ His voice was rough, scratched up and torn apart with desire.
She pushed back, balancing on her heels and taking a step away from the bed. Her hands trembled, and her mouth was suddenly devoid of moisture as her hips swayed to a non-existent beat.
She wasn’t passionate… her dancing wasn’t passionate. Hadn’t that been Derek’s parting shot as he’d walked out of their house for the last time?
‘You’re a technical dancer, Chantal, but you’re all business. No passion. No one wants to watch that. You’ll never make it without me.’
Her throat closed in on itself, her heart jackhammering
