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.
Then she spotted Brodie. He was unmistakable. Sitting in the front row, arms folded across his chest, biceps on display… most likely on purpose. The blood drained from her face and her confidence followed it until the world tilted beneath her feet.
What the hell was he doing here?
Her music started but her feet were rooted to the ground. Someone shoved her in the back and she stumbled a little as she walked on stage. The audience didn’t seem to notice. They cheered and hooted as she swung her hips, pivoting on one foot with a dainty flick of her hair. Under Brodie’s intense stare she might as well have been naked. His eyes seemed to penetrate her, seeing all that she wanted to conceal.
He didn’t smile, and his eyes certainly didn’t sparkle the way they normally did. Had she turned him into this hardened lump? Where was the free and easy Brodie she’d fallen for?
And had she really fallen for him… even after everything that had happened today?
Confusion made her head fuzzy, the thoughts clashing in her mind. It was nothing—just a fling. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the warring emotions.
The steps of her choreography eluded her, but she had to keep going. Close to the edge of the stage she felt a hand brush by her—not Brodie’s. A portly man with a heavy beard and mean eyes leered up at her. Her skin crawled and she backed away, still clinging to her stage presence though she was sure she’d never danced so terribly in all her life.
Brodie had leant over to the man, his face red and indecipherable words falling from his lips. For a moment she would have sworn a fight would break out, but it didn’t. The bass thumped at odd intervals with the pounding in her head… everything unravelled. Fast.
She rushed off stage before her time was up, ducking her head at the curious stares of the other dancers and ignoring the cutting remarks from the manager as she scuffed her feet into her sneakers and grabbed her keys.
Outside the change room people swarmed the crowded space of the bar, the smell of beer and body odour making the air heavy and thick. Swallowing against the nausea, she pushed through, swatting away invasive hands and avoiding lingering stares. If she didn’t get outside… Well, it wouldn’t be pretty.
Brodie had got up from his chair. Chantal spotted him in her peripheral vision but didn’t stop. This was all his fault! He shouldn’t have come here thinking he could distract her, making her look like an idiot in front of all these people. As much as she didn’t care about their opinions, she was still dancing. Forgetting her choreography was unforgivable.
‘Chantal!’
How could she have let herself fall for him? The way he’d acted tonight proved he was the wrong guy for her. He was just like her ex: over-protective… ready to smother her.
She headed towards the stairs, running down them as fast as she could while dodging two people kissing up against the wall. Downstairs a heavy metal band thrashed about on stage, the drummer’s double kicks resonating through her, the beat reverberating right down to her bones.
She stumbled outside, tripping over a pair of feet in her desperation for escape. The cool air rushed into her mouth, was trapped where her throat was closing in. She gasped, sucking the air in greedily and forcing each breath down like a pill without water. How could she have forgotten her choreography? How? She balled her shaking hands, wishing she could crawl into a crack in the ground and disappear forever.
‘Chantal!’ Brodie’s voice rang out in the car park, muted by the music from inside the bar. ‘Wait—’
The deep rumble of a motorcycle raced past and drowned out the rest of his words. For a moment she kept walking, each purposeful step slamming into the ground. What would happen if she kept going? Tempting as it was, she couldn’t quit—she couldn’t. Not when things were turning around.
‘I’m trying to protect you.’ His voice carried on the night air.
Chantal whirled around, her body tense, like a snake about to strike. She locked her arms down by her sides. ‘You distracted me up there. I forgot my steps because I couldn’t concentrate on anything but whether or not you were going to start a fight.’
‘I’m here to make sure you’re safe—not to distract you.’ His brows pulled down, a crease forming in his forehead. ‘I only wanted to make sure you had somewhere safe to stay.’
‘I’m not coming back to the boat.’
He shook his head. ‘I was planning to pay for a hotel room for you. I’m thinking about your best interests.’
For some reason his words cut right through her chest, making her head pound and her stomach turn. Safety… protection… best interests. These were all words she’d heard before—the vocabulary of a control freak.
‘Why don’t you trust me, Chantal?’
‘You told me I didn’t have to trust you.’ Her voice wobbled and she cringed. ‘That was part of the deal.’
His eyes flashed; his mouth pulled into a grim line. ‘I thought you’d change your mind.’
‘I haven’t.’
He raked a hand through his hair, the blond strands falling straight back into place over his eyes. He’d come straight from the boat, still wearing his shorts and boat shoes from their trip to Nelson Bay. The black ink of his anchor tattoo peeked out from the rolled-up sleeve of a crisp blue shirt. Damn him for looking so utterly delectable when she wanted nothing more than to throw her shoe at his head.
What had happened to the laid-back Brodie she knew? Did all guys turn into ‘me Tarzan, you Jane’ types as soon as you slept with them?
‘Have you changed your mind about anything?’ He stepped forward, folding his arms across his chest.
‘Like whether or not I should finish my contract here?’ She shrugged, hoping she looked as though she cared a lot less than she did. ‘I’m a professional dancer. I can’t quit.’
‘That wasn’t what I was talking about.’
‘What are you talking about, then, Brodie? Because I sure as hell have no idea.’
His jaw twitched, and the muscles in his neck corded as he drew a long breath. ‘What about your desire to do everything on your own?’
‘That’s how I need to do it.’
At least that was what she’d believed most of her life. But somehow she didn’t feel so convinced any more. Remember what happened when you got married… You trusted him and look how that turned out. Mum did it all on her own—you can too.
‘Why?’ He took the last few steps towards her until there was no space between them and his hands gripped her shoulders. ‘Why do you think you need to do everything on your own?’
‘Because it’s safer
