The Complete Red-Hot Collection. Kelly Hunter
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her and sharing things about himself, the next he was done talking and wanted to sleep.
It’s a good thing he had the guts to do what you couldn’t.
Was it possible that now he’d got what he wanted, she was out of his system? That thought shouldn’t have rankled, but it did—and with surprising force. Surely eight years of unrequited sexual tension couldn’t be over in one night?
Why should she care?
Shaking her head, she turned over onto her side and huffed. It was clear that she’d become unhinged. Perhaps her inability to find a real job was slowly driving her insane, making her more sensitive to things that should have meant nothing. Only Brodie didn’t mean nothing… did he?
The bedroom suddenly felt too confined, too tight for her to breathe. Chantal swung her legs out of the bed and stood, relishing the feeling of the smooth floorboards on her bare soles.
She padded out to the deck and tipped her face up, her breath catching at the sight of the full, ripe moon hanging in a cloudless sky dotted with stars. In Sydney the city lights illuminated everything twenty-four-seven and the stars weren’t visible. She’d missed them.
Growing up in a small coastal town had meant night after night of sparkling sky—endless opportunities to place a wish on the first one that winked at her. Perhaps that was why everything was falling to pieces now? It had been a long time since she’d made a wish. She closed her eyes, but her mind couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought. She knew what she wanted to wish for… didn’t she? Her stomach twisted itself into a knot and her breath shortened to shallow puffs.
What if things didn’t turn around? What if the dive bar was her best option? Don’t think like that, you have to be positive. You have to keep trying… try harder!
Alone, she felt tears prickle her eyes. The sadness was pushing its way to the surface, mingling with her ever-present panic like blood curling in water. She needed to hang on a little while longer—long enough to get something—anything—which would prove she hadn’t wasted her mother’s sacrifices and her own hard work. Then she could deal with the bad stuff.
‘What are you doing up?’
Brodie’s sleep-roughened voice caught her off guard. She whirled around, blinking back the tears and pleading with herself to calm down. She didn’t want him to see her like this—not when she felt she was about to fall apart at the seams.
‘Are you okay?’
She nodded, unable to speak for fear that releasing words might open the floodgates of all she held back. Her breathing was so shallow and fast that the world tilted at her feet. She pressed a palm to her cheek, mentally willing him to leave her. Her face was as warm as if she’d spent the night sleeping next to an open fire, and her skin prickled uncomfortably.
‘You don’t look okay.’ He stepped closer and captured her face in his hands, studying her with his emerald eyes.
That only made it worse. By now her palms were slick with perspiration and her stomach swished like the ocean during a storm. Tremors racked her hands and her dignity was slipping away faster than she could control it. She was drowning, and once again she was relying on him to save her.
‘Hey, it’s all right,’ he soothed, moving his hands to her shoulders and rubbing slowly up and down her arms. ‘Let’s get you a glass of water.’
He pulled her against his side, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and guiding her into the cabin. Setting her down on a stool, he grabbed a glass and pressed it against the ice machine on the fridge. Loud clinking noises filled the room as the ice tumbled into the glass, followed by the glug of water from a bottle in the fridge.
Breathe in—one, two, three. Out—one, two, three.
‘Drink it slowly—don’t gulp.’ He handed her the glass and smoothed her hair back from her face.
No doubt she looked like a crazy person, huffing and puffing like the wolf from that nursery rhyme. Her hair would be all over the place, sticking out like a mad professor’s. It was only then she realised that she was practically naked, with a pair of white lace panties her only keeper of modesty. She hadn’t thought it possible for her face to get any hotter, but it did.
‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, shaking her hair so it fell in front of her, covering her bare breasts.
She must have ditched her T-shirt while she was trying to get to sleep. Stress overheated her. Most of the time she slept in nothing at all—unless it was the dead of winter, and then she wore her favourite llama-print pyjamas. But it was warm on the boat and her body was reaching boiling point. She pressed the cool glass to her burning cheek.
You’re rambling in your head—not a good sign. Calm. Down. Now.
‘Do you want me to grab you something to wear?’
Brodie’s voice cut into her inner monologue and she nodded mutely, switching the glass of water to her other cheek. Her whole body flamed. Shame tended to do that. This was exactly why she should have said no to the invitation to Brodie’s boat in the first place! Now he knew… He knew what a mess she was. She couldn’t even fall asleep without working herself up.
‘Here.’
He took the glass from her hand and set it down, helping her weakened limbs into the armholes of a T-shirt and guiding her head through the neck opening.
The fabric swam on her, smoothing over her curves and giving her protection. The T-shirt was his—it smelled of him. Smelled of ocean air and soap and earthy maleness.
‘Are these panic attacks a recent thing?’ He leant against the bench, his face neutral.
‘No, I’ve had them a while.’ She couldn’t look him in the eye.
‘They suck,’ he said. ‘My little sister gets them pretty bad too. Water usually works for her.’
Chantal bit down on her lip, toying with the glass before taking another sip. Could she be any more humiliated right now?
‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You know that, right?’
He touched her arm, the gentle brush making her stomach flip. Her breathing slowed a little.
‘Ellen gets them a lot. She’s only nineteen, but she puts a lot of pressure on herself to do well. She wants to get into a performing arts school.’
‘What does she do?’ Curiosity piqued, she looked up.
Brodie dropped down onto the stool next to her, his knees inches from her thighs. ‘She plays piano pretty damn well, if I do say so myself. I used to run her to practise when I lived at home—went to all her recitals too. She’s ace.’
The pride in his voice was unmistakable. Chantal had often wondered what it would be like to have siblings—to look after someone other than herself, to worry about people all the time. She would have been a terrible sister—she couldn’t even keep her own life together, let alone help anyone else.
‘Then there’s the twins: Jenny and Adriana. They’re twenty-two, and as different as two people can be. Jenny is the loud one. She got into modelling a while ago and has done a fair bit of travelling with it. Adriana is still studying. She’s going to end up being a doctor of something one day.’ He smiled. ‘Then Lydia is the oldest… she’s twenty-four.’
His eyes darkened for a moment and she wondered if he was going to continue. His lips pulled into a flat line as he raked a hand through his hair, stopping to rub the back of his neck.
‘Lydia is in a wheelchair. She was in a car accident some years ago and she was paralysed from the waist down.’
‘That’s awful.’
‘Yeah.’ A sad smiled passed over his lips. ‘She wanted to be a dancer.’
Emotion ran through her—grief for this poor girl