The Complete Red-Hot Collection. Kelly Hunter
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you are. You’re hell-bent on being the casual, laid-back, cool-as-a-cucumber fun-time guy.’
‘You seemed to believe I was that guy.’
‘I didn’t know you then.’ Her olive eyes glowed in the bright afternoon light, the golden edges of her hair glinting like precious metal. ‘But I do now.’
‘You know what I want you to know.’
‘No way.’ Her lips pursed. ‘You sailed a yacht out here to show me dolphins… you packed a champagne lunch for me. All because I got a second audition—not even a proper job. That’s not a fun-time guy.’
‘What is it, then?’
He was giving her a chance to be honest, to open up to him. But the shutters went down over her eyes and colour seeped into her cheeks. Her hands folded into a neat parcel in her lap. Shutdown mode enabled.
‘You’re a good person, Brodie. I wish we’d got to be real friends sooner.’
There was that F-word again. If he heard it come out of her mouth one more time he was going to throw something. Clearly he was going out of his mind. Girls didn’t rattle him—that wasn’t how he acted. On the scale of annoyance, girl problems ranked somewhere between lining up at the supermarket and typos. In other words it fell into the bundle of crap he didn’t care about.
‘We should probably head back.’ He pushed up from his chair, feeling the burn of the afternoon sun on his legs. ‘Don’t want to make you late for work.’
‘Yeah, that thorn in my side.’ She sighed.
She followed him around as he prepared the boat to return to Newcastle. Her anxious energy irritated him—partially because he felt she had no reason to be anxious, and partially because it made him want to bundle her up and kiss her until she relaxed. The woman had an emotional stronghold over him that was both dangerous and stupid. He already had four women to take care of—five if he counted his mother. He didn’t need a sixth.
‘You don’t need to pick me up from the bar tonight,’ she said once they were back at the helm, with the boat cruising out of the marina.
‘I’ll be there.’ No way he’d let her walk back to the boat on her own.
‘I can stay at the accommodation, if you like.’
‘You’re welcome to stay on the boat until I have to sail back. That hasn’t changed.’
He didn’t look at her, but her nervousness permeated the air. She knew he was angry with her. He had to keep his emotions in check.
‘I want you to stay.’
‘Okay.’ She put her hand over his. ‘Thanks.’
Don’t grab her hand… don’t grab her hand. ‘No worries.’
‘I’ll be happy when I finish up at the bar. It’s certainly been a learning experience.’ She let out a small laugh. ‘Although the crowd is a bit rough for my liking.’
‘A bit?’ He stole a glance at her and regretted it immediately. Make-up-free, hair flowing, she looked young and vulnerable. You’re weak, Mitchell, absolutely weak.
‘Okay, a lot. It wouldn’t be so bad if the guys weren’t so handsy.’
‘What do you mean, handsy?’
‘You know—some guys seem to think by buying a few drinks they can have free handling of the dancers.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Pigs.’
White-hot rage brewed in his stomach. ‘Dammit, Chantal. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because it’s not your problem—it’s mine.’ She spoke calmly, but she crossed her arms and stepped backwards. ‘Besides, last time you came into the bar you flipped out.’
‘Of course I did!’ He fought to wrangle the frustration and anger warring inside him. ‘It’s like you refuse to look after yourself just to prove a point.’
‘I’m not trying to prove a point.’ She gritted her teeth. ‘Anyway, I had a word with them and told them to back off.’
‘Jeez, you had a word with them? I’m sure that will make all the difference.’ He shook his head, gritting his teeth at the thought of these grubby morons touching her. ‘You need to tell me these things.’
‘I don’t need to tell you anything.’ Her eyes flashed like two green flames. Her lips were pressed into a flat line and her breath came in short, irritated stutters. ‘It’s not your job to protect me.’
‘What if they attacked you? What if you stayed at the accommodation and they followed you?’ Nausea rocked his stomach. If anything ever happened to her…
‘You’re not my knight in shining armour, Brodie.’ She spoke through gritted teeth, her hands balled by her sides. ‘I can look after myself. Don’t you get that?’
‘All I see is someone who’s too damn stubborn to ask for help.’
She folded her arms across her chest. The air pulsed around her as she narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Independence is important to me.’
‘At the cost of intelligence, it seems.’
‘Oh, that’s rich coming from you.’
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’ His blood boiled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this… this everything. Emotions collided inside him, strong and flying at full speed.
‘You won’t live your life because you think it’s your job to take care of every tiny thing for your family. You live in guilt because your father left but you won’t even confront him about it. You’re scared.’
‘I’m not scared.’
‘Yes, you are.’ She jabbed a finger at him.
With her composure out of the window, Chantal let frustration and anger flow out of her unchecked.
‘You won’t let yourself feel anything for anyone outside your family.’
‘Oh, and that’s as bad as dancing at some skanky bar where you’re not safe?’ He shook his head. ‘Yeah—real smart.’
‘Dancing at that bar might seem stupid to you, but I need to make it on my own. I will not let someone else tell me what to do.’ Least of all someone who’s supposed to be a ‘no-strings tension-reliever’.
‘Who would try, Chantal? It’s clear you won’t listen to anyone else. You’re so goddamn bull-headed.’
‘Try looking in a mirror some time.’
In a rush, tears welled up with the force of a tidal wave. She had to get out. Now!
She flew down the stairs to the lower deck and didn’t stop until she reached the kitchen. Her chest heaved, and she was dragging in each breath as though it resisted her with the force of an army. Cheeks burning, she felt the toxic warmth seeping down her neck and closing around her windpipe. She would not have a meltdown in front of him… not again.
The smooth marble bench was cool against her palms. Was he coming after her? And who would sail the boat then? Idiot. Of course he’s not coming after you.
Twisting the kitchen tap with a shaking hand, she bent down to splash some water onto her face before filling a glass. Brodie’s yacht had made her feel free when they’d sailed out of Newcastle that morning, but now… now it was as if the walls were closing in, crushing her, trapping her. She sipped, savouring the sensation of the cold liquid slipping down the back of her throat.
It was time to end things with Brodie. Chantal only ever got mad when she cared—she only ever lost her temper when something important was on the line. Even when