The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection. Kelly HunterЧитать онлайн книгу.
jaw, making the lines look even sharper and more devastating. Golden hair dusted his forearms, and she knew that his chest was mostly bare except for a light smattering around his nipples and the trail from his belly button down. She couldn’t get that image out of her head.
‘Hurry up—before I drag you there myself.’
He said the words without turning around, and Chantal thanked her lucky stars that he didn’t. The words alone were potent enough, without the cheeky smile or glint she knew would be in his eyes.
‘Then you’ll be in trouble.’
The steam and hot water did nothing to wash away the tension in her limbs, nor the aching between her thighs. Wasn’t a shower supposed to be cleansing? The quiet sound of rushing water only gave her time to replay the most delicious parts of last night, and she stepped out onto the tiles feeling more wound up than before.
A mouth-watering scent wafted in the air as she slipped into a loose black dress, and padded barefoot into the kitchen. The table was set for two. Intimate… personal.
Two glasses held white wine the colour of pale gold. White china rimmed in silver sported a faint criss-cross pattern—simple, but undeniably luxurious. A bowl of salad sat in the middle of the table.
‘Pan-fried salmon with roasted potatoes and baby carrots.’ He brought two plates to the table. ‘Not fancy, but it is healthy—and pretty darn tasty, if I do say so myself.’
‘I didn’t know you could cook.’
‘I’m a man of many talents, Chantal.’ He set the plates down and dropped into the seat across from her. ‘I thought you would have figured that out by now.’
She rolled her eyes, cutting into the salmon steak and sighing at the sight of the perfectly cooked fish. ‘Does it get annoying, being good at everything?’
‘No.’ He grinned and speared a potato.
They picked up their glasses and clinked them together. The bell-like sound rang softly in the air. Crystal glasses. Of course they’re crystal—this is a boat for rich people… not people like you.
Chantal shoved the thought aside and sipped her wine. ‘Did you do a lot of cooking at home?’
‘I did, actually. I was probably the only fifteen-year-old kid who cooked dinner for the family most nights of the week.’
‘Really?’
She couldn’t hide her surprise. He hardly seemed like the kind of guy who would be in charge of a household. But the salmon melted on her tongue, and the tangy aromatics of a lemon and ginger marinade danced in sensational delight. He didn’t cook in the way most people did, where the food was functional first and foremost. He had talent—a knack for flavour and texture.
‘Yep. Mum was a nurse and she often worked afternoons and nights. The cooking was left up to me.’
‘What about your dad?’
‘He wasn’t around.’ Brodie frowned. ‘Dad was an artist, and he had a lot more passion for painting than he did for his family.’
‘That’s sad.’
‘Yeah… I was fine, but the girls really needed him—especially Lydia. She remembered him more than the twins and Ellen.’ He reached for his wine, looking as though he were about to continue the thread of conversation but changing his mind at the last minute. ‘What about you? Were you the house chef?’
‘I can do the basics. My mum worked long hours too, so I had to fend for myself a fair bit.’ She swallowed down the guilt that curled in her stomach whenever she thought about her mother. ‘I can do a basic pasta… salads. That kind of thing.’
‘What does your mother do?’
‘She’s a cleaner.’ Chantal bit down on her lip, wishing the memories weren’t still so vivid. ‘I don’t think she’s ever worked less than two jobs her whole life.’
His eyes softened. Damn him. She didn’t want his sympathy.
‘What about your dad?’
‘He left when I was ten.’ She shrugged, stabbing her fork at a lettuce leaf more forcefully than she needed to.
‘Siblings?’
‘None. Probably sounds strange to someone with such a big family.’ Good—turn the conversation back to him.
‘Yep—four sisters and never a moment of peace.’
She envied the contented smile on his lips. It was obvious his family was important to him. She’d bet they would be close, despite his father’s absence. The kind of family who had big, raucous Christmas gatherings and loads of funny traditions. So different from her. They’d been so poor at one point that her mother had wrapped her Christmas present—a Barbie doll from the local second-hand shop—in week-old newspaper. The memory stabbed at her heart, scything through the softest part of her. The part she kept under lock and key.
‘It drove me nuts, growing up,’ he continued. ‘But I became amazingly proficient at hair braids and reading bedtime stories.’
Her stomach churned. ‘You’ll make a great dad one day.’
A dark shadow passed over his face. The wall dropped down in front of him so fast and so resolutely that Chantal wondered what she’d said. A sardonic smile twitched the corner of his lips. Okay, so there were some things that put Brodie in a bad mood.
‘I don’t want the white-picket-fence deal.’ He drained the rest of his wine and reached for the bottle to empty the remaining contents into his glass. ‘Marriage, kids, pets… not for me. I’ve got enough responsibility now.’
‘Cheers to that.’ They clinked glasses again.
He quirked a brow. ‘But you got married.’
‘Just because I did it once it doesn’t mean I’ll do it again.’ Her cheeks burned. ‘That debacle is over for good.’
The wine had loosened her limbs a little, and it seemed her tongue as well. She probably shouldn’t have accepted the shot of whisky one of the other dancers had offered her before she went onstage. But she’d so desperately needed Dutch courage to force her back onstage.
‘Sounds like there’s a story there.’
‘Maybe.’ She shrugged.
Could she claw back her words? Brodie didn’t need to see the ugly bits of her life… especially not after she’d gone to such efforts to hide them. Then again, did it really matter?
‘I’ve seen you naked, remember.’ He grinned.
How could she possibly forget?
‘No point keeping secrets from me now.’
She took a deep breath and decided to throw caution to the wind. After all, he knew her most devastating secret: that her career had turned to crap. What harm could another failure do if it was out in the open?
‘The short version is that I was young, naive and I married the wrong guy.’
‘And the full version?’
‘I married my agent,’ she said, rolling her eyes and taking another sip of her wine. ‘What a bloody cliché. He seemed so worldly, and I was a wide-eyed baby. We met a month after I left Weeping Reef, and he promised he’d make me a star. He did—for a while—but then he started treating me like his student rather than his wife. He wanted everything his way, all the time.’
Brodie held his breath… Dammit. If she asked, wild horses wouldn’t keep him from finding the dude and teaching him a very painful, very permanent lesson. Fists clenched, he drew in a slow breath.
‘I couldn’t take it. The constant criticism, the arguing…’ Her olive eyes glittered and she shook her head. ‘Nothing