The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection. Kelly HunterЧитать онлайн книгу.
the lid before wandering into the kitchen with her close on his heels. As she climbed up onto a bar stool at the kitchen bench, her legs not quite touching the ground, he felt walls shoot up around him. Good. At least some of his defences remained intact. He’d been sure she’d somehow dismantled them.
‘Why the sudden interest in my family?’
‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘I felt like you were a bit of a mystery while we were at the reef… and you did say we were friends. I know most of my other friends better than I know you.’
‘I think we’ve had enough talking tonight.’ He shut the freezer door a little more forcefully than he needed to.
Images of her naked, bending into those damn yoga positions, trailing her hair across his stomach, all invaded him with equal combative power. He wanted her again… and again and again. But they were friends. She’d just confirmed it. Breaking the rule once was excusable—heat of the moment and all that—but twice was playing with fire.
He couldn’t afford to entangle himself in another relationship, no matter how temporary. He had his priorities all worked out: build his business, take care of his family. That was it. Simple. Straightforward. Uncomplicated.
Chantal Turner was like an addictive substance, and everyone knew the first hit was the best. He’d had his taste—time to move on. She needed to be put squarely in the friend zone.
‘I’m going to bed.’ He stretched his arms above his head, not missing the way her eyes lingered on him. ‘Got to get up early for that run.’
‘Sweet dreams.’ She hopped off the bar stool, her face in an unreadable mask, and headed to her room.
‘Undoubtedly,’ he muttered.
The digital clock in the bedroom mocked her with each hour that passed, its red glow holding sleep at an arm’s length. She tossed and turned, twisting the sheets into knots around her limbs. What was wrong with her?
Brodie refused to leave her mind alone. One minute he was hot for 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