Bold

by Nicola Marsh

  Considering Zane would be heading back to Australia any time soon, she knew it was plain stupid to think this way. Because transient flings never developed into more. They couldn’t. It’s why she’d deliberately sought them out all these years. And the reason why she’d never had a real relationship.

  Because relationships fostered dependency and emotions and ultimately, loss. The kind of loss that could leave a woman shattered and an empty shell.

  No way in hell did she ever want to be that woman.

  A knock sounded at the door and she stood, smoothed her hair and adjusted her top. Ready to face the world again. Banishing that momentarily loneliness that lingered, making her feel oddly breathless and morose simultaneously.

  She opened the door, surprised to see Zane.

  “Why are you knocking at this door when…” She pointed at the interconnecting door between their suites, hating the uncertainty making her feel a fool.

  “Don’t you remember? Anticipation heightens foreplay.” He filled the doorway, big and bronze and beautiful. Too damn charming. Too damn everything. “Besides, there was another reason I invited you to LA.”

  “That’s what they all say,” she said, trying to resist the relentless urge to grab his shirt lapels and drag him into her room.

  He grinned. “That sponsorship deal you mentioned for Bombshells and the new Aussie Rules comp in Nevada? My dad’s in town, thought you may want to meet him and discuss business.”

  For the second time in as many minutes, Chantal’s throat tightened. Zane wasn’t just a sexy charmer with a body built for sin. He actually listened to what she said; and was trying to help build her business. Could the guy wriggle under her skin any harder if he tried?

  “Thanks, that’s really thoughtful,” she said, brushing a kiss on his cheek, lingering long enough to breathe in a lungful of delicious Aussie male.

  When she pulled back, he looked adorably bashful. “Nice to know you think I’m just a sleaze out to jump your bones though.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  He laughed. “Hell yeah, but Christopher’s downstairs in the lobby waiting for us.”

  “Now?” She glanced down at her black skinny jeans, knee high boots and fuchsia ribbed tank. “I’m not really dressed for business?”

  “You look amazing as always,” he said, resting his hands on her hips. “This is an informal meeting so don’t stress.” He shrugged. “I’m not.”

  That’s when it hit her.

  “Tell me this isn’t the first time you’re seeing your dad.”

  “It’s not.” He had the grace to appear sheepish. “We Skyped last week.”

  “Are you insane?” She placed her hands on his chest and shoved him away. “I’m not crashing this meeting with your dad. It’s your first time talking in person and you need privacy.”

  “I need you,” he said, reaching for her again. “The truth is, I’m not sure if I can face him on my own.”

  Hell, she’d never seen a guy so vulnerable and it slugged her where she feared it most. Her heart.

  She cupped his face and stared into his eyes, eyes that had captured her from the first moment they’d met at Vegas airport. “You need to do this. On your own.”

  “You don’t get it.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid if I face him alone, I’ll forget why I came to the States and let the anger and bitterness of the last three years boil over.” He grimaced. “I may even deck the old bugger.”

  “So I’m your airbag? Cushioning the blow of the first meeting?”

  “Something like that.” He turned his head slightly, kissing one of her palms. “Guess you think I’m a big sooky-la-la hiding behind a woman, huh?”

  “I think it takes a strong man to admit he’s feeling vulnerable, but I sure would like to know what a sooky-la-la is.”

  He did convincing puppy-dog eyes. “Will you come with me downstairs to face the big, bad wolf if I tell you?”

  She lowered her hands and nodded. “Okay.”

  “It means cry-baby.”

  “That’s it?” She punched him lightly on the arm. “I feel like I’ve been had.”

  “Not yet, but we’ve got all night for that.” He winked and dropped a kiss on the end of her nose. “Is my airbag ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be,” she muttered, slipping her hand into his when he held it out. “But just so you know? At the first sign of sooky-la-la tears, I’m out of there.”

  Zane laughed, and tugged her close. “Deal, but I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”

  He wasn’t the only one. Because having Zane trust her enough to want her to accompany him to his all-important first meeting with his father made her feel special in a way she shouldn’t.

  Like she was important to him. Like she meant more than a fling. Like this could be what she was looking for.

  And if that were the case, she’d be the one ending up in tears. Because secretly wishing for something and having it come true were entirely different things, especially when having a guy like Zane in her life for anything beyond a dirty weekend away meant revealing the real Chantal, something she wasn’t prepared to do.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Zane couldn’t believe it.

  After years of pretending he didn’t exist, then giving him that bullshit sob story, Christopher was a no-show. Worse¸ he’d sent his golden boy in his stead.

  Kurt.

  His half-brother looked exactly like his images on the Internet: tall, built, with a muscle mass that would make most Aussie Rules players envious. A cocky, arrogant, son-of-a-bitch with a perpetual smirk, like he knew something the rest of the world didn’t.

  Zane disliked him on sight.

  Crazy, considering he’d come all this way to meet the family he’d never known he’d had. But having Kurt saunter toward them, his attention fixed on Chantal rather than him, rammed home the fact how little he meant to Christopher.

  As if sensing his anger, Chantal squeezed his hand and murmured, “Play nice.”

  “My old man’s a bastard,” he muttered, not caring that Kurt heard as he approached, smarmy smile in place, greedy gaze fixed on Chantal.

  “You got that right,” Kurt said, holding out his hand. “Dad sends his apologies. Some crisis at head office, so he had to fly to New York. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

  The casual way Kurt threw out ‘dad’ exacerbated Zane’s resentment. He’d never had a father, let alone one he was close to. Instead, this lucky prick had it all.

  “And what are you, his messenger boy?” Zane shook Kurt’s hand, not surprised it turned into a battle of the strongest as they tried to see who could break the other’s bones first.

  Kurt frowned, but Zane saw a glint of grudging respect in his brother’s almost-black eyes. “We flew into LA together. Plane barely touched down before it had to refuel and leave again. Said he’d call you later.”

  So Christopher and his golden child flew around the country on a private jet? Nice.

  Resisting the urge to mutter ‘whatever’ like a disgruntled eight year old, Zane placed a hand in the small of Chantal’s back.

  “This is Chantal Kramer.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Kurt said, his leer making Zane want to punch his teeth out.

  “Likewise.” To his utmost annoyance, Chantal stared at Kurt like a star-struck groupie. “You’re having a great season.”

  “Stunning, and she likes football?” Kurt clutched at his heart and did a mock swoon. “The perfect woman.”

  “Fuckwit,” Zane murmured, regretting his decision to come to LA more by the second.

  If Kurt heard, he didn’t react. Chantal did, though. She shot him a curious glance, her eyebrows so high they almost touched her hairline.

  “Let’s get a drink,” Kurt said, insinuating his way between them, an arm draped across their shoulders. “Get to know each other better.”

  If Zane acted fast, he could get a good kidney punch in before his smart-arse brother knew what hit him.

&
nbsp; Thankfully, they reached a table tucked away into a corner and Zane shrugged Kurt’s arm off with an exaggerated shudder.

  Kurt laughed. “Not so touchy-feely, huh?”

  “What do you think?” Zane refrained from adding ‘arse-hole’. Just.

  Kurt leaned in close. “I think your girlfriend likes it just fine.”

  Zane’s fingers curled into fists but before he could say anything, Chantal piped up, “What are you guys drinking?”

  As the red mist cleared from his vision, Zane saw a waiter hovering nearby as Chantal eased into a low-slung leather chair, shaking her head vigorously as she pointed at Kurt behind his back.

  She had a point. Slugging his brother on their first meeting wouldn’t be the smartest thing he’d ever done. Especially considering every eye in the room was fixed on Kurt, a national icon in this country.

  “Beer for me, please,” Zane said, deliberately pulling his chair closer to Chantal’s before sitting.

  “Make that two, buddy.” Kurt sat opposite them, shoulders squared, legs outstretched, crossed at the ankles, king of his domain.

  He wore jeans and a polo but by the way everyone stared at him, he could’ve been buck naked, there was that much wide-eyed wonder.

  Funny thing was, Zane was used to getting the same kind of attention in Melbourne. Fans recognized him wherever he went, invading his privacy, asking for autographs. He’d accepted it as part of the job. He’d had girls slip phone numbers into his pockets or write them on restaurant bills, even while he’d been out on dates. He’d had guys want to talk footy in goddamn toilets.

  But not everyone in Australia was a footy fan. Some preferred soccer or basketball or cricket, so he wasn’t instantly recognizable when he traveled interstate. Not like Kurt.

  And in a small way, it endeared him to his brother like nothing else could.

  What would it be like to have every moment of your life scrutinized? To be recognized everywhere you went?

  He’d grown to tolerate the stares, the whispers, the speculation but compared to what Kurt probably had to put up with? He’d had it easy.

  “So you’re a fan, huh?” Kurt all but drooled as his gaze swept over Chantal from head to foot and in an instant, Zane’s hate-on for his brother returned.

  “I’m more into Aussie Rules than gridiron these days,” Chantal said, placing her hand over Zane’s.

  Zane could’ve kissed her.

  Kurt wrinkled his nose, like he’d smelled something bad. “That Aussie game is for girls compared to what we play.”

  Zane stiffened and Chantal rubbed her thumb across the back of his hand in a slow, comforting sweep.

  “Actually, Aussie Rules is more skillful. The guys have to be fitter, faster and proficient in all aspects of the game, from hand balling to bouncing on the run to kicking.” Her deliberate chuckle held little amusement. “Our meatheads just grab, run, throw and scrum.”

  This time, Zane did kiss her, right on her delectable mouth.

  “Looks like you have a fan,” Kurt said, eyes narrowed as his glare turned frosty.

  “I’m a lucky guy,” Zane said, silently vowing to thank Chantal later. All night long.

  Kurt grunted as their drinks arrived. To his surprise, Chantal picked up her wine and stood.

  “Sorry gentlemen, but I need to make a few business calls. I’ll leave you to it.” She nodded at Kurt. “Nice meeting you.”

  She bent low to whisper in Zane’s ear, “If you refrain from killing the dumbass, I’ll reward you later. Promise?”

  “Promise.” Zane nodded and grinned, feeling like the luckiest guy in the bar as every male gaze fixed on Chantal’s sexy butt as she sashayed out.

  “You’re a fast worker,” Kurt said. “Barely in the country and you hook up with a…local.”

  Zane didn’t like the pause. “What were you going to say?”

  Kurt sniggered. “Come on, man, you’re not that naive.” He jerked his thumb at the door. “The way she walks? Pretty fucking obvious she’s a stripper.”

  Zane would’ve been on him in a second if it weren’t for two things: he’d vowed to leave the last three years behind, when he’d act first, think later, and he’d promised Chantal not to kill him. Fortunately, when he made a promise, he stuck to it. Unlike dear old dad, who hadn’t kept the marriage vow he’d made in Australia, and had ended up fathering a dickhead like Kurt.

  “She owns a club in Vegas. She doesn’t strip.”

  “You sure about that?” Kurt held his beer up in a toast. “No shame if she does, man. We’ve all been there. Goes with the territory of playing ball.”

  Zane gulped half his beer in one shot, needing to chill before he reneged on his promise not to kill.

  “If you think we’re going to bond over locker room bullshit, think again,” Zane said, eyeballing his butthead brother. “We’re nothing alike.”

  “Is that so?” Kurt leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Okay, let’s cut the shit. Dad dumps the fact I have two half brothers on me a week ago. One of them’s a high profile footballer in Australia. He’s coming over to meet us, like we’re all expected to join hands and sing hymns or some such shit. And you expect me to be doing fucking cartwheels?”

  Kurt’s eyes narrowed, but it didn’t hide a glint of jealousy. “I know Dad got you a tryout with the LA Owls as a kicker. Which means you’re now on my turf. And take it from me, hanging out with a woman like Chantal won’t help your cause.”

  God, Zane hated this self-absorbed, sanctimonious prick.

  “My cause?”

  “Making it in the big league over here.” Kurt sipped at his beer, annoyingly casual when Zane was seething inside. “What kind of club does she own?”

  “Burlesque.”

  Kurt shrugged, his inherent cockiness making Zane’s fingers curl into a fist. “I rest my case.”

  “Burlesque isn’t stripping.”

  “Yeah, yeah, it’s art.” Kurt scoffed. “Where we come from, bumpkin, when a girl gets her gear off and shows her tits, whether they’re covered in pasties or not, it’s stripping. And there have been too many scandals lately involving footballers and strippers, so if you want a chance in Hades of making it here, you need to distance yourself from her.”

  Fury swept through Zane, swift and scorching and blinding him to everything except how much he’d like to wrap his hands around Kurt’s redneck and squeeze hard.

  “Who says I want to make it here?” He kept his voice deliberately cool, ignoring the rage threatening to spill over. “I came here to meet my family.” He sneered. “And look how that fucking turned out. Wyatt’s the only one who’s man enough to give it a shot.”

  Zane carefully placed his beer on the table and stood. “He’s got balls, which is more than I can say for you and dear old Dad.”

  To his surprise, Kurt slumped, his overt cockiness fading. “Wyatt’s a good guy. I’m the prick of the family, but I guess you’ve already figured that out.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.” Zane rocked on the balls of his feet, torn between wanting to storm out and staying to see if Kurt actually had an ounce of decency in him.

  “I’ve handled this all wrong. Sorry.” Kurt held out his hand. “If you stick around, I’ll shut the fuck up.”

  Zane should leave. He wanted to, but something in Kurt’s steady gaze held him back: regret. And if there was one thing Zane knew, he was done living with regrets.

  “Is that a promise?” Zane shook Kurt’s hand, a brief, perfunctory shake, before sitting. “Because you haven’t stopped spinning bullshit since we got here.”

  “Occupational hazard.” Kurt had the grace to look sheepish. “If I’m not bellowing instructions on the field I’m mentoring the newbies off the field. Then there’s the countless interviews and appearances and—”

  “I better start feeling sorry for you some time soon.”

  Kurt grinned. “What can I say? Fame’s a bitch.”

  “Yeah, and I can see your fragile ego i
s handling it so well.”

  This time, Kurt laughed outright. “You know all that shit I said earlier about Aussie Rules football? I was trying to wind you up.” He glanced away, then focused on his beer, intensely interested in the label. “I watched a few games of yours once Dad told me about you. You’re good.” He looked up, admiration in his stare. “You’re a fucking gun.”

  “Thanks.”

  And Zane meant it. Because against his better judgment, he did have something in common with Kurt. Their love of an oval shaped ball.

  “You on the other hand?” Zane shrugged. “From the video clips I’ve seen, your game’s pretty average.”

  Sadly, he couldn’t keep a straight face after delivery and he joined in Kurt’s laughter.

  It felt good to laugh with his half-brother. Great, in fact. Maybe now they’d got past the pissing contest to establish who was the bigger man, they could start down the track of being mates.

  “At the risk of screwing up our bonding session totally, Dad really was cut up about not being here.”

  Just like that, Zane’s mood soured again.

  “You think he’s a mean old bastard, but you’re all he’s talked about since he found out you were coming.” Kurt squirmed, appearing uncomfortable. “It must be shit, having him ignore your existence all these years, but give him a chance, okay?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” Zane said, grudgingly, hating that Christopher wasn’t the one here, begging for forgiveness.

  “Yeah, I guess you are.” Kurt held up his beer. “To friendship. And discovering which football code has the bigger balls.”

  Zane nodded and tapped his beer bottle against his brother’s. “I’ll drink to that.” He took a slug. “But it’s no contest. Aussie Rules wins every time.”

  “Don’t make me beat you.” Kurt grinned.

  “Like to see you try, big guy.”

  With that, they drank their beer, their silence comfortable. Until Zane remembered he had another place to be: holed up in his suite with the woman who may be the first to rock his world.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Chantal didn’t think things could get any worse.