The Tycoon's Stowaway

by Stefanie London

  ‘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 Scott had left Weeping Reef she hadn’t been angry… just guilty because it had all ended so suddenly and because of her inability to control herself. But she’d known deep down that Scott wasn’t the man for her.

  What did that say about Brodie and the way she was feeling now?

  It’s nothing. You had a great time with him, he provided you a nice place to stay, but now it’s back to reality. No more messing around. You’ve got an audition to nail and a job to finish.

  When they arrived back at Newcastle, Brodie didn’t materialise on the lower deck. Chantal decided to avoid him by getting ready for her shift. Smoky shadow made her eyes look wide and alluring… a clear gloss played up her natural pout. The make-up gave her something to hide behind—another persona to help her get through the shift. The patrons of the bar saw only the image she wanted them to see, not the real her.

  But Brodie had seen the real her. The scared girl with too-high expectations, a faltering career and a predisposition for panic attacks. Appealing stuff.

  She bit down on her lip so hard the metallic tang of blood seeped onto her tongue. She couldn’t afford to lose it now. A second audition with the Harbour Dance Company was a sign that she was heading in the right direction. A sign that perhaps everything would turn out the way she wanted it to. Or did she want more than that?

  Her packed bags sat by the kitchen bench. How long had she been living out of a bag now? Too long. The rest of her belongings had been stashed at her mother’s place, with a few extra essentials in the back of her car… if it was still in the bar’s car park after all this time.

  Oddly, she didn’t care. Numbness had taken over the anger, smoothing down the edges of her emotions until she felt smooth and cold. Closed off… the way she preferred it.

  Hoisting her bag over her shoulder, she slipped her feet into a pair of ballet flats and made her way onto the deck. Brodie’s voice floated down from the upper level. He was talking to one of his sisters. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. He had a certain tone for his sisters. Tough, and yet so full of love it made her heart ache. No one spoke to her like that—not even her mother.

  Should she bid him a formal goodbye? Thank him for giving her a place to stay? Probably.

  Instead she left, heading towards the bar with a hard knot rocking the pit of her stomach. Keep going… one foot in front of the other. You need distance and so does he.

  She was doing the right thing. Staying would only be prolonging the inevitable breakdown of their relationship… whatever that was. She didn’t know how to label it.

  At some point he’d been a mere acquaintance, a secret crush. Then a friend. Then a friend with benefits… And now?

  She squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the persistent thumping at the base of her skull. Dancing tonight would be tough, but she had to get through it. Light was most certainly at the end of the tunnel… so long as she kept Brodie out of her head.

  ‘What’s wrong, Brodes? You sound upset.’ Lydia’s voice floated through the phone, her concern twisting something sharp in his chest.

  ‘I’m fine. It’s the sound of relaxation. You know how long it’s been since I took a holiday.’

  ‘Yeah.’ She laughed. ‘You work too hard. You don’t sound relaxed, though.’

  ‘It’s nothing.’<
br />
  ‘Swear?’

  He gritted his teeth. He’d never sworn on a lie to any one of his sisters and he wasn’t about to start now. Perhaps if he didn’t say anything she’d get bored and move on.

  Lydia audibly smirked into the silence. ‘What’s her name?’

  Damn. ‘Her name doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Oh, come on. I don’t get to do the boy thing much—how about a little vicarious living?’

  She said it with such calm acceptance that he wanted to hang up the phone and get to her in any way possible. It wasn’t fair that she didn’t have a boyfriend simply because she couldn’t walk. Although with the way Chantal had left him with a permanent imbalance perhaps it was a good thing.

  ‘Her name is Chantal. She’s a friend.’

  ‘But you want more?’

  ‘No, I don’t. We agreed to keep things… friendly.’ His brow creased. He was so not talking about this with his little sister.

  ‘Do you love her?’

  He hesitated. ‘Of course not. I only have enough love for you guys… There’s only so many women a guy can have in his life before he goes crazy.’

  Lydia huffed and he could practically see her rolling her green eyes at him. ‘You sound like Dad.’

  There was a scary image. I take care of you girls. I don’t run away from my family when the whim takes me.

  ‘When was the last time you heard from Dad?’

  ‘Touché,’ Lydia said with a sigh. ‘Why won’t you be more than friends with Chantal?’

  ‘We’re not having this conversation, Lyds.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Not. Having. This. Conversation.’

  ‘OMG, you’re so boring.’

  He could hear the laughter in her voice and he thanked the heavens that she was having a better day today.

  ‘I miss you.’

  ‘I miss you too.’ There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. ‘I would like it if you got married one day.’

  ‘Marriage isn’t for me.’ He shook his head, wondering how on earth he’d got roped into talking about relationships. ‘Besides, you already have three sisters. You don’t need another one.’

  ‘But I might not get married and I’d like to be in a wedding. Why wouldn’t you want to do it?’

  Brodie swallowed the lump in his throat at the thought of all the things he took for granted. Why wouldn’t he want to do it? Did he even know why? He told himself he didn’t have room in his life for a relationship… but then again Chantal was different from his ex. She wasn’t clingy or needy… quite the opposite! He’d sworn off long-term relationships because he knew he’d have to choose between them and his family. What if he’d been wrong? What if he could have both?

  ‘You’ll get married one day, Lyds. Not until I’ve checked the guy out, though. I’ll need to make sure he’s good enough for you.’

  She laughed. ‘You’d better not scare any potential husbands away.’

  ‘Watch me.’

  He hung up the phone and made a mental note to pop in and see Lydia as soon as he got back to Queensland. Perhaps he’d head back earlier than planned. It wasn’t as if Chantal would be coming back to the boat after their argument. Without her he didn’t have a reason to stay.

  And where would she stay? A cold tremor ran the length of his spine, settling in the pit of his stomach. The bar accommodation wasn’t safe, he believed that even more now after what she’d told him today. He’d noted the single lock on the door while Chantal had packed her bags in front of him. That door needed at least another five locks before it became remotely secure. Not that the cheap wood door would withstand a well-aimed kick or the swing of a crowbar…

  He dropped onto a sun lounger and put his head in his hands. How had it gone downhill so quickly? One minute they were out on the ocean, racing the dolphins, and the next they were yelling at one another. That was definitely not in the vein of their friends-with-benefits arrangement.

  Maybe he could convince her to let him pay for a hotel room. There was a suitable beach resort down the road from the bar. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it would be more secure than her room. He could give her a couple hundred bucks, make sure she was safe, and then leave her the hell alone.

  Would she take the money from him? Not likely, but he had to try. The thought of anything happening to her filled him with cold, hard dread. He cared about her. She was a friend—of course he cared about her. That was normal, wasn’t it?

  He paced the length of the helm, his muscles tightening with each agitated step. Chantal valued her independence, that was for sure, but he had a right to step in if she was endangering herself. It was his duty… as a friend.

  Jogging down the stairs to the lower deck, he went on the hunt for his wallet and phone. She was gone. Her bags were nowhere to be found and the bedroom was so tidy it was as if she’d never been there. But her presence hung in the air like perfume—sweet and memory-triggering. All the scraps of lace that had littered the floor after their various escapades had been removed, and the small pile of her jewellery on his bedside table had vanished too.

  He snatched up his keys from the hook on his bedroom wall and jammed his wallet into the pocket of his shorts. She was going to be royally pissed at him trying to buy her a room, but he didn’t care. Having her angry at him was better than any of the other alternatives. She’d have to deal with her anger. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  BACKSTAGE AT THE BAR, Chantal tried to psych herself up for her performance. Truth was she wanted to run away with her tail between her legs and never come back. But she was a professional, a trooper. She never backed down.

  Part of her wanted to get out there on that stage to prove a point. Brodie had treated her as if she was made of crystal—as if she’d break with the slightest knock. But she didn’t break. She’d been through her share of tough times and she always kept going. No matter what.

  ‘Don’t look so down, honey.’ A blonde girl in a sparkling corset pouted at her. ‘If I had natural boobs like that I wouldn’t be frowning.’

  Chantal instinctively crossed her arms over her chest. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Is this your first time dancing?’

  ‘No, not at all.’ Did she look that nervous? Hell, what had Brodie done to her? She was wound up tighter than a spring.

  ‘It’ll be okay.’ The blonde nodded and gave her shoulder a light pat. The woman’s long silver nails glinted like tiny blades. ‘Don’t let the audience frighten you. They’re big old lugs. Only here for the tits and the booze, never mind that fabulous dancing we all do.’

  Chantal couldn’t help but smile. The blonde gave a little shimmy, flicking the black fringe edging her corset back and forth. Her stockings stopped at mid-thigh, biting into her generous flesh, and she wore black gloves that stretched up over her elbows. She looked at ease with herself… with what she was doing.

  ‘Just have fun. Leave your worries behind!’ She sang the last few words, twirling and shaking her ample booty.

  ‘I think I need to take a leaf out of your book,’ Chantal said, smiling.

  ‘Good idea. I always get a little tipsy before I dance.’ The blonde leaned in conspiratorially. ‘A couple of shots of tequila. Boom! Loose hips.’

  Chantal practised her routine in the small space next to the mirror-lined bench. Sure, this wasn’t the best place on earth, and it wasn’t what she wanted for her career, but she could get through it. To hell with Brodie. She’d be fine and she didn’t need anyone else to take care of her. She would stand on her own two feet.

  The dancer before her gyrated on stage, using the pole to complete some gravity-defying tricks. The audience roared, catcalls and wolf-whistles drowning out all but the heavy thump of the bass. Then it was her turn. She peeked out as the other dancer finished up. The crowd had swelled considerably since she’d first arrived.

  Then she spotted Brodie. He was unmistakable. Sitting in the front row, arm
s folded across his chest, biceps on display… most likely on purpose. The blood drained from her face and her confidence followed it until the world tilted beneath her feet.

  What the hell was he doing here?

  Her music started but her feet were rooted to the ground. Someone shoved her in the back and she stumbled a little as she walked on stage. The audience didn’t seem to notice. They cheered and hooted as she swung her hips, pivoting on one foot with a dainty flick of her hair. Under Brodie’s intense stare she might as well have been naked. His eyes seemed to penetrate her, seeing all that she wanted to conceal.

  He didn’t smile, and his eyes certainly didn’t sparkle the way they normally did. Had she turned him into this hardened lump? Where was the free and easy Brodie she’d fallen for?

  And had she really fallen for him… even after everything that had happened today?

  Confusion made her head fuzzy, the thoughts clashing in her mind. It was nothing—just a fling. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the warring emotions.

  The steps of her choreography eluded her, but she had to keep going. Close to the edge of the stage she felt a hand brush by her—not Brodie’s. A portly man with a heavy beard and mean eyes leered up at her. Her skin crawled and she backed away, still clinging to her stage presence though she was sure she’d never danced so terribly in all her life.

  Brodie had leant over to the man, his face red and indecipherable words falling from his lips. For a moment she would have sworn a fight would break out, but it didn’t. The bass thumped at odd intervals with the pounding in her head… everything unravelled. Fast.

  She rushed off stage before her time was up, ducking her head at the curious stares of the other dancers and ignoring the cutting remarks from the manager as she scuffed her feet into her sneakers and grabbed her keys.

  Outside the change room people swarmed the crowded space of the bar, the smell of beer and body odour making the air heavy and thick. Swallowing against the nausea, she pushed through, swatting away invasive hands and avoiding lingering stares. If she didn’t get outside… Well, it wouldn’t be pretty.

  Brodie had got up from his chair. Chantal spotted him in her peripheral vision but didn’t stop. This was all his fault! He shouldn’t have come here thinking he could distract her, making her look like an idiot in front of all these people. As much as she didn’t care about their opinions, she was still dancing. Forgetting her choreography was unforgivable.