The Tycoon's Stowaway

by Stefanie London

  ‘Family?’ Scott asked with a knowing look. ‘They still driving you crazy?’

  ‘Are they ever?’ He shook his head. ‘I hope for your sake you and Kate only have boys.’

  Brodie’s phone vibrated again.

  You always take her side.

  I do not.

  ‘Is your sister a bit of a handful?’ Rob asked.

  ‘Sisters,’ Brodie corrected. ‘I’ve got four of them—all younger.’

  ‘Jeez.’ Rob let out a low whistle. ‘Your parents must have been gluttons for punishment.’

  ‘Not really,’ Scott chipped in. ‘Brodie always did most of the work with them.’

  ‘Just doing my job.’ Brodie waved off the comment. He’d done what any big brother would have. His father’s absence had left a gaping hole in his sisters’ lives. If he hadn’t looked after them who would have?

  ‘Family comes first, but you have to find some balance,’ Rob said.

  Brodie shrugged. ‘The rest of my life is pretty carefree. I sail when I feel like it, work on my business, cruise around the country. Meet lots of interesting people.’

  ‘Brodie has never had any trouble meeting interesting people.’ Scott rolled his eyes and turned to Rob. ‘He used to have the girls falling at his feet when we were all at the reef.’

  ‘It’s the tatts,’ Brodie replied. ‘Something about a little ink makes them go crazy.’

  ‘What’s that about tattoos?’ Willa wandered over and immediately tucked herself against Rob.

  Rob gave her a squeeze and grinned. ‘Apparently girls go gaga for Brodie’s ink. What do you think, Willa?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s just the ink,’ she said, smirking.

  ‘Should I be getting jealous?’ There wasn’t a hint of jealousy in Rob’s voice, but Willa shook her head anyway. She only had eyes for Rob, anyone could see that.

  The rest of the girls had filtered out of the cabin and now joined the discussion. Rob took the opportunity to make Brodie squirm.

  ‘What do you think, Chantal? Tatts or no tatts?’ His eyes glittered and he fought back a smile when Brodie shot daggers at him.

  ‘On the right guy it looks good,’ she responded carefully, her eyes flicking from Brodie to Rob and back again, as though she were trying to work out who’d instigated the suggestive discussion. ‘Though looks aren’t everything.’

  ‘Aren’t they?’ joked Kate, flipping her long red ponytail over one shoulder as she laughed at Scott’s serious face. ‘Joking!’

  This time the group wasn’t crashing on the yacht. Scott and Kate were staying at a hotel for the night, Amy and Jessica were going to continue the festivities at a local bar, and Willa and Rob were retiring back to their newly rented penthouse.

  But what about Chantal?

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to join us, Brodie?’ Amy asked with a coy smile.

  ‘I would love to party it up with you lovely ladies, but I have training tomorrow.’ Brodie pulled Amy in for a friendly hug. ‘Literally at the crack of dawn—and you know how much I hate mornings.’

  She grinned. ‘How about you, Chantal?’

  Brodie held his breath. This was it. If she stayed then he would do everything in his power to make her come—over and over and over.

  She shifted on her strappy tan heels and raked a hand through her long, wavy hair.

  ‘I’ve got work tomorrow.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘I think I’m going to need all my energy for it.’

  Amy stifled a smile and nodded.

  The crew filtered off the boat, leaving Brodie and Chantal completely alone. She hovered by his side, refusing to look up at him. Not that it mattered where she looked, so long as it was his name on her lips.

  ‘I hope you weren’t serious about needing energy tomorrow,’ he said as they waved the group off. ‘You’re not getting any sleep tonight.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  WAS SHE MAKING a colossal mistake? Her body seemed to think not. In fact her body acted as though it had been served up a certifiable slice of heaven, complete with whipped cream, cherries and sprinkles.

  ‘Sleep is for the weak.’

  His hands found her waist and pulled her close. Air rushed from her lungs with the delicious contact. His pelvis was hard against her, the ridge of his burgeoning erection pressing into her belly through the thin material of her dress.

  His full lips curved into an impossibly sexy smile. ‘I’m glad we’re on the same page.’

  ‘We will be if we never speak of this again.’

  ‘Romantic,’ he quipped. ‘I like it.’

  She ran her palms up the front of his chest, feeling the smooth cotton of his shirt glide against her skin. Each muscle in his chest was crisply defined, all hardness and athletic perfection. Her fingers hovered at the top button, tracing the outline in slow, deliberate circles.

  ‘I don’t want anything beyond one night. Clear?’

  ‘Crystal.’

  Chantal swallowed, Brodie had agreed more readily than she’d expected. But that was the kind of guy he was, the kind of life he led—easygoing, breezy, sans strings. She shouldn’t be disappointed.

  ‘Any more rules I should be aware of?’ he asked, trailing feather-light kisses from her temple to her jaw.

  In heels, she didn’t feel quite so small next to him—though he still had a head on her. Perhaps she’d leave the heels on.

  A wicked smile curved her lips. ‘Ladies first.’

  ‘Hmm…’ The throaty growl was hot against her neck. ‘A woman after my own heart.’

  She thrust her hands into his hair and wrenched his face down to hers, slanting her mouth over his and stripping away any doubts, fears or reservations with a hot, combative kiss. He came back with equal force, his hands sliding down her back until they cupped her behind and forced her against him.

  He was hard, salty and heavenly. She moaned, the sound lost between them.

  A chorus of cheers and laughter from a neighbouring boat broke them apart.

  A giggle bubbled up between her heavy breaths and Chantal pressed her hands to burning cheeks. ‘Looks like we’re putting on a bit of a show.’

  ‘You are a performance artist.’

  Brodie lifted her and she instinctively wrapped her legs around him, groaning as her centre made contact with the hard length beneath his jeans.

  ‘But now it’s time for a private show.’

  He walked them into the cabin, through the lounge and to the bedroom. His bedroom. A huge bed dominated the centre of the room. It was a hell of a lot bigger than Chantal had imagined it would be on a boat. It was a bed not made for sleeping but for hot, Kama Sutra–referencing, scream-at-the-top-of-your-lungs sex.

  Brodie turned and sat on the edge of the bed, still holding her so that she was in his lap. The friction of his jeans against the wispy material of her underwear drove her crazy. She bucked, rolling her hips to increase the pressure. His mouth came down on hers, lush and open and intoxicating.

  ‘Dance for me,’ he growled.

  Cheeks burning, she pushed hard against his chest so he toppled back. She straddled him, grinding her hips in a slow circular motion. ‘But it’s so good here.’

  ‘I want to watch you.’

  ‘You only get to watch when I say so.’ She echoed her words from earlier in the day, heat flooding her body and throbbing out of control.

  His eyes blazed like green fire and darkness. ‘I’ll make it worth your while.’

  ‘How?’ The question escaped her lips before she could think, before she could reason. She needed to hear his answer. Needed to absorb the experience of being with him through her every sense.

  Warm palms slid up her thighs, bunching blue material around her waist. His hand brushed her sex, sending a jolt of pleasure through her. Toying with the edge of her underwear, he traced the pattern on the lace with his fingertip.

  ‘If you can walk, talk or function on any level tomorrow then I haven’t done my job.’

  Her lips trem
bled. It wasn’t enough. She wanted detail. She wanted all of it with a greedy, hedonistic gluttony.

  ‘More.’

  ‘I’m going to take you to the point where you think there’s nothing left and I’m going to make you beg.’ His eyes were wild, his pulse throbbing in his neck. ‘I’m going to make you forget any word you’ve ever spoken except for my name. I’m going to be the only thing you know. I’m going to be your everything.’

  ‘Brodie…’ she whispered, the throbbing between her legs ceaseless. She ached to the point of pain. It had been so long… so very long.

  ‘Dance for me.’ His voice was rough, scratched up and torn apart with desire.

  She pushed back, balancing on her heels and taking a step away from the bed. Her hands trembled, and her mouth was suddenly devoid of moisture as her hips swayed to a non-existent beat.

  She wasn’t passionate… her dancing wasn’t passionate. Hadn’t that been Derek’s parting shot as he’d walked out of their house for the last time?

  ‘You’re a technical dancer, Chantal, but you’re all business. No passion. No one wants to watch that. You’ll never make it without me.’

  Her throat closed in on itself, her heart jackhammering against her ribs. This was Brodie—not her controlling, possessive ex-husband. Smoking hot, life-loving Brodie. She could be herself around him because tomorrow this wouldn’t exist. This would never have happened.

  Safe in the impermanence of their situation, she ran her hands up her body, over the curve of her bust, the ridges of her collarbones, the column of her neck, into her hair. Fingers divided the strands, shaking her hair out until it fell around her shoulders.

  ‘God, Chantal…’ Her name was a strangled plea on his lips. ‘Your body is incredible.’

  She reached for the hidden zip that ran down the side of her rib cage, drawing it open with agonising slowness. Cool air rushed in, tickling her exposed skin. Stepping closer to him, she pulled him into a sitting position and dragged his hands to her hips so he could feel the movement.

  Her head tilted back. There was nothing but the invisible beat and his hands on her. He pulled her between his legs, thrusting the dress up over her hips. His lips made contact with the flat of her belly above the waistband of her black lacy underwear. His tongue flicked out, filled with the promise of what was to come.

  She yanked the dress over her head and flung it away.

  ‘Perfection,’ he breathed, and the hot air caressed the apex of her thighs.

  His hand slid up over her rib cage to clasp her naked breast. Deft fingers toyed with her already hardened nipple, wringing a low moan from the back of her throat.

  ‘Your turn.’ She reached for his shirt, unbuttoning him quickly, urgently.

  ‘You’re far too good at that,’ he chuckled, blackened eyes looking up at her.

  ‘Dance costumes—fiddly buttons are no match for my fingers.’

  ‘You do have beautiful fingers.’ He pulled one of her hands to his lips and kissed each fingertip in turn. ‘Beautiful palms.’

  His mouth was hot in the centre of her hand, tracing a line over her wrist and up to her elbow.

  ‘Beautiful everything.’

  ‘Don’t distract me.’ She pushed the shirt from his shoulders, exposing golden skin stretched tight over a wall of muscle.

  The cross tattoo caught her eye. She bent to kiss it, her hands falling to his belt. She wrenched at the closure, making his hips jerk forward as she released the belt.

  ‘Easy, girl.’ He covered her hands with his as she lowered the zip.

  Within seconds he was completely naked. Ink covered more of his body than she remembered. The cross on his chest had been joined by scrolling words down the side of his rib cage and another anchor lower down, with numbers surrounding it. The sharp V of muscle drew her eyes… then her hands, then her mouth.

  Her fingers brushed over the hard length of him, tracing the tip before she sank to her knees and drew him into her mouth. The mixture of earthy masculine scents and the subtle taste of him intoxicated her.

  ‘Didn’t I say easy girl?’ he moaned, his hands fisting in her hair. She wasn’t sure if he meant to hold her in place or pull her away.

  She ran her tongue along the length of him before looking up. ‘I heard you. I just didn’t listen.’

  ‘Come here.’

  He hauled her on top of him, tilting them both back so that she straddled his hips. The hard weight of his erection dug into her thigh.

  ‘We’ve got the whole night. You’re not rushing me.’

  Stretching his hand back, he found the drawer beside his bed and produced a foil packet. He reached down, sheathed himself, and before she knew what was happening he thrust up into her. The sudden movement was the perfect blend of pleasure and shock… with the tiniest, most delicate hint of pain.

  Strong arms held her flat against him, her breasts pushed up against his chest, her lips at his neck. Each moan shot fire through her, and each thrust of his hips bumped her most sensitive part, making her body hum. Orgasm welled within her, climbing, peaking and pushing.

  His hands were in her hair again, yanking her face up to his so his lips could slant over hers. Teeth tugged at her mouth, the taste of him drawing her closer and closer to release. She ground against him. So close… so close.

  ‘Come for me, Chantal. I want to feel you shake around me.’ His voice was tight, his breath coming in hard bursts.

  ‘Brodie…’ Her voice trembled, release a hair’s width away.

  ‘Scream for me.’

  And she did.

  On and on and on she cried out his name, eyes clamped shut, fists bunched in the pillow, face pressed against his neck. The bubble burst and she tumbled down, down, down. As she clamped around him he found his own release, groaning long and low into her hair.

  Silence washed over them. The air was cool on their sweat-dampened skin. He held her close, clinging on as if he wanted to stay that way forever. She didn’t move in case he let go.

  He could officially die a happy man. The gentle weight of her comforted him. One of her legs had wound around his; her foot was tucked against his calf. As her breathing slowed he stroked her hair, breathing in the heady scent of her perfume mingled with perspiration and sex.

  Beside his head her hands were still clutching the pillow. Outside, Saturday-night parties raged on, contrasting with inside, where a hazy silence had settled over them.

  ‘That was okay, I guess,’ she mumbled against his neck, chuckling when he turned to look her in the eye. ‘If you like that kind of thing.’

  Glossy dark strands of hair covered half her face and he pushed them aside, drinking in her drugged gaze with satisfaction. Her lips were swollen and parted, her cheeks bright pink. Tracing her lower lip with his thumb, he brought her head down for a slow, teasing kiss.

  ‘And do you like that sort of thing?’

  ‘Nah—orgasms are overrated.’ She grinned, pushing herself up so she straddled his hips.

  The view was pretty damn good from this angle.

  ‘Blasphemy.’

  ‘Total blasphemy.’ She planted a kiss on the tip of his nose and traced the lines of his latest tattoo. ‘This is new.’

  ‘It’s twelve months old.’

  ‘“In the waves of change we find our true direction”.’ She read the words that had been etched onto him forever. ‘That’s beautiful. Why that quote?’

  ‘I thought it made me sound intelligent,’ he joked, hiding his sudden vulnerability with a wink.

  How did she do that? She had a homing beacon aimed straight for his most sensitive areas… and not the good kind!

  She smirked. ‘What’s the real reason?’

  ‘I felt like I needed a reminder that change is necessary… healthy.’ He sighed, and rolled so that she came down and landed on the bed next to him.

  He’d meant to move away, but her body immediately curled into his, finding the groove between his arm and his chest. It felt so damn good t
o have her by his side, to finally be able to wrap his arms around her without the guilt of the past. He only had one night—he might as well let himself enjoy it.

  What if one night wasn’t enough?

  Bookings were piling up. He’d be sailing back to Queensland soon enough to bury himself in work and his family. Even if they did stretch this fiasco on for more than a night his time here had a solid end date. Normally that was what he liked. But he wasn’t experiencing his usual sense of relief at their ring-fenced sleeping arrangements.

  ‘Do you think you need to change?’

  ‘Everyone needs to change,’ he replied, running a fingertip up and down her arm.

  ‘What do you want to change?’

  He laughed, shaking his head. ‘What’s with the twenty questions? I thought I’d signed on for a night of steamy sex—not the Spanish Inquisition.’

  ‘Is that so?’ She reached for him, the brush of her fingertips hardening him. ‘What if I’m done?’

  ‘I’ll say when you’re done.’

  Rolling on top of her, he mentally thanked the king-size bed for its endless space.

  Pinned, she tilted her face up at him, a defiant glint in her eye. ‘You’re not the boss of me,’ she said.

  Yeah, right. He had her exactly where he wanted her. Kissing his way down her neck, he sucked on her skin, only stopping to draw a still-hard nipple into his mouth. Her breasts were perfect: smallish, but firm, topped with bronzed peaks that were oh-so-responsive to his touch. She arched, stifling a groan. He licked, nipped, tugged until she let out the heavenly sounds of pleasure.

  ‘That’s it,’ he murmured against her breast. ‘Don’t keep that wonderful sound from me. I want to hear you.’

  ‘Bossy boots.’ Her head lolled back against the pillow. Her eyes were closed, but a wicked smile curved her lips.

  ‘Damn straight.’

  ‘We were talking.’ Strong fingers gripped his hair, pulling his head up so she could look down her body at him.

  ‘And now we’re not.’

  ‘Why are you so averse to talking?’

  ‘I’m not averse, but I prefer touching you.’ To illustrate his point he kissed a trail down to her hip, swirling his tongue over the slightly protruding bone.