The Tycoon's Stowaway

by Stefanie London

  ‘Let’s head back,’ he said, turning in the direction from which they’d come. ‘I’m ready for my winner’s breakfast.’

  The tinkling of cutlery mingled with the rush of waves on the shoreline below. Tea light candles flickered in the gentle ocean breeze, and the smell of sea air mixed with the mouth-watering smells of steak and freshly cooked seafood.

  ‘What’s up?’ Scott took a swig of his beer. ‘You seem tense.’

  Brodie had almost forgotten that Scott and Kate had agreed to make the trek up to Newcastle for a drink that night, at one of the beach hotels run by Brodie’s friend. Once Kate had caught wind that Chantal was staying on the boat she’d insisted they make it a double date of sorts. Having Chantal there meant he couldn’t forget their run earlier that day—couldn’t stop her comment swirling around in his head, kicking up all the memories and feelings he’d buried long ago.

  I haven’t fallen for you, Brodie. You’re just good in bed.

  In no possible situation should that have upset him… but he was off-kilter. Agitation flowed through him like a disruptive current, causing him to drum his fingers at the edge of the table where the group sat. Since when was being good in bed a bad thing?

  ‘Maybe all this water is turning your brain to sludge.’ Scott gestured towards Brodie’s tall glass of mineral water. ‘Why don’t you have a beer?’

  ‘The race is next week and I’ve reached my quota of indulgence.’ He put on a fake smile and hoped that Scott had consumed enough beers not to look too hard. ‘I’m winning that bet.’

  The girls had gone to the bar for more refreshments. They stood side by side, giggling and chatting animatedly. Chantal’s short black skirt skimmed the backs of her thighs, leaving miles of long tanned legs gleaming in the golden early-evening light. Her shoulders were barely contained in a flowing white top with small gold flowers. A small tug would be all it would take to free her, to expose her breasts to his mouth.

  Brodie watched as they fended off an enthusiastic approach from a group of guys who appeared to be on a bucks’ night.

  ‘Maybe I should see if the girls need a hand,’ Brodie said, frowning.

  ‘She’s got to you again, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Huh?’

  Scott laughed, slapping him hard on the back. ‘Oh, man, I didn’t realise how bad it was. You get this look on your face when she’s around—don’t know how I missed it back at the reef.’

  ‘You’re full of crap.’

  ‘You’re an open book.’ Scott’s fist landed hard on his bicep. ‘And when it comes to Chantal—’

  ‘It’s just sex.’ Good sex, according to Chantal, but just sex.

  ‘Yeah, and a half marathon is just a run.’ Scott narrowed his eyes, studying Brodie in that analytical way of his.

  ‘You know me. I don’t do relationships. Surf, sand, bikinis—that’s what it’s all about.’

  ‘Maybe before.’ Scott shrugged. ‘Doesn’t explain why you look like you’re about to snap the table in two because some guys are talking to her.’

  Brodie looked down. Sure enough, his white-knuckled grip on the table was a little unusual. ‘Says you. I thought you were going to deck me that time I danced with Kate.’

  ‘I thought I was too. And why was that, huh?’ Scott chuckled. ‘Anyway, I’m not letting you get away with changing the subject. You helped me and now it’s my turn to help you.’

  ‘I don’t need help.’ Brodie let go of the table and ran his palms down the front of his jeans.

  ‘You don’t want help, but you damn well need it.’

  The girls arrived back at the table, champagne in hand, plus a beer for Scott and another mineral water for Brodie.

  ‘How does it feel, being a teetotaller?’ Kate asked, flipping her long red hair over one shoulder.

  ‘It’s temporary. I don’t think I could handle it long-term.’ Brodie twisted the cap on his bottle, waiting for the rush of bubbles to die down before removing it. ‘But temporarily it’s okay. I can handle temporary things.’

  Scott kicked him under the table and rolled his eyes. Okay, so maybe subtlety wasn’t his strong suit. Nervous energy coursed through him, making the words in his head stumble and trip over one another. Kate eyed him curiously and Chantal pretended to be deeply involved in something on her phone.

  Brodie contemplated smoothing things over, but his own phone vibrated against the table. Home.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hey, Brodie.’ The voice of his youngest sister, Ellen, came through the line. Her voice was pinched—a sure-fire sign that she was about a hair’s breadth away from flipping out about something.

  ‘What’s up, Ellie-pie?’

  ‘It’s Lydia, she’s had a down day. She won’t eat her dinner. Mum’s at work, but she said I had to make sure Lydia eats.’

  The words ran into one another, and the wobble in her voice twisted like a knife in his stomach.

  ‘Where are the twins?’

  Sniffle. ‘Jenny’s at a party and Adriana hasn’t come home from uni.’

  ‘Put Lydia on the phone. I’ll get her to eat.’

  Within moments he’d convinced his sister to have at least a salad, even if she didn’t want a full meal. It was hard for all of them to look after Lydia on her down days. There were times when she point-blank refused food and water for hours on end… sometimes days. He remembered a particularly bad patch when she’d ended up so dehydrated he’d had to rush her to the emergency ward. All she’d wanted was her dad—but of course they hadn’t been able to get hold of him. Typical.

  Perhaps he should sail home early. It was hard for him to be away. Normally he spent more time in the office running his business than on a boat. This was the longest he’d been away for some time. His stomach curled.

  He hung up the phone, receiving a text almost immediately from Ellen with THANK YOU! xx in big capital letters. He loved his sisters more than anything, and right now he felt as if he was being a terrible big brother by taking time off for himself.

  ‘Family emergency sorted,’ he said, forcing a jovial tone as he returned to the table.

  Chantal sipped her champagne, watching him quietly. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Fine.’

  He looked out to the picture-perfect view of the beach slowly being drowned in darkness. Vulnerability wasn’t something he did well—he didn’t want her to see that he was anything but his usual cool, calm self. ‘Just sex’ didn’t involve feelings or spilling your guts about family stuff… no more than he had already, anyway. In his defence, that had been to comfort her—not because he’d needed to get it off his chest.

  ‘I should probably head off,’ Chantal said, downing the rest of her drink and reaching out to give Kate a friendly hug. ‘Thanks for the company.’

  ‘Are you still dancing at the bar?’ Scott asked, looking from her to Brodie and back again.

  ‘Yep—I still need to make a living, don’t I?’ She seemed more comfortable about it than she had previously, there was light at the end of the tunnel. Her contract would run out eventually, and Brodie would make sure she didn’t sign on for more work there.

  ‘Don’t let the creeps get you down,’ Kate said.

  ‘Creeps?’ Brodie asked, his protective sensors going off.

  ‘It’s nothing.’ Chantal shot Kate a look. ‘You’ve seen the place. The clientele isn’t exactly the picture of genteel politeness.’

  ‘I’ll meet you out the front when you finish,’ Brodie said.

  Chantal shook her head, shooting him a warning look as if to remind him of their argument last night. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘I’ll meet you out the front.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  THOUGH SUMMER HAD drawn to a close a few weeks back, the air still hung heavy with humidity. Brodie stood by the railing outside the bar, waiting for Chantal to appear. He’d spent a good five minutes deciding whether or not to go in, but the temptation of hauling her off the stage had been too much to bear, and
he didn’t want to show her he was having doubts about his feelings towards the temporary nature of their arrangement.

  Instead he waited outside, fending off requests for cigarettes, wishing that somehow Chantal had wriggled her way out of the contract. He wasted the time away by texting Ellen, hoping that she didn’t hold his absence against him.

  ‘I’m with someone.’

  Chantal’s voice caught him by surprise. He whipped around and saw her backing away from a big guy whose tank top said ‘Team Bogan’. The guy looked at Brodie, sizing him up.

  ‘See.’ Chantal gestured to Brodie. ‘This is my boyfriend—Axl.’

  Brodie raised a brow. Axl… really? The guy lumbered away, distracted by a group of girls who didn’t appear to have boyfriends waiting for them. Chantal used the opportunity to jog over to him, and sling her arm around his waist.

  ‘Axl was the best you could do?’ He shook his head. ‘Never picked you for a Guns N’ Roses fan.’

  ‘Sorry.’ She laughed, holding on to him as they made their way out of the bar’s parking lot. ‘The band was playing one of their songs as I was walking out. Mum used to listen to them all the time when I was young.’

  ‘Better than the music I listened to growing up. Mum was a huge country fan—I hated it.’

  Stars winked at them from the inky sky. Away from the hustle and bustle of Sydney the darkness wasn’t diluted by the glow from skyscrapers and headlights. It reminded him of home—of the outdoorsy beauty of Queensland he’d grown to love after returning home from Weeping Reef.

  ‘Have you talked to the guy who runs the bar about skipping out early?’

  Chantal shook her head. ‘No, and I haven’t heard back about my audition yet, so I’m not giving up a paying job if there isn’t something else to go to.’

  ‘I’ll lend you some money.’

  ‘Over my dead body.’ She tucked close against him as they walked, melting into him though her tone still revealed a touch of hesitation. ‘It’s kind of you to offer but I don’t take loans—especially when I’m unsure how long it will take me to pay it back.’

  ‘I know you’re good for it.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. I’ll finish out this contract, see where I am, and figure out my next move.’

  ‘Why are you so against asking for help?’ he asked drily.

  ‘I don’t need charity.’

  They walked through the yacht club and down to where his boat was docked. On board, they sat on the cosy leather-lined seat that curved around the deck. Chantal found a spot next to him, sitting with her head and shoulders resting against his chest. He draped his arm over her and skimmed his fingers along her stomach. It was frighteningly intimate and comfortable. Familiar.

  ‘Haven’t you heard the saying Many hands make light work?’

  ‘Some of those hands get burned,’ she said. ‘I prefer doing things on my own. That’s how it was growing up and I like my independence. Nothing wrong with that.’

  ‘There’s a difference between being independent and being stubborn to the point of self-detriment.’

  ‘Asking for help hasn’t ever got me anywhere to date. I trust the wrong people.’

  ‘Do you think it’s wrong to trust me?’

  ‘I trust you as much as I’ll ever trust anyone, but I’m still my own person. I do my own thing. That’s why this isn’t anything but two friends enjoying one another while it lasts.’

  ‘Right.’

  Raucous laughter floated on the breeze from a neighbouring boat. Chantal shifted against him, stroking his knuckles with her fingertips. It was a light touch, casual in its intimacy, and yet it flooded him with awareness. She was far from being out of his system. If anything, she’d burrowed herself deep without even trying. Without wanting to.

  He couldn’t be falling for her—not when he had a life and a family in Queensland to get back to and she had a dream to follow. Different worlds. Disconnected goals. They were wrong, wrong, wrong.

  ‘Was everything really okay with your family today?’

  A lump lodged in his throat. He didn’t want to talk about that now—not when Chantal had made it clear that there was nothing real between them. But then he would be a hypocrite, wouldn’t he? He couldn’t berate her for not accepting help if she was willing to lend an ear and he didn’t take it.

  ‘Nothing major. Lydia was having a bad day. It happens every so often.’ He rested his cheek against the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her faded flowery perfume and his coconut shampoo in her hair. ‘Ellen was on her own, trying to deal with it. But she’s only a kid herself—she needed help.’

  ‘Ellen’s the youngest, right?’

  ‘Yeah. She’s a good kid—they all are.’ He swallowed against the lump in his throat. ‘After the accident I was the one who looked after Lydia on a day-to-day basis. She listens to me. Whereas she’s big sister to the other girls and yet feels like she can’t do anything for them because of her paraplegia.’

  ‘I bet she’s grateful she had a big brother to take care of her.’

  ‘She would have preferred to have Dad around. If that didn’t make him come home nothing would. But the world didn’t stop turning because she couldn’t walk any more.’ He sighed. ‘Mum still had to bring home the bacon… the girls still had to get to school. I was the one who made sure she got to her appointments, made sure she did her exercises, helped her while she was still adjusting to her wheelchair.’

  ‘That must have been tough.’ Her hand curled into his and she snuggled farther down against him.

  ‘It’s hard to be away from them. Mum’s always working, and Dad just…’ He shook his head. ‘The guy can barely manage a call on their birthdays. He’ll disappear for months at a time, then show up out of the blue—usually because he needs money.’

  ‘Where does he disappear to?’

  ‘Who knows? He’s a painter, the creative type, and he always seems to be off somewhere unreachable. Then he comes back, tries to make amends with Mum, and it goes well for a while until he asks for money.’ Brodie cursed under his breath. ‘Every time it happens he breaks the girls’ hearts all over again… Mum’s included.’

  ‘And your mum’s okay with him coming and going?’

  ‘Not really—she did divorce him after all. But she puts her feelings for him before the girls.’ Brodie laughed, the sound sharp and hollow. ‘See? I told you my family wasn’t picture perfect.’

  ‘You don’t have to be the parent. You do know that, right?’

  But he did have to. Whether he liked it or not, he was responsible for looking after those girls. They relied on him—on his advice, on his life experience, on his care. Especially Lydia.

  ‘You shouldn’t feel guilty for taking a little time away,’ she continued. ‘You have to live your own life.’

  ‘I am living my own life. I’m here, away from home, seeing my friends and spending time with you.’

  ‘And you feel guilty as all hell, don’t you?’

  How could she read him like that? Silky hair brushed against his cheek. Her body was warm beneath his hands. How could she read him as though they were far more than friends who happened to be having very casual, very temporary sex?

  ‘I have a sense of obligation to my family. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t care?’

  ‘I’m not saying you should stop caring. But there are varying levels—it’s not all or nothing.’ She pushed up, leaning out of his grip. ‘Your dad is the one who needs to step up, here—he needs to commit to being a father.’

  ‘Only when hell freezes over.’

  ‘Have you ever talked to him about it?’

  ‘No point.’ He shook his head, tightening his grip on her.

  In that moment she anchored him. Her questions were digging deep within him. Unlocking the emotion he’d tried to keep buried, allowing him to feel angry about his father. To see that he’d been suppressing the hurt in order to be a rock for his sisters and his mother.

  ‘Why?
Do you think he deserves to shirk his responsibilities and have you pick up the pieces?’

  ‘Of course not. But that doesn’t mean I can let the girls go without.’

  ‘No, but maybe you’re in a position to try and push your father in the right direction.’ She sighed. ‘It might allow you to have a little more breathing room… to have the life that you want.’

  ‘I have everything I want.’ He gestured to the air. ‘Got my boat, got my business. I don’t want anything else.’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  Pink flashed in front of his eyes as her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. She played with the ends of her hair, twirling the strands into a bun and then letting them spiral out around her shoulders.

  ‘Is that all you want out of life?’

  Wrapping her arms around herself, she shivered. Tiny ridges of goosebumps patterned her skin.

  ‘Let’s go inside. I don’t want you getting sick.’ He held out a hand and she took it without hesitation. ‘Although maybe that would be a good way to get you out of that contract.’

  ‘I’m not getting out of the contract.’ She followed him to the kitchen, perching herself on a bar stool. ‘I have a sense of obligation too, you know.’

  ‘There’s no doubt in my mind about that.’

  ‘Why do you say it like that?’

  ‘Your career before everything else. I have no doubt it’s the most important thing in your life.’

  ‘It is.’ She tilted her head, watching him as he flicked on the coffee machine and pulled two cups from the cupboard. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘I think your career is like my family. It’s important… sometimes too important.’

  ‘So you agree you need space from your family?’ She grinned, swinging her legs.

  ‘That’s about as much agreement as you’ll get from me.’

  ‘You’re so stubborn!’

  ‘Ha! You should take a look in the mirror some time.’

  The coffee machine hissed, steam billowing out of the nozzle in coils of white condensation. Black liquid ran into the cups, filling the air with a rich, roasted scent. He splashed milk into the first cup and handed it to Chantal. A grin spread over her lips and she blew on the steam, waiting for him to make the first move.