The Tycoon's Stowaway

‘Bad ideas are the most fun.’

She stepped backwards, cheeks flushed, lips pursed. ‘Come on—we’re missing all the action out there. I want to dance.’

Only someone like Brodie would think bad ideas were fun. She could list her bad ideas like a how-to guide for stuffing up your life—have the hots for your boyfriend’s BFF, pick the wrong guy to marry, lose focus on your career.

No, bad ideas were most definitely not fun.

Brodie was smoking hot, and it was clear that their chemistry still sizzled like nothing else, but that didn’t mean she could indulge herself. He was still a bad idea, and she’d established that bad ideas were a thing of the past… well, once she’d got out of her current contract anyway.

If only she could tell her heart to stop thudding as if a dubstep track ran through her body, then she would be on her way to being fine. The throbbing between her legs was another matter entirely.

She stepped onto the deck, wondering for a moment if she’d dreamed herself onto his boat. The ocean had been engulfed by the night, but the air still held a salty tang. The smell reminded her of home… and of Brodie.

Shaking her head, she approached the girls. Kate extended her hand to Chantal and drew her in. She had decided almost immediately that she liked the gorgeous, witty redhead, and it was clear neither she nor Scott held any ill feelings towards her. It was a relief, all things considered.

‘And where were you?’ Willa eyed her with a salacious grin, her cheeks pink from champagne and dancing. She brushed her heavy fringe out of her eyes and swayed to the music.

‘Just getting a refill.’ The champagne was still fresh on her tongue… her mind was blurred pleasantly around the edges.

‘Riiiight.’ Willa smirked.

Chantal could feel Brodie close behind her, his hands brushing her hips every so often. Everything about the moment replicated that dance eight years ago. The alcohol rushed to her head, weakening the bonds of her control. The heat from his body drew her in, forcing her to him as if by magnetic force.

‘I always said pretty girls shouldn’t have to dance on their own,’ he murmured into her ear.

‘And I always said I would never fall for your cheesy lines.’ She turned her head slightly, meaning to give him the brush-off, but his arm snaked around her waist and closed the gap between them. Her butt pressed against his pelvis and she resisted the urge to rock against him. ‘Besides, I’m not on my own.’

‘I know. You’re with me.’

He spun her around and drew her to him. In sneakers, she could almost reach his collarbone with her lips, and she had an urge to kiss the tattoo that peeked out of his top. She was always fascinated by ink. The idea of permanence appealed to her. But life had taught her that everything was fleeting: money, success, love…

‘I’m not with you, Brodie. You should stop confusing fantasy with reality.’

‘It’s hard to do when you have all that black make-up on.’

Her cheeks flamed and he laughed, holding her tight. It was all she could do to remain upright. With each knock of his hips, his knees, his thighs, her resolve weakened. Maybe one kiss wouldn’t hurt—just so she could see if it was as good as she’d always imagined. Just so she could see if he tasted as amazing as he smelled.

His hand skated around her hip, a finger slipping under the hem of her tank top to trace the line of skin above her shorts. She squeezed her legs together and willed the throbbing to stop. Clearly she had a little pent-up frustration to deal with, but that wasn’t an excuse to let Brodie unravel her.