The Complete Red-Hot Collection. Kelly Hunter

like sin and punishment and all kinds of heavenly temptation rolled into one.

      Brodie stepped forward, indulging himself in the sight of her widening eyes and parted lips. She didn’t step back. Instead she stilled, and the air between them was charged with untameable electricity—wild and crackling and furious as a stormy ocean. She tilted her head up, looking him directly in the eye.

      Brodie leant forward. ‘I did see you first.’

      ‘It doesn’t work like that.’ Her voice was a mere whisper, and she said it as though convincing herself. ‘It’s not finders keepers.’

      ‘What is it, then?’

      ‘It’s nothing.’

      He grabbed her wrist, his fingers wrapping around the delicate joint so that his fingertips lay over the tender flesh on the inside of her arm. He could feel her pulse hammering like a pump working at full speed, the beats furious and insistent.

      ‘It’s not nothing.’

      She tried to pull her wrist back. ‘It’s the champagne.’

      ‘Liar.’

      A wicked smile broke out across her face as she downed her entire drink. A stray droplet escaped the corner of her mouth and she caught it with her tongue. God, he wanted to kiss her.

      ‘It’s the champagne.’

      ‘Well, if you keep drinking it like that…’

      ‘I might get myself into trouble?’ She pulled a serious face, her cheeks flushed with the alcohol.

      She’d looked like this the night he’d danced with her at Weeping Reef. Chantal had always been the serious type—studious and sensible until she’d had a drink or two. Then the hardness seemed to melt away, she loosened up, and the playful side came out. If she’d been tempting before, she was damn near impossible to resist now.

      ‘You always seem to treat trouble like it’s a bad idea.’ He divested her of her champagne flute before tugging her to him.

      ‘Isn’t that the definition of trouble?’ Her hands hovered at his chest, barely touching him.

      He shouldn’t be pulling her strings the way he usually did when he wanted a girl. He liked to wind them up first. Tease them… get them to laugh. Relax their boundaries. He was treating Chantal as if he wanted to sleep with her… and he did.

      He was in for a world of pain, but he couldn’t stop himself.

      ‘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.

      Chantal spun back around and stepped out of his grip. The others had started to drift away. Kate and Scott had retired into the cabin; Amy and Jessica were finishing off the last of the bubbles and sat with their legs dangling over the edge of the boat. Willa was sitting next to them, her phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear.

      ‘What are you going to do now, Little Miss Perfect?’ Brodie’s lips brushed her ear. ‘It’s just us.’

      His fingertip traced from the base of her ear down her neck, until he plucked at the strap of her tank top. She burned all over with hot, achy, unfulfilled need. The music had been turned down but the bass still rumbled inside her, urging her to swing her hips and brush against him.

      ‘I’m dancing.’

      ‘You’re taunting me.’

      The unabashed arousal in his voice tore at the last shreds of her sanity, and with each throaty word she came further undone.

      It had been so long since she’d been with anyone—so long since she’d experienced any kind of pleasure like this. Just one kiss… just one taste.

      She turned, gathering all her energy to say no, but when his hands cupped her face the protest died on her lips. He came down to her with agonising slowness, and rather than crushing his mouth against hers he teased her with a feather-light touch.

      ‘All that teasing isn’t nice, is it?’

      ‘I never teased you.’ She frowned, but her body cried out for more.

      ‘Back then your every step teased me, Chantal. You were the epitome of wanting what I couldn’t have.’

      His