The Tycoon's Stowaway

By: Stefanie London

A wicked smile broke out across her face as she downed the entire drink. A stray droplet escaped the corner of her mouth and Chantal 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.’ Brodie 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 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.’



The dance floor at the Weeping Reef resort bar was the perfect way to shake off the work day, and for Chantal Turner it was the perfect place to practise her moves. She swung her hips to the pulsating beat of the music, her hands raking through her hair and pushing damp strands from her forehead. A drop of perspiration ran in a rivulet down her back but she wouldn’t stop. At midnight, the night was still in its infancy, and she would dance until her feet gave out.

She was enjoying a brief interlude away from her life plan in order to soak up the rays while earning a little money in the glorious Whitsundays. But the second she was done she’d be back on the mainland, working her butt off to secure a place at a contemporary dance company. She smiled to herself. The life in front of her was bright and brimming with opportunity.

Tonight the majority of her crew hadn’t come out. Since Chantal’s boyfriend wasn’t much of a dancer he stood at the bar, sipping a drink and chatting to another resort employee. No matter—the music’s beat flowing through her body was the only companion she needed. Her black dress clung to damp skin. The holiday crowd had peaked for the season, which meant the dance floor was even more densely packed than usual.

‘Pretty girls shouldn’t have to dance on their own.’

A low, masculine voice rumbled close to her ear and the scent of ocean spray and coconut surfboard wax hit her nostrils, sending a shot of heat down to her belly.

She would know that smell anywhere. A hand rested lightly on her hip, but she didn’t cease the gentle rolling of her pelvis until the beat slowed down.

‘Don’t waste your pick-up lines on me, Brodie.’ She turned and stepped out of his grip. ‘There are plenty of other ladies in holiday mode who would appreciate your cheesy come-ons.’

‘Cheesy?’ He pressed a hand against his well-muscled chest. ‘You’re a harsh woman, Chantal.’

The tanned expanse of his shoulders stretched out from under a loose-fitting black tank top, a tattoo peeking out at the neckline. Another tattoo of an anchor stretched down his inner forearm. He stared at her, shaggy sun-bleached hair falling around his lady-killer face and light green eyes.

He’s off-limits, Chantal. Super off-limits. Don’t touch him… don’t even think about it.

Brodie Mitchell stepped forward to avoid the flailing arms of another dancer, who’d apparently indulged in a few too many of the resort’s signature cocktails. He bumped his hip against hers, and their arms brushed as Chantal continued to dance. She wasn’t going to let Brodie and his amazing body prevent her from having a good time.

The song changed and she thrust her hands into the air, swinging her hips again, bumping Brodie gently. His fingertips gripped her hips like a magnet had forced them together. Every touch caused awareness to surge through her veins.