Bold (7 page)

But she hadn’t moved away and as long as she was willing to hear him out, he was in with a chance.

“At the risk of sounding like an even bigger
lame-ass
, I didn’t call because I want to take this slow.”

Her jaw dropped, like it was the last thing she expected him to say, and he rushed on.

“I’ve spent the last three years acting like a dickhead out of resentment against Christopher. Drinking too much. Sleeping around.” He stared at his boots, feeling as low as the dirt under them. “With a lot of women. Quick, meaningless fucks to satisfy an urge. To burn off the frustration.” God, he was making a mess of this.

“That’s why you walked away that night in the conference room, wasn’t it?” Her tone held no rancor and he glanced up, heartened to see grudging respect had replaced her anger. “You want me to be different?”

Thank fuck she got it. “Yeah. At the risk of sounding like a soppy greeting card, I like you and I wanted to take things slower.”

Her mouth relaxed a little. “To prove you’re not some heartless bastard who screws anything in a skirt?”

“To prove I can still feel,” he said, the truth tumbling from his lips before he could stop it.

Shit, there he went again, revealing too much to this woman, sounding like a goddamn idiot.

“Good answer,” she said, stepping closer to slide her arms around his waist. “And yeah, I’ll come with you to LA.”

“Great,” he said, instantly hard, knowing he wouldn’t be able to take things slow any longer when he had her in his hotel suite. “We leave on the red-eye tonight.”

“Just to clarify, you’re inviting me to LA for a wild, raunchy getaway?”

Hell yeah. “Is that what you want?”

“Does this answer your question?” She leaned in, her lips grazing his as she pressed her hips into him. Undulated slowly. Performing a sinuous dance that had him backing her up against the door and plunging his tongue into her mouth in a no-holds-barred kiss that left them breathless and panting.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, resting his forehead against hers, wrestling with the urge to wait and say ‘fuck it, let’s head back to my hotel now’.

“You betcha.” Pressing one last kiss against his lips, she eased out of his arms. “Rest up. You’re going to need it.”

As he watched her sashay toward the car park, a figure-hugging white dress outlining every delectable curve, he didn’t doubt it for a second.

Chantal propped her luggage against the wardrobe, crossed the suite at LA’s newest, funkiest hotel and sank onto the bed. She had to give it to Zane, the guy had class. Rather than booking one room, as she’d expected, he’d gotten two suites. With an interconnecting door. Smart guy.

Propping on her outstretched arms, she leaned back and glanced around the room. Violet feature walls, black and white geometric prints, edgy black furniture and massive king-size bed with pristine white covers. Contemporary designer chic at its best, the type of place she adored. The type of place she’d worked her ass off for years so she could afford to stay in. The type of place tailor-made for a dirty weekend away with a super hot footballer.

So why was she feeling so damn fragile?

Their plane trip had been relaxed. Conversation had flowed. She’d learned he liked the iconic Aussie staples: Tim Tams, Vegemite, Caramello Koalas. And hated snakes, clowns and losing. That his mom had been quiet and withdrawn. That when Steele had learned his father hadn’t been dead all these years but had abandoned them, he’d put his fist through a wall before declaring he’d never forgive their dad, ever.

Zane had opened up to her in a way she hadn’t expected but the guy had secrets. She could tell. Because it took one to know one and she’d bet he thought the same thing when he looked into her eyes.

Sure, she might’ve told him the basics, like her favorite foods, color and baseball team, but truths like what really drove her to leave Craye Canyon and start afresh in Vegas? On a strict need to know basis.

The thing was, while Zane may have swayed her with his ‘I want to take things slow with you’ spiel, held her hand the entire flight and stared into her eyes while he told her snippets of his life, she knew what this weekend was about.

A fuck fest.

She knew that going in, and while she wanted it as much as he did, there was something about accepting his invitation that made her feel…lonely.

Crazy, because she was a woman in control, a woman who demanded as good as she got, a woman surrounded by employees and friends on a daily basis, but sitting alone in this beautiful suite, contemplating the many facets Zane had revealed to her, she realized something.

For the first time in her life, she wanted more than what she had.

Maybe it was her purposeful man drought, but for some inexplicable reason, Zane sparked something in her, something far deeper than any guy had before. And she wanted to explore that, wanted to delve, wanted to see if she was capable of making more than a superficial connection.

Considering Zane would be heading back to Australia any time soon, she knew it was plain stupid to think this way. Because transient flings never developed into more. They couldn’t. It’s why she’d deliberately sought them out all these years. And the reason why she’d never had a real relationship.

Because relationships fostered dependency and emotions and ultimately, loss. The kind of loss that could leave a woman shattered and an empty shell.

No way in hell did she ever want to be that woman.

A knock sounded at the door and she stood, smoothed her hair and adjusted her top. Ready to face the world again. Banishing that momentarily loneliness that lingered, making her feel oddly breathless and morose simultaneously.

She opened the door, surprised to see Zane.

“Why are you knocking at this door when…” She pointed at the interconnecting door between their suites, hating the uncertainty making her feel a fool.

“Don’t you remember? Anticipation heightens foreplay.” He filled the doorway, big and bronze and beautiful. Too damn charming. Too damn everything. “Besides, there was another reason I invited you to LA.”

“That’s what they all say,” she said, trying to resist the relentless urge to grab his shirt lapels and drag him into her room.

He grinned. “That sponsorship deal you mentioned for Bombshells and the new Aussie Rules comp in Nevada? My dad’s in town, thought you may want to meet him and discuss business.”

For the second time in as many minutes, Chantal’s throat tightened. Zane wasn’t just a sexy charmer with a body built for sin. He actually listened to what she said; and was trying to help build her business. Could the guy wriggle under her skin any harder if he tried?

“Thanks, that’s really thoughtful,” she said, brushing a kiss on his cheek, lingering long enough to breathe in a lungful of delicious Aussie male.

When she pulled back, he looked adorably bashful. “Nice to know you think I’m just a sleaze out to jump your bones though.”

“Aren’t you?”

He laughed. “Hell yeah, but Christopher’s downstairs in the lobby waiting for us.”

“Now?” She glanced down at her black skinny jeans, knee high boots and fuchsia ribbed tank. “I’m not really dressed for business?”

“You look amazing as always,” he said, resting his hands on her hips. “This is an informal meeting so don’t stress.” He shrugged. “I’m not.”

That’s when it hit her.

“Tell me this isn’t the first time you’re seeing your dad.”

“It’s not.” He had the grace to appear sheepish. “We Skyped last week.”

“Are you insane?” She placed her hands on his chest and shoved him away. “I’m not crashing this meeting with your dad. It’s your first time talking in person and you need privacy.”

“I need you,” he said, reaching for her again. “The truth is, I’m not sure if I can face him on my own.”

Hell, she’d never seen a guy so vulnerable and it slugged her where she feared it most. Her heart.

She cupped his face and stared into his eyes, eyes that had captured her from the first moment they’d met at Vegas airport. “You need to do this.
On your own
.”

“You don’t get it.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid if I face him alone, I’ll forget why I came to the States and let the anger and bitterness of the last three years boil over.” He grimaced. “I may even deck the old bugger.”

“So I’m your airbag? Cushioning the blow of the first meeting?”

“Something like that.” He turned his head slightly, kissing one of her palms. “Guess you think I’m a big sooky-la-la hiding behind a woman, huh?”

“I think it takes a strong man to admit he’s feeling vulnerable, but I sure would like to know what a sooky-la-la is.”

He did convincing puppy-dog eyes. “Will you come with me downstairs to face the big, bad wolf if I tell you?”

She lowered her hands and nodded. “Okay.”

“It means cry-baby.”

“That’s it?” She punched him lightly on the arm. “I feel like I’ve been had.”

“Not yet, but we’ve got all night for that.” He winked and dropped a kiss on the end of her nose. “Is my airbag ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she muttered, slipping her hand into his when he held it out. “But just so you know? At the first sign of sooky-la-la tears, I’m out of there.”

Zane laughed, and tugged her close. “Deal, but I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”

He wasn’t the only one. Because having Zane trust her enough to want her to accompany him to his all-important first meeting with his father made her feel special in a way she shouldn’t.

Like she was important to him. Like she meant more than a fling. Like this could be what she was looking for.

And if that were the case, she’d be the one ending up in tears. Because secretly wishing for something and having it come true were entirely different things, especially when having a guy like Zane in her life for anything beyond a dirty weekend away meant revealing the real Chantal, something she wasn’t prepared to do.

Zane couldn’t believe it.

After years of pretending he didn’t exist, then giving him that bullshit sob story, Christopher was a no-show. Worse¸ he’d sent his golden boy in his stead.

Kurt.

His half-brother looked exactly like his images on the Internet: tall, built, with a muscle mass that would make most Aussie Rules players envious. A cocky, arrogant, son-of-a-bitch with a perpetual smirk, like he knew something the rest of the world didn’t.

Zane disliked him on sight.

Crazy, considering he’d come all this way to meet the family he’d never known he’d had. But having Kurt saunter toward them, his attention fixed on Chantal rather than him, rammed home the fact how little he meant to Christopher.

As if sensing his anger, Chantal squeezed his hand and murmured, “Play nice.”

“My old man’s a bastard,” he muttered, not caring that Kurt heard as he approached, smarmy smile in place, greedy gaze fixed on Chantal.

“You got that right,” Kurt said, holding out his hand. “Dad sends his apologies. Some crisis at head office, so he had to fly to New York. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

The casual way Kurt threw out ‘dad’ exacerbated Zane’s resentment. He’d never had a father, let alone one he was close to. Instead, this lucky prick had it all.

“And what are you, his messenger boy?” Zane shook Kurt’s hand, not surprised it turned into a battle of the strongest as they tried to see who could break the other’s bones first.

Kurt frowned, but Zane saw a glint of grudging respect in his brother’s almost-black eyes. “We flew into LA together. Plane barely touched down before it had to refuel and leave again. Said he’d call you later.”

So Christopher and his golden child flew around the country on a private jet? Nice.

Resisting the urge to mutter ‘whatever’ like a disgruntled eight year old, Zane placed a hand in the small of Chantal’s back.

“This is Chantal Kramer.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Kurt said, his leer making Zane want to punch his teeth out.

“Likewise.” To his utmost annoyance, Chantal stared at Kurt like a star-struck groupie. “You’re having a great season.”

“Stunning, and she likes football?” Kurt clutched at his heart and did a mock swoon. “The perfect woman.”

“Fuckwit,” Zane murmured, regretting his decision to come to LA more by the second.

If Kurt heard, he didn’t react. Chantal did, though. She shot him a curious glance, her eyebrows so high they almost touched her hairline.

“Let’s get a drink,” Kurt said, insinuating his way between them, an arm draped across their shoulders. “Get to know each other better.”

If Zane acted fast, he could get a good kidney punch in before his smart-arse brother knew what hit him.

Thankfully, they reached a table tucked away into a corner and Zane shrugged Kurt’s arm off with an exaggerated shudder.

Kurt laughed. “Not so touchy-feely, huh?”

“What do you think?” Zane refrained from adding ‘arse-hole’. Just.

Kurt leaned in close. “I think your girlfriend likes it just fine.”

Zane’s fingers curled into fists but before he could say anything, Chantal piped up, “What are you guys drinking?”

As the red mist cleared from his vision, Zane saw a waiter hovering nearby as Chantal eased into a low-slung leather chair, shaking her head vigorously as she pointed at Kurt behind his back.

She had a point. Slugging his brother on their first meeting wouldn’t be the smartest thing he’d ever done. Especially considering every eye in the room was fixed on Kurt, a national icon in this country.

“Beer for me, please,” Zane said, deliberately pulling his chair closer to Chantal’s before sitting.

“Make that two, buddy.” Kurt sat opposite them, shoulders squared, legs outstretched, crossed at the ankles, king of his domain.

He wore jeans and a polo but by the way everyone stared at him, he could’ve been buck naked, there was that much wide-eyed wonder.

Funny thing was, Zane was used to getting the same kind of attention in Melbourne. Fans recognized him wherever he went, invading his privacy, asking for autographs. He’d accepted it as part of the job. He’d had girls slip phone numbers into his pockets or write them on restaurant bills, even while he’d been out on dates. He’d had guys want to talk footy in goddamn toilets.