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Breaking the Bro Code
Stefanie London
Off limits… and oh-so-tempting!Elise Johnson has more important things to concentrate on than men… saving her struggling ballet studio for starters! So when gorgeous Col Hillam – her brother’s best friend – saunters back into her life she’s none too keen. He might be proposing a purely professional arrangement, but last time they got carried away by their crazy attraction and it ended in disaster!Col knows Elise is off limits, but it only makes her more tempting… With chemistry this hot, surely that bro code is now null and void… ?
‘I shouldn’t sleep with you again.’ She raked her eyes up and lingered on the open collar of his shirt for a second.
It certainly looks as though you feel that way,’ he said, sarcasm colouring his tone as he looked down at her hand, still in his lap.
She snatched it back, cheeks colouring. ‘I should have learnt my lesson the first time.’
‘And what lesson was that?’ He sipped his Scotch.
She ran her fingers up and down the stem of her martini glass. ‘That multiple orgasms tend to cloud my judgement.’
Col swallowed. ‘Multiple orgasms are never a bad thing.’
‘No, but they do have a way of obscuring the facts.’
‘The facts?’
‘That you and I shouldn’t have got together.’ She licked her lips, that pink tongue once again darting out to betray her.
‘Your lips are saying one thing, but I know your tells, Ellie.’
‘You know far less than you think you do.’ She leant forward, her hand at the collar of his shirt. ‘But I know when to call your bluff.’
He breathed in the honeyed scent of her … it was complex and intoxicating. ‘You certainly grew up.’
She threw her head back and laughed, the tinkling sound making his blood fizz.
Dear Reader (#uc4ddb125-c884-5c1f-a75c-aa80130f01a2)
Family is something that’s very dear to my heart. When I was growing up my parents instilled into me and my little sister a very strong sense of what it means to be part of a family—the give and take, the responsibility and the reward. I’ll be honest: in my teenage years it drove me nuts! But I never lacked a shoulder to cry on, a hug to ease my sadness or a high-five to congratulate me on a job well done. Looking back, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
When I started writing Col and Elise’s story I wondered what it would be like for two people with very difficult family lives to come together. Elise grew up in a home where her family members didn’t demonstrate their love, or any type of strong emotion for that matter. Col, on the other hand, came from an abusive home where strong emotions (of the worst kind) ruled.
Writing their story was not easy, and I might have shed a few tears along the way, but I hope you love watching Elise and Col learn to trust in one another as much as I loved writing about it.
With love
Stefanie
PS I love hearing from my readers. You can get in contact with me via e-mail: stefanie@stefanie-london.com (mailto:stefanie@stefanie-london.com), Twitter: @Stefanie_London, or Facebook: Stefanie London Author
Breaking
the Bro Code
Stefanie London
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
STEFANIE LONDON comes from a family of women who love to read. When she was growing up her favourite activity was going shopping with her nan during school holidays, when she would sit on the floor of the bookstore with her little sister and painstakingly select the books to spend her allowance on. Thankfully, Nan was a very patient woman.
Thus it was no surprise when Stefanie ended up being the sort of student who would read her English books before the semester started. After sneaking several literature subjects into her ‘very practical’ business degree, she got a job in Communications. When writing emails and newsletters didn’t fulfil her creative urges she turned to fiction, and was finally able to write the stories that kept her mind busy at night.
Now she lives in Melbourne, with her very own hero and enough books to sink a ship. She frequently indulges in her passions for good coffee, French perfume, high heels and zombie movies. During the day she uses lots of words like ‘synergy’ and ‘strategy’. At night she writes sexy, contemporary romance stories and tries not to spend too much time shopping online and watching baby animal videos on YouTube.
DEDICATION (#uc4ddb125-c884-5c1f-a75c-aa80130f01a2)
To Mum, Dad and Sami, for all the laughter, hugs and comfort that filled our house growing up.
I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.
Contents
Cover (#ub0d3d248-d388-5b82-959a-691b3e0a8ff6)
Introduction (#u927f4868-03b0-54ea-bada-910966666808)
Dear Reader
Title Page (#u85cf7a67-f5e2-5eea-9083-223647abf7f5)
About the Author (#u6710682e-157b-5f58-a7d5-e14826b08fd7)
DEDICATION
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
EPILOGUE
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
ONE (#uc4ddb125-c884-5c1f-a75c-aa80130f01a2)
The numbers didn’t make sense. Well, that wasn’t entirely true—they made sense, but they didn’t tell the story Elise Johnson had hoped for. They didn’t tell her that she ran a successful, thriving ballet studio. They didn’t tell her that she’d be able to live off anything other than baked beans and toast this week. More concerning, they didn’t tell her that things were going to get better any time soon.
She rested her chin in her hand and frowned as the grid of looping cursive swam in front of her. Maybe she’d skip the baked beans and head straight for a bottle of wine instead.
‘You’ll go cross-eyed,’ Jasmine Bell, Elise’s best friend and employee, chirped as she changed out of her leg warmers. ‘I always thought number crunching was best left to the professionals.’
‘What are you trying to say?’ She looked up from her paperwork, feigning indignity as Jasmine smirked.
‘Oh, nothing...only I remember a young girl once faking a panic attack to get out of a maths exam.’
‘There wasn’t anything fake about it.’ Elise closed the folder containing the evidence of her dire financial situation and tucked it away in a drawer. Out of sight, out of mind. ‘That panic was real.’
‘And the time you tried to con your maths tutor into doing your homework for you by flashing him?’
‘That was less about the maths homework and more about him—he was seriously cute. Unfortunately for me a tiny bust was not enough to persuade him...’ She frowned, looking down at her boyish frame. ‘Not much has changed.’
‘It’s the curse of the ballerina.’ Jasmine slipped her feet into a pair of flats and bundled her leg warmers into her workout bag. ‘Anyway, that’s why God invented push-up bras.’
‘Amen to that.’
A flat chest was the trade-off for the sculpted legs and washboard stomachs that ballerinas were known for. Elise’s years of formal training and her short-lived career with the Australian Ballet had given her just that. It was a good body, but not one designed to win men over with flashing.
‘Seriously though, why don’t you look into getting someone to do the bookkeeping for you?’
Elise desperately wanted to palm that job off to someone else. Jasmine was right: numbers were not her thing at all. Sequins and choreography and people...those were her things. Addition, subtraction, multiplication—not so much.
‘Yeah, I should look into that,’ Elise said, brushing the suggestion off. She was doing her best to hide the EJ Ballet School’s financial situation; the last thing she wanted was Jasmine or any of the other teachers stressing about job security...or her.
‘Do you want a hand cleaning up before I go?’
Elise shook her head. ‘Go home and enjoy that man toy of yours.’
Jasmine waved as she left the studio, leaving Elise alone with her worries. She had to figure out how on earth she was going to keep the school afloat despite her dwindling savings.
The silence of the studio engulfed her. After a long day of teaching and managing the seemingly endless administration that came with running a business, exhaustion seeped into her bones. She would worry about the books tomorrow. Tonight she was going to curl up on the couch with a glass of red and a good book. Make that a glass of cheap red and a good book.
Elise grabbed the broom and set off to sweep the studio. She couldn’t be too down on herself. It was common knowledge that small businesses often suffered in their first five years and the studio was due to turn three in a month’s time. She could still turn things around.
She had to. Her mother had medication and treatment to be paid for, and she was the only one left to make sure it happened. She had to turn things around.
The sharp bang at the studio’s entrance made Elise jump.
‘Jas?’ Her voice echoed off the mirror-lined walls.
When there was no response, she made her way to the waiting room. Awareness prickled along the back of her neck; her hands held the broom handle in a vice-like grip. Someone was here.
‘Hello?’ She tried again.
A tall figure stood by the reception desk, a man. His broad frame was encased in snug jeans and a crisp white shirt. Dark chocolate hair was close cropped, styled. She would have known that body anywhere, but it was the scent of honeyed woods and cinnamon that threw her senses into a spin and her mind into the past.
‘Col?’
* * *
There were two likely outcomes from this situation, neither of them good. One, Elise would plant an open palm across his face as she’d done once before—when he told her he was leaving. Two, she would be so completely over him that his surprise visit wouldn’t even have an impact on her.
Was it possible in five years that she’d forgotten all about him? The question plagued Col Hillam as he steered his borrowed car down an industrial street in Melbourne’s inner north. He had to ask himself that question, because if he didn’t focus on talking to Elise Johnson his mind would wander to other, darker things.
Pulling into the dance studio parking lot, he positioned himself a few spaces away from the only other car there. From the outside, the studio was nothing like what he’d imagined. No frill, no frou-frou, and definitely none of the over-the-top yet annoyingly attractive things he associated with his favourite ballerina.
Make that ex-ballerina...
He pushed open the car door and stepped out, leaving his blazer on the passenger seat. The sun was setting and the sky bled shades of red and burnished gold. He’d forgotten how striking Australia was in the summertime. Heat prickled the back of his neck, a droplet of sweat running over the tense muscles there. He rubbed his hand against the corded muscle, willing the tension to ease.
Gravel crunched under his shoes as he crossed the parking lot and opened the studio door with a bang. If he’d been planning on surprising Elise then he’d given himself away. No matter, subtle wasn’t exactly his style.
Photos and girlie decorations in every imaginable shade of pink ran along the wall. A recent picture of Elise showed her standing with her mother and holding a huge bunch of flowers. A lump rose in his throat.
He hadn’t called ahead to warn her of his visit. Hell, he hadn’t even unpacked his suitcase yet. A shower at the hotel was all he allowed himself before he hit the road. Col was more nervous about her reaction to his visit than he wanted to be. He could do business with the most powerful people in the world, but the potential wrath of a tiny ballerina was enough to set him on edge.
‘Col?’ His name in her sweet, husky tones sent a surge of volatile heat down to his belly.
He turned, shocked at how much and yet how little she’d changed. There was not an extra ounce of fat on her small, pixie-like frame and her gaze was the same twinkling grey he dreamed about. She’d cut her hair so that it now fell to her shoulders, but the wispy gold lengths still caught the light as they always had. He was relieved to see the burning intensity of her stare hadn’t diminished over the years.
‘Ellie.’
‘It’s Elise,’ she corrected him, her tone careful, guarded. ‘I haven’t been Ellie for a long time.’
‘You’ll always be Ellie to me.’
She pursed her lips. ‘You can call a dog a cat, but it will always be a dog.’
‘Sounds like someone’s getting their daily dose of Confucius.’
Her eyes narrowed as she folded her arms across her chest. ‘What brings you to Melbourne?’
Her suspicion cut him deeply; at one point they’d been as close as siblings despite the fact that he’d wanted so much more. Unfortunately five years ago that bond had been irrevocably broken. Now he was here because he’d been dragged back to bury his abusive, deadbeat father. But that was a topic of conversation best avoided.
‘Business.’
