Breaking the Bro Code

‘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

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, Twitter: @Stefanie_London, or Facebook: Stefanie London Author

Breaking

the Bro Code

Stefanie London

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.

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

DEDICATION

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

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

DEDICATION

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

ONE

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.’

‘Good to see nothing has changed.’ Her face softened, but her crossed arms remained a barrier between them. ‘Remember that all work and no play makes Col a dull boy.’

‘I don’t have time to play these days.’

‘But you have time to visit old acquaintances?’ She leant against the pink couch that dominated the waiting room. It took all of his will power not to drink in the sight of her slender legs encased in pink ballet tights and knee-high black leg warmers. She looked like a fantasy.

‘I’d like to think we were more than acquaintances, Ellie.’ Friends, best friends perhaps. Lovers?

She shrugged and tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, waiting for him to speak. She used her silence to force him to continue the conversation—it was a trick he’d taught her once...back when she didn’t consider him a mere acquaintance.

‘Actually, I’m here with a proposal.’

Her brows rose. ‘Don’t tell me America ran out of socialites for you to sleep with.’

‘Jealous much?’ He enjoyed the flare of pink across her nose and cheeks.

‘Only that you’re here bothering me and not them.’ She tried to look bored but her muscles were tense, her body on high alert.

‘It’s come to my attention that your ballet studio is going through some difficult financial times.’ He cleared this throat, his hands automatically tugging on the cuffs of his shirt. ‘And I have a solution that I feel would be mutually beneficial.’

‘Mutually beneficial?’

‘Yes.’ He gave a sharp nod. ‘I’d like to hire you.’

She blanched. ‘You want ballet lessons?’

‘Hell no!’ A hearty laugh started all the way down in his stomach and burst forth with a soul-relieving boom. It felt good, and God knew he needed something to laugh about at the moment.

‘No need to be ashamed—male ballet dancers can still be masculine,’ she said, tilting her head to one side, studying him. ‘Or are you afraid you’ll need to pad out your tights?’

‘You know damn well I don’t need any padding down there.’

Her eyes flickered over him, as though they wanted to slide down the length of him but she was forcing her attention elsewhere.

‘I don’t want ballet lessons.’ He shook his head, wondering why on earth a grown man would want to learn ballet. ‘But I do want the advice of someone who’s been a performer her whole life.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It’s a long story but I’ve got something really important coming up and I need your expertise.’ He turned a charming grin on her, hoping to hell it had the right effect. Back in the day his smile had won her over on more than one occasion. ‘In return, I’ll make all your financial woes go away.’

She pushed up from the couch and strode towards him, closing the gap between them. Charged and dangerous. Though he had a head and a half on her she held herself with the grace of a queen. She approached him, lips ready for battle, hands balled into fists by her sides.

* * *

Had he really breezed in here, after five years of silence, wanting her help and offering to be some kind of knight in shining armour? Impossible. No one was that cocky. Perhaps all those winters in New York had frozen his brain cells beyond repair. Still, Elise couldn’t take her eyes off him...she never could. Col Hillam was like a drug; a very fun, stupid, dangerous drug.

He’d filled out since the last time she saw him when he’d still be wearing his lanky frame like an awkward uniform. Now broad shoulders stretched out beneath the white cotton of his shirt creating a neat V to the waist of his jeans. A dark smattering of hair peeked at her when he played with the cuffs of his shirt, rolling them up his muscled forearms. She stopped herself from lingering there for too long.

He was far from the quiet young man she remembered. Despite his flippant tone, the hard set of his sculpted lips and wary blue gaze spelled trouble. He was here with a goal in mind, and she’d be hard pressed to get around him.

‘Why should I help you?’

‘Because you’ve got a kind heart and a strong sense of charity?’ There was that grin again. Cocky—clearly becoming CEO had helped him grow accustomed to getting his own way.

‘Why me?’ she asked.

‘Because you’re the only one who knows me well enough.’ He raked a hand through his dark hair, fingers thrusting through the strands in a single, swift gesture.

Each movement radiated sexual energy and masculinity. It was no wonder the single shot of him in an intimate clinch with a certain technology heiress had been flashed all over the media...not that she’d been keeping tabs.

‘I’m worried for you, if that’s true.’ She couldn’t help it—some little part of her wanted to hurt him. To pay him back for those years she spent dealing with her problems confused and alone.

Her life had fallen apart when he left as if his departure had caused an irreversible ripple of tragic events. Sure, he might not have had direct influence but it had all started with him. It had been easy to blame him when he was on the other side of the world, but now he was mere inches from her and she was struggling to stay in control.

‘Ouch.’ A scowl flickered across his face, but he wouldn’t be so easy to tear down. ‘The lady has a sharp tongue.’

‘The lady also has a good bullshit detector.’ She tilted her head up at him and narrowed her eyes. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’

She sucked in a breath. Verbal sparring was like foreplay for the mind as far as Col was concerned. He didn’t need to touch her; he only needed to pour his words over her like warm honey. She squared her shoulders. She’d promised herself she would never forget how he left her, and that meant keeping her distance. She couldn’t give up that painful memory because it was what she used to shield herself against future hurt.

‘Have a drink with me tomorrow, we can sort out the business side of things and I’ll fill you in on the details.’

Going for a drink with Col was a bad idea. She was mouthy at the best of times, let alone when there were cocktails involved. That was exactly how they ended up in bed together the first time.

‘No.’

‘That’s one thing I admire about you, Elise.’ He reached out and touched her hair, smoothing the strands into place with his fingertips. ‘You’re so decisive.’

‘I don’t need your admiration.’ Her cheeks flamed. How was it that he could make a supposed compliment sound so derisive? ‘But you’re spot on, Col, and it’s with that personality trait that I can comfortably tell you to shove your proposal.’

‘You don’t even know what the proposal is.’ The corner of his mouth twitched.

‘Read my lips, Col.’ She was close enough to melt against him, and she had to fight the urge with every ounce of will power she possessed. ‘Shove it.’

‘Anywhere in particular?’ he drawled. The man was not going to back down, but she’d be damned if she’d let him pay her for anything. She might need the money, but she needed her dignity more.

‘Wherever it will fit.’

‘I’m not going to take no for an answer.’ His large hands ran up her arms to rest on her shoulders.

A frisson of excitement shot through her as his fingertips touched her bare skin, but she shook his hands off, swatting at him with force. ‘Good, because I’m not going to answer you again.’

‘You know I can be very dogged when I want to be.’

One didn’t become a CEO before they were thirty without a kind of obsessive persistence. He’d wanted her for years when they were younger and she’d dangled herself like a gleaming carrot in front of him. She’d only ever given in once...and it had been enough to unsettle the entire course of her life. Yes, it sounded a touch dramatic but the day he left, every semblance of normality she had ever known had fractured and splintered until there was nothing left. Part of her wanted someone to blame, and he was the only viable candidate.

‘Col, it takes a little more than repetition to get to me.’ She reached for her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

‘You don’t want to encourage me, Elise.’

Hearing her full name erupt like a growl from the back of his throat sent her senses into a frenzy. She was drawn to the guttural masculinity that simmered close to the surface whenever he chased something he wanted. It was the one crack in his public façade and she found it sexier than anything else on earth.

‘I wasn’t encouraging you.’

He opened his mouth and then thought better of responding. Holding his arm out for her, he waited patiently while she took longer than she needed to walk past without touching him.

‘We should continue this conversation over drinks.’

He stood close behind her while she set the alarm code for the studio. Elise bristled at his proximity, her body primed for his touch and yet retreating at the same time. Warning bells rang a crazy, maddening cacophony in her head while she chanted to herself: don’t give in, don’t give in.

‘There isn’t a conversation to continue, Col.’

‘So turn up, I’ll buy you a few drinks and you can think about where else I can shove my proposal.’ He followed her out of the studio into the balmy summer air.

Temptation curled in her belly like a snake preparing to strike. Her otherwise enviable discipline had never extended to Col. Somehow he made her forget everything she needed to do, every obligation she had, every belief she clung to.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He brushed his thumb across her cheek so gently she might have imagined it.

He was gone before she could think to protest, leaving her to fume that he’d got one over on her. Her fists clenched again, and she took a moment to steady herself before walking to her car. He had some nerve, coming back and turning up here as if his absence hadn’t left a giant, gaping hole in her life.

Feeling her phone vibrate in her bag, Elise dug through the mess of papers and beauty products to find the buzzing device. ‘Hello?’

‘Elise Johnson?’ The male voice was unfamiliar. ‘I’m calling from Victoria Bank. Do you have a moment to talk?’