I’d had to tell Tash everything because I needed her sartorial input for a posh night away in the country. It wasn’t that I couldn’t dress myself, but I’d never been a girly girl at the best of times much to my mother’s despair. She’d wanted me to beelegantand to fit into a ladylike box as befitting someone whose family had a castle in the Highlands of Scotland.
But then I had dressed up for that guy in university. The one who had cast me aside as soon as I’d fulfilled my purpose.
After that, I’d reverted back to a uniform of shabby chic. Or, as Tash called it: ‘A certainje ne saisnon,Jess.’
I know I’d used clothes as a way to hide away a little. To not draw the male gaze. Until that red dress the other night and look how that had turned out.
And now that Tash saw her dress as having had a very successful night out, it was justification for her to be on my case even more. I would never admit this to her, but I didn’t mind the idea of styling up a little. I might even let her take me shopping.
But for now I was armed with a suitcase of some of her clothes and whatever of mine she’d deemed suitable. She was standing beside me outside our flat in Hackney as Brodie arrived in his car. I’m not sure what I’d been expecting, but it haddefinitely been along the lines of something low-slung, sporty and overtly sexy.
This was a really nice car – sleek and new – don’t get me wrong, but it wasn’t a playboy’s car. He pulled up and got out, and I felt Tash’s reaction beside me. The intake of breath. He was wearing chinos and a white polo-shirt that strained over his biceps and clung to his pectorals and flat torso. It outlined the curve of his muscular ass so lovingly it was hard to look away from. Dark glasses. The scar.
I was glad his eyes were hidden. I didn’t need to know how those piercing blue eyes were sizing me up, assessing me in my knee-length culottes and silk T-shirt. A cashmere top over my shoulders. Wedge sandals. I was wearing dark glasses too.
But then Brodie took off his glasses and extended a hand to Tash. It surprised me how much that little gesture impacted me. ‘Hi, Brodie Montgomery.’
She shook his hand. ‘Tash O’Connor.’
I was used to the way guys’ eyes widened when they saw Tash. She was half Brazilian, half Irish, and she was sassy and curvy and just gorgeous. But then Brodie looked at me, and did I see a flare in his eyes as he looked me over or had Tash filled my head with nonsensical stuff like the fact that he was just using thisfake dateas a ruse to see me again?
‘You look...great,’ he said.
I took that asyou look appropriateand not the way I wanted to take it, which wasyou look sexy and I want to fuck you again.My weakness mocked me. So much for my ethics. Here I was about to drive off into the countryside with the enemy, for a generous donation to the charity and his promise to hear me out, not to fuck him.
Tash nudged me. I realised I’d said nothing. ‘Thanks, you too.’
Then Tash lifted up her phone and snapped a photo of Brodie.
‘What’s that for?’ He didn’t sound amused. I thought of the press coverage of him and that actress/model.
‘In case I need to give your description to the police.’
I rolled my eyes and moved towards the car. ‘Please excuse my over-dramatic Rottweiler friend. I can take care of myself, Tash.’
Brodie took my case and said to Tash, ‘She’ll be in safe hands.’
I whipped around to stop whatever witty comeback Tash was already formulating to that. Sure enough her mouth was open, so I took off my glasses and quelled her with a look. She just smiled sweetly at me but I got the unspoken emphatic message - that she was sending me off with her blessing and that I should make the most of this opportunity.
But I vowed, as I got into the sleek and comfortable confines of Brodie’s car, that I would maintain my dignity this time. The speed with which I’d thrown caution to the wind the other night – hiding behind the flimsy defence of anonymity – still freaked me out.
We weren’t anonymous any more. I knew exactly who he was and I needed to keep that front and centre at all times.
Chapter 16
Brodie
Brodie took his eyes off the – thankfully – relatively quiet motorway out of London for a moment to look at Jess in the passenger seat beside him. She was staring out of the window at the passing scenery, the outskirts of London giving way to green. Her scent tickled his nostrils, fresh and zingy but with a deeper undertone. Something sexy. Brodie cleared his throat. ‘I’m a little jealous.’
She turned her head and he was caught for a second by the green of her eyes. ‘Jealous, of me?’
‘Your friend – she’s protective.’
Jess let out a short huff of a laugh and Brodie wanted to make her laugh again. ‘Sharing scuzzy university apartments and surviving psychotic flatmates will do that to you. I’m sure you have friends like that too.’
Brodie felt something poignant run through him. He had had friends like that. University friends, and they kept in touch. They even wanted him to come in on a project with them, but he’d been too busy to carve out the time to see them. But they, and their idea, had been preying on his mind more and more, lately.
Instead of answering directly, he asked, ‘Where did you go to university?’ He found he was genuinely curious.
