‘You?’
I sent him anot amusedlook, but secretly I was fizzing inside. Men never made mefizz.I found the ingredients I needed and got to work. Brodie found some wine and glasses, and poured me a glass. I took a sip and felt thoroughly decadent to be up in the middle of the night in a Georgian mansion with a man who had just fucked me senseless and who was looking at me now as if he wanted to gobble me up all over again.
After a few minutes I served up two plates of fluffy pancakes with some blueberries I’d found in a bowl, and honey and cream. ‘I would have added bacon, but I’m not sure the chef would appreciate me using their grill.’
Brodie took a bite. ‘This is more than enough,’ he said around a mouth full of pancake. ‘And this is amazing, Jess.’
It was delicious if I did say so myself, or was it just delicious because it was the middle of the night and illicit, and we’d essentially ducked out of social activities halfway through the dinner.
I wiped my mouth with a napkin. ‘Was it bad that we left the dinner?’
Brodie shrugged. ‘I don’t think so – it’ll just serve to add authenticity to our relationship.’
Oh, yes. That. I deflated a little. Had Brodie been conscious the whole time of how it had looked? As if we were actually a real couple who hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other? Because I’d certainly forgotten.
‘Jess.’ I looked at him. He said, ‘It wasn’t calculated. I would have fucked you right there and then if we hadn’t left.’
Air puffed into my chest again. He leaned forward and rubbed something from my cheek, and then he surprised me by pressing a kiss to my mouth. It went right through me to between my legs.
When he pulled back, I said, ‘What was that for?’
He held up his finger and it was white. ‘Flour.’
I rubbed at my cheek. My gaze tracked to the scar on his face. I always noticed it – hard not to – but I’d actually begun to not notice it so much.
Seduced by the cocoon of a sleeping house around us and the post-coital langour still in my blood, I asked, ‘Your scar... Would you tell me how you got it?’
He went very still. I could almost see how he shut down. Avoiding my eyes, wiping his mouth with a napkin. There was a sudden chill in the air. Just when I was about to saydon’t worry about ithe looked at me and said, ‘Do you want to hear what I tell people or the truth?’
Chapter 28
Brodie
Until Jess had asked that question about his scar, Brodie had almost forgotten where they were. That they were even in a house full of his work colleagues, their partners, his boss and a whole heap of staff.
He’d noticed her looking at his scar. Everyone did. It had bothered him at one time and then over the years he’d just ignored it. Women always asked about it and a part of him hated that Jess had, but another part of him recognised that she wasn’t doing it with the same voyeuristic interest he was used to.
‘What do you tell people?’ she asked.
Brodie looked up at the ceiling for a moment because it was hard to look at her. She was so beautiful, and her eyes were so big and open and sucking him in. Her hair in tousled just-fucked waves over her shoulders.
He brought his head down. Forced himself to meet her eye. ‘I tell people that I got it in a fight in school, or that I fell off a skateboard...or that a cat scratched me.’
‘Big cat,’ Jess remarked. Brodie looked at her. ‘But it wasn’t a cat...or an accident or a fight?’
He’d never told anyone this. But he realised a part of him was weary. Weary of his past. Of protecting others who didn’t really deserve to be protected.
‘It was a fight, but not my fight. And it was an accident.’ He took a breath. ‘It was my mother.’
Jess’s eyes widened. ‘Your mother?’
He nodded and waited for the guilt and shame, guilt and shame that wasn’t even his. But it didn’t come. ‘She and my father were having a fight. They were always fighting. I thought it was passion...love, but, actually, I think it was just deep animosity for each other. They’re so much happier now they’re not together any more.’ As he said that, he realised it for the first time.
They hadn’t really been in love. They’d been together probably due to chemistry and his mother falling pregnant with him. They’d had little choice but to marry, pressured by their families.
‘How old were you?’
‘About twelve.’
