I tied the shirt in a knot at my waist again.
I took a deep breath and turned around. He was bent down, picking things off the floor. I cringed at him seeing my ancient lip gloss and badly scuffed phone that was about ten years out of date with a screensaver photo of me and Tash pulling funny faces.
‘You don’t have to do that, let me.’
But he’d scooped up the last of the things and stood up in a fluid motion, his bare back to me. I noticed what looked like marks across the top of his back and a wave of mortified heat flooded me, reminding me of how I’d gripped him. I’d marked him. Like some sort of wanton hussy.
He’d turned around and was holding out my bag to me before I realised that his mask had come off too. And now I could see his face. I felt a prickle of recognition.Did I know him?
And then I saw the raised skin of the scar that had been hidden under the mask, down the left side of his face from his eye almost to his jaw, near the hairline, and it hit me like a bucket of cold water. That’s why I’d felt a spark of recognition.I knew exactly who he was.
This was the guy who was the brains behind the redevelopment of our charity HQ. The guy who was having us evicted so that they could make as much money as possible. By fucking us over in the process. Or, in my case, very literally.
Chapter 10
Brodie
Brodie had two thoughts in quick succession. First:Wow, she is gorgeous. And second:Why is she looking at me like that?She was glaring at him. He went cold inside. ‘Are you OK? Did I hurt you?’
He was never one for indulging in cuddles after sex, far from it, but this was a new departure. He never did anyone wrong. He just didn’t...offer anything more than a bit of fleeting fun.
‘You’re Brodie Montgomery.’
He went still. He had not expected to hear that. He went colder. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘We met on a Zoom call the other day. You obviously don’t remember me.’
Brodie’s brain wasn’t functioning properly. He had multiple Zooms a day. He searched his memory for her face and something flickered back. Two women on the Zoom, not happy. One in particular who kept scowling at him. Hair in a braid over her shoulder. Wearing a T-shirt and a...cardigan? Hippyish vibes.
She raised a brow now. ‘Will I help you? It looks like you’re having some difficulty remembering.’
Brodie’s hackles rose. A strange sensation when his body still felt full of pleasure hormones. ‘Please do.’
‘I’m Jessica Ross. I work with the Safe Refuge charity. You’re evicting us so you can turn our building into luxury apartments.’
It all rushed back. He remembered. Feeling like he was on the back foot he said, ‘You’ll have to forgive me, you’ve had quite the costume change since then.’
She flushed and that only reminded Brodie of how she’d looked during sex. His body pulsed. He tightened his jaw against the resurgence of desire. It wasn’t like him to want a woman again so quickly, no matter how amazing the sex.
‘You’re nothing but a hypocrite,’ she said. ‘You’re here at a charity event, but behind the scenes you couldn’t care less.’
The unfairness of her accusation hit him harder than he might have expected. The dissatisfaction with his work situation was something he hadn’t even really articulated to himself and he wasn’t about to try with a total stranger.Who you just fucked.
Brodie said stiffly. ‘I am actually here tonight in support of a charity.’
‘Oh, yeah? It’s not our one, is it?’
No. Because it was another one close to his heart, not that he would have ever in a million years told anyone why it was important to him. It was way too personal. As if to emphasise that point, the long line of scar tissue on his face seemed to throb lightly. A phantom pain.
He was used to people catching sight of it and the widening eyes. The gleam that told of their voyeuristic interest. It had actually been nice behind the mask this evening, for it not to be the first thing people saw for once. The only people who knew the truth behind how he’d got it at the age of twelve – were his parents and his little sister, Skye.
To this day, his sister had a phobic reaction to blood because of the incident that had caused it.
He scowled at himself – how had he got onto this train of thought?Past trauma not welcome.He’d carved out an existence far removed from the chaos and histrionics of his childhood. An existence consisting of working hard and forging ahead. Of creating order out of dilapidation. He helped to move things out of the past and into the future. No doubt a therapist would have a field day with that.
Jessica said, ‘I wonder what everyone out there would think of your double standards?’
OK. He’d had enough. ‘The company I work for has bought the building. Not me.’
