Chapter 12
Brodie
Brodie couldn’t even bring himself to look at her properly before she’d left.
Because with his shirt tied in a knot around her slim waist and her wavy dark blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders and her just fucked glow, he’d been battling a resurgence of desire so strong that it was still pulsing through his body.
And he was still reeling from her recognition. And the way she’d looked at him, as if she really really disliked him. She didn’t even know him. Well, not personally.
That suited him just fine. Following the impulse to kiss her and then the even stronger pull to fuck her had been a serious error of judgement. She’d got to him in a way no other woman had in a long time.
The last time he’d lowered his defences, he’d ended up splashed all over the tabloids, earning him the moniker of London’s Most Wanted Playboy or some such nonsense.
That experience had only proved his belief that it was better to keep relationships on the purely physical and transitory sphere. Emotional entanglements led to exposure and drama and chaos.
What had happened here had been purely physical and transitory. The perfect encounter. So why did he have a heavy feeling in his gut? And a sour taste in his mouth?
He was about to leave the room when he spotted something on the floor. Something lacy. He bent down to pick it up and realised it was her mask. At the last second, instead of stuffing it into his pocket as he wanted to for some ridiculous reason, he threw it into a bin and walked out.