Jess
I looked around me at the guests filling the glittering top-floor ballroom of one of London’s most exclusive hotels for a charity event. It was a masked ball and almost everyone, including me, had most of their faces covered.
A band was playing smooth jazz. Some guests were already dancing. Men were in black tuxedoes and women in evening gowns of every hue and material, jewellery blinging brighter than a fluorescent light.
But there were no fluorescent lights here; it was all candles and glittering chandeliers. And outside there was a rooftop terrace with views taking in the iconic London skyline and the River Thames, snaking through the city.
It was one of those summer evenings where the whole city seemed to be basking in a perfect, lingering dusk.
But as beautiful as it all was, it was a little too much on the formal side for my liking. I was only here on behalf of my boss who was head of one of the charities benefitting from the evening. She’d had to bail at the last minute and she’d said in her usual no-frills way, ‘Jess, we’re not one of the cool, trendy charities, so the fact that we got an invite is proof that we’re doing good work, getting noticed. Someone needs to be there, so just say hi to the organiser and then you can piss off, OK?’
Our ‘not cool, trendy’ charity was called Safe Refuge – our remit was to provide a space for people experiencing homelessness and who were at risk on the streets. We also provided services like language classes and courses with a view to helping people get back on their feet again. We were small, flying under the radar of the bigger, better-funded charities. But we were so important to the people we helped. And now we were under added pressure because we were being evicted from the premises that had been its home since its inception in the 1980s.
The owner of our building had sold it off to a property-development company who were going to turn it into luxury apartments, in spite of our best efforts to fight our case. That’s why my boss had insisted on a presence here this evening. But I had done my bit and said hi to the organiser, and now there wasn’t really a whole lot else I could do.
I gave myself permission to piss off to where my best friend and flatmate, Tash, was enjoying this glorious summer evening in our local pub’s beer garden.
I was also ready to get out of this dress, which I’d belatedly realised was on the more risqué end of the scale for an upmarket charity event.
I blamed Tash. I hadn’t had an evening dress to wear and so this had been a last-minute option. It was her dress – designed by her – and she’d jumped at the chance to give it a public outing. She was a burgeoning designer. It was red silk, with a deep vee in the front and totally backless. Falling to the floor from the waist in a swathe of material. Held up by criss-crossing thin straps. More like string.
On Tash with her enviable curves, it would stop traffic. On me, it highlighted my distinct lack of curves. But Tash had made a couple of lightning-fast adjustments and told me that it was giving ‘Keira Knightley in Atonement’ vibes. I’d pointed out that that dress had been green. Not fire-engine red. And I was dark blonde, not a brunette.
Undeterred, she’d winked at me. ‘Maybe you’ll get shagged up against a wall of books like her character did if you’re lucky.’
Anyway, I wasn’t about to test that theory out.
I was almost at the edge of the crowd now, I could smell escape and I fully intended to call an Uber as soon as I got down to the foyer. I saw the exit in my peripheral vision and made a run for it – and collided with a steel wall that appeared out of nowhere. But it was a steel wall with hands because they were around my upper arms now, holding me steady from toppling backwards.
I was a little winded. I looked up, and up again. It was a man. He was tall, well over six foot. He was filling out his tuxedo in a way that was frankly a little pornographic. I thought tuxedoes were meant to civilise a man, not make him look somehow…dangerous. His mask was straight out of Phantom of the Opera and it completely covered the left side of his face.
But I could see enough to know that he was…stunning. How had I not noticed him already? I took in the wide shoulders. Dark hair. Short and thick. He had piercing blue eyes and his mouth – my legs actually wobbled slightly. His mouth was firm and sculpted, and instantly made me think of sex and as if he knew exactly where to put it to give maximum pleasure.
I blamed the dress. Again. I didn’t usually look at guys and think: sex.
‘Are you OK?’ His voice was deep and had an intriguing accent. I placed it to Dublin.
I nodded. ‘I think so…’ My brain felt fuzzy. Could you get concussion from colliding with a hot man?
He took his hands off my arms and stepped back. ‘Looks like we were both trying to make a quick getaway.’
‘You were sneaking out too?’
Brodie
Brodie cursed himself for making it that obvious. With the masks it was hard to know who was who. And, he was surprised he hadn’t already seen her. He would have noticed. She was rendering him a bit speechless. For one thing he could still feel the imprint of her lithe body against his and for another, he could see a lot of that lithe body in the dress she was wearing that was frankly…the sexiest thing he’d ever seen on a woman.
The pert globes of her breasts were performing a tantalising peek-a-boo with that deep vee. Thin straps lay over her narrow shoulders. The dress moved like liquid silk around her body.
She had dark blonde hair sunkissed in places, and it was pulled up and back into one of those undone-looking chignons that he suspected took hours to perfect. No jewellery, which was an anomaly in a room like this. Refreshing.
He could see her eyes – the mask was lace and hid the top half of her face. They were green. No, gold. Hazel. Intriguing. Long lashes.
She was tall enough to reach his shoulder. Long neck. Amazing bone structure.. A wide mouth with a plump lower lip. A determined chin.
He smiled. ‘Do we know each other?’
He saw her throat work as she swallowed. ‘I don’t think so.’
Then he remembered what she’d just said. ‘Were you leaving too?’
She nodded. ‘Trying to.’
So had he been and he remembered why now. He cast a glance back into the crowd and saw Cecily looking for him. ‘Shite.’
‘What’s wrong?’
He hadn’t realised he’d spoken out loud. He looked back at the stranger. The beautiful stranger. He said, ‘Tedious story. My boss’s wife has the hots for me, and she’s a little drunk and it’s becoming an issue.’
‘Has it been going on since before tonight?’
Brodie winced. ‘Since last year. A work event at their house in the Cotswolds, which inconveniently enough is happening again soon.’
The woman made a little whistling sound. ‘So you’ve been fending her off for a year. That’s a marathon.’
Brodie felt his neck prickle and looked away again – reluctantly – into the crowd, and cursed more colourfully this time. His boss’s wife had spotted him and was heading directly for them.
Knowing that he was taking full advantage of the current unexpected situation, he looked at the woman he’d just met and said, ‘This is really outrageous, but would you mind if I kissed you? She’s seen me and she’s coming over.’
