Page 111 of The Girlfriend Clause
I drew a sharp breath. Just above his hip, two ridges of scar tissue cut across the smooth muscle, pale and raised against his skin. The lines bent awkwardly, like something jagged hadtorn through him. More marks traced up his side, disappearing around his ribs.
How had I not noticed these during our night in my flat? I’d felt a couple of ridges under my fingertips in the dark. But I hadn’t seen them. Not like this.
I froze. He bent his attention back to the bundle of clothing, trying to pull it apart, then glanced up at me.
His eyes caught my expression, and he went still.
Holy fucking hell. I kept my eyes locked on his, terrified he might see my pupils drop to his scars.
“Oh fuck, Andrea. Sorry.” His face flushed. “I wasn’t trying to—that was stupid of me.”
I needed a distraction.
“So,” I said briskly. “This, ah, box.” I strode purposefully toward the wardrobe. “What’s in here?” I moved the box toward me and peered in.
“Oh. That.” His head turned. “It’s just—” In two strides, he was next to me, his hand on the lid. “Memories, I guess. Nothing.” He closed it with a snap.
He was close to me now, between me and the box. The belt of his jeans was inches from my rib cage, the bare skin of his chest a breath away from my face. I could smell the faint scent of him—soap, cotton, chocolate. I was back there again, with him in my room, his body over mine. My arm brushed his, a bare scrape of contact that sent a shiver racing down my spine.
I lifted my head, and his eyes caught mine, soft and brown. Something behind them that made me want to touch his cheek. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he dropped his eyes to my lips.
I could feel the warmth of him, even with his hand still braced on the box.
For a second—no, longer than that—we both stayedsuspended there. My fingers twitched at my side with the urge to reach up and smooth the messy fall of his hair, to close the inch between us.
I didn’t move. Neither did he.
A loud knock on the door split the moment in two.
Liam’s eyes shuttered. “Right. The drinks.”
He grabbed the black hoodie from the chair and pulled it on as he jogged into the living area. I sat on the bed, grateful for a moment to myself. My head was spinning.
I reached into my bag and grabbed my phone. Three messages.
James:Andrea, the restructure pack’s out, loads of jobs cut. Monish’s and Kelly’s are at risk. Not clear about mine. Massive slash and burn. Reading the details now. Kelly’s messed up. Haven’t got hold of Mon. You should be fine thanks to yourcontract.
I gasped.
James:Didn’t take him long to twist theknife.
James:Call me when you get home, hon.
I stared at the messages, the blood draining from my face.
The orange Snuggie lay on the bed beside me, tangled and ridiculous against the gray linen.
But not half as ridiculous as me, standing there breathless, wanting to close the gap between us.
I’d even been turned on—oh myGod.
I’d thought I’d seen that person from my flat again, someone soft and awkward. Someone real.
But von Roth didn’t do soft. He did numbers and knives.
I’d just been too distracted to notice him holding one.
Chapter 22
