Chapter 24

24

J ayda’s body tingled in the aftermath of another sensational sexual encounter with Brock and she realised that every time he held her he made her feel so cherished that she didn’t feel self-conscious about her weight.

Each time he’d undressed her or caressed her or looked at her she didn’t feel the inevitable panic that he’d see her jiggly bits or the cellulite on her thighs as she had with other guys.

He swept her away in the moment every time. But as they came down from the high of orgasm, he got that look again. The one that said he’d withdraw before she could reach him.

Not tonight. Tonight, she wouldn’t let him off so easily.

‘I need a shower,’ she said, watching the shutters descend over his eyes as he withdrew and carefully lowered her legs to the floor.

‘Sure, go ahead. Do you need some clean clothes?’

His cool tone alerted her to the obvious: he wouldn’t be joining her.

‘A T-shirt and sweatpants would be great.’

‘Done.’ He turned away and zipped up, and when he didn’t turn back to face her, her heart sank as she padded to the bathroom. She wouldn’t confront him now, not when she needed to clean up.

But later, he wouldn’t know what hit him.

After the fastest shower on record—she would’ve loved to linger under the massive attachment that simulated being drenched in a downpour of rain—she dried off with a fluffy clean towel he’d left for her and slipped into the clothes he’d placed beside it. Thankfully, he’d given her a black T-shirt, not white, because going braless while trying to have a serious conversation wouldn’t have been a good look. She might be in confrontation mode but her nipples had other ideas whenever he was in the vicinity.

Taking a steadying breath for what was to come, she stepped out of the bathroom and spied him by the far window, staring out at the city lights. He had a glass filled with an amber liquid in his hand . Whisky? Good, he needed a shot of liquid courage with her in combat mode.

She padded towards the huge open living area, spying a small cheese platter on the coffee table alongside a mug of hot chocolate. Not wine, chocolate, which she could interpret in one of two ways: he didn’t want her inhibitions lowered—too late for that—or he anticipated she’d need comfort.

He’d try to push her away again. She knew it with every cell in her body. But this time, she wouldn’t go without a fight.

‘Thanks for the clothes, and for this,’ she said, sitting in front of the table and popping a cracker into her mouth.

‘You’re welcome.’

Oh yeah, he’d retreated, big time. His spine and shoulders were rigid, his jaw jutted, and his fingers clenched the glass so hard she was surprised it didn’t shatter.

‘I’ve got a lot of work to do so when you’re done I’ll call you a taxi—’

‘Trying to get rid of me?’

She stood and crossed the floor to stand in front of him. Coward, he took a step back. Then again, she saw the flare of awareness in his eyes and the quick perusal of her body, so maybe he didn’t want to be tempted when trying to kick her out.

Damn, she should’ve worn a white T-shirt after all.

‘This has nothing to do with you—’

‘Bullshit, you retreating every time we have sex has everything to do with me.’ She jabbed a finger in his direction for emphasis. ‘My IQ may not match yours but I can figure out that you’ve been in a funk ever since I met your parents tonight and I know why.’

Surprise widened his eyes imperceptibly. ‘You can’t possibly—’

‘They think we’re a couple and you’re terrified by anything remotely resembling a commitment.’

Relief made his shoulders slump. ‘Yeah, well, I told you at the start this thing between us had an expiration date—’

‘What if I don’t want it to end?’

She flung it out there and he visibly recoiled, making her gut gripe.

‘It has to.’ His icy tone made her want to rub her arms for warmth. ‘I can’t give you what you want.’

‘And what’s that?’

She hated presumptions but she should’ve known someone like him would think he’d know more about her than she knew herself. Wise-ass.

‘You want a long-term relationship and all it entails. Breakfast in bed on Sunday mornings. Moving in together. More commitment…’ He blanched, as if even the thought of marriage made him sick.

‘Wow. You can’t even say the word, can you?’ She pointed at her mouth. ‘It’s simple, really. You form the letters and say it. Marriage. ’

‘Being a smart-ass isn’t helping.’

‘You expect me to help you make breaking up easier?’ She shook her head, shoving her hair out of her eyes. ‘I don’t expect anything from you. I don’t want all that stuff you mentioned—’

‘Stop lying to me and to yourself,’ he yelled, making her jump. ‘Of course you fucking want it. I see it every time you look at me. Like I’m some goddamn knight in shining armour. But I’m not that person. I can’t save you when…’

He trailed off, stricken, and whirled away from her to slam his palm against the window.

Had he been about to say, ‘when I can’t save myself’?

What had happened to this smart, sexy guy to scar him so badly?

‘I don’t need saving, Brock. I need a guy to like me for me and I thought that guy was you.’

He stiffened. Yeah, the truth hurts, buddy.

‘I rarely take risks, but in the last month I’ve managed to walk away from my folks, start my own business, and indulge in a fling. And I know that whatever happens between us, getting involved long term is a risk but I’m willing to take it. Why can’t you?’

She held her breath as he slowly turned back to face her. She’d know if her impassioned plea had got through to him the moment she glimpsed his face.

When she saw his stony expression and cold, hard eyes, she knew she’d lost him before they’d really begun.

‘You know me, I’m all about the computations, so I only take calculated risks. And from where I’m standing, I see a woman who could barely look at this poor geek during uni, the dumb-ass she only turned to when she needed a comfort fuck, and who she’s showing an exorbitant amount of interest in now because I have money and you finally see me as good enough for the high and mighty Jayda York—’

‘Fuck you.’

It would’ve had more impact if her voice didn’t wobble, her throat tight with fury. ‘For a genius with a sky-high IQ, you’re an ignorant asshole.’

As she swept through his penthouse scooping up her dress, panties, and shoes, she willed him to stop her, to apologise, to drag her into his arms and never let go.

He did none of those things.

So she stormed out of his life, wishing she had a door to slam rather than his stupid elevator doors sliding shut on a soft whoosh.

She’d meant it. Fuck him and his hateful words.

So why did it hurt so damn bad?