Broody Brit: A Hero Club Novel

by Naima Simone

  “It’s nice to finally meet you, Axel,” Bridget greets, trying and not succeeding in hiding a smile at her kids’ reactions to him.

  But who can blame them? He’s… God. Him. I’ve just left his bed, and I’m nearly struck dumb by the sight of him with his golden hair slapped up in a messy bun and clothed in a wrinkled T-shirt that hugs his muscular torso. Faded jeans drape off his hips and cling to thick, powerful thighs. I’ve seen the man naked, so in clothes, his magnetism should at least be a wee bit muted. But no such luck.

  God, I wish there was a dial at his back where he could just switch that hotness from nuclear to regular ol’ phenomenal.

  At least then it would be easier to not pant after him in front of witnesses.

  One peek at him, though, reveals he’s not experiencing that issue. He stares at me, and that quick I’m caught in that electric blue trap. There are kids in the room, my brain screams in warning. Abort! Abort! But apparently, my vagina has shanghaied this ship, because my body is in full rebellion, and I can’t look away. Images of what he did to me just hours ago download to my brain, and my lungs seize, my stomach clenches and my sex quivers.

  I’m in trouble.

  The peal of a familiar ring tone saves me from complete humiliation. Jerking my gaze from him, I glance toward Brendan, who is holding my phone toward me.

  “I forgot to tell you, Z. Your phone was ringing on my way down here. Twice. Whoever’s calling must really want to contact you.”

  “Thanks.”

  I meet him halfway, keeping my attention focused on him, but not before skimming over his father. More specifically, the narrowed, speculative gaze of his father. Well, shit. Something tells me Simon didn’t miss that little byplay between Axel and me. I smother a sigh. Not that I have to explain myself to him or seek his permission seeing as I’m a fully-grown woman, but he and Bridget did offer me their home. Yeah, I can’t touch that decision until after coffee.

  Accepting the phone, I hit the accept button on the screen. “Hello.”

  “Morning. Is this Zenobia Hester?”

  “Yes, this is her.”

  “Great. This is Greg, the super at your apartment building.”

  Surprise flares inside me, followed by a heavy coil of foreboding. Good God, what now? “Hey, Greg. Is something wrong with the repairs?”

  “On the contrary,” he assures me. “I’m calling to let you know we finished with everything ahead of schedule. If you’d like to move back in tomorrow, you can.”

  “Wow, that’s… great.” Isn’t it? It is. Then why aren’t I happy? My gaze flicks to Axel, who’s sitting at the breakfast bar, his back stiff. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “No problem. Have a great rest of your day.”

  I end the call and stare at the cell. Simon and Bridget returning home early. My apartment ready ahead of time. It’s like the universe is telling me this no-strings affair has reached its expiration date. I mean, I knew that it had to. Just not so soon. Not before I had my fill of him.

  As if that could ever happen. Wasn’t it you telling him you’re behind those walls of his and he won’t ever be able to push you out?

  Oh, shut up. I can’t be held responsible for what I say during sex.

  Jesus. I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m officially losing it.

  “Z? Everything okay?” Bridget asks, settling a hand on my shoulder.

  “Great.” I force a smile, that from her arched brow, I don’t think is fooling her. “That was my building super. My apartment is ready, and I can get out of your hair sooner than I thought.”

  “Oh, that’s awesome. Not that we want to get rid of you.” She smiles. “But I know how you’ve hated being displaced. This will be getting some normalcy back.”

  “True.”

  Axel’s stare is like a brand on my skin, but I don’t look in his direction. Instead, I return to the coffee machine and busy my hands with making a cup. Maybe by the time it’s brewing, I’ll have convinced myself this jagged-edged disappointment in my chest is due to not having a whole house at my disposal and not because my no-feelings-no-strings affair with Axel ended before it really even had a chance to begin.

  Yes. That’s why.

  God, I’m such a shitty liar.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Zenobia

  “Zenobia.” Brenda Shannon approaches the nurses’ station where I’m charting, her usually stern face softened by the concern swimming in her brown eyes. “You have a visitor. You have a break coming up in twenty minutes. Why don’t you go ahead and take it now?”

  “O-okay,” I stutter, frowning. But then she steps to the side, and my gaze lands on the person standing behind her. Thank God I’m sitting. Shock blindsides me and would’ve knocked me on my ass.

  As it is, I grip the desk, steadying myself, and blink. Because I can’t believe my daughter is here.

  “Bethany?” I whisper. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you.” Bethany glances at Brenda, then back at me. “I know who you are.”

  The announcement plows whatever breath I managed to maintain out of my lungs. “I-I—”

  I can’t speak. Can barely think.

  “You two should probably take this to the cafeteria,” Brenda suggests. She circles the desk and cups my elbow in a firm grasp, helping me to my feet. Even offering me support as I take a few precious moments to ensure I don’t fall on my face. “I’m going to put you down for PTO.”

  I can only nod and somehow manage to stumble around the desk and meet Bethany on the other side. She tilts her head back to meet my gaze. I know who you are. Her words rebound inside my head on an endless loop as we stare at each other, seemingly for the first time. And in a way it is. It’s the first time we’re meeting one another in honesty—as biological mother and daughter.

  “Do you want to go to the cafeteria so we can talk?” I ask.

  She nods and ten minutes later, we’re seated at a desk in a corner of the large atrium, her with a hot chocolate and me with a large coffee, because it’s so needed. Neither of us sip, though. We’re too busy studying each other—again.

  “I don’t have your eyes.” She scrunches her nose. That, she totally gets from me.

  “No, your biological father had hazel eyes.”

  “Does he know about me?”

  I hesitate, unsure how much of this conversation we should be having without her parents here. I’ve violated enough of their trust. And I can’t help but notice that she’s dressed in a uniform with a book bag slung over the back of her chair.

  Stiffening, I cock my head, narrowing my eyes. “Bethany, do your parents know you’re here?”

  Now she hesitates, but after a moment, she grudgingly admits, “No. I skipped school and took the bus here.”

  Oh shit. “Bethany—”

  “I don’t care if I get in trouble.” Her mouth sets in a mutinous straight line and anger flashes in her green-brown eyes. “If I asked them if they would bring me to see you, they would’ve said no. And don’t bother telling me I don’t know that. I overheard you and Mom arguing outside of my hospital room. She told you to stay away from me. It’s not fair.” She shakes her head, her hands fisting beside her cup. “She should’ve asked me if I wanted to meet you. Because I do—I have for a while. I want to get to know you. And I knew the only way that was going to happen was if I came to see you myself.”

  My heart expands it’s about to burst from my chest. But a second later, caution whispers through my head. Damn, this is bad. I can’t go behind the Mavises’ back again—I just can’t. But the thought of rejecting her… My stomach roils and bile races for the back of my throat. No, that I can’t do either.

  “Okay, I understand the why, but skipping school to do it? And going behind your parents’ backs? Can’t sign off on it.” I hold up a finger when she parts her lips to object. “But I get it. And I not only would I be a bald-faced liar but a bad one if I said I’m upset you’re here.”

&nbs
p; Her mouth pops closed at my admission.

  “Still,” I continue, “you need to call your parents. Now. Let them know where you are and to meet us here in the cafeteria. Bethany, your mom had every right to tell me to stay away from you. I shouldn’t have approached you without her and your father’s permission first. I’m your biological mother, but they’re your parents, and I didn’t respect that. I won’t make that mistake again. So, give them a call, and let’s see if, maybe, there’s a way to work this all out.”

  She chews on her bottom lip for a moment, staring down at the table. Then, huffing out a drawn-out sigh, she twists around and removes her phone from her backpack.

  “Okay, fine.” She taps the screen, then holds the cell to her ear. Eyes meeting mine, she says, “Hey, Mom. I have something to tell you.”

  I inhale.

  And it seems like forever before I let it go.

  Axel

  Pride is an insidious emotion. It can fill a person with confidence but in the next instant trip that same person up and send him tumbling arse over head into failure. Yet, switching off the welding torch and removing my protective gear, studying the work I just finished, I can’t deny it’s pride that swells inside my chest.

  Lady Amalthea.

  Her ethereal figure is captured by metal honed so delicately, it appears as if one touch could snap it in half. The flowing dress. The long, gossamer strands of hair. The elfin-shaped face. The star on her forehead. She stands, hands clasped to her breasts, head tipped back, as if gazing up at the sky, searching for answers about this strange, new world she’s been thrust into.

  Objectively, it’s one of the best pieces I’ve done.

  Subjectively, it’s fucking brilliant.

  I drag in a breath, then cough, wincing at the wheeze and rattle in my chest. Dammit. My asthma has been fucking with me the last couple of days, and I’ve been sucking on my inhaler more than usual. Like now. Digging into my pocket, I retrieve my inhaler and take two puffs. My chest loosens, and I inhale again. Thank Christ this one is deeper and doesn’t have as much of a wheeze. Out of curiosity, I glance at the back to see how many puffs I have left. Six. Well, shit. I didn’t even realize it’d gotten that low. I need to call in a refill tomorrow or see if Simon can get a new one for me. The way I’ve been sucking on this thing, I can’t afford to be without a prescription on hand. I damn sure can’t afford to be down with an attack. I have too much work ahead of me. Right now, I’m good for the number of pieces planned, but any hiccup could set me back.

  I hate hiccups.

  Threading my fingers through my beard, I head across the warehouse toward the room that was probably some manager’s office once upon a time. Now it’s my employee breakroom for one where I stowed a mini-refrigerator, small table, and chair. Moments later, I reenter the workshop with an ice-cold bottle of water, and a knock on the rear door echoes through the room. Frowning, I don’t move to answer it.

  Who the fuck could that be? And at seven o’clock at night? Not Nate, because I told him I’d find my own way home. With Zenobia moving back to her apartment, there’s no point in me heading back to Simon’s house anytime soon. For what? To be reminded she’s not there? To lie down in sheets that carry her scent? To eat in a kitchen that holds memories that I need to start forgetting?

  I’d rather work myself until I’m too tired to do anything but shower and get knocked the fuck out.

  Another knock reverberates through the workshop.

  Shit. Whoever it is isn’t going away. At least not until I tell them to.

  Fingers tightening around the water bottle until it gives an ominous crack, I stalk across the workshop. When I reach the door, I shove it open. “What?”

  “Uh, hi to you, too?” Zenobia smiles up at me. “Can I come in, or are you just going to stand there and growl at me all night?”

  I shift backward, allowing her space to move past me. Her apple and earth scent teases me, and yeah, there’s a possibility she could glance back and catch me closing my eyes and savoring it like some pervert or stalker, but I chance it. Closing my eyes, I breathe her in, thankful I just took my inhaler so I can capture a lungful of that spicy, earthy fragrance.

  Christ, I’ve missed her.

  It’s only been over twelve hours since I’ve seen her—over twelve hours since I’ve been buried inside her—and I hurt for her.

  But what we agreed to is over. As soon as Simon returned home with his family, it signed the death warrant on that bargain. Which is fine. It wasn’t meant to be long-term anyway. No emotions. Just scratching a desperate itch. Satisfying an animal jerk.

  Nothing more.

  Doesn’t explain why I’m over here fucking mainlining her scent.

  “I stopped by Simon and Bridget’s to pack up my stuff and saw you weren’t there, so figured you must still be here working.” She stops by my welding table, staring down at the piece I just finished. “Oh shit,” she breathes, reaching out a hand, but then snatches it back. “This is gorgeous. I’m sorry, Axel. It’s rude to look at your work without asking, isn’t it? Hell, it’s probably rude just to drop by unannounced. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “What’s wrong?” Because she’s nervous again. And I thought we were past that. I’ve had my face in her pussy. How can she possibly still be nervous around me?

  “Nothing.” I frown, and she holds a hand up, palm out and chuckles softly. The sound skims over my skin like a sensual caress, and I shift, restless. “Seriously, there is nothing wrong. Everything is absolutely… right. I have the best news, and you were the first person I wanted to share it with. But when you weren’t at the house, I impulsively decided to come and find you. Sorry if I intruded on your work.”

  “You don’t have to apologize to me, Zenobia.” Not when she’s given me a gift. Seeking me out, wanting me to be the person she shares with? That might not seem like much to her. But to me? It’s as fragile, as priceless as the most coveted artwork.

  “Right.” She turns back to the sculpture and studies it for another long moment. “There’s such beauty inside you, you know that? It just amazes me.”

  I stare at her, shock paralyzing my vocal cords. Where the hell did that come from? Before I can ever try to form a reply—but fuck, what the hell do I say to that?—she smiles at me.

  “Bethany came to the hospital looking for me today. Apparently, she overheard the conversation between her mother and me last week. She was curious about me and wanted to meet me as her birth mother instead of her nurse.”

  “Wasn’t expecting that,” I say, scanning her face. But unlike that day in my bed, there isn’t any pain. Just a quiet joy and… peace. “I’m guessing everything went okay?”

  She laughs again, and it has a bit of a hard edge. “Not at first. She’d played hooky to see me. I made her call her parents, and they were not happy, as you can well imagine. When they arrived at the hospital, initially they wanted no part of a conversation with me. They wanted to pick her up, take her home, and have no further contact with me. But Bethany was adamant. She’s an amazing kid.”

  “She’s her mother’s daughter.” To me, it was pretty damn obvious.

  She smiles. “Thank you for saying that. But I credit all that to the Mavises. Sure, she has my DNA, my features, and some of my mannerisms, but that confidence, strength and yes, knowledge of being loved and accepted? That’s all due to the wonderful parents they are. Now, I believe I can take credit for that since I chose them for her.”

  Her smile momentarily flashes wider into a grin, but then it dims, softens into something more thoughtful, wistful.

  “Like I said, Bethany was insistent, and we all ended up sitting down and talking. And they listened to her when she said how she just wanted to get to know me. And not as a mother, because she has one of those. But as a friend. She’s curious about her history, where she comes from. And I respect that. And so did her parents. They finally agreed to allow her to meet up with me—with them present—and gradually introduce me into
her life.”

  “Then why’re you nervous?”

  “And here I thought I was hiding it so well.” She snorts, dipping her head. When she lifts it, the shadows in those golden-brown eyes gut me. “I’m scared,” she rasps. “What if I mess this up like I did the first time? Or what if she does get to know me and is disappointed? I’m not who she thought I was? Or I don’t hold up to the image in her head? Or what if she’s mad at me for giving her up in the first place? I don’t want to fuck this up. It’s too important.”

  I open my arms.

  And she flies into them.

  For long moments, we stand there, wrapped in each other. Her heart thuds, vibrating through my body, and I tighten my embrace, wishing like hell I could absorb each and every shiver that ripples through her. Several more minutes pass while I gather my thoughts, parse through them, discard them as too trite, too pat. Truth. All I have for her is truth. Even if it’s too discombobulated, too raw. Too passionate.

  Too revealing.

  “When I first saw you,” I murmur into her curls, “I hurt with the need to sculpt you. It roared at me so loud that I almost couldn’t think, couldn’t hear. Even when you hit me with that slop you call food.”

  She huffs out a laugh, but it’s muted, because she’s gone still. As if she’s clinging to every word that’s coming out of my mouth.

  “I needed to capture all that beauty and militance in metal so years from that moment, people would lay their eyes on you and be fucking awed. Like I was.”

  Her sharp, indrawn breath echoes in the room, and her nails dig into my back past my overalls and T-shirt.

  “An Amazon. That’s how I would sculpt you. That’s how I would immortalize her. With a helmet on top of these thick curls, armor on this petite but powerful body, and a sword in your delicate but strong hand. Because that’s how I saw you, and it’s how I still see you. Fearless. Fierce. Indomitable. I’m not saying all those things you fear won’t happen. But I am saying if they do, I have no doubts you’ll conquer them, because that’s what you do, Zenobia. You’re a warrior.”