by Julie Miller
“Do you know who I am?”
Her eyes bored into his before she nodded, very slowly. “It happened again, didn’t it? I mean… I’m not sure…”
She shivered. Brodie removed his shirt and draped it over her body, overlapping the front to cover her. Then he stepped away from her and turned on the overhead light so she wouldn’t be frightened by a monster in the shadows. When the light came on, she saw his unsnapped jeans and her own clothes on the floor.
Red blotches dotted her cheeks. “Oh, my God. Was I…? Did we…?”
She covered her mouth, clutched the shirt together, and dashed into the hallway. Brodie followed her to the bathroom where she slammed the door in his face. He heard the toilet flush and water running for several minutes. Finally, it grew quiet.
He retrieved his jacket from the office floor to cover himself, and rebuttoned his jeans before knocking on the door. “BJ, are you all right?” Silence. He tested the knob. It was unlocked. “I'm coming in.”
Brodie found her sitting on the edge of the tub, huddled inside his shirt. The thing hung past her knees, making her look like a little girl playing dress up. Curly wisps of hair clung to her skin where she had splashed water on her face. She looked deathly pale except for the pink rims around her eyes, evidence of more crying. Her eyes were dry now, but shadowed with trouble.
He closed the toilet lid and sat across from her. Brodie wanted to hold her hand or pull her into his arms, but thought it wiser to keep his distance. He didn't want to startle or alarm her in this disoriented state.
She glanced up at him, but quickly averted her eyes.
“I'm so embarrassed. I'm mortified. Brodie, I'm so sorry. You must think I'm an idiot. I kissed you, didn't I?” She bent her head with a strangled groan of frustration and self- reproach. “Hell, I was practically naked when I woke up. I'm so sorry.”
“I should have realized sooner. If it helps, we didn’t consummate anything.”
“I couldn't have been in my right mind to throw myself all over you like that.”
“Quit apologizing!” He barked the order more harshly than he intended. The sight of BJ cringing away from him tore him in two. How could he have been so stupid to let her put herself in such an awkward position? He should have been looking out for her welfare from the outset. He should have seen her dazed expression. He should never have inflicted the kind of pain he saw etched in her eyes.
Brodie softened his voice and hunched his shoulders. “Do you remember anything?”
He held himself still, giving BJ the time she needed to summon herself once more. She leaned forward, lifting her fingers to his lips, tracing them with the delicate inquisitiveness of a blind person reading Braille. It required all his will not to jerk away from her tender, unwittingly arousing fingertips. A frown crinkled beside her eyes. She concentrated, trying to replay the episode in her head. He kept still because this was his mission, and BJ needed to find answers.
“I don't know.” She leaned even closer, trying to see with her eyes something her memory could not. “You were wet and cold and we kissed. I think.”
Brodie couldn't account for what possessed him then. He fleetingly excused it as research for the case when he pulled her hand away, closed the distance between them, and kissed her.
Slowly, reverently, less volatile than before. He kissed her until her lips shyly responded. Until her hand cupped the less damaged side of his jaw. Until her mouth opened to let him taste the honeyed softness inside. She had been fire before. Now she had changed into a soft rain, mesmerizing and life-affirming.
He pulled away even more slowly, hesitant to believe that he wasn't under some kind of spell. Her eyes fluttered open, close to his. They were clear and bright—and aware.
“I remember,” she whispered. “Nothing else is clear. But I remember this. I remember you.”
When she looked at him with those honest, trusting eyes, he could almost wish…he could almost believe…Hell, this was too much. Too soon. It would never be right to have feelings for BJ. It would never be safe.
Abruptly, Brodie cleared his throat and stood. He steeled himself against her visible withdrawal and the habitual way she had of crossing her arms and hugging herself. “That doesn't make any sense. You can't remember what you were doing in your office. But you can remember what I did?”
“Vaguely.” BJ spoke quietly, almost apologetically. “I remember the sensation more than the actual embrace. I knew I wasn't alone. I knew it was you.”
Nothing made any sense. “You don't recall anything else?”
She struggled to find an answer that remained just out of reach. “No. Not until I woke up, on top of you. Mostly… naked.”
BJ winced at the last phrase, looking acutely embarrassed by the intimacy she had unconsciously shared with him. At that moment, Brodie felt the sting of every wound ever inflicted on him, every tragedy of which he had been a part. To have let his sordid, sorry existence touch this innocent woman felt unforgivable. Instinctively, he zipped his jacket to the neck and turned the more frightening side of his face away from BJ.
“Do you remember what you were doing before you went into the trance?”
BJ couldn't blame Brodie for his abrupt change in manner. Somewhere along the way she had crossed that indefinable barrier between employer and bodyguard and gotten very, very personal. Even if she didn't remember much of what happened in her office, she could tell that Brodie was extremely uncomfortable at being reminded of just how personal things had gotten between them.
She wanted him to protect her and comfort her as he had earlier. She wanted to know the true man inside of him. Was he the gentle giant of a moment ago or this cold, fierce warrior?
But just because she felt unfamiliar desires and curiosity didn't necessarily mean he wanted anything from her. In fact, Brodie had gone out of his way several times to show her how much he needed his privacy and distance. BJ felt rather selfish for violating those needs, regardless of whether she'd been sane at the time or not.
BJ did remember the tender kiss they had shared moments ago. His crooked mouth had been unbending, but infinitely gentle. Brodie's raw, sensual touch scattered the murky clouds of shame and confusion in her mind, and replaced them with the clarity of awareness. Of him and of herself. Man and woman. Not damsel and rescuer. Not monster and misfit. Brodie and BJ.
If he could deny the connection between them, then so could she.
She answered his question in as businesslike a manner as she could. “I couldn't sleep. The storm came and I knew you were outside. I went out on the porch and called, but I guess you couldn't hear me. I came back in to play on the computer until you got in.”
Her recollection went fuzzy.
“I don't know.” She shoved her fingers through her hair, frustrated with herself for being so confused. “What's wrong with me?” she demanded, to no one in particular. “My mind is so screwed up!”
“When the other incidents occurred—when your designs were stolen—do you remember anything at all about them? What you were doing when they started? When you woke up?”
“I don't know.”
“Think!” She jerked at his clipped command forced herself to concentrate.
She closed her eyes and tried to picture the episodes that had left her feeling violated. “Usually they happen late at night. When I've been working really hard. But tonight I wasn't doing anything. Just playing a game.”
BJ's cheeks grew hot. That wasn't all she had been doing. She had been thinking about Brodie. In her mind, there were no scars. There was only strength and understanding, enough to make her feel feminine and desirable. In her imagination, his comfort became a caress. He smiled with her.
She snapped her eyes open. Brodie still wore his perpetual frown. BJ channeled her thoughts back to business. “I kept myself awake by rewriting the game program.”
Suddenly her thinking skipped off on another tangent. The computer. Something about the computer. A flash of insight t
oyed with her consciousness.
“What is it?”
BJ shot to her feet, shoving her arms into the sleeves of Brodie's shirt. She darted back into her office. His question hung in the air, unanswered, while she focused everything on the computer in front of her. Brodie moved behind her chair while she typed in a command. Nothing.
She banged her fist on the table and typed again. When she pushed the enter button, a myriad of geometric shapes floated across the screen.
“Damn!”
“What are you doing?”
She ignored Brodie's question. Clutching the oversized shirt together with one hand, she crawled under the computer table and checked the wires on a recording box she had installed.
Nothing.
The word became a mantra in her head.
BJ slid out from beneath that table and repeated the same manic process on the other computer. She stared at the figures moving randomly before her, pressing the heels of her hands against her temples, desperately trying to make sense out of the garbage on the screen.
Nothing.
She jumped to her feet, grabbed the computer monitor, and slung the machine into the corner of the room. Brodie grabbed her by the collar and jerked her away from the shower of sparks and glass that followed the impact of wall and hardware.
BJ turned willingly and buried her face in his jacket. She breathed in shallow, erratic gasps. She shuddered violently against him, dry-eyed and totally lost. But just when she felt his blessed arms close around her shoulders, she shoved herself away from him. She didn't need to escape into his comfort right now, she needed to think clearly. If only her brain would cooperate.
“It's playing games with me.”
“What is?” Brodie remained cool and unruffled by her bizarre behavior.
“The computer!” She gestured wildly at the broken machine. “I know I input new information on that thing tonight. But there's nothing there. No file. No dumpsite. Nothing. I even gerry-rigged the damned thing to record any use or transmission that doesn't show up in the server log.”
“Speak English, Beej.”
She shook her head exasperatedly. “I know I worked on the computer tonight. I installed a device to record every time that machine goes on or sends or receives any message. But there's nothing. That machine says nothing happened.”
“There were words on the screen when I first came in.”
“Yeah?” His throaty reminder gave her a threadbare spark of hope.
He nodded. “On the surviving computer.”
BJ clutched her arms tightly over her stomach, tucking the long ends of Brodie's sleeves underneath and binding her in a mock straitjacket. She almost laughed at the symbolism. Yet, something about the external control calmed her. It released her mind from its frenetic activity.
“At least that proves I'm not totally nuts. You actually saw the computer working. I didn't imagine that.”
“You said you were playing a game.”
“Yes, but it was more than that. I think.” A dull ache rimmed her skull, constricting her ability to reason clearly. “I don't know. There's something more. But I can't remember.”
She squeezed her thumb and forefinger together. “I'm that close, but I can't figure it out.”
“BJ, you're exhausted. Give your brain a rest.”
“Damon says my brain never shuts down.” If only it would. Then she might know some peace.
“This ex-boss of yours doesn't know everything.” She smelled the damp leather of Brodie's jacket and knew he had moved closer. She felt his hands beneath her elbows, guiding her to his side. She sagged against him, grateful for his strength, never questioning why she trusted him so completely.
He walked with her into the hallway, his arms supporting her more than her own legs. She went with him willingly, not sure of their destination, but happy to see him turn into her bedroom. He kept an arm around her waist while he turned back the quilt, flipping her menagerie of stuffed animals onto the floor.
He turned her and sat her on the bed. Then he lifted her feet and laid her down gently, tucking the top sheet and quilt snugly under her chin.
“Do you want some aspirin?”
BJ felt too tired to sit up and swallow. “Could you let Duke in? He likes to sleep with me.”
Brodie looked uneasily out the door. She remembered the dog's reaction to him. At least that was clear. She laid her hand over his, keeping him from leaving her side. “Never mind. I forgot how he growled at you. He'll be okay tonight.”
Brodie surprised her by sitting on the edge of the bed. His long, blunt fingers tenderly smoothed the curls off her forehead. “I'll stay with you until you fall asleep.”
BJ nestled into her pillow, the feeling reminiscent of her earliest memories with Jake. Brodie gave her the same secure, protected feeling. But with something more. Through the fog of encroaching sleep, she looked up at him.
Beyond the frown, beyond the scars, she saw a determinedly gentle man. He bore the marks of incredible torture and suffering, yet he never let the hell he must have endured hurt her. She suspected that he had killed before. Yet she didn't believe that he would ever harm her.
She tightened her hand around his, feeling small and delicate and inadequate next to him. “Brodie?”
“Hmm?”
“What did I do? When I was out to lunch earlier?”
“During the trance?” She nodded. Her eyelids grew heavy, but she concentrated her hearing on his deep, halting words.
“You were concerned about me catching cold after being out in the storm.”
“There was more,” she murmured sleepily. “You, um, offered me the shirt off your back.”
“You're a sexy woman, BJ. Full of unexpected surprises that may drive me crazy.”
“I didn't embarrass you, did I?” The muscles in her eyelids stopped working.
“No, sweetheart. You can’t embarrass me.”
The mattress creaked and something warm brushed across her cheek. A kiss? Or a dream? “Go to sleep.”
BJ nodded obediently, then turned on her side and curled into a ball. Brodie had given her a gentlemanly, watered-down version of tonight's episode, she was sure. She recalled something about bare skin and searing heat. And had he called her sexy? And sweetheart?
Gray mist filled her head, muddying her disjointed thoughts. The image of a lightning bolt blipped into her dreams. Poor Brodie. That hideous brand on his chest. A twisting scar of puckered skin that cut a track through the soft, dark mat of hair.
Or was it silver and black? An image forged in metal.
BJ's foggy brain tried to latch on to the picture.
Nothing. It's nothing, Bridget.
“It's nothing.” Drowsy lips repeated the words. The picture vanished. Sleep won.
Chapter Four
“I said you didn't need to wear a tie. We may call it a ball, but tonight is strictly casual.”
Brodie adjusted his collar for the sixth time in nearly as many minutes. “I'm here as a security consultant, not a guest.”
BJ smiled up at him and shook her head. “Even our regular security guards don't wear a tie with their uniforms.”
“I'm not regular security.”
She shrugged her shoulders, giving up the argument. Or so he thought. “You could lose the tie, but keep your shirt buttoned to the collar. You'd be in style and you could still hide the scars on your neck.”
“The scars?” Brodie sighed raggedly, not sure if he should be ticked off that she’d pointed out his disfigurements or impressed that she’d also noticed his efforts to cover them up. The woman didn't miss a trick. She possessed a sharp eye for detail, using keen insight to translate her observations into facts. No wonder she kept beating herself up trying to piece together clues to the piracy case. She could figure out almost anything else, from repairing the band's speaker, to rerouting computer lines for tonight's presentation. But her episodes still eluded her comprehension.
He kept out of the way, w
atching BJ, Emma, and Jasmine greet their guests. Did BJ really re-member every guest's name? She made it seem that way by drawing them into conversation and subtly extracting the information on the four or five out of two hundred whom she didn't recall.
He could almost see the brain cells ticking behind her intelligent eyes, quickly processing and retaining information. On top of a busy day at LadyTech and the trauma of last night, which she refused to discuss, she still managed to notice how awkward he felt tonight.
He did wear high collared shirts and long sleeves to cover himself when he ventured out into public. His face and size alone were enough to make most people squeamish and uncomfortable. If they could see how bad the rest of him looked, they'd be running away in droves. It was his way of protecting them—and himself from unintentional cruelty and rejection.
But BJ noticed. The notion didn't sit well. With everything going on in her head, she shouldn't be worrying about him. It was absolutely imperative to him that she didn't care about his problems. Yet a sheltered remnant of his soul warmed to the idea that maybe she did.
Today, she insisted on devoting her time and energy to LadyTech's annual open house for investors, clients, and friends. She felt obligated to prove her loyalty to LadyTech. Not that Emma or Jas doubted her for a minute, but BJ persisted in the idea that she had sold out her friends, whether consciously or not. She worked herself into a state of mental exhaustion trying to atone for the wrongs she swore she had committed.
He watched her shake hands with a portly Asian man. “Mr. Takahashi. You've recovered from your jet lag, I hope.”
“Yes, Miss Kincaid.” He returned her smile. “Jasmine's tour of your offices and adjoining warehouse and gardens was most intriguing. I look forward to the unveiling of your new program this evening.”
“I look forward to showing it off, sir.”
Jasmine, a striking, petite blonde, crooked her arm through Mr. Takahashi's. “Let me introduce you to some of our guests, Kiro.”
After Jas escorted their newest prime investor away, Emma turned to BJ. “Why don't you sneak upstairs and grab a catnap. You've been at it all day, and quite frankly, you look tired.”
