Page 94 of A Secret Scottish Escape

I stopped, momentary shock springing through me at hearing him call me by my first name.

I turned, my eyes widening.

His hood was down and the black mask was hanging limp in his right hand.

Chapter Forty-Five

I’d caught a glimpse of Mask’s face before, but that was from a distance when I’d surprised him in the garden.

Now, he was standing right in front of me, an odd expression pooling in those dark, spiky-lashed eyes. I could see his features clearly.

His black hair was in messy waves, reaching to the nape of his neck, and there was a quizzical slant to his eyebrows. His features carried a determined defiance.

My attention slid to the scar rivering down the right side of his cheek. I recalled from briefly seeing it before that it reached from his brow to the corner of his stern mouth, but close up, it seemed to melt away. It was unable to compete with the rest of his compelling, handsome features.

He ruffled a hand through his hair. “Satisfied?”

I swallowed, fighting to compose myself. “What do you want me to say?”

He shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling under his hooded top.

“How did it happen?”

Mask’s face closed with pain. “One step at a time, Layla.”

We hovered opposite one another, the meaning of what had just happened travelling backwards and forwards between us. It must have been a major event for him, to reveal his scar like that.

I detected another faint throb in his jaw as he continued to watch me.

I slipped out of the kitchen to check on Ed, who had turned over and was cuddling one of Mask’s silk cushions. When I returned to see Mask seconds later, I closed the kitchen door behind me.

I had to tell him about Ed. OK, so he hadn’t confided in me yet about how he had come to bear his scar, but the very fact that he had revealed it to me in the first place was undoubtedly a huge step – and he had decided to take it.

I let out a long breath of air as Mask indicated for me to sit opposite him at his breakfast bar and brought over two fresh glasses of water, clanking with ice cubes.

And that was when I unleashed my story in his sun-washed kitchen.

Mask listened. His moody features displayed a range of emotions, his scar only prominent to me when he angled his head in a certain way. “So your mother had an affair with that man currently sleeping on my sofa?”

I toyed with the russet and lime leaf ring on my finger that Dad had given me for my twenty-first. “Yep.”

“And you were out strolling with him, taking in the countryside?”

I pulled a face. “I was trying to reason with him. Like I just told you, he’s refusing to re-join the band to play on my opening night.”

A dull throb decided to lay claim to my left temple at that point. I took a sip of my water, the ice cubes bumping against the front of my teeth. “I thought I’d try and have another word with him about it today when they all came back to Loch Harris for the weekend, which was originally supposed to be for another rehearsal.”

“And that’s why you were out walking with him?”

I nodded and then wished I hadn’t. My head felt heavy.

“That’s a bit selfish of him, isn’t it?”

I sighed. “I think so, but then maybe I’m the one being selfish.”

Mask examined me and blinked his spiky black lashes. “I don’t think that’s a word that could describe you.”

My stomach did a weird squirm as I stared back at his handsome face, with its riverine red scar. “I don’t notice it,” I blurted. “Your scar, I mean.” I wanted him to know that.