I feel the poignancy in the words, but try not to dwell on it. When Frank returns with a bottle of champagne and fills two flutes for us, I thank him. Aaron grabs his hand, and I stiffen. Watching his finger curl around the waiter’s wrist sends a jolt of anger and jealousy through me, along with the way Aaron flashes his gaze up at the older man.
Aaron’s past is not my business. I’m sure he’s been with plenty of people, and that’s his prerogative. He’s smart, hot as fuck, and the son of a hotel tycoon. I’d be worried if hedidn’thave a decent body count.
So why does the thought of this man—or any man, for that matter—touching Aaron make me want to punch something?
“I’ll close up once these folks are out,” he says sternly.
Frank grins. “Of course, Mr. Everett. I’ll let Pierre know.”
When he leaves, I shoot Aaron a strained look.
“Okay, Aaron, what's going on?” I ask. “And tell me the truth.”
Aaron reaches for his glass as he looks at the maybe three couples in the room.
“I told you, I needed to think.”
I grab my glass, shaking my head. “Think about what?” I throw back my champagne, realizing it’s quite fizzy and sharp.
I nearly choke.
Aaron chuckles. “Billecart is best enjoyedslowly, Jake.”
I cough. “Yeah, well, you could have said something.”
Aaron smirks. “Where’s the fun in that? You’re so much cuter when you’re all bratty and pissy.”
I glare at him.Oh, is that the game you want to play, Aaron? You want me to be a brat? I’ll be a fucking brat.
“I’m onlybratty and pissywhen people piss me off,” I say.
“Am I pissing you off, little prince?” he asks, sipping his champagne.
“Maybe,” I say petulantly.
“I’m sorry. About earlier,” he says. I look at the piano in front of me, marveling at the woodwork, the intricate swirls and design; the deep sheen of the mahogany wood.
“What?”
“At the house, when we—” He clears his throat. “I pushed you too much. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I—”
“Is that what you think I’m mad about?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. “You think I’m upset because you fucked me too hard?” I whisper the words.
Aaron traces the bottom of his flute with his fingers.
“Yes.”
I close my eyes and let out a breath. “No, Aaron, I’m not upset because—”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “The sex was great.Youwere great. It’s just…”
I open my eyes, noting the way he’s looking at me. I should tell him. I really should, but the words get stuck in my throat, and I tense.
“The last time I, uh… had sex… with someone, it didn’t end well.”
I broke up a fucking marriage. I saw the papers. The headlines. About Garrett’s storied divorce. Though thankfully no reporters or journalists tried to contact me, and for that I was grateful. I was a mess for a few weeks because I thought they might, and being as I took the job apart from Foxy’s, because it was aprivategig, I didn’t want anything to come back to Foxy and land me in violation of my contract. Eventually, things blew over. I changed my approach for my dates and said I’d never take another private gig. And I didn’t, not until Bella propositioned Noah and I, and sometimes I think the only reason I agreed to do it at all was because Noah needed the money, and so I rationed it wasn’t for her and for him.
“Did he hurt you?” Aaron asks carefully.
