“In our defence, we did hold down the fort while you were out wandering.” Mason salutes me with his bottle. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“After you left us with this tyrant, you should be grateful we’re still here.” Ross gestures towards Stuart with narrowed eyes.
“Tyrant, is it?”
“Dictator of the highest order,” Ross says solemnly.
Stuart smiles, showing his teeth. “Thank you. I’m glad someone finally noticed.” He leans back in Jonathan’s arms. “I told you I’d make a great emperor.”
Jonathan sniffs. “I hate to break it to you, babe, but I don’t think you’ve got what it takes.”
“But the wealth! The women! The finery!”
His husband smooths the hair back from Stuart’s forehead affectionately. “Says the gay man who left his high-paying job to pursue events management? Besides, we have plenty of finery already.”
“Not enough to keep you from raiding my wardrobe, apparently,” I say, gesturing at Rowan. I glare at Stuart. “I’m guessing you’re responsible for this?”
“Well, would you look at the time?” Stuart holds up his watch and peers at it. “Far past our bedtime.”
“Wouldn’t want us to turn into pumpkins,” Jonathan agrees.
Both men lever themselves up, backing hastily out of the room.
“Ewan, why don’t you come with us? We can show you where you’re sleeping.”
“But I already know where I’m—” Halfway through, Ewan clocks what they mean. “Yeah, that would be sound.”
“What’s happening?” Ross looks between the other men. “Why is everyone leaving?”
“How about another beer?” Mason stands.
“But I’ve got—” Ross holds up his unfinished bottle. “Oh.OH.”
He, too, levers himself to his feet, and the five men all disappear, leaving Rowan and I alone.
“How are you holding up, London?” I’m standing too close to her, invading her personal space, but I can’t bring myself to care.
Rowan lets out a breath, blowing hair out of her face. “Oh, you know. I’ve had better days.” She crosses her arms over her chest, revealing her pert nipples.
Down, boy.
“You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“You want to talk about how you ended up in these.” I trace the line of her collarbone where my T-shirt has slipped to the side. Her breath quickens.
“Stuart leant them to me.”
“Did you know they were mine?” I let my fingers play with the hem of her shirt. I want to touch her everywhere, feel the warmth of her skin on mine. But for now I content myself with letting my knuckles dip beneath the fabric and graze the softness of her lower stomach.
Her breath hitches and she licks her lips. “I had an inkling.”
“Were you in my room, London?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
“Were you in my room, wearing my clothes?”
