Iceman is resting his back against the bar again and makes no show of hearing me. Fine. If he can pretend I’m not here, I’ll do the same. I take a sip of my second cocktail for extra fortification before turning to the crowd and adjusting the folds of my dress to show off more thigh.
The irony isn’t lost on me that I’m living up to the label Iceman gave me by putting my wares on display, but now that Cameron knows exactly what my plan is, I’m getting desperate. There’s nothing I can do about my husbandbeing the first man I ever slept with, but I can sure as hell make sure he doesn’t remain the last.
The espresso martinis have helped me relax a little, but my pulse quickens every time I make eye contact with someone reasonably attractive. A few potential candidates draw nearer. Quite a few actually, but before they get close enough for introductions, they have a sudden change of heart and slink away.
One man appears bolder and gets within a few feet. He’s a little older, but he has a nice smile, one that falters when he clocks my security detail. To my utter disbelief, the gutless asshole tips his drink to Iceman then saunters away without giving me a second look.
My head snaps to my nemesis and I catch him glowering at the retreating figure. “Can you not do that.”
He still won’t look at me. “Do what?”
“Be less…” I wave a hand at his colossus frame. “Less you.”
He rubs the back of his neck, a finger sweeping over the scar near the base of his neck. “Some people would argue I am less.”
Taken off guard, I swallow back my next smart remark and quietly absorb the hint of vulnerability I doubt he wanted me to see. And I keep staring at him until he’s forced to meet my gaze. I arch an eyebrow. “Finally. The Iceman cracks.”
He holds my gaze for far longer than should feel comfortable. “The guy was a predator.”
“You’re vetting my suitors now? You do realize I’m after a one-night stand, not a life commitment?”
“I don’t care what you’re after, Grace. I’m simply protecting the good name of this establishment,” he says, resting a hand on the bar as he leans in far too close. “Andthere’s only a certain level of reckless behavior I’m willing to tolerate.”
Anger makes my blood pound against my ears, momentarily drowning out the chatter and the incessant buzz coming from my phone. I don’t like that he’s discovered my name, but then he knows so much more about me after my conversation with Cameron. I clench my jaw. “Noted.”
I twist away and down what’s left of my cocktail. The couple who had been on my other side have left, giving me a good view of the rest of the bar. I notice a man on his own a few seats away and he notices me. After an exchange of eyebrow quirks, he moves to the vacated stool next to mine.
“Let me get you another of those,” he says, indicating my empty glass.
“Thank you,” I reply with a smile that belies my nerves.
He’s attractive. Well groomed. His cologne catches the back of my throat, but there are worse smells. There are also better smells. Like citrus and cedar.
“I’m Grace,” I force myself to continue.
“Aaron.”
When the bartender accepts our order and Iceman doesn’t intervene, I take it as a green light to carry on. I should be excited, but my gut twists. I don’t have the slightest inclination to rip Aaron’s clothes off the way I might have done with a certain security guard. Is revenge against Cameron a good enough reason to go through with this?
Aaron asks me about myself, but when I mention interior design, he starts up a monologue about the houses he’s renovated. As he talks, he puts a hand on my knee. I’d already checked that he wasn’t wearing a wedding band, but I spot what might be a stripe of paler skin around his third finger. I smile politely as I move his handoff me. He gives me a sheepish grin of apology, but carries on talking.
“Chestnut Hill has some beautiful family homes,” I note when he explains where he lives. “Do you have children?”
He winces. “Two.”
There’s no point being polite about this. “And a wife?”
He waves a hand dismissively, then sets it back down on my knee. “We have an arrangement.”
“I imagine you do.” And I imagine Cameron said something similar to the women he bedded over the years. The ones I know about. And the ones I don’t. “Well, it’s been lovely talking to you, but I don’t think we should be continuing this conversation.” Staring pointedly at the hand on my leg, I raise my voice a touch when I add, “And I’m pretty sure my boyfriend wouldn’t appreciate you touching me like that.”
Tingles dance along my spine as the air shifts behind me. The legs of my stool scrape slowly across the marble floor as I’m pulled backwards until I can feel the touch of fabric against my bare back. The touch transforms into the reassuring pressure of Iceman’s chest as he leans over my shoulder.
“He doesn’t.”
The creep who has an ‘arrangement’ with his wife recoils. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I’m…” he stutters as he removes his hand quickly and jumps up off his stool. “I’ll go.”
“You do that,” says Iceman casually.
