And didn’t that just make me melt some more?
He was too scared of Aidan to even judge me for getting off in the elevator.
Ugh, that was too hot.
Knowing that I’d need my wits about me, I tried not to cream my panties some more when a hush fell over the restaurant as we walked in together.
The place was trying too hard with its black on black esthetic, coppery touches of color in the overhanging lights—those exposed copper bulbs that added both warmth and an odd glare to a space—all surrounding what was clearly a custom-built baby grand piano that was a dark scarlet. Tables circled the piano that was being played by someone who was clearly in love with her job because she didn’t even miss a beat though the rest of the bar did.
I’d been raised with a famous daddy. I’d grown accustomed to turning heads, even if it was just to murmur about the shit some tabloid had published about my family, and of late, whispers had always stirred wherever I was because of what had happened with Wintersen, but this was different.
This was like a court responding to a king.
And his queen.
Oh, fuck.
I wanted that.
I wanted to be that. More than I could have ever recognized.
The hush stirred and shifted, whispers flying at Aidan’s possessive arm around my waist, as the proprietorial clamping of his fingers to my hip was registered. I knew we’d stand out, both of us wearing suits the way we were, and I’d never felt more like a lady boss.
Fucking untouchable.
We seemed to float toward the back end of the bar where there was clearly a VIP area.
Jen was sitting there already, watching us with big eyes. She looked hot in a kind of metallic blouse that draped over her torso, revealing toned arms and a slender frame while exposing just how big her tits were.
From that alone, I knew she was going to try to seduce her ex again if Aidan’s presence didn’t resolve anything.
"Hubba hubba," she mouthed at me, and I smirked as I owned my moment, that delicious, sweet high that was me feeling like I was finally taking my fucking place in this world.
My confidence, already high, soared to impossible levels. While my mouth was bare, my make-up probably patchy from his clean-up job, and my gait a little unsteady thanks to the orgasm he’d just gifted me, I’d never felt higher.
That was because of him.
Which was exactly what a man should do.
Raise you up, not tear you down.
He was right about not mentioning other guys, because they’d been boys.
For the first time in my life, I was with a real man, and it fucking rocked.
"Jen," I greeted with a little smirk, oddly pleased with how awestruck she was.
Her escapades were far more daring than mine, so that she was impressed with me was unusual.
As I clambered onto the circular bench seating, Aidan shuffled in after me.
The bandage pulled against my upper thigh, but the slash there was mostly a flesh wound. More irritating than anything, prone to stinging because I’d wrapped it up too tightly. I’d be glad when I could remove it, to be honest. It was already a nuisance.
"He’s not here yet?" Aidan queried, his disapproval stark as he finally took a seat.
I cast him a look, because his voice was different, and saw his face was a little pale. Guilt hit me, because while I’d been loving that moment, he’d clearly been in pain. Now that I thought about it, his gait had been smoother.
Jesus, did he control his limp in public?
How was that even doable?
Slightly in awe of him—okay, who was I kidding?—a lot in awe of him, I shifted my attention to my friend, who was grumbling, "He said he had issues with parking."
Aidan grumbled right back, "You know how to pick them, Jen. The fucker can’t park in a place that has valet parking?"
Her nose crinkled. "I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t show up."
"If he doesn’t, then I’ll do more than fucking key his Ferrari," Aidan intoned darkly, his tone not shifting as, abruptly, he murmured, "An Aperol Spritz and do you still have the forty-year-old Midleton?"
Why wasn’t I shocked that he knew my drink of choice?
I shot a glance at the server who’d rolled up out of nowhere, well aware that she was eying him like he was a king too, and rather than be jealous, I pressed a hand to his lap, making it quite clear that he was mine. Stamping as much of a claim on him as he did on me, something he compounded by entangling our fingers.
"We do, Mr. O’Donnelly. Would you like me to bring the bottle?"
He grunted. "Please." As she drifted off, he muttered, "I think it’s going to be one of those evenings."
Jen perked up. "I’ve always wanted to try expensive whiskey."
Aidan snorted. "It’ll knock you on your ass."
"Wanna bet?"
"I’m in the mood to win, so why not?" he taunted, and their manner was so relaxed, so comfortable, that something squeezed inside me.
They knew each other.
Well.
But Jen had said she’d tried and failed to seduce him, which meant Aidan was unusual. Very few men Jen set her sights on refused her.
"If you don’t choke on the whiskey, I’ll let you have the bottle."
Jen eyed him. "Knowing you, the bottle’s worth fifteen K."
"And you need every cent, don’t you?"
She huffed. "How about you let me have the bottle anyway seeing as you don’t need the cash?"
"Where would the fun be in that? And who the hell would buy an open bottle anyway?"
"Remind me to warn you that I’ll cut your balls off if you hurt Savannah?"
I rolled my eyes. "That’s some segue."
"I’m the Queen of Segues."
"You wouldn’t have to cut them off. I’d do it myself."
She squinted at him. "I believe you and I approve this message." Before I could do more than grin, Jen leaned into me and asked, "Have you seen his collection yet?"
Collection?
When she saw my blankness, her tone changed. Turned apologetic. Which was when I realized I should have had faith in my friend. She recognized I was stupidly jealous of the fact she knew more about him than I did, private stuff that no amount of Google searches would reveal, and eased it by telling me, "Finn’s always going on about Aidan’s whiskey collection."
I cast him a look. "You’re a fan?"
"Why wouldn’t I be?"
"I don’t know. I thought there was a rivalry between the Irish and the Scottish."
He smirked, then he made my heart flutter by raising my hand to his mouth and pressing a kiss to my knuckles. I had no idea what had happened in that elevator, but that he wasn’t afraid to make PDAs was now a given.
And hot.
So very, very hot.
Then, of course, I realized why, and I couldn’t be pissed.
He thought I was hot, too. He thought I was so fucking banging, he wanted every other cock in the place to know who owned me.
Was there anything better than mutual, irrational jealousy?
"There is a rivalry, but I'm talking about whiskey with an ‘e.’ I do appreciate a good scotch, like a Bowman, though." He winked. "I only drink it around Da."
I laughed. "Talk about dedication to annoying your parents."