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stopping me. “Why would I do that?”
    “You tell me.” I turn my face toward him.
    “There isn’t a thing that would convince me to tell the concierge.” He drops his eyes to the opening at my chest and brings them back up. “Especially when you forget to put underwear on beneath it.”
    “Ah, yes. I forgot. You get to look at your girlfriend that way.”
    “Just exercising my right to look at my girlfriend .”
    I push his arm down and grab the door. “Yeah? Now I’m exercising my right to lock this damn door behind me.” I slam it, the noise echoing around the bedroom, and turn the latch.
    So I’m bitter. Who gives a fuck? I think I’m allowed to be.
    I open my suitcase and pull out a tan chiffon dress with a black lace layer over it. This is one of my favorite dresses despite only having worn it once. And it looks perfect with the black purse and tan heels I conveniently packed. So it’s not as garish and glittery as Vegas demands, but it’s classy and sexy.
    My middle names. If you discount Ms. Lingerie.
    I throw on some makeup and step into some black lingerie. And pause.
    The lock clicks on the door, and before I can grab the robe again, Aaron strolls into the room.
    “What the hell, Aaron?”
    Those electric eyes comb over my body, his gaze touching every inch of my body, sweeping over my exposed curves smoothly. I put my hands on my hips as if the simple movement can distract me from the feelings running through my body.
    I’m looked at every day in every way, but I can’t remember the last time someone looked at me the way Aaron is right now. His darkened gaze, full of hunger and want, isn’t for the body. It’s for me.
    He finally brings his eyes to mine and grabs a bow tie from the bed. “I’m still getting ready.”
    “So you picked the lock? You didn’t think to ask if I was dressed?” I snatch my dress and slink into it.
    “Underwear is dressed.” He smirks. “Do you want me to zip you up?”
    I try and fail to get the zipper on my back up. “I suppose.”
    He stands behind me as I turn. I can see us in the floor-length mirror in front of me, but it can’t distract from the buzz that moves over my skin when his fingers brush my back.
    “You’re angry with me,” he murmurs.
    “Did you expect me to be sunshine and rainbows?”
    “No.” He slides my hair over my shoulder and brings the zipper the rest of the way up. His eyes meet mine in the mirror. “But I didn’t expect you to be this pissed either.”
    “You show up in my life after seven years—as my client —then buy me for six weeks.”
    “It wouldn’t bother you normally.”
    I sigh. “Being bought is my job.”
    He drops his eyes to my back and strokes the back of my neck with his thumb. “So why does it matter if I have? After all, it’s your job.”
    You bastard. “Don’t fuck with me, Aaron. You know exactly why it’s different.”
    “Because you loved me once.”
    I swallow and step forward where he can’t touch me anymore. Twelve hours and this conversation is already pushing boundaries. Pushing my rules. “Yes.”
    He nods and wordlessly puts on his bow tie. I grab my brush from the dresser and run it through my dark hair, keeping my eyes on a part of the mirror where I can’t see him.
    I should have said no. I should have turned this job down.
    “You should wear your hair like this.” Aaron once again comes behind me and pushes my hair over my shoulder. He’s fully dressed now, the sleeves of his white shirt creeping below his black jacket. “It suits you.”
    I snap the band on my wrist. “I’m wearing it up.”
    He takes my wrist and slides off the band, tucking it into his pocket. “Wear your hair this way.”
    “Are you asking me as my client?” I ask through a tight jaw.
    “I don’t ask people things, Dayton. I tell them. You included.”
    There’s an undertone of something in his voice—of power. Of the power he’ll hold in a few short weeks, but more than that, the power he