Jagger fluttered his fingers at Forrest. “I just said that to get you out of there. God knows, the bitches around here love their long showers.”
“So youdon’thave a client at eight?”
“Oh, I do, but it’s only seven.” He cocked his head. “Are you so hungover that you don’t even know what time it is?”
Forrest shrugged. “I’m tired.”
“What happened last night?”
What didn’t happen was a more appropriate question. So many things, from Montague’s visit, to having Rourke help him shower. The latter made the taste in his mouth even worse.
“Nothing.”
Jagger sighed. “You’re a spoilsport. Fine. I’m going to use that luxury shower of yours.”
He left with a bounce in his step, leaving Forrest to his misery. For five minutes at least. Someone knocked on his bedroom door, disrupting his peace, and Forrest called out for them to come in. In less than seconds, Rourke stood in the doorframe of his closet, eyes narrowed and looking as elegant as always. He wore a light beige jacket, white pants, and a gray wool sweater. The top and bottom of his striped shirt hung out from beneath the sweater, with white, beige, and baby blue bands that Forrest assumed extended from the top of the collar to the bottom hem. Every piece of Rourke’s clothing shouted expensive material, but he filled it out perfectly.
“Hi.” Forrest smiled. He didn’t bother to shove himself to his feet. His head spun from his hangover, and he was naked except for the fluffy white towel he’d wrapped around his waist. Rourke had seen him this way more than once, but Forrest still wanted some decorum while he talked to the man he’d lusted after from the moment he saw him. Forrest had already made a fool of himself more than once in the last twenty-four hours.
“How are you feeling?” Rourke stepped inside and crossed his arms, looking every inch the provocateur that he was. The cross around his neck glimmered under the bright lights, another reminder of how he’d basically dry humped against Rourke the night before.
Forrest didn’t regret becoming a professional, and he wasn’t apologetic for it, but in that moment, he felt dirty. The memory of Montague’s hands touching him, holding him too tightly… he shivered. He covered his chest, the urge to hide the bruises from Rourke nearly making him sick. It was no use though. Rourke had already seen them.
“Fine.” Forrest put on his best fake smile. “I’m perfect, actually. I had a big, hunky man to help me shower last night.”
Rourke’s hard face showed no emotion, and Forrest couldn’t read his expression. “Forrest, you know the rules.”
He exhaled in a deep breath. “I know. I’m sorry, I just drank more than I expected to.”
Rourke shook his head. “I was going to let you off the hook, but I can’t play favorites. If it’d been someone else, they would have been punished.”
“Are you serious?” Forrest laughed. “I’m the highest earner here.”
“Right, but that doesn’t excuse rule breaking.”
He shoved himself to his feet and the world spun, but Forrest managed to stay upright. “Should we talk aboutyourrule breaking?”
“Excuse me?” Rourke’s face tightened, and Forrest finally saw some kind of emotion in those stormy eyes—anger.
“You kissed me.” Forrest shouldn’t have said it so smugly, but it happened, and he didn’t have time to feel guilty.
Rourke held up a finger to him. “No, you kissed me.”
“But you kissed back, so technically, you broke your own rules, sweetheart.”
Rourke stalked toward Forrest, and Forrest backed away. He’d never seen this kind of rage on Rourke’s face before. He knew Rourke would never hurt him, that part of him that spent an hour with Montague took over and he let himself be herded into the corner.
Something passed over Rourke’s handsome face, and the anger fled, leaving uncertainty. There were many things to be said about Rourke Tormey, and that he had no brain wasn’t one of them. “Where did you get those bruises?”
Forrest shrugged and raised his chin in defiance. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t believe you.” His voice gentled, and Forrest found his stiff shoulders relaxing. “Let me help you. If a client has hurt you—”
“That’s ridiculous.” Forrest forced a laugh. “Clients love me.”
“That doesn’t mean they can’t hurt you.” He laid a hand on Forrest’s shoulder, and in a moment of weakness, Forrest leaned into his comforting touch. “Forrest—”
“Well, hello, Mr. Rourke, sir!”
