“Carl, looking forward to Pete and Nick’s stag night? Those boys know how to have fun, hm?”
Why was he bringing Pete up like this? “Sure do.”
“It’ll be tough writing up toasts for their long happy marriage, though, won’t it?”
Was he trying to pick at wounds? “I’ll be fine.”
Hayden’s lip curled. Not getting the response he was after, was he?
“Do they have a musician for the wedding yet?”
“I’m not sure.”
Hayden gestured to Kaden. “I got lucky with this one.” The emphasis on this felt pointed. And, frankly, mean.
A waiter approached with Jason and Owen’s food, and Hayden stopped him along the way. “We made a request to play three pieces on the piano. Is now good?”
They got the go ahead, and in the time it took Jason to have his own quiet word with the waiter, Hayden had Kaden seated at the grand piano and was back in his seat.
He leaned toward Jason, eyes on the plates being trucked back to the kitchens. “Something not to your liking?”
“Something,” Jason said.
Music caught Jason’s attention; he listened courteously, as he would to any musician—Mozart’s “Sonata No. 16, Sonata Facile”. A great piece for beginner to intermediate players.
He applauded along with most of the room, and caught Hayden noting Owen’s return. Hayden lifted his voice. “Isn’t he wonderful?”
Jason ground his teeth against the urge to snap. How dare he flaunt what he considered ‘better’ in front of Owen. “That sonata was a good choice for his skill level. No breakneck semi-quavers to contend with.”
Hayden shifted his attention to Jason, narrowing his eyes. “It was incredible. Better than either of us could do.”
Jason itched to stand, ask Kaden if he wouldn’t mind shuffling over, and play Chopin’s “Fantasie-Impromptu”. Put this jerk in his place.
He gripped the seat of his chair. Carl wouldn’t know Chopin’s “Fantasie-Impromptu”. In fact, judging by the state of Carl’s piano, he’d be lucky if he knew “Three Blind Mice”. And Kaden was not the problem here. He shouldn’t be made collateral damage.
Hayden shifted his chair back from where he’d inched it during Kaden’s performance and looked up, tracking Owen’s progress through the maze of tables. “Bit of a rebound thing, hmm? After Pete?”
It was all said with smiles. And with the underlying assumption Owen would only be an interim measure. Like he’d once been for Hayden.
And Jason. Did. Not. Like it.
Before Owen could drop into his seat, Jason stood, a ticklish, protective fury sweeping through him. He moved closer to Owen, so tall and beautiful in his pressed shirt, and picked up his leather jacket.
Owen’s eyes shifted from Jason to Hayden to Kaden playing “Ode to Joy”. He raised a questioning brow.
“Our food is being packed.”
“I can make it through dinner,” Owen said quietly.
Jason met his eyes. “You, maybe. I can’t.” He opened the leather jacket and Owen slipped an arm inside, letting Jason steer the rest onto his broad shoulders.
Owen growled, stormy eyes sliding to Hayden. “Did he say something?”
Jason straightened the leather, hands gripping the jacket at Owen’s chest. “Not exactly, but I’m about to.” He yanked Owen closer and this time Owen folded into the small space between them, all undulating muscle, bergamot and lavender, and puffed breath over Jason’s nose. “You’re the most amazing guy I have ever met. I want to meet your parents and thank them for raising someone so kind and heroic.” Easy to catch his eye and pronounce this. It was true. “I still don’t know how I can ever do enough for you, but if you give me a chance, I want . . .” His voice broke then, and heat flooded his face. Fake boyfriends. He wanted to do this with Owen. “I want . . .”
Jason had started this aware of Hayden watching them, listening; aware of the music clattering out from the stage; but somewhere along the way, he’d become aware of himself. How close he stood to Owen, how warm his limbs were, how his fingers trembled against the leather.
A stray lash balanced on the crest of Owen’s cheek, candlelight reflected in those dark eyes. Light hands had settled on his hips and slid to the small of his back.
Owen dipped a smiling face and spoke in his ear. “What do you want?”
Hands tightened warmly around him and Jason flowed with it, drunk on bergamot and a shared smile. Sergeant Owen Daniel Stirling Sir had a killer smile. And his heavy voice spilled from between them, almost tangible. His breath had a dense quality to it too, powerful. Ploughing through the middle of his own, which came out shallow, hectic. A little like his heart, ramming about in his chest.
A broken whisper, “To be yours.”
A flash of something hit Owen’s eyes and—
Applause filled the room.
He jerked back, sinking onto his heels, and Owen loosened his hold, a whoosh of cardamom-spiced air taking up the space between them.