Stefan, one of the Doms at the bar—a man who was devouring his trust fund, sleeping all day, partying all night, and discarding a relationship a week—glanced toward Willow.
Jax mentally repeated the club’s rules.
Willow was at least twenty-one, capable of making her own decisions. She was also free to allow a Dom to tie her up, blindfold her, flog her.
What she did was none of his business.
Still watching her, Stefan grabbed a cane from the top of the bar and tapped it against his open palm, as if in deep thought. Then he slid off his chair.
Jax snapped his back teeth together. No one was touching Willow. No one but him.
Fuck the club rules.
The bartender slid a napkin in front of Willow. She snatched it close and shredded the edges.
“What will it be?”
Hemlock. “Something virgin.” Like she wished she wasn’t.
“That sounds perfect.” She tried to smile, but her facial muscles seemed frozen. “Thanks.”
When she’d first started coming to the Quarter a little more than a year ago, she’d been wary, expecting to see someone who knew her father. The Quarter had a lot of members who moved in his circles, but as the months passed, she relaxed. She was comfortable flying down from grad school during breaks, and she’d become adept at navigating the intricacies of getting her needs met in a place far from home. Attending a club in New York would be easier, but after the disaster with Lawrence, she was on a break from romantic relationships. Traveling to New Orleans helped make that easier.
She risked another glance at Jaxon Mills. He was staring at her. Of all people here, why, oh why did she have to come face-to-face with the cockiest damn billionaire on the planet?
Even though he was across the room, he unnerved her, and she tore the napkin in half.
Since the moment she saw the digital marketing entrepreneur, she’d disliked him. Four years ago, Willow and her father had been among a dozen or so people who crowded into Jax’s office while he recorded a video. In her naivete, she’d thought he’d be dressed in a business suit.