Final Call (The Call #2) (7 page)

“What if you
can’t?”

“You have to let me
try. Please, baby. Let me try and right my wrongs the easy
way.”

The easy way.
I
smile. That’s his polite way of saying, “Let me, or I’ll be forced
to make you.”

God, he’s so
frustrating and endearing mixed into one annoyingly sexy
package.

“I don’t have a choice,
do I?”

He smirks. “Not at
all.”

“Fine. You win this
time. I’ll allow you to try.” I put my finger over his lips to stop
him from speaking. “But if you fuck up, even once, that’s it. I
mean it. Everyone deserves a second chance, but you’re not getting
a third. And I haven’t forgiven you yet. Understand that.”

He kisses my hand
before taking it away from his mouth. “That’s fair. I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

A boyish grin appears
on his face. “Yes, I suppose. Now go and put your shoes on. We’re
leaving.”

He gets up, and I lean
on the back of the sofa. “What if I want to stay?”

“Then we’re going to
break up before we make up, and that’s quite the feat.” He quirks
an eyebrow. “Come on.”

I mirror his expectant
expression when he opens the door and waits by it. “You’re
incredibly bossy for someone who’s supposed to be making things up
to me.”

I cross the room with a
sigh, and he grabs my arm.

“Dayton.” He lowers his
mouth to my ear. “I said I’d right my wrongs. Not that I’d stop
being a domineering, presumptuous bastard. Now get your pretty
little ass into my office and get your shoes on before I carry you
out of here without them.”

My mouth goes dry. Oh,
this is going to be no fun at all. And judging by the way my pussy
is clenching because of his last sentence, he’s going to get his
way sooner rather than later.

I fake a heavy sigh and
walk through the door. His hand connects with my ass sharply and I
jump and squeal loudly.

Rubbing my hand over my
stinging butt cheek, I turn and glare at him. “Not looking good for
you already, Mr. Stone.”

His eyes darken. “Call
me that again and the only thing looking good will be you lying
back on my desk completely naked.”

I put my boots on,
fighting my smile, and he unlocks the door. I stop in the doorway
and glance up at him. “Is that a promise, Mr. Stone?”

“Dayton,” he growls,
and I laugh, walking into the reception area. He grasps me round
the waist and steers me into the elevator, waving to his
receptionist, who looks on, still bewildered. Poor woman.

When the elevator doors
close, I lean up and whisper in his ear, “I can play dirty,
too.”

“And if I wasn’t trying
to behave, I’d have this elevator stopped and you against the wall
so I could fuck you senseless.”

My breath catches when
he pulls me to his body.

“I play more than
dirty, sweetheart. I play downright filthy.” He presses a chaste
kiss to my lips. “And if you keep playing dirty, I’m not promising
I’ll be able to behave for very long.”

“Behaving is
overrated,” I mutter.

“You would know,” he
responds with more than a little amusement and leads me out of the
elevator.

Through the glass walls
of the reception, I see a black car pull up. The door is opened as
soon as we step foot outside, and Aaron motions for me to get
in.

“Efficient.” I slide
in, and he folds himself in after me.

“I’m the boss.” He
flashes me a grin like that explains everything.

Actually, it does.

“Where are we going?” I
shift in my seat, and Aaron looks at me.

“To my apartment.”

***

This place is a
bachelor pad. For real.

From the wood-paneled
walls and U-shaped sofa in the living room, complete with
wall-mounted TV, to the home bar with an empty whisky glass on. The
colors are all neutral with the exception of the sofa, which is a
dusky orange color. A half-full bookcase curves around the back of
the sofa, and my eyes flick to it more than once.

Since I realized I
really don’t know much about Aaron, I’ve been filled with a burning
desire to know more about him as the man he is. Something which has
only intensified since I walked through his door five minutes
ago.

“This is my office.” He
pushes a door open and ushers me into the room.

A desk runs wall to
wall beneath the window that overlooks the Seattle skyline, and a
cream sofa is pushed against the wall opposite another television.
Piles of paperwork and folders are stacked on the desk, and a
shining chrome laptop sits closed in front of the chair. A large
mirror covers the wall behind me, and I look at Aaron.

“Why do you have a
mirror in your office?”

He shrugs. “The
interior designer put it in, so I went with it.”

We leave the room, and
he takes my hand.

“How long have you had
this place?”

“About a year or so.
The main office is in New York, as you know, but I was constantly
flying between here and there. It made sense to buy somewhere
instead of staying in a hotel each time.” His eyes find mine when
we stop. “I’m very glad of that decision now.”

“Oh yes. Imagine having
to take me back to your hotel to seduce me.” I roll my eyes, and he
laughs quietly.

“I seem to remember you
saying you don’t get seduced.”

“You ought to remember
it, Mr. Stone.”

His eyes darken, and he
pushes open another door. “And my bedroom.”

Ah.
There are
more wood-paneled walls in here, and they’re broken by dark brown
quilting on the wall above the king-sized bed. A TV is built into
the wall in front of the bed, and a side door is open, revealing a
large walk-in closet.

I pull my hand from
Aaron’s and walk to it, sticking my head through the door. Rows of
perfectly pressed shirts are hanging alongside a range of tailored
jackets, and a rack of ties is attached to the wall. Various pairs
of shoes are lined beneath the shirts and jackets, and there’s
floor-to-ceiling shelving that holds all his pants and every day
t-shirts.

“Someone’s inquisitive
today.” Aaron stands behind me, his hand resting on the doorframe
above mine.

“You can tell a lot
about someone by their closet.”

“Is that so? What does
mine tell you?”

“It tells me your
suit-to-everyday ratio is way off, which means you either work too
much or you simply have no idea about fashion.”

His chest vibrates
against my back as he laughs. “Anything else?”

“Yes. It tells me you
don’t have the closet space for even half of my wardrobe.”

“Warming to the idea of
a move, are you?”

“No. Believe me, no.” I
spin and look up at him. “Just gathering another reason against it
for when it inevitably comes up again in conversation.”

His lips tease into a
small smile. “We’ll see.”

I duck under his arm
and walk out of the bedroom. “Your apartment is really boring,
isn’t it?”

“Nice of you to
notice.”

His tone is dry, and I
grin at him. “No, really. It is. It’s also very manly. So, yes.
Boring is the perfect word. I hope you didn’t pay the designer
much.”

“A fortune.”

“You were ripped off.”
I open every door in the hallway, my eyes skimming over the huge
claw-footed tub and double shower unit in the main bathroom, until
I reach a cupboard. It’s full of fluffy towels and sheets, and I
rummage through them a bit.

“What are you
doing?”

“Looking for
skeletons.” I glance at him over my shoulder. “Just in case there
are a few more hanging around I should know about.”

I almost feel guilty at
the sadness that fills his eyes. Almost.

“What? Did you think I
wasn’t mad at you anymore? I am. I’m still fuming. A string of
promises and soft words followed by a cozy home tour isn’t going to
change that.”

He shuts the door and
takes a deep breath. “There are no more, Dayton. Naomi was my one
and only, very ugly skeleton. If there’s anything you want to know,
you can ask. I’m an open book now.”

I chew the inside of my
lip and search his eyes. The pained shadow hits me hard. Jesus. I’m
a real bitch sometimes. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“No, no, it wasn’t.” He
brushes his thumb across my cheek. “I deserve everything you can
throw at me and more. I know you don’t trust me. I can see it in
your eyes.”

I sigh. “I do trust
you, Aaron.
As a person, I
do.
But I just don’t know if I trust you with my heart
again.”

“I’ll prove you can.”
He softly touches his lips to mine. “I don’t deserve this second
chance, but I’m going to make every second of it worthwhile. For
the both of us.”

“Deserve it or not, you
were going to take it,” I mutter. “Easy way or the hard way. I know
when to pick my battles.”

“Oh yes. Because I
wholeheartedly believe you aren’t going to fight me every step of
the way.”

I follow him into the
kitchen and nod when he pulls a bottle of wine from the fridge. “I
will never stop fighting you. It’s way too fun.”

He places the glass in
front of me. “I know.”

“Crap. I drove to your
office. My car is still in the parking lot.”

He shrugs a shoulder.
“I’ll drive it back tomorrow.”

I curl my fingers
around the stem and watch him as he pulls a clean glass and pours
two fingers of amber liquid.

“Aaron?”

“Dayton?”

“I’m still mad at you.
Really, really mad.”

He smirks. “I
know.”

***

My thumb hovers over
the screen of my cell. The green call button taunts me, challenging
me. If I press it, I’ll be making a huge decision. Something that
could potentially change my life.

I take a deep breath,
throwing caution to the wind, and press the button.

It rings.

And it rings.

And it rings.

Monique’s voicemail
cuts in, her sharp voice telling me to leave a message and she’ll
get back to me. The beep is harsh and seems louder than usual, as
if it’s giving me an extra half second to make my choice.

“Monique.” I pause.
“Cancel Aaron’s payments. I’m still off the books, but I don’t want
him to pay for it. You understand.”

I hang up and drop my
phone on the bed. I stare at it for a long time, and my hands
tremble as I wring them in front of my body.

I either just made a
really smart move or a really stupid one.

Time to start finding
out.

Chapter
Seven

I always know when he’s
looking at me. My skin hums when he walks into a room, but his gaze
makes it burn. It’s always hot and heavy, laden with raw want and
desire.

It’s amazing how
something so small and simple can hold so much weight. How it can
take your breath away in a split second. His eyes have always had
this effect on me—this mesmerizing feeling that stills my whole
world until he looks away again.

I bite the inside of my
lip as I pull some underwear on. He’s filling the doorway of the
spare bedroom, his arms resting on either side of it and his legs
crossed at the ankles. I’m trying to ignore the way his dark jeans
are hanging low on his hips, his belt forgotten, the band of his
boxer briefs peeking above the waistband of the denim.

Trying to ignore the
way that ‘v’ curves over his hips and dips teasingly below
them.

I’m not doing a very
good job.

I pull a tank over my
head and tie the string on my shorts before turning. His lips are
curved into a smirk, and his eyes are sparkling.

“Those shorts are
practically underwear,” he says, a hint of huskiness coming through
his voice.

“Tell that to
Victoria’s Secret.” I tap his arm and he drops it, allowing me to
step by him.

“Believe me,
sweetheart. I have no plans to tell Victoria’s Secret a damn
thing.”

I glance over my
shoulder, and his gaze is fixed firmly on my butt. I roll my eyes
and pull the fridge open. “I didn’t think you would.” My eyes skirt
across the shelves. “Why is your fridge half empty? And why is none
of the food in it actually edible?”

I shut the door again
and turn. He leans forward on the bar, bent at the waist. The
muscles in his arms flex, and I blink harshly to pull my own gaze
from his body. Jesus. The man awakens some kind of crazy primal
attraction inside me that means I’m addicted to staring at his
body.

“Because,” he says with
amusement, “I don’t eat much at home. If I’m not out for dinner,
I’m ordering something at the office. Keeping edible food at home
seems pointless when it’ll merely rot.”

“And I suppose you
never factored in the fact I might want to eat.”

He raises an
eyebrow.

“Well, for someone so
presumptuous and certain of everything, I would have thought he’d
have prepared for my basic needs.”

“I was more focused on
your other basic needs.” His eyes flick to my hips and back up
again.

“They’re not basic
needs. They’re extracurricular needs.”

“This is where men and
women differ, Dayton. To me, exploring your body and making you
come in my arms is absolutely a basic need.”

“For you.” I turn and
swallow, grabbing an empty glass from the cupboard. “Food is a
basic need for me.”

“So I’ll order in.”

His cell rings on his
words.

“Hello? Mom… No, no, I
didn’t forget. I just, uh, I have company… Yes, Dayton’s here...
Yes, I know.”

I spin back, and his
face is creased into a pained expression. I can hear the buzz of
his mom’s voice on the other end of the line, and by the way
Aaron’s bringing his shoulder to his ear in an extended wince, I’d
guess she’s giving him a few choice words.

“Mom… Okay, hang on.”
He covers the mouthpiece and mouths, “Fuck,” with his eyes closed.
After a quiet sigh, he opens his eyes again and looks at me.
“Dayton, my mother would like to know if you’d care to join us for
dinner tonight.”