Late Call (Volume 1) (5 page)

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 already holds. Because he’s right. He doesn’t ask people. He’s never asked me anything.

Even when we met, he didn’t ask me for a date. He
told
me I was going out with him. Just like he told me when our dates became something more. When he told me he’d booked a second hotel room across the city for us. Just us.

I never said no. It never crossed my mind to.

“Your wish is my command,” I mutter under my breath, grabbing hair pins instead. He quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, finally leaving me in peace. Once my hair is pinned to the side—per my client’s request—I slip on my tan heels and grab my purse.

Aaron’s waiting for me in the main room, looking out over the strip like I was not so long ago. I pause here at the door and let my eyes run over him shamelessly. He’s gorgeous—truly gorgeous. He wears his suits in a way that’s effortlessly sexy, and I haven’t seen him in an outfit yet that hasn’t been tailored perfectly to fit his body.

Granted, I’ve only seen three outfits, but I’d imagine the others are the same.

“Are you done?” His eyes find mine, and the sparkle in them tells me he caught me ogling him.

“Yep.” I move toward the door.

“Wait.” His long stride swallows the room as he walks to me. “Give me your hand.”

I hold my hand out and he pulls a glittering tennis bracelet from a box I didn’t know he was holding. I open my mouth when he attaches it around my wrist, but he speaks before any shocked words can leave me.

“Don’t.” He meets my gaze. “I can’t say I’m giving this out of the goodness of my heart.”

“So why are you?”

He rubs his thumb along the underside of my wrist, alongside the bracelet. “It makes a statement. It tells everyone you belong to me.”

“I’m pretty sure the money deposited in my account at noon does that.”

“And you and I are the only people who know of that. The guys downstairs don’t, but they know this.” He taps it and drops my hand. “Which means you’re safe from any unwanted advances.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m safe, exactly.”

“Trust me, Day.” He brushes the backs of his fingers along my jaw, his eyes tracing their path, and drops his voice. “When I come on to you, it’ll be because you want it. Very much.”

He opens the door and leads me to the elevator. Once inside, he punches the button and wraps an arm around my waist. Heat radiates from him into my side, and I clutch my purse tighter to distract myself from the way his fingers are flexing at my waist.

“Try not to sass me too much tonight.”

“I’m not promising anything.”

Aaron eyes me over the top of his cards, and I bring my glass to my lips. We’ve been at this table for an hour, but this is the first game I’ve played. If my daddy taught me anything, it’s that you don’t play poker ‘til you know a guy’s tells.

And I know Mr. Stone is bluffing.

He studies me for a long moment before resting his elbows on the table and placing his cards facedown on it. “You’re bluffing.”

“Try me.” I lick my lips. “Unless you’re scared.”

The guys around the table watch us with amusement, and my fighting talk gets an ‘oooh’ out of someone.

“Scared? Not of you, Bambi.”

I ignore the old pet name and tilt my head. “Show your hand.”

Slowly, he flips the cards and spreads them across the table in front of us. “Full house.”

“Ooooh,” comes from the guys who all folded.

I shrug a shoulder and sigh. “Dammit.”

Aaron smirks.

“You should have listened.” I lay my cards out. “Four of a kind. Read ‘em and weep, handsome.”

The smirk drops from his face when his eyes crawl over my cards. “Fuck.”

“Hard luck, buddy.” One of the guys—I’ve never been good with names—pats his shoulder as they file out of the room.

I grin at Aaron across the table.

“I can’t believe you just beat me at poker.”

I pick up my glass again and empty it, keeping my eyes on his. “I can’t believe you’re surprised.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be.” He stands and walks around the table to me. He spins my chair so I’m facing him, and I tilt my head back to look at him. “What other tricks do you have stashed up your sleeves, hmm?”

“If I tell you, they won’t be tricks any longer.” I run a finger down the lapel of his jacket, the white tip of my manicure a stark contrast against the black material. “And they won’t be half as fun.”

He raises a dark eyebrow. “I guess not. Just don’t beat me at blackjack. I’m not sure my ego can take the battering.”

“Oh, I might just beat you at everything for calling me Bambi.”

“It slipped out.”

Now I raise an eyebrow. “The last time you called me Bambi you’d followed me to the Charles de Gaulle airport because you were worried you wouldn’t get to say goodbye. Now you’re saying it over poker?”

He smiles and leans forward. “Like I said, it slipped out.”

“And I’m calling bullshit. You knew what you were saying.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

His eyes dare me to keep arguing with him, but the lingering memory of the past begs me not to. I need to remember I’m not here to relive the most amazing summer of my life, no matter how hard it is to avoid.

Who the fuck am I kidding?

“Come on. Since you won, you can buy me a drink.” Aaron takes my hands and eases me up from the chair.

“You’re going to let a woman buy you a drink? Damn.”

“Good point.” He pulls me closer to him. “I’ll buy you a drink, and we’ll make this an ‘I owe you.’”

“We will?”

“Yes, and I’m about to cash it in.”

“You are?”

“The head of the Vegas office will be meeting us at the main bar in twenty minutes with his wife.” Goose bumps erupt on my skin where he trails his fingers up my arm. “He’ll be calling my father as soon as he gets to work tomorrow, who, per my mother’s request, will ask about us. I think he should have something good to report back, don’t you?”

I purse my lips. “That’s what you’re paying me for.”

He dips his head forward. “So take the favor and make it twice as good.” His breath crawls over my mouth with his words, the warmth making me part my lips. It carries a lingering scent of the whisky he’s been sipping all night, a woody smell reminiscent of oak.

“You have no idea what you’re asking me to do,” I warn him.

“That’s the fun part.”

I flatten my hands against his chest and push him back. “I’m serious, Aaron. This is my
job
. Giving people something to talk about is what I do when I escort.”

His eyes hit me, deadly serious. “Give it your best.”

I pick my purse up from the table and pause in the doorway, glancing over my shoulder. “As you wish.”

I slip my hand around his arm and add some extra sway to my hips as we walk through the casino. Eyes follow me wherever I go, and I’ll bet anything that the swish of my dress is exactly what they’re looking at. I raise my right hand and smooth my hair back, letting everyone get a glance at the bracelet glittering on my wrist.

Their quiet groans form an ironically loud chorus of music that makes my lips twitch. This is where I’m comfortable, where I’m home. Men watching me, wanting me, wishing they were the guy whose arm I’m clinging to. That’s my life. That’s where I excel. Making them watch me. Making them want me.

And their wives? Their girlfriends? I excel at making them wish they
were
me.

We walk through into the quiet restaurant and I take a seat at the bar. Aaron orders a glass of wine for me and a bourbon for himself, turning to me when the guy goes to get our drinks.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice what you did back there,” he says in a low voice.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I give him my best innocent eyes.

His lips quirk into that smirk, and he steps forward when the barman disappears again. He rests his hand on my waist, his fingers flexing against the lace of my dress, and drops his eyes to mine.

“No, you have no idea of the effect you have on men simply by walking past them.”

“Not at all.” I run my fingers up his stomach, ignoring the feeling of solid muscle there, and tweak his bow tie. “It’s not my job to know the effect I have on them, rather, merely to affect them.”

“Well let me say you do it”—he bends his head toward mine—“spectacularly.”

“Thank you.” I pull on the tie harder and it unravels, hanging loosely around his neck. Then I undo the top button of his shirt.

“What are you doing?”

I lean up and rest my mouth by his ear. “Giving people something to talk about. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be doing?” My thigh brushes against his as I cross my legs.

“It’s absolutely what you should be doing.” Aaron says his words into my hair, and I turn my face into his.

“Then you should stop questioning me and allow me to do it.”

His hand flattens against my back, drawing us closer. “You play a dangerous game, Dayton.”

“It’s only dangerous if you don’t trust the person standing in front of you—if you don’t know their breaking point.”

“What makes you think you know mine?”

I smile against his cheek. “Have you forgotten? I know your breaking point
and
your tipping point, and I know exactly how to get you there.”

“It’s been seven years, as you keep reminding me. What if it’s changed?”

“I’m very good at adapting.” I pull back so a whisper of air hovers between our lips. “But it hasn’t changed a bit.”

“She thinks she’s so smart.”

Another smile tugs at my lips, and I whisper, “She knows if she drops her hand and brushes it against your groin, you’ll be hard and ready to take her in the first possible place.”

“Is that right?”

“Mhmm. A wall is the likely choice…” I rest my fingers against his belt, and he tenses. “Looks like she’s as smart as she thinks she is if you’re tense at my fingers sitting here…nowhere near the erection you’re failing to hide.”

He chuckles low, a raspy tone to it. “Your game is very, very dangerous, Miss Black.”

“And you get to play it for a whole six weeks. Aren’t you lucky?”

He curls his fingers around mine at his belt. “The only luck here will be if we leave Vegas without me fucking you against every wall of our suite.”

The promise in his voice makes my breath catch. I have no doubt he would do that, if only I’d let him.

Heat floods my body and pools in my lower stomach at the thought, moving down slowly until the heat becomes a slight throb in my clit.
Sweet Jesus, a sentence has never sounded so sexy.

“And the tables turn,” he murmurs, moving my hand away. “Tell me, Dayton. Are you as easy to turn on as you used to be?”

“I dare you find out,” I breathe.

He turns his face into my cheek and I feel his lips curve against my skin. “I think I already did.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Stone?” the guy behind the bar says.

“Yes?” Aaron stands and looks at him as if he hasn’t just made me clench my—thankfully already closed—thighs together.

“Mr. Duvall has asked me to pass on his apologies, but he and his wife won’t be able to make it tonight due to her ill health.”

Aaron nods. “Thank you. Pass on our regards, and I hope Mrs. Duvall is feeling better soon.” He turns to me. “She’s pregnant—four months, I think.”

“And you were going to drag her into a casino restaurant?” I raise my eyebrows.

“She’s lived in Vegas for five years. She breathes casinos.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, if they’re not coming, then I’m going to turn in.” I throw back the last of the wine—something I wouldn’t do if this restaurant wasn’t empty—and stand. “Excuse me.” I tap Aaron’s solid chest.

His lips turn up. “What for?”

I sigh. “Don’t be difficult, Aaron. You’re in the way.”

“I’m waiting for the erection you caused to disappear.”

“Yeah? Considering the way it’s pressing against my hip, I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon, and I consider myself an expert on the male anatomy.” I step the side. “Are you coming?”

Poor choice of words, Dayton.

Aaron caught it too, if the spark in his eyes is anything to go by. He slides his empty glass across the bar and wraps his arm around my stomach as we walk.

“Is that an invitation?”

“As much as you’d like it to be, I’m afraid not. I need my beauty sleep.”

“I could call it in.”

We step into the elevator and I eye him. “You could.”

The doors close. He slides his hand up my back to my neck, his thumb brushing my skin. “So why aren’t I?”

“You tell me.” My eyes meet his with a questioning turn of my head.

“I don’t know. But I know I’m dying to kiss you right now.”

“Until we’re in the room, I’m your girlfriend.”

The doors open. He follows me to the suite door and stops me from opening it. “And once we’re inside the room? What happens then?”

His breath fans over my neck, and I tilt my face into him. “You’re the client. That’s for you to decide.”

He laughs quietly. “When you stop seeing me as a client, I’ll be sure you tell you my decision.”

This isn’t working.

I turn the treadmill up to the next level and pick up my pace. An all-morning session in the gym followed by a swim is my plan to shake Aaron off me—that is, from under my skin. ‘Cause dammit, the bastard has snaked his way under it already.

This is what I get for not listening to my gut feeling. This is what I get for not listening to my agent’s gut feelings.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!

I need to separate the two Aarons in my mind, take away the young man I fell in love with. I need to tear that version of him up into a thousand little pieces and let them crumble all over the floor. Then step on them. I need to separate the man and the client.

In my heart, I honestly believed I’d put those weeks behind me. I’d accepted them as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to experience the kind of world-tilting love everyone should feel at some point. Hell, I knew that was all it could be. One summer.

We agreed that from the start, when we realized what we felt was stronger than friendship. We agreed we’d spend the summer together and then, when we got back to the US, we’d each go about our lives on the opposite sides of the country. Seattle and New York. Two different worlds. Both of us knew it wouldn’t have worked. He was at college, I still in high school…

We agreed to six weeks and sealed it with a kiss, the kind of kiss that made me wonder immediately if we’d made a stupid choice. But it didn’t matter, because it was done. We were young and crazy, and neither of us really thought about what would happen after.

Neither of us really thought about what would happen when we fell in love then ripped our own hearts out.

Neither of us realized just how painful that would be, but it had to be done. So I boxed away the pain and I moved on to what needed to be done. And when my parents died, everything changed in a way that made me glad we’d said goodbye. My life took on a whole new twist.