Final Call (The Call #2) (8 page)

“I don’t want to
intrude.” I bring my glass to my lips in an attempt to hide my
teasing smile.

Aaron catches it
anyway. “You could never intrude. In fact, I think Mom would love
it if you’d join us.”

“In that case, I’d be
happy to.”

He brings the phone
back to his ear. “Add another reservation. I’ll see you in an
hour.”

I watch as he places
the cell facedown and rubs a hand down his face.

“Fuck. I forgot they
were here this weekend.”

“Gosh, Aaron, I can
feel your delight from here.”

He looks at me flatly.
“Tonight will be close to hell for me. In fact, it’s probably
better you’re there. Then they’ll be a little politer.”

I follow him into his
bedroom, leaving the glass on the bar. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

Almost as soon as the
words leave my mouth, I realize. Our situation is awkward to say
the least.

“Mom made it clear from
day one that she didn’t like Naomi—and she wouldn’t try to either.
You, however, have always been somewhat of a golden girl in her
eyes. So naturally, when she learned of the events in Paris, I
transported to the top of her shit list.”

I cover my mouth with
my hand. Shit list. Hearing such a juvenile term from him amuses me
so much. It’s so out of line with his usual composed speech.

“That’s because your
mom obviously has good taste.” I drop onto the bed tummy-first and
prop my chin on my hands. Aaron emerges from his closet, minus his
jeans, and my mouth goes dry.

Holy shit, the man cuts
a fine figure in those boxers. I can’t decide if I prefer the
underwear look over the suit.

“That’s a matter of
opinion.”

Wait. What was the
question?

“Hey!” I shake off my
haze.
Clearly, I need sex. Fast.
“What are you saying?”

A grin spreads across
his face as he pulls his pants on and buttons them. He walks to the
bed and bends down in front of me. “I’m saying you’re a very
refined, exquisite taste, Dayton. That’s all.”

“I’m trying to decide
if I should be offended by the ‘refined’ part of that.”

He runs a thumb across
my cheek. “No. My taste is very refined and I happen to like you
very, very much.”

My breath catches when
his lips hover in front of mine. “Me, or my taste?”

“Both,” he murmurs, his
lips brushing mine with his words. “Your taste more so when it’s on
my tongue.”

I hum low in my throat
when his mouth lingers on mine. He smiles and straightens, and he
threads a belt through the loops on his pants.

“I don’t have anything
to wear to dinner.”

“So we’ll stop by your
place.” He shrugs. “As long as you put some decent clothes on
first.”

“I take offense to
that. Shorts and a tank are proper clothes.”

He pauses, his fingers
halfway through buttoning his shirt. “Dayton Lauren Black.” His
voice lowers, heat flaring in his eyes. “If I can see the curve of
your gorgeous little bare ass beneath the hem of your shorts,
they’re unsuitable for anyone’s eyes but my own. Get changed.
Now.”

I smile sweetly and
stand. “Is that a request or a demand?”

“It’s a fucking
requirement.”

I laugh my way to the
spare room and pull some jeans on instead. The shorts lie discarded
on the floor when I meet him in the main room, my house keys in my
hand.

His shirt is open at
his throat, the buttons undone just low enough to give a tiny
glimpse of a smattering of dark hair on his chest. His jacket
perfectly stretches across his shoulders, and he’s left it open,
meaning I can see how his shirt fits his body and his trim waist.
Shit, I’m staring so hard I can almost see each individual pack of
muscle hiding beneath the white cotton covering his stomach.

Aaron clears his
throat, and I look up.
Dammit, Dayton. Mad. Be mad.

“Let’s go,” I mutter,
tugging on the strap of my tank.

He laughs quietly
behind me and secures an arm around my waist once we’re in the
elevator. “Like what you see?” he says into my ear.

“More than I probably
should, but not as much as you think.”

His fingers flex. “A
simple ‘yes’ would suffice.”

“Why build you up just
to have your parents tear you down tonight?” I raise an eyebrow, my
lips twitching.

“Because you’re
supposed to soothe me, baby.” He leads us through the lobby to a
waiting car. These things come from fucking nowhere.

I snort, getting in.
“Right. I’m going to soothe you when you deserve everything your
mom will throw at you. No, I’m going to be sitting there grinning
my fucking head off and agreeing with everything she says,
baby
.”

He sighs heavily. “I
suspected as much.” His eyes cut to mine. “You’re going to kill me
tonight, aren’t you?”

“It can be arranged. I
spent enough time thinking of all the ways I could when I arrived
back here, so I’m certainly not short on ideas.”

“Of course she assumes
it in the physical sense,” he murmurs, reaching over and tucking a
lock of hair behind my ear. I fight my smile, and he turns my face
to his. “I meant kill me with your beauty.”

“Of course I am. I plan
on making tonight as hard for you as it possibly can be.” I glance
at his pants so there’s no mistaking my meaning. His jaw
tightens.

“And to think, I’ve
only just gotten rid of the erection your shorts gave me.”

“Those shorts are
magical. Ask the cop who waived my speeding ticket when I was
wearing them two years ago.”

His eyes harden.
“You’ve worn those in public?”

I smile sweetly. “I
thought I had a flat. It was convenient timing, I must admit.”

Aaron pulls my face to
his and nips my bottom lip. “I’m confiscating those shorts.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“The second we arrive
back at my apartment, I’m picking them up from the floor and hiding
them. I can promise you that, woman. No one else is going to see
you the way I do.” He opens the door and slides me across the seat
and out of the car.

I narrow my eyes at him
and walk up the path to my house. I leave the door open behind me,
and he follows me in.

“Wait here, you shorts
thief.” I point to the sofa. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

I leave him downstairs
and walk into my second bedroom—my lingerie room. I haven’t been in
here for three weeks, instead living in sports bras and my ‘period’
panties—a.k.a. normal sized panties. It smells a little musty, but
the lavender undertones of my scented pots on the shelving above
the rails soon break through and fill me with their rich, relaxing
scent.

I breathe in deeply,
pausing in the door, and exhale softly. My eyes scour the rails I
installed, past the basques, corsets, and baby dolls to the rail
that holds my every day, matching underwear. I pull a brand-new red
set from the hanger and stroll into my bedroom, ready to tackle my
closet.

I finger the black
Prada dress Aaron reserved and made me get. Bitterness fills me and
a little bile rises in my throat at the memory of that day. Of
standing in front of a woman who knew more about him than I did, a
woman who put me down because I don’t fit into her ideal the way
Naomi does.

Fuck her. I love my
extra three pounds. Okay, it’s more like six now, but let’s not be
picky.

I tap my butt and pull
it out anyway. The scoop neck and knee-length pencil skirt in a
clinging material is perfect for tonight. I know the way it’ll
cling to me will drive Aaron insane, and the way his eyes will
light up when he realizes I’m wearing something of his is almost
worth having let him buy it.

I lay it on the bed
while I change my underwear and roll some stockings up my legs.
With a rub of my temples, I push the Italian memory aside, slink
into the tight material, and look in the mirror.

It hugs my body
perfectly, and I can imagine the look on his face when he sees it.
It’ll be somewhere between pleasure and anguish, delight and
torture.

Exactly what I’m going
for.

I apply my makeup and
paint red onto my lips. The shade matches the heeled pumps peeking
at me from my shoe rack in the closet, and I slide my feet into
them easily. My toes wriggle to get my feet comfortable, and I
stand.

Aaron’s standing at the
door to my lingerie room, and I bite the inside of my lip. Shit.
Should have closed the door…

“Like what you see?” I
ask, repeating his words from earlier.

“Do you have stock in
the lingerie business?” he looks at me.

“No, but I probably
should.” I look in my room proudly.

“You’ve worn all of
this?”

“Not all of it. Some
still have the tags. Sometimes it didn’t fit the description of the
client’s needs. A lot I bought because I liked it.”

He’s silent for a long
moment. His eyes flick across the room, and when I think he’s about
to walk away, he steps inside. “If I know anything about you, I’ll
bet you have it all organized. Old and new separate. Correct?”

“Uh, yes.” Control
freak, I am.

He runs his hand across
the hangers until he reaches a midway point. After flicking a
couple of sets back and forth, he grabs the worn things and lifts
the hangers from the rails. They clatter to the floor, and he does
the same to the baby dolls and other outfits.

My mouth drops open.
“What the hell are you doing?”

He ignores me, dropping
four corsets to the ground. “Clearing out your lingerie closet. Or
rather, room.”

“I can see that. My
next question is why the fuck you’re doing it.”

He stops in the middle
of the room and his chest heaves before he raises his head to look
at me. His gaze burns into me, and I don’t move when he approaches
me and stands right in front of me.

“Because”—he cups my
chin and tilts my head back—“I refuse to fuck you in something
you’ve fucked another guy in.”

“It didn’t bother you
before.”

He grabs my hips and
flattens my body against his. I turn my head when he pulls it into
his chest. His breath crawls over my neck when he lowers his mouth
to my ear.

“That was before,
sweetheart. This is now. This is different. This is a new start and
another chance for both of us. That means we put shit in the past
and leave it there, and for you, that starts with getting this
stuff out of your house.”

“I’m not throwing out
my underwear,” I say through clenched teeth.

“It’s nonnegotiable,
Dayton. Your old underwear will sit collecting dust.” His fingers
dig into my lower back. “I’ll replace it all, but you will get rid
of it. You won’t be needing it again anyway.”

“You’re failing on the
making-it-up-to-me thing.”

“There are a thousand
ways I can make it up to you, Dayton, but none of them begins with
lingerie you worked in. Get fucking rid of it.”

I take a deep breath.
Fucking man.
“And the new stuff?”

He kisses my jaw. “The
new stuff I will enjoy removing from your body very, very much.
Most of it, anyway. Some of it I like so much I might just have to
fuck you in it.”

The mother of all aches
starts in my clit. Goddamn him.

“We’re going to be
late,” I manage, pulling back from him.

He smirks knowingly. “I
don’t think you’d need much convincing to be even later.”

I stop at the bottom of
the stairs and slide the shoulder of my dress down, revealing a red
strap. “Don’t go there, Mr. Stone. If we start, we won’t be
stopping. Now get your ass in your car.”

“She’s bossy.” He
places his hands on my waist and guides me from the house, only
stopping so I can lock the door.

“She’s taking tips from
this demanding, possessive guy she knows.”

Aaron eases me into the
car, keeping me close as he can. “You demanding is kind of sexy.”
His finger trails down my side and thigh. “And so is this
dress.”

He wraps his arm around
me, and I rest my head on his shoulder with a small smile. When
it’s so easy and natural between us, like it is right now, it’s
hard to stay mad. It’s hard to remember all the bullshit from a
month ago and remind myself why this might not be the best
idea.

When the beat of my
heart matches his, it’s hard to consider a life without him.

As it is, I already
don’t know how I lived for seven years without looking in his eyes
and kissing him and touching him. I don’t know how I lived without
the electrifying spark born of his skin against mine or the
trembling bliss of his body covering mine.

I know it’s not
healthy. To be so distracted by someone, to be so attracted to them
and so… obsessed… It’s not good and nothing good can come of it. I
proved that to myself when I walked away. The pain that tore
through my body at the reality of leaving him behind in Paris once
again was too much to bear. The more time I spend around him, the
worse that pain will be if it happens again.

I don’t want it to. As
much as I convinced myself that I didn’t want anything to happen
between us again, especially after he showed up in my home city, I
don’t want a life that doesn’t have him in it in some way.

I don’t want a day
where I wake up to find that he’s no longer there.

That’s why I’m giving
him this godforsaken stupid second chance he doesn’t deserve.
That’s why I’m giving him what he wants, because really, I want it,
too. I want us. I want us the way I thought I knew us. I want to
find out what us really is. Who we really are together, who we are
alone, and where that will take us.

I want to know that, in
the end, the pain will be worth it. I want to know if the fights
and the doubts and the hurtful words thrown carelessly in the heat
of the moment are worth it. If they’re worth the feeling of
wholeness, of the complete and utter clarity he brings to my life.
If they’re worth giving up my control forever and handing it to the
man who already controls my heart so completely.