Inner Core: (Stark, #2) (7 page)

“I guess tomorrow, after work.”

Maybe
.

In the evening, after I leave work but  before going to Daniel’s, I decide to buy him a small surprise gift and stop by my favorite lingerie shop for a red lacy satin set and matching garter belt.

The perfect ensemble to wear at the premiere I was promised tonight.

Chapter 7: Confessions of a Call Girl

I set the pink bag with the black ribbon containing my new purchase at the vanity and start the shower, allowing the hot water to steam the spotless glass door before I step in. As I am about to finish my thorough application of Cinnamon Spice body lotion I hear my phone screaming from the next room. Before I manage to remove the excess lotion from my hands with the help of a towel, it stops. Since I already missed the call, I just let it go and plug in my iPod to the dock in Daniel’s bedroom. Leonard’s throaty voice hovers around the room. Mr. Cohen always puts me in
the
mood. Not that I really need to be put in the mood when D is concerned.

I continue by suiting up in my new delicate undergarments and smile, thinking just how appreciative Daniel will be of the gift. And just how great it will be to indulge in his “appreciation.”

To complete the look I climb into my black stilettos and apply some smoky, sexy evening eye makeup, I add the last necessary touch with bloodred lipstick. The result is pretty steamy, definitely not my usual natural-ish self. Though grotesquely vain, I feel sexy and beautiful, in a mildly slutty way.

All caught up in my plan, I realize that I haven’t even checked who called earlier and grab my phone to find out. The screen reads:
missed call – Daniel

“Hales,” he answers, stressed. His mood seems to contrast with mine as it possible could.

“You called,” I reply sweetly, with a thin stretch of my lips, pleased by my plans.

“Baby, I'm stuck at work. I won't be back anytime soon.” I hear him type and sigh in frustration. My heart immediately drops a fraction.

“Any ETA?” I try.

“At least another three to four hours. I’m not sure.” His voice is laced with a blend of weariness and exasperation. I check my watch; it’s already eight. To avoid adding to his frustration I just say quietly, “I’ll wait for you here.”

“Fuck,” he gushes. “I had such different plans for this evening,” he says, voice low, clear and full of missed potential.

“Hey, don’t worry, D. I’ll be here warming your bed for you,” I say in a somewhat cheerful, suggestive tone, trying to soothe him.

“Our bed,” he says, correcting me in an idle drawl.

Whatever you say.
This time I’ll leave arguing out of the equation.

“I’ll see you later, baby. You don’t need to wait up.”

And he is gone. As I put the phone down a spontaneous plan develops in my mind.

Fused with adrenaline from my brazen idea I look for a jacket to cover my too erotic to be worn in public attire. I'm at Daniel’s so I have limited access to my clothes. My trench coat would do a perfect job, I think, disappointed. I end up settling for a grey wool sweater wrap, tied at the waist and almost knee-length. Kind of a brow raising choice given the not-so-chilly weather outside, but hey, I don’t plan on wearing it for too long anyhow.

Driving to “Bitch” on full blast, I sing joyfully at the top of my lungs while steering the car over the calm evening roads. At a stoplight I send a radiant grin to the old couple who are watching me sing and sway like some lunatic from behind their Chevy’s window. Grandpa at the wheel winks at me and I giggle wholeheartily, blowing him an airy kiss in return, and then push the pedal down at the light change.

The buff evening security guy currently occupying the Stark Software reception temporarily takes the wind out of my sails when he assertively insists in a very resolute way that he won't let me go up to the management floor. Not without confirming it first with Mr. Stark. He runs his eyes over me, head to bottom of stiletto. I fidget, thinking he might jump to the right conclusion, as my appearance is oceans away from being modest.

“Listen.” I gift him with my most sugar-glazed smile, still utterly determined. “I’m Daniel’s, hmm, Mr. Stark’s girlfriend and I would like to surprise him. Can’t you cut me some slack here?”

“Ma’am,” he says, and his grating, choked-back snicker pokes at my nerves,

“I can’t let anyone go in without a badge or formal permission. Girlfriend, sister, or whomever you might be this evening.” This last part is said with vibrant scorn.
Ass. Impertinent chunk of muscle
.
The way he says 'girlfriend' makes me think that he might as well add air quotes as he says it. I sense my face heating up.

“Well, then call him and tell him Hayley is here to see him.” I have an urge to wipe his patronizing gaze and mocking smirk off his face with a slap. As expected, Daniel immediately gives his permission. I tip my chin up slanting my stare at the guy as I strut toward the bank of elevators.

“Second floor, room…” And before he manages to conclude, not even looking back, I bellow, “I know,” seriously fighting the urge to flip him off.

Since I was already announced I don’t bother knocking, and just push open the slightly ajar door to Daniel’s office. Immediately not only do I regret the no knocking part, but the entire idea. All of a sudden my master plan doesn’t seem so clever anymore. There’s a room full of people staring my way when Daniel asks, somewhat confused, “Hales?”

I push out the trapped air in my lungs and smile timidly, slightly adjusting my sweater, as if possible, to better cover myself. Well aware of the fact that my face is probably flaming red, and not necessarily due to my winter attire, I run my stare around the room and catch Tasha scrutinizing me, devilishly biting her lips, clearly subduing a smile. I send a prayer to any higher power on call tonight, and mentally pledge to do whatever it takes, including never set a foot in Starbucks ever again, if she turns out to be the only one who actually figures out my intentions.

Daniel pushes himself up from leaning on his desk and steps my way. All sets of eyes in the room follow him, to my mortification. Reaching me, he raises his eyebrows. “Everything okay?” His eyes are filled with suspicion studying my not-me outfit and slightly over made-up face.

“Yes.” My voice comes out a weak squeak that ends with a noticeable swallow, given about twenty eyes are still on us. “I just passed by to say hi before going out.” I lie shamelessly, uttering the last part in a louder tone, trying to give the audience around some sort of explanation for my highly-paid-call-girl look.

Classy Hales, classy… truly deserving a standing ovation.

Daniel’s stare turns even more puzzled. Actually, more akin to exasperated would be a better way to describe the expression that has taken over his face. I bite my lip and inaudibly curse.

Not exactly the scenario I envisioned
. Thumbs up for the disasterpiece you’ve just crafted, Hayley.

“Can you wait for a few minutes?” He cocks his head, still observing me suspiciously, only now his jaw is tensed. “You can take my seat.” He gestures with his chin toward his desk. “Let me take your sweater.” He says.

“No.” I grip his stretched hand in midair. In response his eyes taper under furrowed brows. I stretch up to reach his ear and whisper, “I'm not wearing much underneath.”

Daniel seems as though he’s shut down for a few strained seconds til what I said sinks in. He shakes his head quickly, pulling out of his momentary lapse. Not releasing his stare from mine he takes my hand and walks me to his chair, his touch somewhat stiff and his face blank. I couldn’t be more grateful to be hidden behind the large screen. I shift in his chair to better adjust my sweater. My phone, tucked in my pocket, vibrates. I fetch it to find a message from Tasha.

Tasha: Try again, idiot, your garter belt is still showing!

Instinctively I do as told while my face blazes guiltily. Tasha grins at me, way too amused. I shake my head at her, my eyes a touch hostile, still somewhat self-conscious. Her grin morphs into a smirk.

Daniel leans his backside against the opposite side of his desk, facing the room, his right hand flexed on the desk’s surface. I look mesmerized at his long fingers and that wide, masculine wrist. There is this something about D’s hands that just make me think of sin. Or the sin he could craft with them. I take a deep breath, trying to push sparks of desire away.

“You look exhausted. You want to take a break, Rob? 'Cause I can help make that happen.” Daniel’s chilly tone brings my attention back to the group in front of me. Rob blanches, coughs nervously, and makes an attempt to straighten his posture.

“Now people, to wrap up...” Daniel says, wearing his authoritative persona. For a moment, as though considering something, he turns his head my way. Our eyes immediately lock and I can’t overlook the hint of concern in his. He shifts back and resumes, “...let's follow Chris’s plan, and meet here in an hour. Rob, you guys try to re
run a full cycle and let’s hope there isn’t a crash down
. We’ll touch base later.” He shoves his hand into his jeans' back pocket. “Chris,” Daniel says, pulling out his wallet and handing said person one of his black credit cards, “here, order food for everyone.” I smile at this thoughtful gesture. Everyone around seems pleased with the notion.

“So before we get back to work, bear in mind to be creative. You know what they say, ‘
Think left and think right and think low and think high’.”

He is quoting Dr. Seuss to his employees; a warmhearted smile spreads over my lips and I need to combat the urge to grab him and kiss the life out of him.

“Break it down into numbers,” he says next. “It always makes it easier seeing the whole. Now let’s move, people.” He thumps the desk and turns to face me as the rest of the room starts to leave in small groups. Tasha sends me a full grin: white teeth, upper and lower rows on display, before following her ex-lover and boss.

Daniel circles his desk and stops next to where I'm seated, leaning his hip against the desk. He folds his hands over his chest, and his hardened eyes fix on me. “So you're going out?” he asks in a stiff, troubled voice. “Like that?” Although I know full well to what he refers I instinctively lower my eyes to run over my outfit. The hem of my sweater barely covers my upper thighs, ending mere inches below the hidden garter belt. Returning to look at him I find his eyes burning over every part of me.

“With whom?” he asks, clipped. I take a deep breath.

I guess white hot possessiveness tends to cloud one’s mind. His basic ability to see what’s wrapped up with a bow right in front of him, ready to jump his sexy bones, is totally gone.

“I’m not really going out.” My voice comes out quiet and croaky. His brows disappear under his golden locks. 

“You’re not? What’s going
on
, Hayley?” The waves of impatience and irritation under the surface are blatant from his tone.

So I’m Hayley now?

“No.” A thin side-smile forms on my lips as I take his hand in mine and press it against my leg, guiding his fingers so they push up the hem of my sweater and reveal the red lacy fabric ring embracing my thigh. I trail my eyes up to stare into his. “I came here to surprise
you
.”

He shifts his eyes from mine to the delicate red material, still leaning on his desk. His stare turns slightly darker and the crease between his brows deepens. His Adam's apple lowers and raises slowly.

I rise up and softly kiss his mouth, then saunter toward the door. Daniel follows me, focused, lips slightly parted. When I reach the door I lock it and turn back. His eyes now burn into me as he tilts his head to the side. I lick my lips, still standing by the door, and without breaking his gaze untie my sweater, pull it open and let it drop to the floor. I can hear Daniel’s gasp all the way across the room as he watches me, frozen, his eyes morphing to molten hazel. I start slowly walking toward him, swaying my curves in feline-like steps. Daniel watches me, rapt. I can hear his next swallow despite the distance between us. I settle myself between his parted legs and inch upwards, grazing my body against him as I make my way to kiss his partly open lips. I feel the thuds of his heart beating against my almost bare skin, his hand now palming my lace-clad rear.

“Hales, baby,” he breathes into my mouth, threading his fingers further under the delicate fabric in small, light strokes.

I'm back to Hales… and baby.

“Shhh…” I whisper back, and press my flat hand on his ridged stomach, signaling for him to stay put. He exhales sharply as I slide to my knees. His stare follows my moves, enthralled. I look at him from under my lashes as I unbuckle his belt and open his fly. With undivided attention he follows my actions, breathing heavily. I pull down his jeans and boxers, lightly scratching his skin with my nails as I do. With the first touch of my mouth on him he closes his eyes and slants his head back, letting out a choked groan. I start slowly, in light, long strokes, gradually quickening my pace, tightening the hold of my hand at the base of him. He drops his hand to stabilize himself against the desk.

“Christ Hales,” he gushes. His eyes fly open and rest, scorching, on mine. “Baby.” His voice is hoarse as he tries to pull me up. For a moment I stop.

I shake my head and mouth “you”, and resume eagerly, looking at him from under my lashes. His hand, accepting, leaves my shoulder and moves to my head. His fingers lace in my hair as he tugs it and tilts my head in a gentle rhythm. I am so turned on from pleasing him, from the quiet carnal growls rising from his throat, his total surrender to my pleasurable assault. I grab his waist, and push him toward me, and he lets out a mumble of my name. With his final moan I absorb him deeper. The shiver going through him passes through to me and it is almost my own undoing.

After a short moment to revel in his ecstasy he drops to the floor, mimicking my kneeling position and, facing me, he grabs my head and claims my mouth ravenously, his heart pounding wildly against me. He tips his head back and gazes at me, eyes tender, absorbing, at the verge of reverential.