Late Call (Volume 1) (4 page)

What?

“And you’re telling me this why?”

“Because you’re going.”

“But you just said—”

“Oh, believe me, Dayton. This has been fucking killing me all day, but Ross said I should just let you do the job. You have a past, but he thinks you’re too smart to go fall in love again, right?”

“Right.”

“And Mr. Stone is paying triple your damn rate to get you on his arm looking pretty. But you listen to me. You go out? He buys you dinner. You need a new dress? He buys that fucker too. You need your hair done? A bikini wax? Your eyebrows shaped? He pays for every fucking thing you need. Even if it’s a candy bar.”

“I don’t depend on a guy to buy me stuff, Mon. I’m pretty damn sure I can afford to get my eyebrows shaped.”

She leans forward and slams her hands on the table, her light blue eyes piercing mine. “You need something, he buys it. Capiche?”

My jaw tightens. “Capiche.”

“Good. Now go home and pack. You’re leaving at seven a.m. for Las Vegas.”

“Seven a.m.?!”

“Seven a.m., and your share of the first week’s money will be in your account by the time you land.”

“Fine. What am I doing?”

She smirks. “You’re his girlfriend.”

Fantastic.

If one week ago you’d told me I’d be staring at three large suitcases wondering what the hell I was doing getting ready to travel around the world with Aaron Stone, I wouldn’t have believed you. Hell, if you’d told me I’d see him again, I wouldn’t have believed you.

From the moment my seventeen-year old self touched back down in Seattle from Paris, he became little more than a memory. Every thump of my aching, broken heart reminded me of our promise to each other—one summer. Eventually, the pain receded, and six months later, my heart was beating to its own rhythm once more.

Now I’m making sure I have everything I need for six weeks away, and I’m wondering how I’ve come to belong to Aaron Stone once again.

I slide my feet into grey suede knee-high boots and tuck my cell into my pocket. My stomach is rolling with apprehension, and my heels click against the wooden floor of my living room. I keep alternating my glace from the window to the clock, even though there’s still five minutes until he arrives.

And I don’t even know what I’m more worried about—seeing him or spending six weeks with him and keeping to the rules of my world.

Three soft knocks at the door echo through my house, and I take a deep breath. I’d rather be doing anything but this. Anything at all. I’d even take Mr. Can’t Come right now. I flex my fingers around the door handle and pull it open before I have second thoughts about something I can’t change.

My eyes comb over his jeans and well-fitting blazer that’s open at his waist. A white shirt collar peeks above the V-neck of his sweater, and my gaze finally finds his face. There’s a five-o’clock shadow lining his strong jaw, and soft pink lips are teased into a tiny smile, one that’s reflected in the blue eyes staring down at me.

“Aaron,” I say as softly as he knocked.

“Dayton. Are you ready to go?”

I nod once and step to the side so he can pass me.

He takes my suitcases to the car while I grab my purse. I lock my front door, and when I turn, I notice that he’s holding the car door open for me.

“Enough suitcases?” he asks, a glint of amusement in his electric blue eyes.

“Oh, didn’t you know?” I pause before lowering myself into the car, looking at him pointedly. “Girlfriends of the rich don’t travel light.”

I tear my eyes from his as I sit. As he slides in beside me, he sighs, and I look out of the window. It wasn’t until I saw him standing in front of me that I realized how pissed I am about this. One coincidental night doesn’t equal a fucking worldwide rendezvous.

Buying Mia Lopez for one night doesn’t equal buying Dayton Black for six weeks.

Silence stretches between us, the tension building until it’s tight enough it’d snap if one of us sighed too hard.

“Day—”

“Don’t Day me. Just tell me why.”

He reaches forward and shuts the glass partition. “Dad asked me if you were coming—”

“Don’t try and put this on your dad.”

“—and I said no.” He gives me a look that makes me close my mouth. “The more I thought about it, the more I wanted you to come with me. After seeing you the other night, I wanted to catch up and get to know you again. This was the only way.”

“By fucking
buying
me?”

“Would you have come otherwise?”

I bite my tongue. We both know the answer is no.

“Exactly. I just wanted to spend some time with you again. Is that so bad?”

It is when you’re the one person who could shatter everything I’ve strived for seven years to build.

I don’t answer him, instead turning back to the window. His eyes are searing into the back of my head the whole way to the airport, tempting me to turn. When we reach the airport, I open my door and get out of the car before he can do it for me.

Wordlessly, I follow him to the small private jet owned by the company. His arm snakes around my waist and I glare at him.

“See that girl standing by the stairs? That’s my father’s second assistant. Try not to look too pissed off at me.”

“I’ll be as sweet as sugar,” I snap quietly. A smile replaces my frown when we approach the tall, blond girl with a catwalk figure.

“Mr. Stone.” She flicks her hair and beams at him. Jesus, her eyes are undressing him right here. “And this must be Miss Black?”

“That’s me.” My smile turns tight, and she notices, quickly diverting her eyes to the clipboard in her hand.

She clears her throat. “Well, Mr. Stone, your father wanted me to tell you that everything you need is on the plane, and you’re booked to stay at the Dorgate.”

“Presidential suite?” Aaron questions.

“Yes, sir. You have use of the company card.” She hands him a slick, black American Express card. “Anything bought while you’re away is to go on the bill, and it’ll be sent to your father when you check out of each hotel.”

“Thank you, Sarra. Is that everything?”

“Yes, sir. Have a good trip.” She flashes me a quick smile and gets in the car we just left.

I feel Aaron’s eyes on me and turn my face toward him. “What?”

“I think you scared her.” His lips twitch.

My own lips curl in response and my eyebrows rise. “Hey, she was trying to hit on you. It’s my job to scare people off. That’s why you hired me in the first place, remember?”

I climb the stairs to the plane, but before I can get inside, Aaron wraps an arm around my stomach and brings his mouth close to my ear.

“Correct. I hired you in the
first
place to scare the vultures off. This time I hired you to be yourself, because believe it or not, all you have to do is be in the same room as other girls to scare them off.”

“Flattering,” I retort dryly.

“Beauty is intimidating, Dayton, and you’re the very definition of the word.”

“Smooth. Do you use that often?” I push his arm from me and take myself to the plush, cream seats.

“No.” He sits opposite me. “I’m not in the habit of lying to people who matter to me.”

I raise an eyebrow as an attendant comes out and he orders two coffees for after takeoff.

“What if I want tea?”

That smirk appears again. “You hate tea.”

“I used to.”

“Would you like tea?”

“No.” I sit back and cross my legs. “I hate tea.”

Aaron shakes off his jacket and leans forward. “Are you going to be this difficult the whole time?”

“Oh you better believe it, baby. Difficult is my middle name.”

The pilot’s voice comes over the speaker and instructs us that we’re about to take off. I clip the seatbelt around my waist and turn my attention to the window and the rising sun filtering through the faint Seattle skyline.

Nerves bubble up inside as the plane moves, and I tilt my head into the chair, my hair falling and covering my face. I screw my eyes shut, fear slithering through every part of my body, freezing me, and holding me hostage. I don’t move until we level off and are surrounded by fluffy white clouds.

The coffees are placed in front of us, and I take a long sip and try to calm my breathing.

“You haven’t flown since, have you?”

My eyes snap up to Aaron’s. “What does it matter?”

“Dayton.”

“No. I haven’t. This is the first time I’ve been anywhere near a plane in five years, to be honest. I’ve never had to.”

“We could have driven to Vegas.”

“And you’re driving to Sydney? Milan? Paris?” I raise my eyebrows. “I’m sure I can manage two hours on a plane.”

He nods but says nothing back to my bravado. Because we both know that’s what this is. Bravado. I’m more scared than a claustrophobic person trapped in an elevator.

I drop my eyes to my mug and watch the dark liquid swirl inside it. “So,” I say after a long moment of silence.

“So,” Aaron returns.

“I need to make sure I’m on the same page as you with this ‘relationship’ thing.”

“What do you need to know?”

For some reason, asking him the questions I’d ask any other client makes me want to blush.

And I don’t blush.

Ever.

“This arrangement… What’s expected in public?”

“For you to act as a normal girlfriend would. The way you did the other night. We’re in the honeymoon stage.”

“Fabulous. And in private?”

“We’ll be sleeping in the same bed, if that’s what you’re asking. Don’t forget my father booked our hotel rooms.”

I meet his gaze. “Of course. And sex?”

His eyes cloud over with heat at the word, making my stomach muscles tighten. “Optional.”

Let’s rephrase that.

Sex: optional but inevitable.

I press my fingertips to the ceiling-high glass windows that stretch the length of the main area of the suite. From this position, on the highest floor of the hotel, I can see the whole strip stretching out before me, lit up so brightly it barely seems like night is falling.

Vegas—it’s a whole other world filled with temptation and greed. It doesn’t matter how much you have when you’re here because you always want more. More risk, more money, more everything. It’s a city I’ve always avoided despite my job. I always told myself I’d never give in to the lure of Sin City, yet here I am.

At least
I
didn’t bring me here.

“You’re missing half your robe,” Aaron’s voice travels across the room.

“In that case, you should call the concierge. God forbid I should be wearing half a robe.” I drop my hand and walk toward him, ready to get dressed for the night.

He stretches his arm out across the door, stopping me. “Why would I do that?”

“You tell me.” I turn my face toward him.

“There isn’t a thing that would convince me to tell the concierge.” He drops his eyes to the opening at my chest and brings them back up. “Especially when you forget to put underwear on beneath it.”

“Ah, yes. I forgot. You get to look at your girlfriend that way.”

“Just exercising my right to look at my
girlfriend
.”

I push his arm down and grab the door. “Yeah? Now I’m exercising my right to lock this damn door behind me.” I slam it, the noise echoing around the bedroom, and turn the latch.

So I’m bitter. Who gives a fuck? I think I’m allowed to be.

I open my suitcase and pull out a tan chiffon dress with a black lace layer over it. This is one of my favorite dresses despite only having worn it once. And it looks perfect with the black purse and tan heels I conveniently packed. So it’s not as garish and glittery as Vegas demands, but it’s classy and sexy.

My middle names. If you discount Ms. Lingerie.

I throw on some makeup and step into some black lingerie. And pause.

The lock clicks on the door, and before I can grab the robe again, Aaron strolls into the room.

“What the hell, Aaron?”

Those electric eyes comb over my body, his gaze touching every inch of my body, sweeping over my exposed curves smoothly. I put my hands on my hips as if the simple movement can distract me from the feelings running through my body.

I’m looked at every day in every way, but I can’t remember the last time someone looked at me the way Aaron is right now. His darkened gaze, full of hunger and want, isn’t for the body. It’s for me.

He finally brings his eyes to mine and grabs a bow tie from the bed. “I’m still getting ready.”

“So you picked the lock? You didn’t think to ask if I was dressed?” I snatch my dress and slink into it.

“Underwear is dressed.” He smirks. “Do you want me to zip you up?”

I try and fail to get the zipper on my back up. “I suppose.”

He stands behind me as I turn. I can see us in the floor-length mirror in front of me, but it can’t distract from the buzz that moves over my skin when his fingers brush my back.

“You’re angry with me,” he murmurs.

“Did you expect me to be sunshine and rainbows?”

“No.” He slides my hair over my shoulder and brings the zipper the rest of the way up. His eyes meet mine in the mirror. “But I didn’t expect you to be this pissed either.”

“You show up in my life after seven years—as my
client
—then buy me for six weeks.”

“It wouldn’t bother you normally.”

I sigh. “Being bought is my job.”

He drops his eyes to my back and strokes the back of my neck with his thumb. “So why does it matter if I have? After all, it’s your job.”