Late Call (Volume 1) (19 page)

I want to give in to the world-rocking, leg-trembling love that ignites as easily as our lust and flares as easily as our passion.

I wrap my arms around my legs and lean forward on my thighs, resting my chin on my knees. The city looks duller somehow with those thoughts. The spark has been taken out, and the hazy magic that astounded me when I first gazed out of these windows has cleared.

Milan is beautiful—it always will be—but when you’re in turmoil, the ugliness of it dulls that. It taints the refreshing feeling the city gives you.

I exhale slowly, a deep sigh full of confusion and the craziness in my mind. Night falls, and I lie back on the sofa, endlessly tracing the skyline with my eyes.

“Oh, Day.” He brushes a thumb across my cheek, pausing for a long moment before lifting me into his arms.

I curl into his body, gripping his shirt, and sigh. “You’re back.”

“I’m back.” He lowers me onto the bed and carefully peels my dress from my languid body. I slide beneath the covers, my eyes still closed, and wait for him to join me.

The bed creaks as he does, and I reach for him instinctively. He pulls me into him and I rest my head on his shoulder, tilting my face into his neck.

“Good,” I whisper, fighting my yawn and cuddling in. “I missed you.”

He kisses my forehead and tightens his grip on me. “Not half as much as I missed you.
Tu me manques
.”

After a third day of being alone in Milan, albeit inside an exclusive spa having my every whim tended to, I’m shrouded in a sadness that shocks me. These are the longest hours Aaron’s worked since we arrived in Vegas. Will they ever end? Or is the norm until Paris?

I sit up in bed. The covers pool on my lap, leaving my bare breasts exposed, and I look around the room. Aaron’s shirt is discarded on the chair in the corner, and I pad across the thick carpet to grab it. It hangs from me, the hem skimming the top of my thighs, and the material isn’t quite thick enough to hide the bright blue of my underwear.

Aaron’s voice drifts through the half-open door, and I walk to the doorway. He’s sitting on the sofa, his head ducked. His cell is attached to his ear, and his other hand is rubbing through his hair in agitation. The tension is flying from him, and he shakes his head vigorously when I silently pass behind the sofa to pour a cup of coffee.

My hand hesitates over a second mug, and when he growls an angry, “No!” down the phone, I pour a second.

“You have my father’s number. You cope without us here every day.”

Silence.

“Jesus. Call Fabio if you have to. He’s the boss of the fucking Milan office.”

I place the mug on the table in front of him, and he glances up at me. My lips curve into a small smile, and I drop my head. He grabs my hand before I can step away and I look back at him.

“I told you,” he says firmly, his eyes on mine. “I’ll be unreachable today. Anything urgent goes to my father…”

Unreachable?

“I’m your boss before I’m your friend, Ric. You were given this job as a favor, and I can just as easily take it away. You got into this contract mess. I’ve done everything I can to help you. You’ll have to contact the legal department and see what they can do, and failing that, contact my father. I’m incommunicado until ten a.m. tomorrow.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Deal with it. Today.” Aaron hangs up the phone and takes my coffee from my hand. He sets it on the table before pulling me onto his lap and burying his face in my neck. His nose runs across my skin as he breathes in deeply. “You smell good.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Eau de Morning will be a real hit.”

“You’re wearing my shirt.” His fingers skirt along the tops of my thighs.

I shrug. “Couldn’t find anything else to wear.”

Aaron pulls back. His eyes meet mine. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” I move to climb from him but he holds me tighter.

“You’re not moving until you tell me what’s wrong.”

Everything. “Nothing.”

“Is it because we’ve barely seen each other for three days?”

Yes.
“No.”

“And you miss me?” He moves my hair from my face.

I snort.
Yes.
“No. What makes you think that?”

His lips curve at the edges. “Because, Dayton, I came back at midnight and found you asleep on the sofa.”

“Maybe I lost track of time.”

“And when I carried you to bed, you told me you missed me.”

“I was delusional. Totally under the influence of sleep.” I pat his cheek and get up.

His sigh follows me to the bedroom. “Sometimes it’s hard to believe the amount of bullshit that leaves your mouth.”

My jaw drops and I spin. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” He stands and stops in the doorway, leaning against it. “For once, Day. For once since you walked back into my life, can you just be fucking honest about the way you feel instead of hiding it under the persona you take when you go to work? I don’t give a fuck about that side of you or what your agent thinks you should do or how you should act. I care about what you’re keeping inside and fighting against.”

I clench my hands into fists and stare him down. Trying to pretend in front of someone who sees all of you is like trying to look through a brick wall.

“Fine,” I say softly. “You wanna know?”

“Yes. I want to know everything.”

“When this whole stupid trip started, I promised myself it wouldn’t go the way of Paris. I have a job that takes over my life. God knows I don’t need anything else to do that. I was supposed to be Mia every second of the day to keep you away from Dayton.” I run my fingers through my hair. “But I forgot how very
you
you are. I forgot how charming and seductive and wonderful you can be, and everything I was supposed to do got pushed aside. You tore apart all my meticulously laid plans. You ripped apart the control I have over my life and threw me back to a time where being impulsive was beautiful, not reckless. And damn it all, Aaron. You made me remember how love feels—how our love felt.

“And now I’m standing here, eighteen damn days into what was supposed to be a job for me, wondering when shit got so real. I can’t look at you without wanting you. I can’t touch you without needing more and I can’t kiss you without feeling like I’m seventeen and head over heels in love again. Fuck. I want you and I don’t even want to! I didn’t even want to spend any time with you. I hoped you’d work all the time and we’d barely see each other, but that didn’t happen.”

“Until it did.”

“Until it did.” I sit on the bed and put my head between my knees, clasping my hair at the nape of my neck. “And then I realized I didn’t want that at all. I didn’t—I don’t—want to spend three days barely seeing you and I don’t want to explore all these places by myself.”

“Why?” He crouches in front of me and rests his forehead against mine as I look up.

“Because yet again you’re so far under my skin I couldn’t even burn you out, you bastard.”

He tilts my chin up and secures his lips over mine. “I’m yours. All day and every day.”

“Until you put on your suit and I’m left here again.”

“You’re always with me, Dayton. No matter where I go. Even when we left Paris, you were still with me.” His fingers curl around my neck. “But today I’m leaving the suits here. Today is for you.”

“Really?”

“Really. Didn’t you get that from the call just minutes ago?”

“No,” I mutter. “I was too busy being kind of mad at you.”

Aaron laughs quietly. “Bambi, you’re always mad at me.”

“It’s not my fault. You make me mad.” I run my thumb across his soft bottom lip. “You’re really not working all day? At all?”

“Not at all.”

I smile against his mouth. “I sound like a lovesick teenager.”

“It’s a good look. Keep it.”

I smack his chest and laugh, getting up.
No, it isn’t.
Feeling anything wasn’t the plan, much less letting him know of them. But it’s happened now. I broke and shit got real and it’s done.

He knows that a part of my heart is beating for him right now. I know it always has.

“What are those?” Aaron looks at my jeans in disgust.

“Uh, pants?”

He reaches across and snatches them from my hand. “Dress.”

“I was trying to.”

“Wear a dress, Dayton.”

“I much prefer you less demanding.”

“I much prefer you when your mouth is occupied by mine instead of spouting your smartass shit, but we can’t always get our way.” His amused blue eyes find me, and I click my tongue. “Put a dress on.”

I put my hands on my hips.

“What now?”

“You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my client, remember?”

His jaw tics and he swallows. Ha! He knows I’ve got him. I can almost see the wheels in his brain turning as he thinks what to say.

“Please.”

I stop. “Did you just say please?”

“Please wear a dress.”

My mouth stretches into a grin. “Why, Mr. Stone, are you
asking
me?”

“Take the request and do it before I throw you on this bed and fulfill my cock’s request.”

I grab a red dress from the closet and sigh. “Even when he asks, he still demands.”

He grabs my waist and kisses my shoulder, reaching for a polo shirt. “You make me kind of demanding.”

“I kind of like it.” I grin teasingly and clip my bra.

Aaron zips up my dress for me. “I’ll remember that the next time you moan at me.”

My smile widens until my cheeks burn, and I back into the bathroom. “Haven’t you realized? I usually moan
because
of your demands.”

His chuckle follows me into the room, and I grab my brush. “Keep that up, woman, and my cock’s demand will become a requirement!”

I roll my eyes as I slick powder onto my cheeks. I have no doubt that will happen. He means what he says, and his threats are always disguised promises. If he says he’ll do it, he’ll do it. Regardless of the consequences or what anyone else thinks. It’s definitely one of his best and worst qualities.

“No smartass comment?” He appears in the door.

My mascara wand hovers above my lashes as I glance his way. And at the bulge in his pants. “No. I told you before. I can be amicable.”

“Does that mean you’ll stop being mad at me?”

I zip up the bag and lay my hand on his chest. “Oh, Aaron. I can’t do them both at the same time. It’s either amicable and a little mad or mad and a little bitchy.”

He captures my mouth in a kiss and sucks lightly on my bottom lip. I feel it right down to my toes, and they curl against the tiled floor.

“You’re something else, Dayton Black.”

“I know.”

Via Montenapoleone
, the largest street in the Rectangle of Gold, is where our car stops.

I look across the back seat at Aaron and tap my foot to an invisible beat. My eyebrow arches in question, and he smirks at me.

“We’re here.” He gets out of the car and opens my door for me. My heels click against the sidewalk as I join him on the street, and I jab at his chest.

“What is this?”

“This? It’s the
Via Montenapoleone
, one of four streets that make up the Rectangle of Gold, or the
Quadrilatero della Moda
, home to the most expensive and exclusive stores on the planet.”

“Now who’s being a smartass?” I knock his hand from my cheek. “You know how I feel about this.”

“About what?”

“You spending money on me. I can buy my own stuff.”

He leans in, putting his mouth close to my ear. “And I can get myself off, but that doesn’t mean I should.”

“Nothing alike.” I narrow my eyes. “I don’t want you to buy me stuff.”

“Who said I was buying you something?”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Aaron.”

He sighs and cups my face. “Indulge me, Dayton. If I want to spend my money on you, then please let me.”

“Please again.” I turn my face into his hand and kiss his palm. “I don’t have to like it, do I?”

He brings my mouth to his. “I’d like it if you enjoyed it a little.”

“Okay.” I brush a kiss to his lips. “But this is me being amicable with a lot of mad.”

“You’re going to let me spend money on you?”

“God, I’ll regret this, but yes.”

“And you won’t look at the prices.”

“Hey, now.”

“That wasn’t a request.”

My mouth twists. “I won’t look at the prices.”

His eyes light up as the words leave my mouth, and it’s that that makes me realize how important this is to him. How much he wants to spoil me and shower me with the expensive things hiding behind the glass windows that surround us.

So I allow him to drag me from store to store, and I let the sales girls tug me from rail to rail. I find myself in endless fitting rooms surrounded by expensive, well-made clothes, trying each outfit on and adding them to piles.

Yes. No. Maybe.

And I keep my word. I don’t look at the prices. Somehow.

Until we’re standing in Alaia and the dark-eyed girl hands me a red, figure-hugging dress that flares to the floor halfway down the thigh. The lace that wraps around the waist, snaking up to the bust, leaves me with no doubt that Aaron picked this.

It’s red and it’s lace, after all.

“How much is this?” I demand quietly, pulling my gaze from the garment.

“
Scusate, signora
,” she replies softly. “
Signor
Stone requested you not see the price.”

“Of course.” I take a deep breath. “What if I try it on? Will you tell me?”

She hesitates.