Chapter Six
Aaron takes my hand and leads me to one of the doors off his office. I chew the inside of my lip as he pulls out a key and unlocks it—just to lock it again once we’re through it.
“Won’t you be missed?”
He shakes his head. “I got Dottie to clear my schedule for the rest of the day, and as for that meeting, it’s rescheduled for tomorrow morning.”
“Dottie?” I can’t help the curving of my lips. Seriously. Dottie?
“My assistant.”
“I know who she is. She yelled at me a few times.”
“And obviously, you ignored her.”
“Obviously.” I look around. “Oh, an apartment adjoined to your office. How very cliché of you.”
“Sometimes leaving the office after working late isn’t appealing.”
“Oh, so it’s purely for a work sleepover? Not a f*ck pad then?”
“I can honestly say I’ve never f*cked anyone here.” His eyes flick to me. “But it can be arranged.”
I roll my eyes and snatch my hand from his. “So what do you need to show me?”
He waves a hand over his shoulder and walks into the main room. I follow him, playing with the hem of my shirt. I’m suddenly feeling uncertain. Do I really want to see whatever this is?
Wait. I’m supposed to be mad at him.
F*cking hell.
Aaron pulls a box from a walk-in cupboard and carries it over to me. He motions to the sofa, and I sit as he pulls out something wrapped in brown paper. He hands it to me, and I rest it on my lap. It’s light but large.
“What is it?”
“Open it. I haven’t seen it yet.”
I frown but flip it over and slide my finger beneath the tape holding the paper down. I do it on all four sides and pull it away
My breath catches when I flip it back over. “This is…”
Us, sitting on the beach in Australia, our foreheads together, both of us smiling. His arms are around my waist and mine are around his neck. I run my finger across the canvas, my throat tightening as I do so.
“Us,” he finishes, sitting next to me.
The tug inside my chest grows and spirals into an all-consuming ache I feel deep into my bones. I can see it now—the love we never knew existed circling us. The love, so pure and real, clouded by reality and lies.
I can’t take my eyes from it, the picture of us. We look perfect. Like we were meant to be there. Like its right—right, right. Wouldn’t-have-it-any-other-way kind of right. It cuts and it hits and it twists inside me. An evil reminder of what we had. What we have. What’s buried beneath the same reality that sliced it apart.
“How did you get it?” I ask softly.
“I called Joel while we were in Italy and asked to see the pictures that weren’t chosen. Then I bought them from him and had these done. They were waiting for me in New York when I got back last week.”
I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “What were you going to do with them?”
He smiles. “What one usually does with pictures.”
“Shut up.” I nudge his arm.
“I was going to hang them in my apartment when you moved in. I know, I know,” he adds at my raised eyebrows. “Presumptuous bastard.”
I can’t help the twitch at the corner of my mouth that pulls my lips into a small smile. “Very much so.”
Aaron takes the canvas from me. “Then you left, and I couldn’t have them at home, so I brought them here.”
“And you’re going to keep them here until you get your way and I move in, right?”
“That was plan B, yes.” He puts it on the table in front of us and leans back.
I pull my legs up and hug them to my chest as I turn, resting my head against the back of the sofa. My eyes find him and I trace his profile, my eyes lingering far too long on his lips and strong jaw. The urge to reach out and rub my thumb across the stubble shadowing it overcomes me, and I tighten my grip on my legs to stop myself doing it.
Even angry at him, I want him. Badly. I want to fold myself into his arms and let the ache in my chest go away, even if it’s just for a minute. I want to feel his heart beating against my cheek and the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes me in, savoring me.
“You know, I don’t think you’ve apologized for not telling me,” I whisper, breaking the tense silence between us.
“That’s because every time I try, I can’t find the right words. There’s nothing I can say that will show you how sorry I am.”
“‘I’m sorry’ is a good start.”
He turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “That wouldn’t cut it.”
“It might dent it a little.”
A small laugh leaves him and he slides across the leather seat to me. He closes his hands around my wrists and pulls my arms from my legs. My skin hums, goose bumps coating it, when he lifts my legs and rests them over his.
Slowly, he brings a hand to my face and pushes my hair from my eyes. “Believe me, Day. If I thought ‘I’m sorry’ would even nudge it, I’d have said it a thousand times. Nothing I could say could show you how much I regret it.”
He softly touches his lips to mine. His hand curves around my neck and pulls me closer to him, and his rich, masculine scent envelopes me. I respond to his kiss on instinct, curling my fingers into his collar.
This is slow and tender, filling me with warmth. Tingles spread through my body, reaching every part of me, and they heighten when Aaron wraps his arm around my body and pulls me closer.
This is his apology. And I feel it.
Every bit of his regret, his remorse, his guilt—it’s all perfectly clear in the gentle brushes of his lips. It’s louder and more meaningful than any words, but the ache is there still. It’s still prevalent in my chest. It’s still consuming.
This won’t make it better. This won’t make it go away.
“I have no idea what I’m doing with you half the time,” he whispers, his eyes still closed. “You are the one thing that’s unexpected, the one thing I truly have no power to control. I’m totally winging this, you know that? Like right now, I’m sitting here, completely lost, all the while hoping you’ll walk out that door with me.”
“One kiss won’t change it. It won’t heal my heart, Aaron.”
He opens his eyes, and the brightness of them holds my gaze on his. “I can’t change anything if you refuse to be around me.” He fingers ghost along my neck and collarbone and come to rest above my heart. It beats faster at his touch, and his lips twitch. “I broke your heart, and now you have to let me fix it.”
“What if you can’t?”
“You have to let me try. Please, baby. Let me try and right my wrongs the easy way.”
The easy way. I smile. That’s his polite way of saying, “Let me, or I’ll be forced to make you.”
God, he’s so frustrating and endearing mixed into one annoyingly sexy package.
“I don’t have a choice, do I?”
He smirks. “Not at all.”
“Fine. You win this time. I’ll allow you to try.” I put my finger over his lips to stop him from speaking. “But if you f*ck up, even once, that’s it. I mean it. Everyone deserves a second chance, but you’re not getting a third. And I haven’t forgiven you yet. Understand that.”
He kisses my hand before taking it away from his mouth. “That’s fair. I suppose.”
“You suppose?”
A boyish grin appears on his face. “Yes, I suppose. Now go and put your shoes on. We’re leaving.”
He gets up, and I lean on the back of the sofa. “What if I want to stay?”
“Then we’re going to break up before we make up, and that’s quite the feat.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Come on.”
I mirror his expectant expression when he opens the door and waits by it. “You’re incredibly bossy for someone who’s supposed to be making things up to me.”
I cross the room with a sigh, and he grabs my arm.
“Dayton.” He lowers his mouth to my ear. “I said I’d right my wrongs. Not that I’d stop being a domineering, presumptuous bastard. Now get your pretty little ass into my office and get your shoes on before I carry you out of here without them.”
My mouth goes dry. Oh, this is going to be no fun at all. And judging by the way my p-ssy is clenching because of his last sentence, he’s going to get his way sooner rather than later.
I fake a heavy sigh and walk through the door. His hand connects with my ass sharply and I jump and squeal loudly.
Rubbing my hand over my stinging butt cheek, I turn and glare at him. “Not looking good for you already, Mr. Stone.”
His eyes darken. “Call me that again and the only thing looking good will be you lying back on my desk completely naked.”
I put my boots on, fighting my smile, and he unlocks the door. I stop in the doorway and glance up at him. “Is that a promise, Mr. Stone?”
“Dayton,” he growls, and I laugh, walking into the reception area. He grasps me round the waist and steers me into the elevator, waving to his receptionist, who looks on, still bewildered. Poor woman.
When the elevator doors close, I lean up and whisper in his ear, “I can play dirty, too.”
“And if I wasn’t trying to behave, I’d have this elevator stopped and you against the wall so I could f*ck you senseless.”
My breath catches when he pulls me to his body.
“I play more than dirty, sweetheart. I play downright filthy.” He presses a chaste kiss to my lips. “And if you keep playing dirty, I’m not promising I’ll be able to behave for very long.”
“Behaving is overrated,” I mutter.
“You would know,” he responds with more than a little amusement and leads me out of the elevator.
Through the glass walls of the reception, I see a black car pull up. The door is opened as soon as we step foot outside, and Aaron motions for me to get in.
“Efficient.” I slide in, and he folds himself in after me.
“I’m the boss.” He flashes me a grin like that explains everything.
Actually, it does.
“Where are we going?” I shift in my seat, and Aaron looks at me.
“To my apartment.”
***
This place is a bachelor pad. For real.
From the wood-paneled walls and U-shaped sofa in the living room, complete with wall-mounted TV, to the home bar with an empty whisky glass on. The colors are all neutral with the exception of the sofa, which is a dusky orange color. A half-full bookcase curves around the back of the sofa, and my eyes flick to it more than once.
Since I realized I really don’t know much about Aaron, I’ve been filled with a burning desire to know more about him as the man he is. Something which has only intensified since I walked through his door five minutes ago.
“This is my office.” He pushes a door open and ushers me into the room.
A desk runs wall to wall beneath the window that overlooks the Seattle skyline, and a cream sofa is pushed against the wall opposite another television. Piles of paperwork and folders are stacked on the desk, and a shining chrome laptop sits closed in front of the chair. A large mirror covers the wall behind me, and I look at Aaron.
“Why do you have a mirror in your office?”
He shrugs. “The interior designer put it in, so I went with it.”
We leave the room, and he takes my hand.
“How long have you had this place?”
“About a year or so. The main office is in New York, as you know, but I was constantly flying between here and there. It made sense to buy somewhere instead of staying in a hotel each time.” His eyes find mine when we stop. “I’m very glad of that decision now.”
“Oh yes. Imagine having to take me back to your hotel to seduce me.” I roll my eyes, and he laughs quietly.
“I seem to remember you saying you don’t get seduced.”
“You ought to remember it, Mr. Stone.”
His eyes darken, and he pushes open another door. “And my bedroom.”
Ah. There are more wood-paneled walls in here, and they’re broken by dark brown quilting on the wall above the king-sized bed. A TV is built into the wall in front of the bed, and a side door is open, revealing a large walk-in closet.
I pull my hand from Aaron’s and walk to it, sticking my head through the door. Rows of perfectly pressed shirts are hanging alongside a range of tailored jackets, and a rack of ties is attached to the wall. Various pairs of shoes are lined beneath the shirts and jackets, and there’s floor-to-ceiling shelving that holds all his pants and every day t-shirts.
“Someone’s inquisitive today.” Aaron stands behind me, his hand resting on the doorframe above mine.
“You can tell a lot about someone by their closet.”
“Is that so? What does mine tell you?”
“It tells me your suit-to-everyday ratio is way off, which means you either work too much or you simply have no idea about fashion.”
His chest vibrates against my back as he laughs. “Anything else?”
“Yes. It tells me you don’t have the closet space for even half of my wardrobe.”
“Warming to the idea of a move, are you?”
“No. Believe me, no.” I spin and look up at him. “Just gathering another reason against it for when it inevitably comes up again in conversation.”
His lips tease into a small smile. “We’ll see.”
I duck under his arm and walk out of the bedroom. “Your apartment is really boring, isn’t it?”
“Nice of you to notice.”
His tone is dry, and I grin at him. “No, really. It is. It’s also very manly. So, yes. Boring is the perfect word. I hope you didn’t pay the designer much.”
“A fortune.”
“You were ripped off.” I open every door in the hallway, my eyes skimming over the huge claw-footed tub and double shower unit in the main bathroom, until I reach a cupboard. It’s full of fluffy towels and sheets, and I rummage through them a bit.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for skeletons.” I glance at him over my shoulder. “Just in case there are a few more hanging around I should know about.”
I almost feel guilty at the sadness that fills his eyes. Almost.
“What? Did you think I wasn’t mad at you anymore? I am. I’m still fuming. A string of promises and soft words followed by a cozy home tour isn’t going to change that.”
He shuts the door and takes a deep breath. “There are no more, Dayton. Naomi was my one and only, very ugly skeleton. If there’s anything you want to know, you can ask. I’m an open book now.”
I chew the inside of my lip and search his eyes. The pained shadow hits me hard. Jesus. I’m a real bitch sometimes. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
“No, no, it wasn’t.” He brushes his thumb across my cheek. “I deserve everything you can throw at me and more. I know you don’t trust me. I can see it in your eyes.”
I sigh. “I do trust you, Aaron. As a person, I do. But I just don’t know if I trust you with my heart again.”
“I’ll prove you can.” He softly touches his lips to mine. “I don’t deserve this second chance, but I’m going to make every second of it worthwhile. For the both of us.”
“Deserve it or not, you were going to take it,” I mutter. “Easy way or the hard way. I know when to pick my battles.”
“Oh yes. Because I wholeheartedly believe you aren’t going to fight me every step of the way.”
I follow him into the kitchen and nod when he pulls a bottle of wine from the fridge. “I will never stop fighting you. It’s way too fun.”
He places the glass in front of me. “I know.”
“Crap. I drove to your office. My car is still in the parking lot.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “I’ll drive it back tomorrow.”
I curl my fingers around the stem and watch him as he pulls a clean glass and pours two fingers of amber liquid.
“Aaron?”
“Dayton?”
“I’m still mad at you. Really, really mad.”
He smirks. “I know.”
***
My thumb hovers over the screen of my cell. The green call button taunts me, challenging me. If I press it, I’ll be making a huge decision. Something that could potentially change my life.
I take a deep breath, throwing caution to the wind, and press the button.
It rings.
And it rings.
And it rings.
Monique’s voicemail cuts in, her sharp voice telling me to leave a message and she’ll get back to me. The beep is harsh and seems louder than usual, as if it’s giving me an extra half second to make my choice.
“Monique.” I pause. “Cancel Aaron’s payments. I’m still off the books, but I don’t want him to pay for it. You understand.”
I hang up and drop my phone on the bed. I stare at it for a long time, and my hands tremble as I wring them in front of my body.
I either just made a really smart move or a really stupid one.
Time to start finding out.