Final Call

Chapter Seven

I always know when he’s looking at me. My skin hums when he walks into a room, but his gaze makes it burn. It’s always hot and heavy, laden with raw want and desire.
It’s amazing how something so small and simple can hold so much weight. How it can take your breath away in a split second. His eyes have always had this effect on me—this mesmerizing feeling that stills my whole world until he looks away again.
I bite the inside of my lip as I pull some underwear on. He’s filling the doorway of the spare bedroom, his arms resting on either side of it and his legs crossed at the ankles. I’m trying to ignore the way his dark jeans are hanging low on his hips, his belt forgotten, the band of his boxer briefs peeking above the waistband of the denim.
Trying to ignore the way that ‘v’ curves over his hips and dips teasingly below them.
I’m not doing a very good job.
I pull a tank over my head and tie the string on my shorts before turning. His lips are curved into a smirk, and his eyes are sparkling.
“Those shorts are practically underwear,” he says, a hint of huskiness coming through his voice.
“Tell that to Victoria’s Secret.” I tap his arm and he drops it, allowing me to step by him.
“Believe me, sweetheart. I have no plans to tell Victoria’s Secret a damn thing.”
I glance over my shoulder, and his gaze is fixed firmly on my butt. I roll my eyes and pull the fridge open. “I didn’t think you would.” My eyes skirt across the shelves. “Why is your fridge half empty? And why is none of the food in it actually edible?”
I shut the door again and turn. He leans forward on the bar, bent at the waist. The muscles in his arms flex, and I blink harshly to pull my own gaze from his body. Jesus. The man awakens some kind of crazy primal attraction inside me that means I’m addicted to staring at his body.
“Because,” he says with amusement, “I don’t eat much at home. If I’m not out for dinner, I’m ordering something at the office. Keeping edible food at home seems pointless when it’ll merely rot.”
“And I suppose you never factored in the fact I might want to eat.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Well, for someone so presumptuous and certain of everything, I would have thought he’d have prepared for my basic needs.”
“I was more focused on your other basic needs.” His eyes flick to my hips and back up again.
“They’re not basic needs. They’re extracurricular needs.”
“This is where men and women differ, Dayton. To me, exploring your body and making you come in my arms is absolutely a basic need.”
“For you.” I turn and swallow, grabbing an empty glass from the cupboard. “Food is a basic need for me.”
“So I’ll order in.”
His cell rings on his words.
“Hello? Mom… No, no, I didn’t forget. I just, uh, I have company… Yes, Dayton’s here... Yes, I know.”
I spin back, and his face is creased into a pained expression. I can hear the buzz of his mom’s voice on the other end of the line, and by the way Aaron’s bringing his shoulder to his ear in an extended wince, I’d guess she’s giving him a few choice words.
“Mom… Okay, hang on.” He covers the mouthpiece and mouths, “F*ck,” with his eyes closed. After a quiet sigh, he opens his eyes again and looks at me. “Dayton, my mother would like to know if you’d care to join us for dinner tonight.”
“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.
“F*ck. 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 f*cking 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 f*cking 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 f*cking 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.
F*ck 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 f*ck 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 f*ck you in something you’ve f*cked 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 f*cking rid of it.”
I take a deep breath. F*cking 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 f*ck you in it.”
The mother of all aches starts in my *. 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.
I need to know if everything is worth the love he’s yet to admit to.
And I need to know those words. I need to hear those three tiny words fall from his lips, because they’re the verification I need for this relationship. Three tiny words that will lay to rest every single doubt I have about our situation.
I’ve never needed love, not from a man. I’ve never needed to feel loved for my life to have any sort of meaning. I looked at those women and believed they were weak because they needed someone to lean on, but perhaps I was wrong.
There’s nothing weak about love, and needing to hear Aaron tell me that he loves me doesn’t make me weak either.