11
Crocodile tastes like chicken.
At least to me. Aaron insists that it has its own unique taste, but it definitely doesn’t. Why we couldn’t eat something normal for dinner—like octopus or squid or something—I don’t know.
Not to say I don’t like crocodile. I do. I’m just not in a hurry to eat it again.
Aaron leans back in his seat and brings his martini glass to his lips. His eyes rove over my face and settle on my lips as I lick my spoon clean. I run my tongue over the cold metal slowly, and I purposely keep my eyes focused over his shoulder.
The longer he stares at me, the harder it is to keep my eyes from his. His gaze is strong and compelling. It spreads warmth and tingles over my body, especially when I know that his eyes are darkening the way they are now. It’s how I know. When his lids get heavy and the electric blue of his eyes changes to a hue close to indigo, the intensity that hits me increases. When he looks at me the way he is now, his gaze penetrates my very core.
I look down at the table, tracing the swirls of cream in my bowl from dessert with my eyes. His quiet laugh reaches me and I drop my spoon.
“Still mad at me, sweetheart?”
“Of course I am. I’m always mad at you. Extra mad today.”
“Look at me.”
I shake my head.
“Dayton. Look at me.”
My traitorous eyes look up at his sharp demand. He reaches across the table and takes my hand. His fingers are rough and warm, and try as I might to focus on the feeling of them threading through mine, his gaze holds me captive.
“Are you still mad about what I said?”
“Yes.”
“And hurt?”
“I’m not—” I pause at the tightening of his jaw. “Yes. Okay, yes. It hurt.”
He flips our hands over and rubs lazy circles on the inside of my wrist. “Why?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does. Talk to me.” He tightens his grip on me when I try to pull away.
The young girl who brought out our food returns and silently takes our empty dishes. We stare at each other the whole time, an uncomfortable feeling brewing in my stomach. I don’t talk about feelings to anyone except Liv. Ever.
“Talk to me, Day,” he says in a softer voice once we’re alone on the deck again.
I tug my hand from his and stand, moving to the edge of the boat. The sea air hits me, wrapping me in a warm, salty embrace, and I inhale deeply, my eyes closed.
“It’s because you said it.” My voice is quiet yet strong enough to travel to him. “In fact, it’s not so much what you said. It’s how you did. When you said you ‘certainly wouldn’t pay for it,’ you said it in such a disgusted way it made my skin crawl.”
His hands cover mine on the railings, and he leans his forehead on my shoulder.
“It made me feel dirty, like you’d demeaned me. In that moment, you could have thrown me into a pile of pig crap and I would have come out feeling cleaner. And yes, it hurt because it came from you. Never mind the situation we’re in. It’s not something I ever would have expected you to say.”
“I’m sorry.” He drifts his lips across my shoulder blade. “I really am. I’m so f*cking sorry.”
I shrug the other shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve said it now.”
Aaron wraps his arms around my waist and turns his face into my neck, and I flash back to Paris. Standing at the top of the Eiffel Tower… Holding me this way… Whispering that he loves me…
“It matters to me. Do you think I like paying for you? I don’t. It goes against everything I believe and I f*cking hate it. So much. I just…” He sighs, his breath warm against my skin. “When you walked into the hotel and sat in front of me, I remembered everything. Looking at you was like being catapulted into the past again, and when you left a few hours later, I couldn’t let you go. All those times I’d thought of you and wished I could find you, and I finally had. Somehow you’d ended up in front of me again and I knew without a doubt I couldn’t just go on this trip and leave you there.”
“You didn’t have to do it that way.”
“I know. Believe me, sweetheart. I know. But you wouldn’t have come with me. You would have fought me.”
My lips curl slightly. I would have. There’s no way I would have followed him on this crazy trip if I hadn’t been forced into it.
“And I couldn’t let you walk.” He presses a kiss to my collarbone. “Not again.”
We stand in silence for a long while, our bodies together and his chin on my shoulder, just staring out to sea. The endless blue sea and perfectly clear turquoise water stretches for miles around us, the gentle breeze teasing my hair. The gentle bobbing of the boat is barely noticeable now. I feel Aaron sigh against my cheek.
“Do you ever wish we’d done it differently?” I ask.
“What?”
I look down at the water beneath us and whisper, “Leaving. Paris. Do you think back and wish we’d tried to make it work long distance instead of walking away?”
The tightening of his fingers into my stomach tells me what I need to know before he answers. I slide my hands along his arms until I’m holding myself as tightly as he is.
“Every day,” he whispers back. “And I’ve wished it every second of every day since you came back into my life.”
I wish it too, I want to say. I wish we’d looked at what we had and realized it was more than a boy and a girl having a whirlwind romance. I wish we’d stared into each other’s eyes in the airport just after he’d caught up with me and promised each other we wouldn’t give up.
I wish we’d both had the courage to hold on to us.
We’re in Paris again, strolling along the Champs-élysées hand in hand. I’m laughing at something he said, my free hand covering my mouth to muffle my hysterical giggles. He grabs me around the waist and dips me back, staring into my eyes for a tantalizingly long moment before, finally, he lowers his lips to mine in a sweet kiss that promises everything…
I roll over and rub my eyes. Jesus. I stretch my arm out and hit a box instead of the body I was expecting. What’s the time?
The clock reads eleven a.m., and I sit bolt upright. Eleven a.m.? The last time I slept this late I was sixteen and faking being sick to get out of school. Really, I’d been partying the night before and was just too hungover to get up.
I slide out of bed and pad into the kitchen in my underwear. Sun filters through the large windows, and I lean back against the side as the coffee machine works its magic. Within minutes, the scent of freshly brewed coffee reaches my nose and I turn and grab the mug.
The Sydney skyline stretches out before me, the Opera House standing proud in the distance. I want to explore this city some more, beyond the shops and the harbor to everything else. The tiny cafés and bars no one but the locals know. The quiet spots where you can forget about everything and just watch the world pass you by.
The bar Liv works at is much like that—a quiet little place on the corner nobody really knows. With its view of the piers and Elliot Bay, it’s one of my favorite places ever. A glass of wine and book in the corner is pretty much my favorite way to chill out.
I hum the tune of The Way I Loved You by Taylor Swift and walk back into the bedroom. My eyes fall on the box when I put my coffee down, and I tilt my head to the side. My curiosity is spiked, incredibly so. I jump onto the bed like a little kid and pull it onto my bed. I shake it.
No sounds.
I frown and pull off the small envelope tucked beneath the ribbon.
Dayton,
I’m in meetings all day and can’t get away until dinner tonight. I’ll meet you in the function room at 6:30 I’m so sorry. I wish I could be there sooner.
I took the liberty of buying you a dress and planning your day. I feel like a complete bastard for what I said yesterday, and this my way of making it up to you.
At 11:30 head to the spa on the floor below us. There you’ll get a massage, a manicure and pedicure, and anything else you want. I scheduledit for you, and you alone. But don’t be too long—a hair stylist is meeting you at the room at four, and so is a makeup artist.
I want you to do nothing but relax today. I’m so, so sorry for what I said yesterday.
Aaron
PS. - There’s coffee in the machine.
PPS. - I might have hidden two boxes in the suite. Good luck finding them
PPPS. - If you make a mess, you’re cleaning it up.
PPPPS. - I’m kidding. (Not really.)
I shake my head, a stupid grin on my face, and open the box. Inside, I find another hastily scribbled note.
I wasn’t lying about what I said yesterday. Tonight, you’re mine.
I’m sure you have some underwear in your suitcase to match this dress. If not, the personal shopper my mother uses here is coming with the hair stylist with a trunk full of (hopefully) lacy things. Pick whatever you want. Actually, pick it anyway. NO ARGUMENTS, woman!
This time I roll my eyes. But hey—I’m not turning down underwear. F*ck shoes and jewelry. Underwear is the most important part of an outfit. Sexy panties and a bra that makes the girls look good are all a woman really needs.
The pink tissue paper makes me itch to rip it open. But it’s wrapped so carefully and perfectly, I slip my finger beneath the seal and tear it off gently. I’m shaking as I open it. Crap. Why am I shaking?
I grasp the shoulders of the dress and stand, holding it up in front of me. The turquoise lace falls in a sleek line until flaring out roughly where my knees will be. The layer beneath it brightens the color, but the pure lace of the long sleeves shows the intricate weave of the material.
It’s perfect.
The kind of dress I would have picked.
The kind of dress I’ve always wished would be bought for me.
I lay it back on the bed carefully, mindful of creasing it, and grab the note again. He mentions two more boxes… I frown and spin. There’s nothing out of place in the bedroom.
I walk through the whole suite, checking each room for boxes, until my perusal is disrupted by the clock catching my eye. Shit! It’s almost eleven thirty! I run back to the bedroom, throw a dress over my head, and fly into the elevator.
It reaches the next floor down in no time, and when the doors open, I’m greeted by a girl about my age—give or take ten years and a few Botox injections.
“Miss Black?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Follow me. Mr. Stone requested you have your massage first.” She waves me over her shoulder and leads me into a separate room. “You can change and I’ll bring you a drink to enjoy until your massage therapist arrives” She hands me a white fluffy robe. “What would you like? Mineral water? Fresh juice? Champagne?”
I ponder this. Champagne? At noon? Can I do that?
Is it acceptable in a spa?
Oh, who cares?
“Champagne would be perfect. Thank you.”
She smiles and nods before slipping out of the door. I strip and lie on the massage bed, my head spinning. There are a lot of ways for a guy to say sorry, but this is one of the best.
The girl arrives with my drink, and I take a seat while I wait for the therapist. If this is teaching me anything, it’s that Aaron Stone knows how to treat a woman. That is, when he’s not being demanding with those dangerous f*ck-me eyes.
Hell, who am I kidding? I’m not a prude. I love that.
The massage therapist enters the room and introduces himself. Him? Isn’t this how porn movies start?
This won’t go down well with Aaron… But I could have fun working this in my favor.
I’m a bitch and I shouldn’t even be entertaining these thoughts, but I am. I love it when that protective side comes out and he challenges me with his darkening eyes and ticking jaw. When he grabs me and pulls me into him then kisses the living crap out of me…
“Oooh!” I cry when Jason, my therapist, hits a knot in my back. I can almost hear his smile as he gently begins to work it out.
Aaron would be steaming mad right now. Another guy putting his hands on me while I’m on his time? Holy shit. I know he said he’s going to f*ck me tonight, but this is a ticket to a real f*cking.
I shouldn’t even be thinking this—how much I love the feel of his lips or his touch or how much he’d hate this.
God, I’ve f*cked a masseuse, and it was f*cking wonderful until he stuck it in me. The guy had hands like a god but a dick like a virgin.
Over the next hour, Jason works out every knot and kink and bend in my muscles, teasing each one into a completely relaxed state. God. He massages my calf. Can I get him transported to Seattle? He’s good.
“We’re all done here, Miss Black,” he says quietly, crossing the small room. “Dana will be waiting for you when you’re ready for your pedicure.”
“Thank you, Jason,” I sigh. “That was great.”
“You’re welcome.”
He shuts the door, and I take a few deep breaths before standing. I encase myself in the robe and pull out my cell, my lips quirking in a troublesome smirk.
I just had my massage. Thank you.
Aaron’s response is immediate. Good. I hope you enjoyed it.
I did. He did a wonderful job.
HE?!
I slide my phone back into my pocket and skip out of the room. In the corner of the main spa area is a woman sitting in front of a foot spa. She’s surrounded by all the items she needs for a pedi.
“Dana?” I inquire, moving forward.
She stands with a beaming smile, crow’s-feet snaking from her eyes. “Miss Black. Please, take a seat. Mr. Stone requested that your toenails match your dress. Madeline will be along shortly to do your manicure, but until then, it’s you and me.”
I sit back in the plush, white leather seat. “Thank you.”
The girl that greeted me places a glass by my side. “Sorry for the wait, Miss Black, but I thought you might like your drink cooled.”
“That’s perfect.” I take the glass. “Thank you.”
Dana takes my feet, and after a cleanse, she begins the usual pedicure procedure but with more precision and care than I’ve ever experienced before. I feel relaxed and spoiled within an inch of my life, and when Dana applies the bright polish, I see that the color matches my dress perfectly.
My cell vibrates in my pocket, interrupting our conversation about the differences in Australia and America, and I pull it out to see Aaron’s name on screen. Dana looks up.
“Please do answer.” She smiles.
I return her gesture and hold it to my ear. “Hi, baby!”
“He? What the f*ck do you mean he?”
Oh, he’s mad. Really mad.
“He, as in Joseph. I thought you’d like to know he did an amazing job.”
“I requested you only had females tend to you.” His voice is strained and tight. “Especially for the massage.”
“Relax, honey.”
“Another man had his hands all over your body and you’re telling me to f*cking relax? You’re lucky I’m not hauling my ass down there and switching hotels right this second.”
“You’re overreacting,” I state. “Maybe there was no one else available.”
“Overreacting would be coming down there and punching that sonofabitch.”
I roll my eyes. “Jesus, Aaron. It was a massage. That you booked, I might add.”
The line crackles as he takes a deep breath. “You’re right. I just hate the idea of some other guy having his hands on you.”
“It was a good massage.” I’m taunting him, I know. I can’t help it.
“I’ll give you a f*cking good massage, woman. Don’t you worry about that,” he growls. “Now get off the phone and do that relaxing shit I organized before I piss you off.”
I smile. “Goodbye, Aaron.”
“The foyer. Six thirty. In that dress.”
“You got it, lover boy.” I hang up and roll my eyes a second time at Dana’s smile. “Men.”
“I feel ya, sweetie. I feel ya.”