16
Milan. A beautiful city in a country that values love above all else.
I walk around the extensive suite. The outside wall is exactly like the one in Vegas – where it’s wall-to-wall windows. I can stand against it, my body flattened against the coolness of the glass, and see the whole of the city. As the sun rises, I can run my eyes along the skyline and see every inch of the gorgeous, romanticized city that surrounds me.
And I do. I lean into the glass being warmed by the sun and flatten my hands, spreading my fingers wide. I breathe in deeply, as if the Italian air creeping in on a breeze through the bedroom window can clear my head. As if the incredible view before me can wash away all my thoughts and replace them with a sense of wonderment and awe. As if I can forget the feelings and just enjoy Italy.
If. If, if, if, if. F*cking if.
My life has been one big goddamn ‘if’ since Aaron Stone walked back into it. Everything I planned and everything I thought I knew would happen has been ripped away and torn into a thousand pieces. The certainty I prided myself on has been worn down, stripped back, destroyed. Now everything about me is uncertain.
How I’ll feel tonight, tomorrow, next week. What I’ll do when we get to Paris. What I’ll do when this trip is over. How I’ll feel. What I’ll want. Where I’ll go.
I know none of it and I can’t even begin to contemplate it. I never thought I’d see Aaron again, and when I did, pulling away that certainty, he made me his client. I let go of the freedom and ignored my gut. Then he didn’t want to be my client anymore, and in one traitorous beat of my heart, I agreed.
I agreed to be us. And that’s the problem. Us is so uncertain. Us always has been. Even the first time around, we were uncertain and impulsive and surprising. This time is no different. Each touch, kiss, whispered word… They’re all spur of the moment.
I don’t like spur of the moment.
A spur-of-the-moment phone call and job are what got me in this emotional f*cking mess.
“Sometimes I look at you and wonder if you’re really here or if I’m imagining it again.”
I turn at the sound of his voice. “Again?”
He rubs his wet hair with a towel and paces to the kitchen. “Teenage girls aren’t the only ones who get lost in dreams and wake up wondering if they were real or not. I did that plenty of times after Paris.”
“You dreamed of me?” My lips twitch.
“Dreamed of you, saw you in places you weren’t, thought I was hearing your voice shout my name across the street.” His blue eyes pierce mine. “What? You never did that?”
“Never.”
“Liar.”
“I didn’t!”
He walks to me, his lips twisted in a smirk. “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to believe me.” I walk backward, holding my arms up. There’s a hint of mischief in his eyes, one I recognize, one that sends promises of forever flooding through my body like they were whispered yesterday. “Aaron.”
“Admit it.” He stalks me, coming closer.
“There’s nothing to admit.”
He grabs me and throws me on the sofa. I laugh as he lowers himself over me, eyes sparkling, mouth grinning. “Admit it, or I’ll tickle.”
“Tickle? Mr. Serious can tickle?”
He lays his fingers at my side in a threat. “Every part of you.”
I push at his chest through my laughter, and he makes good on that threat. I squeal and arch my body into him to make him let go. “Crap, stop! Aaron, stop it!”
“Only if you admit it.”
“You’re a…grown man,” I breathe, squirming. “You don’t need the validation from teenaged memories to prove our love was real!”
“Yes. I do.” He covers my mouth with his in one swift movement, plunging his tongue between my lips. His fingers still, and I bury mine in his hair as he continues a delicious assault of my mouth. “And ‘was’? No, Bambi. There’s no ‘was’ about it. When you have a love that runs as deep as ours, it’s always alive and very, very real. It doesn’t die just because time passes.”
I draw in a deep breath. I know this. Of course I do. The kind of love that spreads through your body, possessing and controlling it, doesn’t just die. It keeps living the way a broken heart keeps beating.
“Yes,” I whisper into his mouth. “I did it. I looked over my shoulder every day hoping you’d appear from behind a tree. I heard your voice whispering my name whenever there was silence, and I felt your touch when no one else was around. And I saw you everywhere. You were every tall guy with dark hair, and I called your name and waited for them to turn, each time hoping it was you.” I grip his hair tighter and squeeze my eyes shut.
“And then?”
“And then when everything changed, I stopped wanting to see you but kept living in a hopeful fear you’d walk around the next corner. I needed to see you, but I didn’t need you to see me the way I am.”
He brushes his thumb across my cheek. “Why?”
“Because out of the handful of people whose opinions mattered, yours was always the most important.”
“Then you rounded the corner and I saw you anyway.” He softly kisses me again , a touch filled with truth. “And all I see is what I saw then. A beautiful woman with dreams she doesn’t think she can fulfill.”
“That’s because happiness always comes with a price.”
He pulls me up and wraps his arms around me. “Lucky for you, I can pay it.”
I smile into his chest and shake my head. You already are.
“And the price for today’s happiness is a coffee, and you’re paying.” He turns me in the direction of the kitchen area and pats my butt.
I shoot him a look over my shoulder. “What if I don’t want to pay?”
His blue eyes twinkle with a lusty mischief. “Then I’ll lock you in the suite.”
“What exactly will that achieve?”
“I have no idea, but the thought of you being locked in here all day is giving my cock ideas.”
I press the button on the machine and lean on the island, my arms squeezing my breasts together. His gaze flicks from them to my mouth and then to my eyes.
“And you can tell your cock its ideas are completely useless considering it’ll be with you in a meeting all day. You can lock me in this suite, Mr. Stone, but if any orgasms happen, you won’t be a participant. They’ll be of my own making.”
The mischief dissipates from his stare, morphing into a dark heat that sends shivers through my body. “Of your own making?”
I dip my finger into the sugar pot and lick it off. “I’m quite adept at providing my own orgasms. I’ve done it plenty of times. I know all the right spots.”
He crosses the room in a few quick strides. He flattens his hands against the counter and leans forward until we’re barely a breath apart. “Let’s get something clear, Dayton,” he rasps. “If anyone makes you come, it’ll be me. And if I decide you can do it yourself, you’ll be doing it while I watch you.”
The idea of his eyes fixed on me while I touch myself makes me ache.
“Are we clear?”
I lick my lips.
“I said”—he leans in closer, his lips moving against mine as he speaks—“are we clear?”
“Still a little murky.”
His fingers curl around my neck and he holds my face to his. He kisses me slowly. Deeply. Intensely. A ball of need coils low in my stomach, tightening until it’s at the very brink of exploding. It hovers there, growing as Aaron’s kiss teases and taunts me.
He pulls away briefly before returning to my mouth and dropping a long, lingering kiss there. “My coffee.”
I grab the side of the counter until my woozy, heady feeling from him passes. Holy shit, the man can kiss. The tongue strokes, the pressure, the twitch of his fingers on my skin…
“Is apparently yours.” He shoves his jacket on and pockets his phone. “You,” he murmurs, rounding the island and cupping my chin, “have distracted me, and now I’m going to be late.”
“Better late than never.”
“I told you you’re my biggest temptation.” One more kiss. “There’s a car waiting for you downstairs when you want it. Just call the concierge and they’ll bring it around.”
“Why on Earth do I want a car?” I frown, watching him cross to the door.
“I’m not locking you in here. Not today,” he adds with a wicked grin. “Go and explore. You have the whole day to yourself.”
“I don’t want it,” I respond. “The car. How can I explore if I’m stuck inside a fancy-ass car?”
“You have a point. By the way, I thought you’d say that, so I programmed the concierge’s number into your cell in case you get lost. He’ll arrange for you to be picked up wherever you are.”
“In case I get lost?” I raise an eyebrow.
He winks. “Have fun, Bambi. Oh, and keep your eyes to yourself. I know how you like concierges.”
“Gosh, no concierge, no touching myself… Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes. Me. Tonight.” He opens the door and walks through it before I can respond.
I blink after him for a second then pour a cup of coffee. The clock reads eight a.m., and I should be tired from the flight, but I’m not. I never really adjusted to Australian time, so being in a time zone somewhat closer to home is sitting right with my body.
I hug the mug and stroll through the suite, my eyes gazing out of the windows. I have a city to explore.
The Duomo di Milano is by far the most incredible building I’ve ever laid eyes on. It stands proudly in the Square, ornately designed spires and window decorating the majestic cathedral. From the huge iron doors and carved archways over each window to the intricate patterns wrapping the building, it’s amazing. Just amazing.
It felt like I was standing in front of the Eiffel Tower again, wowed by one of man’s greatest creations. I felt the same rush of wonderment and excitement at what I was seeing, and it’s something I feel now as I sit outside a small café with the best coffee I’ve ever tasted.
I couldn’t even go in and explore the inside of the Duomo. All I could do was stand in front of it and stare at it like a teen girl at a One Direction concert. I may even have wanted to scream in delight at one point, so completely overcome with the beauty of it.
Still, something was missing.
I sip my coffee and watch the Italian people breeze past on the sidewalk. Some are chatting hurriedly into cell phones pinned to their ears, others are linking arms and laughing, and a few are coaxing young children into following them. The fluid, relaxing language surrounds me, and I sigh.
He was missing.
The last time I felt the way I did while staring at the Duomo was the day I met Aaron. It was the day my wonderment at something manmade changed into amazement at someone naturally created. It was the day an all-consuming relationship began, although neither of us actually knew it.
I wrap my arms around my stomach and raise my face to the sun as I walk away from the café. How different my life would be if we’d never met… How empty it would be. I’d never have felt the heart-pounding warmth of real love or the heated breathlessness of heavy lust.
I’d never have felt the earth-shattering reality of heartbreak either.
And I wouldn’t be here, in Italy, wondering if the way my stomach flips when he walks into a room is a reaction to something I know. Something comfortable. Something familiar.
Or if it’s an automatic reaction that will always happen because my body recognizes something I choose to ignore.
I wander the streets in a contemplative haze, those thoughts spinning around and around in my head. Spinning and somersaulting and beating at the corners of my mind. Demanding to be listened to, demanding to be answered, demanding to be known.
The hustle and bustle of the outlet stores outside the Galleria Vittorio Emmanuelle II drags me back out of my own mind. Shiny shoes and purses and cut-priced dresses grab hold of my attention and I gravitate toward them. I might not have planned to go shopping, but the concierge recommended this as the best place, complete with the original Prada store.
And a girl can look. And touch. And dream.
Maybe even buy if it can be kept a secret…
I shake my head at the absurd thought. Aaron would have a fit and burst the seams of his suit if he found that out—and I have no doubt he would.
The tiny stores are full of designer apparel. The only difference is the price—and it’s a big difference. A black knee-length dress with a pink patterned flirty skirt catches my eye. I run my finger down the seam and pull it out.
I nibble on the inside of my lip. It’s gorgeous. My size. A dress that could be dressed up or down depending on the occasion. With the pink heeled pumps across the store…
It’s a Paris kind of dress.
Taking a deep breath and refusing to linger on that last thought, I hold it to my chest and find the pink shoes. They’re my size, and there’s no way I can’t not buy them. This is one of the crazy little ‘fate’ moments Liv mutters about that I’ve never believed in.
Mostly because she talks about love and fate. This is shoes and fate. Totally different ballgame.
I take them to the counter and the olive-skinned girl behind it beams at me. I ignore the way my stomach rolls at the cost and reach for my card.
But it’s not mine I find. There’s a black American Express card with a bit of paper wrapped around it.
I know you too well.
A
A smile wins out over the pursing of my lips, and I hand her that card—begrudgingly—since mine is nowhere in sight. That a*shole…
I leave the store with a small smile, despite being caught. I’ll let him have that simply because I have no other choice, but he’s not getting away with it that easily.
You’re sneaky, Mr. Stone. Nice move.
I tuck my cell back into my pocket and enter the Galleria. And holy crap! Is there a place in this city not completely shrouded in beauty? The glass ceiling stretches high above me, and I’m surrounded by the elite shops, old and at home in this Italian city.
Prada looms before me, and there’s something magical about knowing I’m standing in front of the very first store. Chanel might be my preference of label, if only because of the country in which it started, but Prada is a close second.
My feet pull me toward the store like a moth flies toward a light. There’s no hesitation… Wait, can I fit anything else in my closet? Or my suitcases? Never mind. I don’t plan to buy. I plan to look and touch and dream.
I think this over and over. Look and touch and dream. Look and touch and dream. Look and touch and dream.
Yep. I will behave, especially since I don’t have my card. As much as Aaron—and Monique—says that he has to pay for everything, I disagree. The strong, independent woman in me balks at the very idea.
Clothes. Everywhere. Shoes. Purses. Coats. Dresses.
Oh. This store is like a little slice of heaven set in a very large pie.
“Mi scusi, signora,” a gentle voice says from behind me. “Sei Signora Black?”
My eyes widen, and I turn to face a young blond-haired woman. “I’m Miss Black, yes, but I’m afraid I don’t speak Italian.”
She beams. “No problem. We have a message for you from Signor Stone.”
I think my eyebrows just met my hairline. “You do?”
“Si.” She nods. “He ask that we tell you to purchase anything you like and charge the account.”
Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? And more to the point, why wouldn’t he have an account at Prada?
“Right.” I laugh uncomfortably. “Please don’t think I’m being rude—that isn’t my intention—but how did you know it was me?”
Her smile widens a little. “He send us a picture this morning.”
Of course he f*cking did.
“He say you’re very important to him.”
I’m gonna kill him.
“Well, thank you…” I glance at her tag. “Adelina. I’m just here to browse, so I won’t be needing Mr. Stone’s account today.”
“Well, um, Signora Black, he ask you don’t leave without something.”
I take a deep breath and note the wringing of her hands. She’s clearly new and not cut out for this job.
“Okay. Could I speak to your manager?”
She nods and disappears in the back of the store. What the f*ck? Is this real? Walk into a random store and get told I have to buy something on someone else’s account?
I pull out my cell and open the unread message.
Surprise…
Surprise? I’ll give you a f*cking surprise next time you’re naked and turn your back! I fire the message back, and the response is immediate.
Enjoy Prada… Their SS14 collection is beautiful.
A*shole.
I shove it back in my purse in time to notice the tall, dark-haired woman approaching me. She’s as thin as a stick and pinches her lips when she looks at me. I know exactly what she’s thinking—I’m not what she expected.
God forbid anyone with a couple of extra pounds on their ass should walk into Prada and ask for the manager.
“Signora Black, how can I help you?” The manager clasps her hands in front of her stomach.
I meet her mildly disapproving look. Friendly lady. “Adelina here has just informed me I’m not to leave without a purchase on Mr. Stone’s account. Is this correct?”
“Si. He called this morning and was very specific.”
“I understand. Do you have somewhere I can go to call him in private?”
She nods and leads me to the staff area at the back without a word. She pauses at the door and looks me over, her dark eyes calculating. “Forgive me for saying so, but you aren’t what I expected.”
“Excuse me?” I spin, but she’s already gone.
If it’s really about the ass thing, she could do with a candy bar or two.
I dial Aaron’s number and hope he picks up. I don’t have any of the office numbers—I don’t need them. I don’t usually have to call him to chew out his ass about this kind of crap.
“Find anything nice?”
“In Prada? So far all I have is a shy sales girl and an absolute bitch of a manager who has a vendetta about the extra three pounds on my ass.”
His laugh warms my annoyed body. “I like those extra three pounds.”
“That’s where you’re supposed to say, ‘Extra pounds? What extra pounds?’” I snort. “That’s not the point. I’m not allowed to leave without buying something?”
“Oh, good. They told you.”
“Uh, yeah, they told me, and I’m pissed.”
He says nothing, a heavy silence lingering between us.
“You don’t get to do that, Aaron.” And it clicks. “Holy shit. You told the concierge to send me here, didn’t you?”
“No. I merely suggested it in case you should ask what’s worth seeing. Telling you was his choice, Dayton.”
“Don’t blame this on the concierge with the nice ass.”
“Watch your mouth, woman.”
“Then don’t piss me off.” I grit my teeth. “What if I don’t like anything here?”
“Then you can buy the fitted black dress.”
I’m not even going to think about how he knows a specific item. “It sounds like you’ve already decided for me.”
“It’s reserved for you.”
“You’re a presumptuous bastard, aren’t you?”
“She’s learning.” He chuckles. “Get the dress.”
“No.”
“Get the f*cking dress, Dayton. End of discussion.”
“And if I don’t?” I click my tongue.
“I’ll arrange for it to be delivered to the hotel tomorrow. You may as well save me the trouble since you’re there.”
I exhale loudly and rub my temple. “Controlling isn’t a good look on you.”
I hang up and drop my phone into my purse. Again. I’m like a jack-in-the-box where he’s concerned. The Jack is my temper and he’s the lever, winding and winding and winding until I snap.
“I’ll take the black dress Mr. Stone reserved,” I say through a tightened jaw. F*cking a*shole. I’ll make him pay for this—and not in money.
“Si. He has fabulous taste, Signor Stone, does he not?” the manager questions as she wraps it in tissue paper in a box.
“Excellent.” I fake a smile. “What did you mean a moment ago? I wasn’t what you were expecting?”
Silently, she puts the lid down and slips it into a bag. “The dress is charged to Signor Stone’s account. I’m sure you will look wonderful, signora.”
“What did you mean?” My voice is harder as I push it.
She gives me a smile, one lined with the bitchiness she hasn’t hidden since she approached me. “Forgive me. It was a slip of the tongue.”
She disappears, leaving me staring after her in confusion.
I stir when the bed dips next to me.
“Shh.” Aaron’s breathy whisper caresses my cheek. “It’s me.”
I yawn, rubbing my eyes. “What time is it?”
“One a.m.”
“You’re late.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” He pulls me into him.
He wraps his arms around me. My body is flush against his, and I snuggle into his hold. Our feet tangle together and my hands wrap around his arms. Warmth spreads through me at the touch of his lips on my head, and I smile.
“What are you doing?”
“Holding you. That’s all.”
I move deeper into his touch. “I’m still mad, you know.” I yawn again.
“I know, Bambi. I know.” He buries his face in my hair. “Sleep now.”