6
I haven’t said a word to Aaron Stone for two hours and seventeen minutes. Not that I’m counting, of course, and not for his lack of trying to make conversation. As it is, I’ve made it through a whole dinner and a drink with only speaking to the waiter.
Because he’s royally pissed me off.
What’s even worse is that the possessive shit he pulled, the grabbing and the whispering and the sexy-ass threats, turned me on. Panty-changing, leg-clenching, p-ssy-throbbing kind of turned on. I loved it and hated it at the same time.
Love it because the only thing that’s turned me on in at least two years is battery-operated. Hate it because it’s him. Enough said.
“You have to talk to me sooner or later.”
No, I don’t.
He raises an eyebrow. “How long are you going to keep this up?”
I’m not falling for that. I smile tightly at him.
“F*cking hell, Day.” He rubs his hand down his face and sighs. “You’re being incredibly immature, do you know that?”
As if to validate his statement, the urge to poke out my tongue overcomes me. I beat it down. Just.
I take my purse and stand, turning away. His chair scrapes against the floor as he gets up after me, and I hear his shoes squeak against the tiled floor of the restaurant behind me. We leave the busy restaurant, together yet apart, and I head toward the casino. If the next six weeks follow the pattern of the last two days, I’ll be in a perpetual state of annoyance.
Aaron’s hand finds mine and pulls me back into the wall of an empty hallway. He stands in front of me, his eyes searching for my gaze, his free hand holding my jaw much the way he was earlier. He tilts my head back so my eyes crash into his.
“We can’t go in there if you’re not talking to me. Too many people I know.”
I raise my chin defiantly.
“You’re not going to say a word?”
I stare at a spot on the wall over his shoulder.
“Fine. That’s fine”—he bends his head forward—“because there are other uses for your mouth.”
My eyes close at the firm touch of his lips on mine. They’re warm and soft with a lingering taste of the oaky whiskey he drinks. Caressing and gradually more probing, they’re everything I remember and more.
I drop my purse, and his fingers curl around the back of my neck as mine grip the lapels of his jacket. Our bodies push together, and when his arm snakes around my back, holding us together, a small gasp leaves me at our full-bodied contact.
His kiss is as engulfing and suffocating and intimate as it was before. Only now it’s laced with a power and determination he didn’t know then, with the possessive, domineering streak he showed earlier.
“You’re a bastard, Aaron Stone.”
“I know, but it worked.” The lips that were just covering mine are now curled in a smug amusement.
“A woman ignoring you is not an excuse to kiss her.”
He runs his thumb across my mouth. “I didn’t see you using these for anything else.”
“Really? They were about to tell you where to go.”
“Behave.” He kisses me again, once, deeply, and tugs on my bottom lip. “I’d hate to say something that would make you ignore me again.”
“I bet you would.” I uncurl my fingers from the material of his jacket and flatten them against his chest. “You’re lucky you’re paying for that. Anyone else would have felt the damage of my heels.”
Aaron laughs, his hand still firmly on my neck. “Oh, Bambi. I didn’t pay for that kiss. I stole it.”
“Then, perhaps”—I step into him and slide my hands over his shoulders—“you should give it back.”
He barely has time for his eyebrow quirk before I tug his face to mine. My lips mold against his forcefully, and he wastes no time pulling me into him again. I nip at his bottom lip and run my tongue across it after, soothing the tiny sting and then smiling against him at the flexing of his fingers on my back. Gently, I coax his lips apart and flick the tip of my tongue against his. My fingers tangle in his hair and he groans quietly into my mouth at the tiny pull it causes.
His tongue explores my mouth the way mine does his, and briefly, it occurs to me that we’re making out in a hotel hallway like a couple of teenagers, exactly how we used to. The kisses were simply more desperate and wanting instead of the point-making charade it is now.
I can feel him growing hard inside his pants, and his erection digs into my stomach. I trail my fingers down his chest and cup his cock, rubbing my thumb along the side of it, and he tightens his grip on my neck.
I break the kiss and rest my cheek against his. “You might have stolen the first one, but you definitely just paid for it.”
“You’re pushing me, Dayton. Very close to the edge.” He takes my hand from him and holds it behind my back. “Keep it up and you’ll find it’s a long f*cking way down.”
A breathy laugh leaves me. “I dare you to take me there.”
“Do you have any idea how easily I could tease your body into coming for me?”
“And there is our difference. You seduce women for fun, Aaron, and I seduce men for a living. I seduce without being seduced, and that’s a skill in itself. I don’t get seduced. Ever.”
“Really? Because…” He slides a hand down my body and between my legs quicker than I can realize his intentions. He slips a finger along my underwear, feeling the dampness there. “You feel seduced to me.”
I pull back and look him dead in the eye. “Don’t ever confuse a natural response to kissing with my being seduced. The last client that did that found himself without a regular f*ck for six months.”
“You’re so difficult,” he murmurs. “I don’t remember you ever being this headstrong.”
“I wasn’t.” I step from his hold. “But a lot of things can change in seven years. You ought to remember that.”
It’s nine a.m. on a Monday f*cking morning, and I’m not in bed. There are so many things wrong with this, least of all the fact I’m in the building that houses Stone Advertising’s offices, ready to sit by idly as my ‘boyfriend’ picks two new models.
Yep. Casting call number one and I have no coffee. Even if I did have coffee, I’d need something stronger in it because acting like a coolly jealous girlfriend is going to drive me insane by lunchtime.
A young intern hands me a mug of the much-wanted coffee with a mumble. I watch her as she turns to Aaron and hands him one too, this time with a bright smile and wide eyes. What the f*ck is it with females going all doe-eyed and charmed around him?
He smiles as he thanks her, and she practically pants and runs away. That’ll be it. The panty-dropping smile that hasn’t yet worked on me. Clearly I’m immune to that one, huh? I roll my eyes.
“Jealous already?” he murmurs into my ear.
“Green as can be.” I bring the mug to my lips, inhaling the strong scent of coffee. “Don’t you know how threatening teenage girls are?”
He laughs lowly and places a hand on my back. “Then it’s a good thing I prefer a real woman, isn’t it?”
The door opens and the first model strolls in. She’s all…well, bones, to put it bluntly. There’s nothing to her apart from skin. No curves. Nothing.
“This is the kind of girls you work with?” I turn my face and raise an eyebrow.
Aaron taps my nose. “Try to behave yourself.”
“Always do,” I mutter into my mug as he takes a seat.
Four other models join her, all of varying body types. One is curvier, another clearly packs a bit of muscle, one is slim but less curvy, and the last is basically the second girl with curves. They’re all completely different.
And each of them knows how to work it, how to manipulate the small panel in front of them. Despite this, it’s plain to see where all their eyes are—on the man in the middle. The one relaxed back in his chair with his foot resting on the opposite thigh, his fingers adjusting his tie, and his eyes on no one in particular. As they each introduce themselves, Aaron nods, but his expression never changes.
The curvy girl seems put out by it the most, and she flicks her light hair over her shoulder with a sense of entitlement. Oh, god. I hate these snobby bitches. Someone should tell them that you’re not entitled to anything just because you were blessed with good looks and a great rack. Get off your high horse and work hard just like the rest of us.
She places her portfolio on the table with a beaming smile and an unnecessary wiggle of her body. I cough from my perch on a desk in the corner, and both she and Aaron look at me. She with annoyance, he with amusement.
I hold up my empty mug. “Sorry. Went down wrong.” My lips curve in a polite smile, and I cross one of my legs over the other. My dress rides up slightly, exposing my thigh, and the darkening in Aaron’s eyes tells me he saw more than just my thigh.
The door closes behind her as she leaves the room, and I lean back on my hands as the other girls all come forward and leave their portfolios on the table. Aaron’s gaze flicks to me every other minute, and I feign complete ignorance, even though I can feel it burning into me.
“What do you think?” Eric Duvall, the British guy, asks Aaron when the room is empty.
“What did they want?”
Eric holds up a sheet of paper. “Blond, curvy but not heavy, slim but not skinny.”
“And the only blonde there was on the skinnier side of slim.”
“The curvy girl, uh…” Another guy shuffles paper. “Connie. She’s so light she’d pass for blond.”
I bet that’s not all she passes for in your mind, buddy.
“No.” Aaron shakes his head. “She’s too dark for blond. Dayton? What do you think?”
“Hmm?”
His lips quirk up. “Connie—the first girl that left. Could she pass for blond?”
“Sorry, but no. Light brown and blond are different. She’d have to get highlights, and since this is only one shoot, it’s a big ask.”
“One shoot with the potential to front the campaign,” the guy who wants her puts in.
“But why ask her to take the risk? There are probably a hundred blond girls out there who would be suitable. Of course, this is only my opinion—and I know nothing about modeling.” I shrug a shoulder.
Eric Duvall smiles gratefully at me and turns to Aaron. “Shall we put out another call?”
“Yes—and be specific. Don’t miss a detail—hair, eyes, weight. Everything. This is a large contract we can’t afford to lose.”
“Will you be here next time?” the other guy asks.
“No, we leave for Sydney on Thursday.” Aaron stands, and the other guys follow suit. “Obviously I expect a full report including portfolios via email before the end of the day, and it goes without saying that no one will be chosen without my approval.”
“Of course.” They shake hands.
“Thank you for coming today, Adam. I know you’re busy with the L’amour contract.”
“It was a pleasure.” He nods and leaves the room.
“Eric, how’s your wife?”
“She’s well, thank you. Bloody awful sickness is taking its toll on her now, poor love.” He shakes his head.
“My ag—” I catch myself. “My friend swore by popsicles when she was expecting her son. She said they kept her hydrated as well as settled her stomach.”
“Really? I’ll get some on the way back home tonight. Thank you, Dayton.”
“You’re welcome.” I smile.
He checks his watch. “Excuse me. I have a meeting for another contract in ten minutes, so I really must be going now. Dayton, it was a pleasure to meet you.” He takes my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “And, Aaron, I’ll be sure to touch base with you and your father tonight to let you know the outcome.”
“Thank you, Eric. Good luck with the meeting.” Aaron shakes his hand and closes the door behind him. He pauses in front of it, raising his eyes to mine. “Subtlety isn’t a strong point of yours, is it, Dayton?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Of course not.” He loosens his tie, letting it hang around his neck, and the now open top button of his shirt reveals a hint of muscle on his chest. “I have to say, I found it very convenient how you just had to cough when Connie was very obviously bending in front of me.”
“She was? I didn’t notice.”
Aaron places his hands on the desk either side of me, and one of his thumbs brushes my thigh as he does so. “And I definitely have to say, it was a nice move with the leg cross. If there were anyone else in here who had seen that, there’d be some happy wives tonight.”
I don’t fight the twitch of my lips. “Again, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He laughs once and leans in, ghosting his lips along my jaw, barely touching my skin. “That pink thong you’re wearing—as f*cking gorgeous as it is—doesn’t cover nearly as much of your p-ssy as you think it does.”
My breath catches when he wraps his fingers around my thigh, dangerously close to that thong. The phone rings and he presses a button on it without moving from me.
“Yes?”
“Your food is here, sir.”
“Send it in.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Food?”
“It’s almost lunchtime.”
I look at the clock on the far wall. “Ten thirty isn’t lunchtime.”
He smirks and answers the door. He locks it without saying a word and sets the paper bags on the desk next to me. “Maybe I wanted you here alone.”
“Really, Aaron, you don’t need to lock me in an office to f*ck me. That’s why we have a hotel room.”
His eyes darken a shade. “As much as I’d love to lay you back and f*ck you until you scream my name on this desk—and I will, one day—that’s not the reason I’ve locked you in here with me. You’re here because you’re going to talk to me.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
“Then tough shit, because you can’t run from me in this building.”
“You left the key in the door.” I glance over his shoulder. “I could easily leave.”
“You wouldn’t get past security on the door. They have instructions that you aren’t allowed to leave unless you’re accompanied by me.”
“Are you kidding me? You have me on some sort of bullshit office-arrest so we can talk?”
Am I hearing him right? Is he being f*cking serious? I shove him away from me and stand. Anger floods my body, making my hands tremble from their resting place on my hips, and I bite the inside of my lip. There isn’t a single part of me that can believe this.
“Dayton.” He says my name slowly, and a hint of annoyance threads through it.
“No, Aaron. Don’t stand there and f*cking ‘Dayton’ me. I don’t want to talk to you about anything other than the reason we’re here.”
“I want to know you again. Shit, I need to know you again.”
“You don’t get to do that. My clients don’t know anything about me.”
“I’m not your normal client.”
“Normal or not, you’re still my client and I’m still a call girl. My clients don’t know my real name, for God’s sake, and you have that. I don’t get personal on a job. The only thing that matters is the lingerie I’m wearing and how hard I have to f*ck until the guy comes. Not my past. Not what I’ve been doing since you saw me last.”
Aaron chucks his jacket on the chair and eyes me as he rolls up his shirtsleeves. His gaze roams over my face until I feel like every inch of it has been scrubbed raw by the swirling mass of emotion in his eyes.
“Is that what matters? How hard you’d have to f*ck me until I’d come for you?”
“I never said that.”
“Yes you did. We’ve already established you’re wearing very revealing, bright pink underwear, so let’s get part two over with.” His voice turns husky. “I’m easy, Day. You could f*ck me hard and fast or you could f*ck me slow, and I’d come for you. Inside you, over you… As long as you f*ck me the same way I’ll f*ck you, like you’ll never get enough of me being inside you, I’ll come for you.” He steps a little closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “Are we clear?”
F*ck yes, that was clear. I swallow hard and fight the urge to squeeze my thighs together. Crap. I’m so turned on I think he just f*cked me with his words.
“That doesn’t mean I’ll tell you anything. That just means I know how you like sex.”
His lips quirk and he sits behind the desk, the Vegas skyline stretching out behind him. He looks totally at home sitting there, a figure of power and pure sexuality who can word-f*ck me like nobody’s business.
“I hope you like this office, because we’re not leaving until you talk, and I don’t care what self-erected walls you have to tear down so you do.” Calmly, like he can’t sense my annoyance, he grabs a bag and pulls out a Subway sandwich.
Ladies and gentlemen, meet the future CEO of Stone Advertising. And he’s eating f*cking Subway.
He nudges the bag toward me, and I shake my head.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Eat it.”
“I said I’m not hungry.”
“And I said f*cking eat it, Dayton.”
I clamp my jaw and grab the bag. Domineering a*shole. This is why I do men in short doses. I can’t deal with the “do this, do that” crap. I’m too headstrong for it, and I like winning my battles too much to put myself in a situation where I might have to pick them.
I bite into the sandwich and the taste of club sandwich assaults my senses, the different meats mingling together in my mouth. And there’s extra cheese. Toasted. My eyes narrow and flit across to Aaron.
Never trust a guy who knows your favorite sandwich without asking you.
“Whenever we went for lunch at that little English café in Paris and it was on the menu, you’d ask for a club sandwich with extra cheese,” he explains before I can say a thing. “And you sent back three of them because they weren’t toasted, even though you’d asked for it to be. Since Subway doesn’t do those, I improvised.”
I lower the sandwich and perch on the corner of his desk. “How do you even remember that?”
“The things we remember the clearest aren’t necessarily the big, heart-stopping moments everyone expects. They’re the little things that add up. The little things most people look over but that mean the most.”
Silence hovers between us for a moment, growing steadily more tense and awkward.
“If I believed in romance, I’d be a puddle right now.” I take the last bite of my lunch and wad up the wrapping.
“You believed in romance once.”
“Once.” I cross the room and drop the wrapper in the trash can. “That was before I realized love hurts. I gave love up the day I signed the contract with my agent. Love hurts, but pleasure doesn’t and neither does power. I had to choose, and I chose pleasure and power.”
“There isn’t a part of you that believes in love? Really?”
I glance over my shoulder. “Do I believe it’s possible? That it’s real? Tangible? Yes. I believe everything you can tell me about love, but that doesn’t mean I have to believe in it. It doesn’t mean I have to believe—or want—it in any part of my life.”
I feel his thumb stroke the back of my neck before I realize he’s behind me. He drops his wrapper in the trash can in front of me and runs that hand down my bare arm.
“You loved me once. You loved me like I was the air you needed to breathe, like you needed my touch to keep you alive. You loved me the very same way I loved you. Obsessively. Insanely. Relentlessly. Don’t tell me you don’t believe in love when for six short weeks, all those years ago, you couldn’t possibly live without it.”
“And don’t tell me I do believe in love when for months after, all those years ago, I had to live without it.” I shrug him off me and walk to the door. “We’ve talked enough. I’d like to go now.”