Final Call (Call #2)(16)
Author: Emma Hart

“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**king 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**king 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**king 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.

Fuck 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.