Final Call (Call #2)(66)
Author: Emma Hart

I sit up, brushing hair from my face, and listen for any indication of him being around. There isn’t any, so I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and make my way out of the room.

The city lights flood the front room, and I glance at the clock. Four a.m. Where could he possibly be at this time?

Something creaks in the direction of his office, and I walk down the hall to it. His door is cracked open slightly, and a gentle light from the television is flickering through the tiny gap. I wrap my fingers around the edge of the door and ease it open, my eyes landing on his exhausted, shirtless figure.

He’s slumping over his desk, his fingers buried in his hair. His laptop is open in front of him, papers are scattered everywhere, some lying idly on the floor, and a desk light is illuminating the mess.

“You should be in bed, asleep,” he mutters without moving.

I hold in my snort and cross the room. I lay my hand on his shoulder. “Have you been to sleep yet?”

He shakes his head in response, and I close my eyes. His fingers close over mine on his shoulder and he pulls my hand to his mouth, brushing his lips across my knuckles.

I look at him as he tilts his face up to me. His eyes are slightly glazed, dark shadows forming beneath them, and I press my hand to his cheek.

He looks exhausted, like there isn’t another ounce of energy left in him.

“Come to bed,” I whisper.

“No. I need to finish this.” Aaron turns back to his laptop.

I reach forward and slam the top down. Slowly, he faces me again, his lips quirked to one side.

“Come to bed,” I repeat, firmer this time.

“Dayton, I have to finish this. I have to make sure we’ve covered all our bases and nothing has slipped between my fingers.” He knocks my hand from the laptop and opens it.

Once again, I slam it. This time, I climb onto the desk and sit on top of it, my eyebrows raised. I rest my feet on his chair in the small gap between his legs, and he runs his hands up my calves.

“Dayton,” he sighs.

“You’re coming to bed, Aaron, and I don’t care if I have to sit here for another hour. You’re not opening the damn laptop again tonight.”

He opens his mouth, but I lean forward and press two fingers against his lips. Instead of speaking, he kisses them.

“I know you don’t want to. I know you want to sit here until you collapse on the keyboard, but you’re not going to. I love that you’re trying so hard to fix this, baby, I do, but you need to sleep now. You’re no good to me or you if you’re stumbling around like something out of The Walking Dead.”

He smiles. “The Walking Dead?”

I shrug a shoulder. “So I watch some TV. Please come to bed now. You can come back to this in the morning. If you checked everything now, you’d probably miss something because you’re so tired. Look at it with fresh eyes. I’ll help you.”

Our gazes lock for a long moment, and just when I think I’m going to really have to argue my point, he drops his shoulders.

“Fine. I’ll come to bed, but know that I’m going to hold you so tight you might suffocate a little.”

I bend forward and touch my lips to his. “I don’t expect anything less.”

“And when I’m not so tired, this is happening again. You on this desk in my shirt, that is. I am incredibly tempted to f**k you right now.”

I hop up and tug on his hand. “Not happening, Aaron. Come on.”

He waits while I shut off the light and TV and dutifully follows me into our room. I tug his sweatpants from his hips and he steps out of them, grabbing me before I can turn. Deftly, his fingers work the buttons on the front of his shirt and he takes it from my body.

We climb into bed together, and no sooner have I pulled the sheets up than he’s cocooning me in his arms. I snuggle into him and turn my face so my lips rest against the part of his chest where his heart is beating. He squeezes me tight when I press a kiss there, feeling it speed up beneath my lingering touch.

“I love you, woman,” he whispers into my hair. “So very, very much.”

“I know,” I whisper back, tangling our legs further. “I love you a lot, too.”

“Good.”

I close my eyes and listen as his breathing deepens and evens out. He’s asleep within a minute, but his hold on me never loosens or wavers. His arms are locked around me in an ironclad grip, and I slip one of my hands over his side and up his back.

Somehow, and I wish I knew how it was possible, she hasn’t won.

Naomi might have what she set out for originally—the money—but I have to wonder if that was her real motive. If, like Carly said, she always hated me, the Paris Girl, then it wouldn’t be crazy to think that blackmailing me would have some other outcome.

Like walking away from Aaron.

I truly believe that she loves him. Maybe it’s in her own twisted, vicious way, but I think she does. That could be me hoping that there’s a real reason behind this whole thing. That could be me seeing good in someone who doesn’t particularly deserve it, but I’ll never know.

Their relationship isn’t my business. I don’t know anything of it bar the basic facts Aarons told me, and I don’t want to know. Not because I don’t want to hear about him with another woman, but because it doesn’t matter.

We’re past the point of it having any impact on us. We’re past the point of her being a thorn in our sides. At least I hope so. The threat of a five-million-dollar lawsuit if she contacts us again should be enough to keep her away.

She may love him, but she loves the money more. She won’t give that up for something as trivial as trying and failing to come between us.

We’ve shown her how strong we are. We’ve shown everyone, including ourselves, how hard we’re willing to work for, fight for, and hold on to this relationship. We’ve made it crystal clear that our love has the strength of a thousand diamonds.

Yes, you can scratch it. You can even chip it if you’re really lucky. But you’ll never break it.

And craning my head back to look at the peaceful, restful face of the man who possesses every part of me, I know how true that statement is.

After everything, we’re still as strong as we were the first time around.

This time, we’re just not willing to let go. We learned our lesson.

Chapter Twenty-Six

I swing my legs from the bar, watching the seconds tick by on the clock. The large hand approaches the twelve, crawling at a snail’s pace, and I sigh when it finally reaches it.