Late Call (Call #1)(17)
Author: Emma Hart

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.”

Chapter Seven

I pinch my nose and take a deep breath as I drop beneath the water. The bathtub in this suite is a huge corner tub, and it’s currently so full with bubbles I can barely see the wall behind it.

Water. It’s my soother. My cleanser. Swimming, a bath, a shower—it doesn’t matter. Swimming is for frustration, a shower for a quick fix, and a bath when things are so f**ked up.

The water ripples when I come back up for air. I lean my head back against the tiles and let out a long sigh.

I miss Seattle. I miss the certainty and structure of my days. The regular clients, the nights with Liv, the frequent calls and texts from Monique. In reality I’m only a few miles away, but it feels like a whole world. It’s been six days yet, it feels like a lifetime. I miss my lingerie room, my bedroom-come-closet, my client extension. I miss brusque texts and excited phone calls, and hell, I even miss Liv’s whining after work because the hot guy she works with still hasn’t noticed her, no matter how low she unbuttons her shirt.

I glance at the clock I brought in and sigh again. Business nights for Aaron mean business nights for me, and although we’re only going for a casual dinner and a couple of hours in the casino, I have to remember that I’m working. That’s it. Working.

The cold air of the bathroom hits my skin the second I ease myself from the bath. I shiver and wrap the towel around me, savoring the fluffiness of it. What is it about hotel towels? God.

Empty. That’s the only way to describe the suite. Silent. Lifeless. Empty.

I grab my cell from the side and text Aaron’s number. What do I wear?

The response is immediate. Something Vegas. But classy and sexy. Something that is so very you.

Another message comes before I’ve had time to finish unzipping my suitcase.

Something that makes every guy in the casino want to f**k you.

Now that I can do.

I whip a bright pink, white-spotted lingerie set out, remembering how he liked the set I wore yesterday. Fuck. Why does that even matter?

The dusky pink lace dress I pull out after makes all those thoughts disappear, and I slide it over my wet hair until it hugs my body to perfection. Bobby pins slide into my hair perfectly, holding it to one side the way I know Aaron likes.

The dress. Classy, he said. The hair. Sexy, he said.

White-heeled pumps fit my feet perfectly, and I grab a matching white purse. I slip my credit card, cell, and lipstick inside it.

You, he said. White depicts innocence, but it’s also deceptive. That’s me all over. Deceptive.

Where do I meet you? I brush some mascara across my lashes, making them curl at the ends, the perfect accent to my smoky eyes.

“Right here.” Aaron appears in the doorway, perfect and poised. His suit is crisp and tailored, and it hugs every part of his body from his shoulders to his ankles. His pants hug his f**king ankles, for the love of God.

I sweep my eyes across his face, his jaw that’s holding a hint of a perfectly trimmed five-o’clock shadow, and over his hair that’s swept to the side.

“That didn’t take you long.”

“I knew you were waiting.” His fingers brush mine as he hands me my purse.

I curl my fingers around the satin. “I’m ready now.”

The elevator suffocates me as he moves closer through our journey down. The air gets gradually heavier, more pressing, until I’m so focused on breathing, on the rhythmic in-and-out and the rise and fall of my chest. So much so I can barely feel Aaron’s hand curving around my waist and pulling me into his side.

“You have to kiss me tonight,” he says into my ear in a low voice.

“I know.” I tilt my body into him, a rare streak of vulnerability going through me. I take a deep breath. “Tell me what you want me to be.”

The door opens and he pulls me to the side. The bright lights and loud shouts of the casino melt into nothing at the hot sensation of his hand sliding from my side across my stomach. They fade into silence at the buzzing across my skin, at the absolute hum through my veins.

His fingers caress my cheek gently as they glide up it and around the back of my head. “Be you. The sexy, carefree, gorgeous you.”

I take a deep breath in. “Mia or Dayton?”

My skin tingles at the way his other hand trails down my side. “Be you, Bambi. Be Dayton. I don’t care a single bit for your alter ego. Be the gorgeous, amazing, and enticing woman I know is in there hiding.”

I don’t know if I remember how to be myself, even as the blaring noise of the casino surrounds us and envelopes us. The last time I was truly myself was the day I walked away from him, so what he’s asking is absolutely a challenge.

“Be the person you fight against every day.” His lips brush across my jaw. “For me.”

“That’s a dangerous thing you’re asking. For both of us.”

“What’s dangerous is this dress.” Appreciation fills his tone. I try to ignore the spark of pleasure that sneaks through me.