Late Call (Call #1)(25)
Author: Emma Hart

I turn my face to the side and catch his eye. “Is the dress okay?”

“Okay? You’re standing in front of a f**king mirror and you’re asking me if it’s okay?” He crosses the room and rests his hands on my sides. He drops a kiss to my bare shoulder. “There’s no way you won’t be the most beautiful woman in the room tonight. If every guy doesn’t have their eyes on you the whole time, they need their eyes tested. Shit, Dayton. You look f**king incredible.”

I look at the floor and smile.

“No.” He cups my jaw from behind and lifts my face to the mirror. “You don’t get to look at the floor. Look in this mirror and see how devastatingly beautiful you look.”

“Shut up,” I murmur. “It’s just a dress.”

“No. It’s the woman that makes the dress. And you? You make this dress something that borders on illegal.” He lowers his mouth to my ear. “Tell me I bought this.”

“You did. And the shoes.” I stick out my foot, which is wrapped in a black stiletto.

“Good. Now I know every part of you, including your clothes, belongs to me. And I’ll be thinking of that when every man in the room tonight is undressing you with his eyes. More importantly, I’ll be a smug bastard knowing you’re leaving with me tonight.” His lips brush the nape of my neck. “I’m going to shower and change. Don’t move.”

I nod. An unexpected emptiness fills me when he releases me, and I perch on the end of the bed, staring at myself in the mirror as the shower starts.

Wishing I could see myself the way he sees me.

I know I’m good-looking. I can pull off sexy and cute and everything in between. But to supposedly look so beautiful that you can devastate a powerful man like Aaron? That’s something I’ve always believed was beyond me.

Until now. Looking in this shining mirror, with my dark eyes and red lips, my face framed by a head of dark brown curls, my body encased in red satin, I believe I’m beautiful.

I believe I’m beautiful enough to be more than just a casual f**k for a guy that can spare a few hundred dollars.

Because that is the essence of my job. It was. It should be. It’s supposed to be.

My title is high-class call girl. An escort.

In reality, I’m nothing more than a whore. An expensive one, but still a whore.

And I know that.

But I’m not with Aaron.

I’m something. Someone he’s proud to have on his arm and introduce to people. I’m someone he doesn’t mind pushing into the public eye as something that belongs to him. Someone he doesn’t mind the world knowing about.

That takes me above and beyond the title of whore, escort, high-class girl call.

It makes me Dayton.

The bathroom door clicks as Aaron walks into the room. A towel is wrapped around his waist, soaking up every drop of water that falls down his sculpted body.

I know that body. I know every dip and crevice, and I know what spot turns him on and what makes him groan with pleasure.

And I can’t watch when he changes or I might just touch those spots in a moment of impulsive insanity.

Aaron stands in front of me, clad in a tailored suit and bow tie. His fingers wrap around mine and he pulls me to standing. His eyes never leave mine as he tugs me up, and they only do when he stands behind me. Then they leave me for a handful of seconds until our gazes meet again in the mirror.

“Never doubt it,” he murmurs, running his hands down my arms to mine. “Never doubt your ability to walk into a room and stun every man into wanting you.”

I swallow and let him link his fingers through mine.

“Never doubt the way you walk into a room and make every man in there want you. And never ever doubt how beautiful you are to me. Not even for a second.”

“You and I see different things,” I whisper.

“You see things jaded by what you believe.” He rests his chin upon on my shoulder. “I see the raw truth of you. I see that you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, and I’ll spend as long as I have by your side convincing you of that.”

A long moment passes as we stare into each other’s eyes in the mirror. A long moment that seems to be everlasting. That makes me want to cocoon myself in his arms and not go this damn party tonight.

“We should go,” I say softly. “You can’t be late to your own party.”

He chuckles. “I suppose not. I could always blame it on you, you know.”

“Try it, Mr. Stone, and I’ll be forced to publicly kick your ass.”

“It’s really quite dangerous to call me that, you know.”

I back into the elevator with my lips curved. “Why, Mr. Stone? Have you had a change of heart about your name?”

He pins me to the back wall of the elevator with ease. “Why yes, I have, Miss Black. Surely you haven’t forgotten the way my fingers feel while they’re stroking inside your beautiful pu**y?”

“No.” I wrap my fingers around the lapels of his jacket. “I was just reminding you.”

“Believe me. There’s no way I could forget you squeezing around me as you came.” He touches his lips to mine, his voice lowering and turning huskier with each word until it’s a low hum that vibrates through my body. “No f**king way.”

My breath catches. This man is irresistible. “Are you going to behave tonight?”

“Around you? Impossible.” The elevator doors open and he pulls me into his side. “Especially when you’re wearing a dress like that. That bright red against your gorgeous skin makes me want to f**k you in ten different ways.”

“Only ten? I can think of more,” I whisper in his ear as we enter the room.

“Enough,” he snaps, his voice raw with sexual need.

Over the next twenty minutes, I’m introduced to more people than I’ll ever remember. Gorgeous Australian women and their high-flying partners. Single men with eyes that rove over my chest. Women who eye me with jealousy and disgust. Investors and workers in the business.

I let their looks and quiet comments go over my head. By now, I’m a pro at it. By now, they’re mere whispers in a world of screams. By now, they’re as commonplace as a kind word.

Nothing in my job is easy.

The Australian models signed with Stone Advertising’s agency are here, tall and lean and gorgeous. Some are on the arms of men equally as beautiful. Others are with slightly older men, and the rest are alone, their eyes stalking the room for someone who can support them when their modeling days are over.