Late Call (Call #1)(33)
Author: Emma Hart

No sounds.

I frown and pull off the small envelope tucked beneath the ribbon.

Dayton,

I’m in meetings all day and can’t get away until dinner tonight. I’ll meet you in the function room at 6:30 I’m so sorry. I wish I could be there sooner.

I took the liberty of buying you a dress and planning your day. I feel like a complete bastard for what I said yesterday, and this my way of making it up to you.

At 11:30 head to the spa on the floor below us. There you’ll get a massage, a manicure and pedicure, and anything else you want. I scheduledit for you, and you alone. But don’t be too long—a hair stylist is meeting you at the room at four, and so is a makeup artist.

I want you to do nothing but relax today. I’m so, so sorry for what I said yesterday.

Aaron

PS. – There’s coffee in the machine.

PPS. – I might have hidden two boxes in the suite. Good luck finding them

PPPS. – If you make a mess, you’re cleaning it up.

PPPPS. – I’m kidding. (Not really.)

I shake my head, a stupid grin on my face, and open the box. Inside, I find another hastily scribbled note.

I wasn’t lying about what I said yesterday. Tonight, you’re mine.

I’m sure you have some underwear in your suitcase to match this dress. If not, the personal shopper my mother uses here is coming with the hair stylist with a trunk full of (hopefully) lacy things. Pick whatever you want. Actually, pick it anyway. NO ARGUMENTS, woman!

This time I roll my eyes. But hey—I’m not turning down underwear. Fuck shoes and jewelry. Underwear is the most important part of an outfit. Sexy panties and a bra that makes the girls look good are all a woman really needs.

The pink tissue paper makes me itch to rip it open. But it’s wrapped so carefully and perfectly, I slip my finger beneath the seal and tear it off gently. I’m shaking as I open it. Crap. Why am I shaking?

I grasp the shoulders of the dress and stand, holding it up in front of me. The turquoise lace falls in a sleek line until flaring out roughly where my knees will be. The layer beneath it brightens the color, but the pure lace of the long sleeves shows the intricate weave of the material.

It’s perfect.

The kind of dress I would have picked.

The kind of dress I’ve always wished would be bought for me.

I lay it back on the bed carefully, mindful of creasing it, and grab the note again. He mentions two more boxes… I frown and spin. There’s nothing out of place in the bedroom.

I walk through the whole suite, checking each room for boxes, until my perusal is disrupted by the clock catching my eye. Shit! It’s almost eleven thirty! I run back to the bedroom, throw a dress over my head, and fly into the elevator.

It reaches the next floor down in no time, and when the doors open, I’m greeted by a girl about my age—give or take ten years and a few Botox injections.

“Miss Black?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Follow me. Mr. Stone requested you have your massage first.” She waves me over her shoulder and leads me into a separate room. “You can change and I’ll bring you a drink to enjoy until your massage therapist arrives” She hands me a white fluffy robe. “What would you like? Mineral water? Fresh juice? Champagne?”

I ponder this. Champagne? At noon? Can I do that?

Is it acceptable in a spa?

Oh, who cares?

“Champagne would be perfect. Thank you.”

She smiles and nods before slipping out of the door. I strip and lie on the massage bed, my head spinning. There are a lot of ways for a guy to say sorry, but this is one of the best.

The girl arrives with my drink, and I take a seat while I wait for the therapist. If this is teaching me anything, it’s that Aaron Stone knows how to treat a woman. That is, when he’s not being demanding with those dangerous f**k-me eyes.

Hell, who am I kidding? I’m not a prude. I love that.

The massage therapist enters the room and introduces himself. Him? Isn’t this how  p**n  movies start?

This won’t go down well with Aaron… But I could have fun working this in my favor.

I’m a bitch and I shouldn’t even be entertaining these thoughts, but I am. I love it when that protective side comes out and he challenges me with his darkening eyes and ticking jaw. When he grabs me and pulls me into him then kisses the living crap out of me…

“Oooh!” I cry when Jason, my therapist, hits a knot in my back. I can almost hear his smile as he gently begins to work it out.

Aaron would be steaming mad right now. Another guy putting his hands on me while I’m on his time? Holy shit. I know he said he’s going to f**k me tonight, but this is a ticket to a real f**king.

I shouldn’t even be thinking this—how much I love the feel of his lips or his touch or how much he’d hate this.

God, I’ve f**ked a masseuse, and it was f**king wonderful until he stuck it in me. The guy had hands like a god but a dick like a virgin.

Over the next hour, Jason works out every knot and kink and bend in my muscles, teasing each one into a completely relaxed state. God. He massages my calf. Can I get him transported to Seattle? He’s good.

“We’re all done here, Miss Black,” he says quietly, crossing the small room. “Dana will be waiting for you when you’re ready for your pedicure.”

“Thank you, Jason,” I sigh. “That was great.”

“You’re welcome.”

He shuts the door, and I take a few deep breaths before standing. I encase myself in the robe and pull out my cell, my lips quirking in a troublesome smirk.

I just had my massage. Thank you.

Aaron’s response is immediate. Good. I hope you enjoyed it.

I did. He did a wonderful job.

HE?!

I slide my phone back into my pocket and skip out of the room. In the corner of the main spa area is a woman sitting in front of a foot spa. She’s surrounded by all the items she needs for a pedi.

“Dana?” I inquire, moving forward.

She stands with a beaming smile, crow’s-feet snaking from her eyes. “Miss Black. Please, take a seat. Mr. Stone requested that your toenails match your dress. Madeline will be along shortly to do your manicure, but until then, it’s you and me.”

I sit back in the plush, white leather seat. “Thank you.”

The girl that greeted me places a glass by my side. “Sorry for the wait, Miss Black, but I thought you might like your drink cooled.”

“That’s perfect.” I take the glass. “Thank you.”