Late Call (Call #1)(61)
Author: Emma Hart

I swallow. “You planned this, didn’t you? That’s why…” You bought me. I pause, unable to say the words. “Six weeks, not five. You knew all along this would happen.”

“No, Day. I didn’t know. I hoped, but I never assumed. Not a single day has passed that I haven’t hoped to look in your eyes and see what I feel reflected back again.”

I turn and wrap my arms around his waist. He embraces me swiftly, his face in my hair, breathing me in, his arms tight around my body. I sniff.

“You’re a real pain in my ass, Stone, ya know that?”

“You’ve been a pain in my ass since you ruined my sweater by wiping coffee off your shirt.” He kisses my head and releases me.

“Oh, don’t even go there!”

***

I stretch out my muscles, aching from a night of being pinned to the bed by a certain strong-willed, demanding businessman, and sit up in bed. The silence of the suite is broken only by my breathing, and I look around for any signs that Aaron is still here.

His watch is still on the nightstand, his turned-off cell still lying next to it and yesterday’s clothes still resting on the chair in the corner. The only indication of his being anywhere but here is the absence of a robe on the back of the door.

I climb out of bed and slip my own robe on. I’m ready to leave the room when I notice a bright pink Post-it note stuck to the door.

You have no idea how beautiful you look when you’re sleeping.

My lips twitch, and I pull it down, holding it to my chest as I leave the room. A soft breeze floats in from the open balcony doors. I spin on the balls of my feet and stop at the view before me.

Aaron’s sitting at an cast-iron table, sipping a tall glass of orange juice, a spread of French breakfast foods before him. My lips part slightly, and he turns to look at me.

His eyes flick from mine down to the slip of paper in my hand. “It took you long enough to find one.”

“What?”

He stands and pulls a second chair out from the table, gesturing for me to sit. I oblige, and when he reseats himself, he places a pain au chocolat onto the plate in front of us. He’s ignoring my questioning stare. I can tell by the smirk playing on his lips and the amusement dancing in the depths of his gorgeous blue eyes.

“Well?” I push.

“Eat your breakfast.”

“No. Not until you explain yourself.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Dayton, eat your breakfast. I’m not explaining anything until you do so.”

I mirror his facial expression. “Fine.” And I walk back into the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” He follows me.

I grab my lipstick from my bag and stroll casually into the kitchen. I open the trash can and hold it over it.

“What are you doing?”

“See this?” I pull off the cap and twist it up, showing him the red he loves so much. “Speak or it goes.”

“You’re threatening me with your lipstick?”

“Promising you, buddy. Promising you.”

“I’m not your f**king buddy, Dayton. I’m your man.”

“You’re whatever the hell I want you to be if you want me to suck you off while wearing this ever again.”

He pauses and runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re threatening me with lipstick and blow jobs?”

“Quickest way to break a man is to take away his favorite thing.”

“You’re my favorite thing.”

“Did I miss that? No red-lipped blow jobs and no me.” I point the lipstick in his direction. “Now talk.”

Our eyes meet and he stares me down for a long time. I purse my lips. I’m not f**king budging. I want to know what he means about these Post-it notes. I ‘finally’ found one?

He crosses the kitchen and takes the bright square from my fingers. “This is one of many notes I’ve left you.”

I say nothing.

“I’ve left one for you every day since we arrived in Vegas.”

“Why didn’t I find them?”

“You never wanted to find them.”

“This one was obvious. It was behind my damn robe!” I put the lipstick on the counter, and he runs his eyes over his own words. “What happened to the others?”

“I kept them.”

This surprises me. “Why?”

“Because I hoped that one day you’d be ready to read them.” He takes my hand and places the note back in my hand. “But you are now.”

He disappears. I watch him go and watch the empty space that joins the main room to the bedroom until he reappears, a stack of small, brightly colored squares in his hand. “Forse il tuo forse non è sufficiente quando i tuoi occhi mi lasciano senza fiato e il tuo tocco mi fa sentire vivo. Non quando l’amore che abbiamo avuto è bollente sotto la superficie. Non quando sono così pronta a permettere al mio amore per te di consumare me ancora una volta. And in French. Peut-être que ce n’est pas assez quand tes yeux me laissent à bout de souffle et votre contact me fait me sentir vivant. Pas quand l’amour que nous avions est en ébullition sous la surface. Quand je suis prêt à laisser mon amour pour vous de me consumer à nouveau.”

“What does it mean? Tell me. Please.”

He hands me the notes. “Read them first.”

I take them and flick through. My heart pounds a little harder and my breathing hitches a little more and tears fill my eyes a little quicker at each one.

True love is never letting go, despite all the odds being against you. I never let go.

Two thousand, seven hundred and seventy four days. That’s how long I waited and wished for you.

I look into your eyes and see everything I’ve always wanted. Everything I’ve wanted since I realized the coffee you spilled on your shirt matched the shade of your eyes perfectly.

I love it when you smile at me—really smile at me. I can almost pretend you remember as much as I do.

They go on and on, telling me everything he’s never said aloud and some things he has, like the repetition is necessary for me to believe it. Either way, these notes are everything I never wanted to hear. Everything that would make me fall again.

“You said maybe you believed in romance. And I said maybe isn’t enough when your eyes leave me breathless and your touch makes me feel alive. Not when the love we had is boiling beneath the surface. When I’m so ready to let my love for you to consume me again.”