Late Call (Volume 1) (6 page)

I accepted escorting as the reality of my life. I saw it for what it is—the money and the lingerie and the men who can’t get themselves off.

I never, ever imagined I’d see Aaron again.

I still don’t believe I have.

I can’t believe he’s fucking with my twenty-four-year-old mind as easily as he stole my seventeen-year-old heart.

And that, in essence, is everything this trip is. A mindfuck. I don’t believe he wants to get to know me at all. Hello, this is the twenty-first century—you use coffee for that shit.
Not a six-week worldwide trip.
No, the second the shock faded from his eyes, an age-old hunger took over.

All Aaron Stone wants is what’s inside my very pretty pink lace thong.

Well, mostly inside.

He’s playing the game well. He could get it any time he wants. It’s what he’s paying for, essentially. Hell, the guy could tell me to get on my knees and wrap my lips around his cock and I’d be completely powerless to deny him it.

In this game where the rules dictate we both hold equal parts power, he has the edge. I can’t use mine until he uses his. I can’t seduce him until he gives me permission.

Because the bottom line remains—he is my client.

Not my ex-boyfriend.

Not the love of my fucking life.

My client.

And call girls don’t fall in love. But then falling isn’t the problem. That comes when you’ve already fallen once, because you know the quickest way down.

I run faster, stamping him out of my mind with every beat of my feet against the treadmill. I’m sweating him out, panting him out, pushing him out with sheer determination, and reminding myself of what I do.

I get paid. I fuck. That is the essence of my job. The essence of
me
. I change my name for it, for my anonymity, but Mia and Dayton are the same person. I don’t have different personalities—not really. Mia has the same quirks as Dayton, they like the same things, and they act pretty much the same way.

Mia just gets a lot more sex. However unsatisfying it may be.

Yes, there’s no difference. They’re the same person, but I’m more Mia than Dayton. Much more—and that makes being two people much easier.

Mia is…stronger. She has more sass and confidence and sexiness, and she lacks the broken past Dayton has. She lacks all the memories and heartbreak that go with it. She doesn’t get nostalgic when she hears certain songs or visits certain places. There’s no ache when she looks in the mirror and sees her mom’s eyes in place of her own or the curl at the ends of her hair, reminiscent of her father’s.

She sees strength. Confidence. Determination. Beauty.

Mia is the girl I always wished I could be.

Perhaps the two sides of me are a lot more different than I thought.

I step off the treadmill and leave the gym. Strength. That’s what I need to be now. I need to be Mia, all day every day, if I have any chance of leaving this job the way I came into it.

And if I get desperate, then, well… I’ll just stick Post-it notes on the bathroom mirror to remind me to sort my shit out.

The indoor pool is quiet, so I quickly change into my swimsuit and dip under the water. It’s warm against my skin, soothing and relaxing me. I immerse myself beneath the water and swim from one end of the pool to the other.

I swim the length repeatedly, back and forth, only pausing to take a breath of air. When I swim, my mind is completely clear. All the thoughts melt into the water around me, forgotten in an instant.

Some people use alcohol or drugs to deal with the past, others use sex or gambling, but I use exercise. It became an addiction at one point, something I couldn’t live without, but sharp-tongued Monique kicked my ass and whipped me into shape. Aside from Liv, she became my best friend.

“So this is how you keep those gorgeous curves in check.”

I jolt around, and the first thing I notice is a shiny pair of black shoes. As my eyes travel up the body of the person they belong to, my surprise turns to annoyance.

“Aaron.”

“You could sound pleased to see me once in a while, you know.” He loosens his tie and shrugs off his jacket.

“You could wear something other than a suit. It’s a Saturday, you know.”

“I don’t know if anyone in the business would be impressed if their future CEO walked into the office wearing jeans and a polo shirt.”

“You own a polo shirt? Wow.” I lift myself out of the pool.

“Several.” Aaron follows me with his eyes as I walk to my towel and wrap it around my body.

“How did you know I was here?”

He pulls a ten-dollar bill from his pocket and holds it up between his fingers.
Ah.
Of course. Money talks.

“Only ten dollars? I’d be offended if I cared.”

“It actually cost me a hundred.” He opens the door and lets me pass. “For some reason, the concierge was reluctant to tell me where you were.”

“Imagine that.” I step into the elevator.

“And he asked me to hand you back your fifty dollars.” Aaron takes my hand and tucks the bill into my palm. “Nice try, Dayton.”

Bastard.
“I’ll have to remember to offer him a special rate next time.”

Aaron slams the suite door behind him, and I glance over my shoulder. His eyes are hard, the bright sparkle replaced with a gaze of granite. I’m about to drop my towel when he pulls me back against his chest and cups my jaw with his hand.

His lips, close to my ear, brush against my skin when he speaks, his words steady and controlled. “Are you telling me you’d fuck the concierge?”

“Take what you want from it.” I clench my teeth together.

“Are you telling me you’d fuck the concierge?” he repeats, a hard edge to the words. “To avoid me?”

My lips twitch. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

I slide my hand behind me to push him away, but he’s quicker, and he grabs both of my wrists in his large hand. He releases his grip on my jaw and tugs the towel down.

“You’re on my time, Dayton. Every second of your time belongs to me, or have you forgotten that? Your actions, your clothes—they belong to me too.” His hand runs down my side, his thumb brushing the side of my breast, his fingers grazing along my bikini line. “And your body? That belongs to me as well.”

I turn my face away. “Only because you pay for it.”

“I don’t care how you belong to me.” He pulls my face into his. “Just that you do. And as long as you do, no one gets to fuck you. Not the concierge, not a waiter, not a guy from the casino.” His breath coats my lips in a swath of heat and desire. “The only person who gets to see you, touch you, and make you come is me. Do you understand that?”

I bring my eyes to his in a silent defiance.

He grips my jaw a little tighter.
“Do you understand that?”

“Yes. I understand it.” I snatch my hands from his grip and knock his fingers from my jaw. “I belong like you, like a pretty little possession.”

“You belong to me, but nothing like my possession. As much as I’d love to possess you and your naked body, you’re your own person and I respect that. Until you push me. Push me and you’ll find out just how fucking possessive I can be.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea.”

He spins me into him, slides his fingers into my hair, and pulls my head back. “You have
no idea
just how thoroughly I could possess you, Bambi.”

“Don’t call me Bambi.”

Our lips are a whisper apart as he dips his head to mine. “You’ve always been Bambi to me, and I’m not changing it now just because you’ve decided to ignore our past. I refuse to ignore it, so get fucking used to it.” He brushes his lips across my cheek. “Get ready. We’re going to dinner at seven.”

I haven’t said a word to Aaron Stone for two hours and seventeen minutes. Not that I’m counting, of course, and not for his lack of trying to make conversation. As it is, I’ve made it through a whole dinner and a drink with only speaking to the waiter.

Because he’s royally pissed me off.

What’s even worse is that the possessive shit he pulled, the grabbing and the whispering and the sexy-ass threats, turned me on. Panty-changing, leg-clenching, pussy-throbbing kind of turned on. I loved it and hated it at the same time.

Love it because the only thing that’s turned me on in at least two years is battery-operated. Hate it because it’s
him
. Enough said.

“You have to talk to me sooner or later.”

No, I don’t.

He raises an eyebrow. “How long are you going to keep this up?”

I’m not falling for that.
I smile tightly at him.

“Fucking hell, Day.” He rubs his hand down his face and sighs. “You’re being incredibly immature, do you know that?”

As if to validate his statement, the urge to poke out my tongue overcomes me. I beat it down. Just.

I take my purse and stand, turning away. His chair scrapes against the floor as he gets up after me, and I hear his shoes squeak against the tiled floor of the restaurant behind me. We leave the busy restaurant, together yet apart, and I head toward the casino. If the next six weeks follow the pattern of the last two days, I’ll be in a perpetual state of annoyance.

Aaron’s hand finds mine and pulls me back into the wall of an empty hallway. He stands in front of me, his eyes searching for my gaze, his free hand holding my jaw much the way he was earlier. He tilts my head back so my eyes crash into his.

“We can’t go in there if you’re not talking to me. Too many people I know.”

I raise my chin defiantly.

“You’re not going to say a word?”

I stare at a spot on the wall over his shoulder.

“Fine. That’s fine”—he bends his head forward—“because there are other uses for your mouth.”

My eyes close at the firm touch of his lips on mine. They’re warm and soft with a lingering taste of the oaky whiskey he drinks. Caressing and gradually more probing, they’re everything I remember and more.

I drop my purse, and his fingers curl around the back of my neck as mine grip the lapels of his jacket. Our bodies push together, and when his arm snakes around my back, holding us together, a small gasp leaves me at our full-bodied contact.

His kiss is as engulfing and suffocating and intimate as it was before. Only now it’s laced with a power and determination he didn’t know then, with the possessive, domineering streak he showed earlier.

“You’re a bastard, Aaron Stone.”

“I know, but it worked.” The lips that were just covering mine are now curled in a smug amusement.

“A woman ignoring you is
not
an excuse to kiss her.”

He runs his thumb across my mouth. “I didn’t see you using these for anything else.”

“Really? They were about to tell you where to go.”

“Behave.” He kisses me again, once, deeply, and tugs on my bottom lip. “I’d hate to say something that would make you ignore me again.”

“I bet you would.” I uncurl my fingers from the material of his jacket and flatten them against his chest. “You’re lucky you’re paying for that. Anyone else would have felt the damage of my heels.”

Aaron laughs, his hand still firmly on my neck. “Oh, Bambi. I didn’t pay for that kiss. I stole it.”

“Then, perhaps”—I step into him and slide my hands over his shoulders—“you should give it back.”

He barely has time for his eyebrow quirk before I tug his face to mine. My lips mold against his forcefully, and he wastes no time pulling me into him again. I nip at his bottom lip and run my tongue across it after, soothing the tiny sting and then smiling against him at the flexing of his fingers on my back. Gently, I coax his lips apart and flick the tip of my tongue against his. My fingers tangle in his hair and he groans quietly into my mouth at the tiny pull it causes.

His tongue explores my mouth the way mine does his, and briefly, it occurs to me that we’re making out in a hotel hallway like a couple of teenagers, exactly how we used to. The kisses were simply more desperate and wanting instead of the point-making charade it is now.

I can feel him growing hard inside his pants, and his erection digs into my stomach. I trail my fingers down his chest and cup his cock, rubbing my thumb along the side of it, and he tightens his grip on my neck.

I break the kiss and rest my cheek against his. “You might have stolen the first one, but you definitely just paid for it.”

“You’re pushing me, Dayton. Very close to the edge.” He takes my hand from him and holds it behind my back. “Keep it up and you’ll find it’s a long fucking way down.”

A breathy laugh leaves me. “I dare you to take me there.”

“Do you have any idea how easily I could tease your body into coming for me?”

“And there is our difference. You seduce women for fun, Aaron, and I seduce men for a living. I seduce without
being
seduced, and that’s a skill in itself. I don’t get seduced. Ever.”

“Really? Because…” He slides a hand down my body and between my legs quicker than I can realize his intentions. He slips a finger along my underwear, feeling the dampness there. “You feel seduced to me.”

I pull back and look him dead in the eye. “Don’t ever confuse a natural response to kissing with my being seduced. The last client that did that found himself without a regular fuck for six months.”

“You’re so difficult,” he murmurs. “I don’t remember you ever being this headstrong.”

“I wasn’t.” I step from his hold. “But a lot of things can change in seven years. You ought to remember that.”

It’s nine a.m. on a Monday fucking morning, and I’m not in bed. There are
so
many things wrong with this, least of all the fact I’m in the building that houses Stone Advertising’s offices, ready to sit by idly as my ‘boyfriend’ picks two new models.

Yep. Casting call number one and I have no coffee. Even if I did have coffee, I’d need something stronger in it because acting like a coolly jealous girlfriend is going to drive me insane by lunchtime.

A young intern hands me a mug of the much-wanted coffee with a mumble. I watch her as she turns to Aaron and hands him one too, this time with a bright smile and wide eyes.
What the fuck is it with females going all doe-eyed and charmed around him?

He smiles as he thanks her, and she practically pants and runs away. That’ll be it. The panty-dropping smile that hasn’t yet worked on me. Clearly I’m immune to that one, huh? I roll my eyes.

“Jealous already?” he murmurs into my ear.

“Green as can be.” I bring the mug to my lips, inhaling the strong scent of coffee. “Don’t you know how threatening teenage girls are?”

He laughs lowly and places a hand on my back. “Then it’s a good thing I prefer a real woman, isn’t it?”

The door opens and the first model strolls in. She’s all…well, bones, to put it bluntly. There’s nothing to her apart from skin. No curves. Nothing.

“This is the kind of girls you work with?” I turn my face and raise an eyebrow.

Aaron taps my nose. “Try to behave yourself.”

“Always do,” I mutter into my mug as he takes a seat.

Four other models join her, all of varying body types. One is curvier, another clearly packs a bit of muscle, one is slim but less curvy, and the last is basically the second girl with curves. They’re all completely different.

And each of them knows how to work it, how to manipulate the small panel in front of them. Despite this, it’s plain to see where all their eyes are—on the man in the middle. The one relaxed back in his chair with his foot resting on the opposite thigh, his fingers adjusting his tie, and his eyes on no one in particular. As they each introduce themselves, Aaron nods, but his expression never changes.

The curvy girl seems put out by it the most, and she flicks her light hair over her shoulder with a sense of entitlement. Oh, god. I hate these snobby bitches. Someone should tell them that you’re not entitled to anything just because you were blessed with good looks and a great rack. Get off your high horse and work hard just like the rest of us.

She places her portfolio on the table with a beaming smile and an unnecessary wiggle of her body. I cough from my perch on a desk in the corner, and both she and Aaron look at me. She with annoyance, he with amusement.

I hold up my empty mug. “Sorry. Went down wrong.” My lips curve in a polite smile, and I cross one of my legs over the other. My dress rides up slightly, exposing my thigh, and the darkening in Aaron’s eyes tells me he saw more than just my thigh.

The door closes behind her as she leaves the room, and I lean back on my hands as the other girls all come forward and leave their portfolios on the table. Aaron’s gaze flicks to me every other minute, and I feign complete ignorance, even though I can feel it burning into me.

“What do you think?” Eric Duvall, the British guy, asks Aaron when the room is empty.

“What did they want?”

Eric holds up a sheet of paper. “Blond, curvy but not heavy, slim but not skinny.”

“And the only blonde there was on the skinnier side of slim.”

“The curvy girl, uh…” Another guy shuffles paper. “Connie. She’s so light she’d pass for blond.”

I bet that’s not all she passes for in your mind, buddy.

“No.” Aaron shakes his head. “She’s too dark for blond. Dayton? What do you think?”

“Hmm?”

His lips quirk up. “Connie—the first girl that left. Could she pass for blond?”

“Sorry, but no. Light brown and blond are different. She’d have to get highlights, and since this is only one shoot, it’s a big ask.”

“One shoot with the potential to front the campaign,” the guy who wants her puts in.

“But why ask her to take the risk? There are probably a hundred blond girls out there who would be suitable. Of course, this is only my opinion—and I know nothing about modeling.” I shrug a shoulder.

Eric Duvall smiles gratefully at me and turns to Aaron. “Shall we put out another call?”

“Yes—and be specific. Don’t miss a detail—hair, eyes, weight. Everything. This is a large contract we can’t afford to lose.”

“Will you be here next time?” the other guy asks.

“No, we leave for Sydney on Thursday.” Aaron stands, and the other guys follow suit. “Obviously I expect a full report including portfolios via email before the end of the day, and it goes without saying that no one will be chosen without my approval.”

“Of course.” They shake hands.

“Thank you for coming today, Adam. I know you’re busy with the L’amour contract.”

“It was a pleasure.” He nods and leaves the room.

“Eric, how’s your wife?”

“She’s well, thank you. Bloody awful sickness is taking its toll on her now, poor love.” He shakes his head.

“My ag—” I catch myself. “My friend swore by popsicles when she was expecting her son. She said they kept her hydrated as well as settled her stomach.”

“Really? I’ll get some on the way back home tonight. Thank you, Dayton.”

“You’re welcome.” I smile.

He checks his watch. “Excuse me. I have a meeting for another contract in ten minutes, so I really must be going now. Dayton, it was a pleasure to meet you.” He takes my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “And, Aaron, I’ll be sure to touch base with you and your father tonight to let you know the outcome.”

“Thank you, Eric. Good luck with the meeting.” Aaron shakes his hand and closes the door behind him. He pauses in front of it, raising his eyes to mine. “Subtlety isn’t a strong point of yours, is it, Dayton?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not.” He loosens his tie, letting it hang around his neck, and the now open top button of his shirt reveals a hint of muscle on his chest. “I have to say, I found it very convenient how you just had to cough when Connie was very obviously bending in front of me.”

“She was? I didn’t notice.”

Aaron places his hands on the desk either side of me, and one of his thumbs brushes my thigh as he does so. “And I definitely have to say, it was a nice move with the leg cross. If there were anyone else in here who had seen that, there’d be some happy wives tonight.”