Home > Late Call (Call #1)(52)

Late Call (Call #1)(52)
Author: Emma Hart

I’ll admit it. Being here with him but not having him around is harder than I thought it would be. This is what I wanted. I wanted to spend as little time with him as possible to protect my heart and keep my sanity intact. But now that I have it, I don’t want it.

I want him to sigh in my ear and mumble in a bored tone as I gaze longingly at a picture. I want him to wrap his fingers around mine and pull me through the gallery quickly. And I want him to stop my yelling at him by silencing me with a kiss.

I want everything I can’t have.

Everything that’s addictive and beautiful and inspiring. The things that make you wake with a laugh and fall asleep with a smile. The tender touches and knowing glances and inside jokes. I want the random skips of my heart and coiling of my stomach, and I want the butterflies whenever he walks in the room. I want to give myself over fully to the feelings I’m burying, the feelings I’m not ready or strong enough to take and accept.

I want to give in to the love simmering deep in my bones—the very same love that will consume me and possess me. The love that will lead me to obsess and be obsessed over. The love that never really went away, despite the distance between us.

I want to give in to the world-rocking, leg-trembling love that ignites as easily as our lust and flares as easily as our passion.

I wrap my arms around my legs and lean forward on my thighs, resting my chin on my knees. The city looks duller somehow with those thoughts. The spark has been taken out, and the hazy magic that astounded me when I first gazed out of these windows has cleared.

Milan is beautiful—it always will be—but when you’re in turmoil, the ugliness of it dulls that. It taints the refreshing feeling the city gives you.

I exhale slowly, a deep sigh full of confusion and the craziness in my mind. Night falls, and I lie back on the sofa, endlessly tracing the skyline with my eyes.

***

“Oh, Day.” He brushes a thumb across my cheek, pausing for a long moment before lifting me into his arms.

I curl into his body, gripping his shirt, and sigh. “You’re back.”

“I’m back.” He lowers me onto the bed and carefully peels my dress from my languid body. I slide beneath the covers, my eyes still closed, and wait for him to join me.

The bed creaks as he does, and I reach for him instinctively. He pulls me into him and I rest my head on his shoulder, tilting my face into his neck.

“Good,” I whisper, fighting my yawn and cuddling in. “I missed you.”

He kisses my forehead and tightens his grip on me. “Not half as much as I missed you. Tu me manques.”

Chapter Eighteen

After a third day of being alone in Milan, albeit inside an exclusive spa having my every whim tended to, I’m shrouded in a sadness that shocks me. These are the longest hours Aaron’s worked since we arrived in Vegas. Will they ever end? Or is the norm until Paris?

I sit up in bed. The covers pool on my lap, leaving my bare br**sts exposed, and I look around the room. Aaron’s shirt is discarded on the chair in the corner, and I pad across the thick carpet to grab it. It hangs from me, the hem skimming the top of my thighs, and the material isn’t quite thick enough to hide the bright blue of my underwear.

Aaron’s voice drifts through the half-open door, and I walk to the doorway. He’s sitting on the sofa, his head ducked. His cell is attached to his ear, and his other hand is rubbing through his hair in agitation. The tension is flying from him, and he shakes his head vigorously when I silently pass behind the sofa to pour a cup of coffee.

My hand hesitates over a second mug, and when he growls an angry, “No!” down the phone, I pour a second.

“You have my father’s number. You cope without us here every day.”

Silence.

“Jesus. Call Fabio if you have to. He’s the boss of the f**king Milan office.”

I place the mug on the table in front of him, and he glances up at me. My lips curve into a small smile, and I drop my head. He grabs my hand before I can step away and I look back at him.

“I told you,” he says firmly, his eyes on mine. “I’ll be unreachable today. Anything urgent goes to my father…”

Unreachable?

“I’m your boss before I’m your friend, Ric. You were given this job as a favor, and I can just as easily take it away. You got into this contract mess. I’ve done everything I can to help you. You’ll have to contact the legal department and see what they can do, and failing that, contact my father. I’m incommunicado until ten a.m. tomorrow.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Deal with it. Today.” Aaron hangs up the phone and takes my coffee from my hand. He sets it on the table before pulling me onto his lap and burying his face in my neck. His nose runs across my skin as he breathes in deeply. “You smell good.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Eau de Morning will be a real hit.”

“You’re wearing my shirt.” His fingers skirt along the tops of my thighs.

I shrug. “Couldn’t find anything else to wear.”

Aaron pulls back. His eyes meet mine. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” I move to climb from him but he holds me tighter.

“You’re not moving until you tell me what’s wrong.”

Everything. “Nothing.”

“Is it because we’ve barely seen each other for three days?”

Yes. “No.”

“And you miss me?” He moves my hair from my face.

I snort. Yes. “No. What makes you think that?”

His lips curve at the edges. “Because, Dayton, I came back at midnight and found you asleep on the sofa.”

“Maybe I lost track of time.”

“And when I carried you to bed, you told me you missed me.”

“I was delusional. Totally under the influence of sleep.” I pat his cheek and get up.

His sigh follows me to the bedroom. “Sometimes it’s hard to believe the amount of bullshit that leaves your mouth.”

My jaw drops and I spin. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” He stands and stops in the doorway, leaning against it. “For once, Day. For once since you walked back into my life, can you just be f**king honest about the way you feel instead of hiding it under the persona you take when you go to work? I don’t give a f**k about that side of you or what your agent thinks you should do or how you should act. I care about what you’re keeping inside and fighting against.”

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