home » Romance » Emma Hart » His Call (Call #2.5) » His Call (Call #2.5) Page 2

His Call (Call #2.5) Page 2
Author: Emma Hart

“The vultures?”

“The daughters of my mother’s friends. They’re single.”

“And you’re the perfect target. Nice to know I’m hired to be a buffer.”

“I’m sure Mia Lopez is used to it.” Bitterness coats my statement, but she doesn’t seem to notice it. She simply raises her glass to her lips and lets some wine fall between them.

“Oh, she is,” she replies with an easy confidence. “But we both know there’s not a chance in hell I’ll get away with being Mia tonight.”

I consider this. She’s correct—my parents will surely recognize her. If I did so easily, they will, too. We spent more than enough time together in Paris. I run my tongue across my bottom lip, debating my next move.

Her eyes flick to my mouth and she draws in a breath. I smirk. She can play the indifference card, but that moment alone has told me that she’s still affected by me. Just as much as I am by her.

“Mr. Stone?” a voice asks from behind the curtain.

“Yes?” I reply without taking my eyes from hers. A slight flush rises in her cheeks when she realizes I’ve caught her staring.

“Your father is asking for you, sir.”

“Tell him we’ll be there momentarily.”

“Of course.”

My father. Dayton… Her identity.

I reach across the table and take my hand in her. “Day, you don’t have to do this. You have a working name for a reason. I won’t ask you to jeopardize that for me.”

She snatches her hand as if my touch is burning her and stands. She smooths out her dress, taking a moment before her eyes meet mine again. “You hired me to do this job, and I’m going to do it. Besides, I can’t have you being eaten alive by the vultures, can I?”

She wants to play that card... I smirk again. “Very true.”

I stand and pull the curtain open, my eyes crawling over her body as she walks in front of me. Fuck. Now that the initial shock of seeing her again has passed, I can appreciate the sight before me. Appreciate the way her waist curves into shapely hips and long legs—legs I know are long enough to wrap around my waist.

Fuck.

I place my hand on her back, guiding her into the elevator. She jolts a little, like my touch is so unexpected, and I revel in the fact she feels as shaken as I do. I know her so well, and standing next to her right now is like we’ve never been apart.

But I won’t let her do this if she doesn’t want to. I won’t force her into it. I respect her too much…but obviously not enough to have sent her home the moment she walked to the booth. Obviously not enough to not pay her.

The elevator doors open, and I close them again.

She looks at me with a frown. “What are you doing?”

“Dayton.” I raise my hand to her face and brush some hair from her eyes.

She bats it away, her eyes flashing with memories of the past. “Standing in an elevator isn’t going to change the fact I have a job to do, Aaron. Can we get on with this?”

I watch her for a long moment, scrutinizing every inch of her face, making sure she’s not just putting on a show. Of course she is. I’m putting on a f**king show. I don’t want to take her into some bullshit function. I want to take her back down to that bar, buy her dinner, and find out what the hell she’s been doing for the last seven years. Aside from being paid to sleep with other guys, a fact that riles and awakens every protective instinct in my body.

An instinct that makes me want to do something about it.

I incline my head toward her, treating her with the same calm she is me. “Fine. But what do I tell my parents when they inevitably recognize the girl who stole me for the duration of our vacation seven years ago?”

She licks her lips and swallows. “You let me think of that.”

I push the button to open the doors and lead her in the direction of the ballroom. I rest my hand on the ornately decorated door and look down at her. “Last chance,” I murmur.

She sighs. “Shut up and open the damn door for me.”

I laugh quietly, grateful for the spark in her voice. The genuine spark that breaks through her façade and makes me ache for Paris. Makes me ache for her, her voice, her touch, her body.

We walk into the room together, my hand creeping to her hip, and the second my parents notice us, I know.

I know there isn’t a f**king chance I’m letting Dayton Black walk away from me a second time.

The One Where They Have A Second First Time

She looks f**king beautiful.

She’s a vision in that turquoise lace, and I’ve barely been able to keep my eyes off of her. The way it hugs her body like a second skin has had my c**k twitching inside my pants all night, and now I’m almost ready to drag her out of here and take her to our room.

Almost.

For a minute longer, I watch her. I watch the way she smiles, her face lighting up as she does, and the gentle way she pushes her wayward hair from her face. I watch the way she lifts her glass to her mouth and sips the wine inside. The way her throat bobs as she swallows, and my eyes settle on her chest as she laughs, making her perky tits jerk with the motion.

Shit… Fuck… I swallow the last of my drink as the woman she was talking to leaves and crosses the room. My eyes never leave Dayton. Nothing is stopping me from taking this woman upstairs and burying my c**k inside her tonight.

I throb at the thought, blood rushing downward and hardening my dick. She turns away from me and brings her glass to her lips again.

“We’re going,” I whisper behind her, my lips brushing the nape of her neck.

“It’s still early.” Amusement threads through her tone—amusement I plan to f**k right out of her.

“Turn around.”

Slowly, she does as I say and rests her hands on my chest. I lower my face to hers, keeping our eye contact, and she draws in a long breath.

“Now tell me, do I look like a give a f**k?”

Dark eyes flick over my face. “No.”

I wrap an arm around her back, my hand settling on her waist, and whisper, “Then let’s go.”

Full of certainty, I lead her through the busy room. Everyone who glances our way is met with my hard stare. I’m not stopping. Not this time. Not ever. Not with Dayton.

I jab the button on the elevator impatiently.

“No goodbyes?” she mutters.

I flip her toward the elevator and lean against her. Her body is soft beneath mine, and I take advantage of the slight part of her lips by covering them with mine. “I’m going to be inside you within the hour and you’re worried about saying goodbye?”

Search
Emma Hart's Novels
» His Call (Call #2.5)
» Final Call (Call #2)
» Late Call (Call #1)