The One Where The Truth Comes Out

I was raised to believe that every man has his own beliefs, whether you agree or not. I don’t tend to agree with a lot of people.

I don’t believe in God. I’m not religious, and I’m not convinced that there’s a greater being out there, hovering above the clouds, watching my every move. That wasn’t the family I was raised in.

But I sure as hell believe in fucking miracles, because nothing less could have brought Dayton Black back to me after seven long years.

I don’t know what kind of luck was hanging over my head that day five weeks ago when she pulled that curtain shut and faced me. I wish I knew what fucked-up coincidence pulled us back together in a cruel yet beautiful twist of fate.

All I know is that she’s here. And for now, she’s mine.

I gently rub my thumb across her silky cheek, keeping my breathing shallow so I don’t wake her. She looks so damn peaceful now, so damn beautiful. When she’s sleeping like this, I know she’s not worrying about us. She’s not worrying about this ridiculous situation I keep forcing on her.

She’s just being.

Her gorgeous tits are rising and falling with every breath she takes, and those pink lips I was nibbling on last night are parted ever so slightly. The urge to drop my mouth to hers and sweep her away in a sea of seduction is too much, too fucking much, so I pull my hand away from her face and roll over.

The bed creaks when I move, and I pause to look back at her. She doesn’t move, deep in her slumber, and I stand. I grab some underwear and pants, tug them up my legs, and quietly leave the room. The door stands ajar behind me so I can hear her when she wakes.

‘Cause, damn. I love her, but she’s a real bitch until she’s had her morning cup of coffee.

I fill the machine with extra coffee beans and water and turn it on. The low hum of it grinding the beans is an odd relaxant to me.

Spending so much time in London has lead me to prefer tea over coffee, if only just, but Dayton has reversed that. Her incessant need for “real caffeine,” as she refers to it, is rubbing off on me slightly.

That, and she keeps me up all hours of the night with her wandering hands.

My phone buzzes from the kitchen counter where I left it last night, and I answer it without checking the caller ID.

“Aaron Stone.”

“Son.” My father’s voice is tight yet warm, and I know instantly that he’s calling with bad news. It’s the middle of the fucking night in New York. “How are you?”

“Better than you, I assume, considering you’re calling me at three a.m.”

He takes a deep breath that makes the line crackle. “How is your time off?”

“What’s the problem, Dad? It’s eight in the morning and I don’t have the time or patience to run through pleasantries.”

“What makes you think something is wrong?”

“Twenty-seven years of life means I’m fairly well equipped to know when my father is keeping something from me.” I walk across to the window and trace the outline of the Eiffel Tower the way I’ve watched Dayton do so many times. “Is there a problem with the business?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what, Dad?”

“Naomi.”

I exhale harshly. Fuck. I knew she’d pop up somewhere. “What’s she done this time?”

“Somehow she’s discovered that you’re in Paris and has taken it upon herself to organize a welcome dinner for you in your hotel.”

A stream of curse words leaves my mouth. I’m not in the habit of swearing in front of my parents, but this situation calls for it.

“She’s supposed to be in London. That’s the entire reason for this week’s break—to avoid a confrontation with her.”

“I know, but she found out, and you’re going have to attend this function.”

“I’m not supposed to be working this week. You know that, Dad.”

“I do, son. But the issue is that she’s invited a lot of the Paris staff, including models and some clients. You understand the implications if you don’t show your face.”

“Yes.” I run my fingers through my hair, every one of my muscles tightening with the prospect of coming face to face with my wife.

“You have to go, Aaron. Even if just for an hour. I take it Dayton isn’t yet aware of Naomi?”

My jaw tightens, and I ignore his question. “Yes, we’ll be there.”

“Aaron, you must tell her.”

“Okay. Bye.” I hang up and let the phone fall from my fingers. It falls to the floor with a dense thud reminiscent of the way my heart dropped at the mention of my ex’s name.

I fall onto the sofa and rest my arm across my eyes, sighing heavily. Fuck. This very situation is what I was trying to protect Day from.

“That doesn’t sound like a great way to start your day.” Her voice softly travels across the room, cutting through my thoughts.

“It’s not!”

My voice is sharper than I meant, much sharper than she deserves. I can’t help it. I know Naomi is hosting dinner tonight to spite me and prove some fucked-up point.

I lean my head back on the sofa and look at Dayton. She’s hunched over the counter, a mug under the coffee machine. Defeat radiates from her the same way surprise does. I know I’ve never spoken to her that way.

She didn’t deserve that.

I push off from the sofa and wrap my arms around her dainty waist. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.”

“Damn right you shouldn’t have.” She pours a cup of coffee, her chest jolting with a sharp breath. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong? If not, I’m going to shower.”

I laugh quietly, trying to relieve some tension. Damn, she knows me so well. Too well, sometimes, I muse. “Someone I’m not particularly fond of heard we’re in Paris this week. They’ve taken the liberty of organizing a company dinner here at the hotel tonight, and my father just informed me that we’re expected to attend. Required to, actually.”

“What if we had plans?” She steps from my loose hold and raises her eyebrows.

“We did.” I lean against the counter with a heavy sigh. “Now we have new ones. Believe me. I’m not happy about it, Day.”

“Can’t you just explain you’re not working this week? That this is a vacation?”

“No.”

“Well, who is it?”

“Who?”

She clicks her tongue, an impatient, echoing sound. “The person organizing it.”

“Oh. No one important. I’m not sure they’ll even be there.” I pour a cup of coffee, turning away so she won’t see the alarm I know is in my eyes. Everything is going wrong. Just when it was so right, it’s going wrong.

“Aaron,” she pushes, her voice taking a hard tone I’m unused to.

“Leave it, Dayton.” My words are equally as hard, and I hear the chink as her mug hits the marble kitchen counter I glance from the corner of my eye and watch her as she storms into the bedroom, her hips swinging tantalizingly as she does.

Fucking hell. She really shouldn’t walk away from me when she’s mad.

Ignoring the way my cock is hardening at the shake of her ass, I turn my thoughts back to the matter at hand. Can I convince Dayton that this is something I have to attend alone?

Unrealistic. She’s not stupid. If I say that, she’ll look right through me and laugh. I hired her to accompany me to shit like this. I can’t exactly stop her doing so right now. No matter how inconvenient this is for me.

I have to try and cancel this, try and make it go away—my usual panic strategy. Surely my father can call the hotel and arrange some bullshit function to stop her dinner. His name has a lot more pull than hers does.

Dayton emerges from the bedroom, clad in figure-hugging workout gear. I fight the urge to run my eyes over her body and find her gaze, cold and seething.

“Look,” I sigh, “I have a couple of calls to make now. Maybe you should go out for a couple of hours.”

She grasps the door handle, her eyes never leaving mine. “I was planning to stay out all day. Don’t worry.”

“Day…”

She opens the door with an anger that belies her calm speech. “What time do you need me back here?”

“Four.”

“Perfect. Don’t bother calling me unless you’ve pulled your head from your ass and calmed the fuck down.”

The door slams loudly behind her, shaking slightly, and I stare at it for a long moment. Fucking hell—this situation just went from bad to worse. Not only is my ex-wife, my dirty skeleton in my closet, stirring shit from her pathetic little rented Parisian apartment, my girlfriend, who knows nothing of her, is raging mad at me.

I take the coffee, retrieve my phone from the floor, and dial my father’s number again.

Time for damage-control mode.

***

“Fucking hell!” I smack my hand against my forehead in defeat. I’ve spent nearly the last seven hours attempting to worm my way out of this ridiculous dinner—to no avail.

We have to go. That’s the end of the story.

I have to tell Dayton the very thing I was keeping from her for her safety, and I have to do it soon. Before we get down there and she finds out from someone else. This isn’t something anyone else has any right to tell her.

It’s my secret and mine to tell.

Something I should have admitted long ago instead of paying her agent not to tell her.

I never thought my feelings toward this fiery brunette would be so strong after so long. I’ll be the first to admit that she’s always held my heart. Dayton Black has always been the one controlling the strings where my emotions are controlled, but I never realized that her control was so complete.

I had no idea she owned me so fucking entirely. I’m basically a pussy when it comes to admitting something so real.

Because, fuck, I wanted to tell her. I wanted to blurt it out every time she walked in a room or turned those gorgeous coffee-colored eyes on me. I wanted to rip my chest in two and bare my soul to her for her to do as she wished.

I still do.

But I know now that it won’t be pretty.

Nothing good will come of our next conversation. Nothing will be salvaged.

I hope for a different outcome. Optimistically and perhaps naïvely, I hope.

She walks into the suite, the door clicking quietly behind her, and I find her stunning profile. She pauses but ignores me, turning toward the bedroom instead of speaking to me. Taking the easy way out.

I know all about taking the easy way out.

“Are you going to ignore me?” I ask, following her into the bedroom.

She drops the bag next to her suitcase and glances at the black dress I laid out earlier for her. “Are you going to talk to me like I deserve to be spoken to, or am I still your outlet for your annoyance?”

The pain that sneaks through into her voice cuts through me, and I walk to her. I fold her into my arms, bringing her close to my body, savoring the feel of her against me. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I was wrong to take it out on you.”

“Fucking right you were.” She wraps her arms around my waist and rests her head against my chest. My heart thumps beneath her ear. “Don’t do it again.”

“Ever?”

“Ever. Next time I won’t be so nice to you, nor will I walk away. Talk to me like crap again, Mr. Stone, and I’m going to tear you a new asshole. Got it?”

I bend down, bringing my mouth close to hers. “Got it,” I whisper, taking her sweet lips with mine.

This could be the last time I kiss her. I linger on that thought, unwilling to let the kiss break. Damn if I don’t need this woman.

“Are you going to tell me who has you in a bad mood yet?” Dayton pulls away, flicking her hair over her shoulder, and tugs her sports bra over her head. My cock twitches at the blue bra she slips on, more so when she adjusts her tits inside it.

“Someone from my past who delights in making my life incredibly hard.” I discard my shirt on the chair and take a freshly laundered one from the closet, sliding it over my shoulders. I button it up, focusing on them instead of her. I’m a fucking coward. “If there were a way to get out of this tonight, you can bet I’d find it.”

“Wow. I can’t imagine disliking someone that much.” Dayton steps into the dress and reaches behind her, struggling with the zipper. “Who is it?”

I step up to her and knock her hand away. With my fingers clasped around the zipper pull, I slide it upward smoothly and take a deep breath. I know this is it.

This could be the last time I get to brush my fingers against her skin, get to touch her, get to be anywhere fucking near her.

“Aaron?” she repeats, apprehension tingeing her tone.

I take a second deep breath and close my eyes resignedly. “The person organizing tonight is my wife.”

Date: 2015-02-28; view: 812