I think I might move.
My love of water has always kept me in Seattle. The Bay has kept me grounded close to a place full of happy memories from years gone by, but I’ve never really loved the weather.
I’m thinking Sydney has everything. It has water, a harbor, hot weather, and beaches. It’s like California and Seattle all rolled into one beautiful little package. Even if it does feel like I’m standing on the surface of the sun again.
A drop of sweat rolls down my back. Okay—maybe it’s a little too hot.
I pull out my cell, now armed with international messaging and calls, and send a picture of the harbor to Liv. She replies immediately with a picture of her raindrop-covered window and a great big Fuck you. I laugh, and when the device buzzes in my hand, I smile at the sight of her name.
“Let me call you back.” I hang up before she can argue and redial.
“What the hell?”
“International calls. I’m not paying your damn bill again.”
“Screw the bill. I’m wondering why you’re sending me a photo of fucking boats and not hot shirtless dudes surrounded by sand and sea.”
No one can say Liv’s priorities are skewed.
“Because I’m at the harbor and not the beach,” I reply. “How’s my house?”
“Your house is fine, but your plant died.”
“I don’t have a plant.”
“Yeah, you do. I think your aunt bought it when you moved in.”
“That was three years ago.”
“Well, no wonder it’s dead. I chucked it in the trash.”
I shrug. Me and plants don’t go well. Evidently. “Are you working today?”
“I’m always working. My agent is MIA again. I need to fire his fat ass.”
I nod in agreement although she can’t see and walk along the harbor, keeping my eyes on the softly bobbing boats. “Did you go on that shoot I organized?”
“Yes! I haven’t seen the finished pictures yet, but the originals looked good.”
“Of course they did. You’re gorgeous.” An idea flits through my mind. “Hey, is Darren really not getting you any work?”
“None. The last job was six weeks ago.”
I flinch. Ouch. She might work at a bar full time, but her wages only cover her bills—and that’s barely. The cash she gets from modeling is what keeps her going.
“Why don’t I speak to Aaron?”
“About me?”
“Why not? Stone Advertising is modeling too. I bet he could find you a job or two.”
“Great. And Darren will get his cut for doing jack shit.”
“No he won’t. You’ve been around long enough to negotiate a deal. I bet Monique would even do it. I know it’s a different kind of thing, but she knows her stuff, Liv.”
“So fire Darren and then what? Be agentless? No one would touch me.”
“No, do one job for Stone and you’ll be able to get an agent. A decent one.”
“That’s a big risk, Dayton. A big-fucking-ass risk.”
I sigh. “Think about it, okay?”
“Mmph. Okay. I have to go to work now. Talk soon?”
“Yeah. Bye.”
That conversation didn’t last nearly as long as I’d hoped. I leave the harbor and walk into the city. My glasses cover my downcast eyes, and I yearn for a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt with pockets I could shove my hands in.
What am I doing?
If I had any sense, even an ounce of it, I’d run to the hotel. I’d run and I’d pack and I’d jump on the next plane back to the US. I’d run from the situation that’s gradually building around me. The one I knew could happen. The one I promised myself wouldn’t. The one that changes everything.
The building that houses Stone Advertising comes into my peripheral, and I stop in the middle of the sidewalk. People mill around me, sidestepping to avoid me and running across the road. Flagging cabs. Laughing with friends. Normal things.
I stare at the tall building. Aaron’s in there somewhere, probably in a meeting or sitting at stupid long table and watching as hair-flicking, eyelash-batting, chest-pushing, gorgeous girls parade in front of him and present him with a fat portfolio of them wearing barely anything.
Something that feels an awful lot like jealously curls in my stomach, and I walk down the street. I wrap my arms around my waist and walk until I find a tiny, tucked-away restaurant.
The low lighting is counteracted by the rich laughter of the staff when I walk in. Three guys and two girls—too many for this empty place—are all laughing like they’ll never laugh again. One of the girls is bent at the waist, holding her stomach as her giggles peal out of her.
The eldest guy shushes them and looks at me. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
“You can.” I smile. “I’m looking for a place to hide that has good food. Know anywhere?”
“As it happens, I do!” He steps forward and bows exaggeratedly. “Follow me.”
He leads me to a table in the back corner. The bench is covered in bright cushions, the table adorned with an equally bright cloth. He hands me a menu, and I open it.
“What do you recommend?”
“I own the place. I recommend everything.” He winks. “Would you like a drink?”
“Do you have white wine?”
“Do I have white wine? Of course I have white wine.” He rolls his eyes in a decidedly campy way.
“Well, could I have a glass, please?”
“You can have a bottle, darling. Hold it right there.” He scuttles away and returns moments later, a glass in one hand and a bottle in the other. “Here. Try this.”
I take the glass from him and smell it. Fruity. Sweet. Not my usual taste, but okay… “Oh my god!” I stare at him. “That’s incredible. How can something that smells so sweet be a medium dry?”
He leans forward and crooks his finger. “Don’t ask me, honey. I just sell it. But it goes wonderful with our mussels. The fish mussels, not the babies you see hiding beneath my shirt.”
I laugh as he pats his thin arm. “Then I’ll have the mussels.”
“Yes!” He fist pumps the air and turns, pointing a finger at the other staff. “I told you!”
I raise my eyebrows, his infectious happiness making me smile.
“I’m sorry. We had a bet over who could sell the mussels first.”
“You set me up!” I gasp.
“I’m sorry!” He takes my hand. “Gosh. Have whatever you want. Here. You can even have me. My bum is peachy.” He wiggles his hips.
I think I found my new favorite place.
“I want the mussels,” I reply, patting his arm. “Really.”
“Done. Ella, tell Barry we need a mussel dish. And not his muscles—he can keep those.” He slides in opposite me and leans in. “Believe me, there’s nothing nice about those overcooked muscles of his.”
I smile.
“So. Who are you hiding from?”
“Tom!” A girl—Ella—appears from the kitchen and scolds him. “You can’t ask people personal stuff like that!”
Tom rolls his eyes. “Oh gosh, El. If she doesn’t want to tell me, she won’t. Talking helps, girl.”
She turns soft brown eyes on me. “Just tell him to piss off. He has no boundaries.”
“It’s okay.” I run my thumb along my glass. “I’m hiding from my boyfriend.”
“Oh no,” Tom sighs dramatically. “It’s always the men, isn’t it? I’d tell you to be gay like me but I realize that contradicts my last comment.”
Ella sits too. “Tom, if she was gay like you, she’d be into women.”
“Like you.”
“Precisely.”
So I’m sitting in a restaurant in Sydney, Australia, telling a gay man and a lesbian how I’m hiding from my boyfriend who isn’t really my boyfriend.
There’s something I never thought I’d say.
Tom knocks on the table. “You tell us everything.”
“Do you make it a habit to have this conversation with everyone that walks through the door?” I ask with a wry smile.
“Of course I do. Why ask questions if you don’t want to find anything out?”
I’ll concede that point.
“So why are you hiding?”
I bring my glass to my lips. “Because he’s an asshole.”
Ella nods sympathetically. “There’s a reason I’m not into them.”
“Nothing wrong with arseholes,” Tom counters.
“Enough.” Ella points at him. “What’s your name?”
“Dayton.”
“Tell me everything.”
And I do. Even as my mussels arrive—which they help me eat, leading to another order, a plate of fries, and a second bottle of wine—I talk. I tell them how we met in Paris and agreed to leave it behind. I tell them how we ‘met randomly one night when he was in the city’ and he ‘convinced me to come with him’ around the world. How he drives me crazy and makes me happy and blows my body up with every feeling imaginable all of the time.
And I tell them how I’m so very, very scared of what it all means.
“You must care, right?” Ella licks her fingers. “I mean, how often do you agree to go on a trip around the world with your ex-boyfriend?”
“That’s right,” Alana, the other girl, agrees. “And it’s written all over your face. You love him.”
Jared, one of the guys, throws a fry at her. “You can’t just tell people who they love, Alana!”
She throws him an evil look, and Ella leans into me. “They’re in love denial.”
I nod. “Ah. He kind of has a point though.”
“Just don’t tell her that.”
I nod again.
“So, darling, what are you going to do?” Tom asks, cutting through Jared’s and Alana’s sniping.
“I’d like to know that myself.”
My head snaps up. Aaron’s standing in the doorway, his sleeves rolled up and his tie and jacket discarded.
I sigh into my glass. “Of course he’d find me.”
“Is that Aaron Stone? Stone Advertising?” Ella whispers. “We’ve been trying to get them to work with us for ages.”
Tom whistles before I can answer. “Is it hot in here or is the heat wave playing havoc with my hormones?”
I close my eyes and swallow my laugh.
“Dayton? Are you going to answer the question?” His voice cuts through me like a knife.
Ella nudges me and I look at her. “Yes, it is.”
“Holy shit, girl. I don’t even like men but he might just turn me.”
Aaron’s jaw visibly clenches. “Not that question.”
“Oh, what am I going to do?” I look at my glass. “I’m going to sit here with my new friends, drink wine, and bitch about what complete and utter dickheads straight men are.”
Jared and the other guy, Ollie, cry a protest. Alana throws fries at them.
“Or you’re gonna get off your pretty little ass, get in the car waiting outside, and come back to the hotel with me.”
“I think I’ll go with my option, thanks.”
“I wasn’t asking you, Dayton.”
“You were telling me, right?” I finish my wine and stand, staring him down. “Because you get to do that. You get to tell me to do whatever the hell you want without considering how I might feel about it, don’t you?”
“You’ve had too much to drink.” His voice is controlled but his eyes betray his shock at my words.
“The only person who decides that is me. I still have that, or are you telling me that too?” I grab my purse and look at everyone around the table. “I’m sorry. It was great to meet you guys, but my asshole says it’s time to leave.”
I dig my hand into my purse for some cash, but Aaron throws some bills down before I can.
“I can pay for my own dinner.”
“And you’re not going to.” He takes my upper arm in a strong grip and nods to everyone. “I’m sorry about this. That should cover the bill. Have a great night.”
I’m pulled, open mouthed, out of the restaurant and into a waiting black car. I snap my jaw shut when he slides in next to me with a slam of the door.
“Back to the hotel, Martin.”
I fold my arms over my chest, my head feeling a little fuzzy. Maybe a bottle of wine to myself wasn’t the smartest idea I’ve ever had, but I’ll blame Aaron for that. He makes me need to lose myself.
And not in a good way.
Tension bounces between us on the drive back to the hotel, and when we arrive, he all but carries me into the elevator that will take us up to our suite. Still, he doesn’t say a word, but the ticking in his jaw tells me just how pissed off he is.
I kick off my shoes inside the suite and chuck my purse onto one of the sofas. No words leave him as I walk into the bathroom and strip off my clothes.
Who the fuck does he think he is? Coming in there and dragging me away like that? What gives him the right to do that?
Oh, that’s right. He owns me because he spends his endless amounts of cash on my time. I forgot about the part where I’m supposed to appreciate that gesture.
I scrub my hair and body under the hot spray of the shower, and once I’m clean, I get out, still angry. I’m so angry I can barely fucking think straight.
I towel dry my hair and let it fall around my shoulders and onto the fluffy hotel robe I’m wearing. Argh!
Aaron’s sitting on one of the sofas when I leave the bedroom, leaning forward. A beer bottle spins between his fingers, and the wine glass clinks against the side when I set it down.
“I don’t think you need any more.”
I pour a glass, ignoring his comment, and set the bottle back in the fridge. Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.
I’m being childish and there isn’t a single part of me that gives a fuck.
Control is how I live my life, how my days unravel, how I keep sane. I control every single aspect of my life, aside from client preferences. But I’m still free to go where I wish, see who I wish, do whatever the frigging hell I want.
Now? I have no control. All I can control is what I wear each morning, and he can take that from me as easily as he’s taken everything else.
“Dayton.”
I walk past him. Or I try to. He grabs my hand and pulls the wine glass from it. I hit him with narrowed, angry eyes and yank my hand back.
“What?”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
I take a deep breath but the bitter laugh escapes me anyway. “I’m being ridiculous? You woke up this morning and decided I should spend every second of my day being your girlfriend. Then you looked for me and dragged me from a place I was comfortable and relaxed in to bring me here, so don’t you fucking stand in front of me all righteous and tell me I’m being ridiculous.”
“Go to bed. Go to bed and sleep off however much wine you’ve consumed, and we’ll speak in the morning.”
“No, we won’t.” I shake my head. “We speak right the fuck now or the only person I’m speaking to tomorrow is the airline!”
His body goes rigid. Frozen. Still. “What?”
“Oh, you’re finally listening to me? Is that what it takes to get my feelings heard, huh? A threat to leave?”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“Aren’t I? Are you going to stop me?” I spin and he grabs my waist.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he repeats through gritted teeth.
I shove his arms from me and walk backward. “Then instead of telling me what to do, you’re gonna shut the hell up and listen to me!”
“Dayton—”
“Don’t Dayton me. Don’t Dayton me, sweetheart me. Don’t fucking Bambi me!” I point at him. “For the last twelve days, I’ve done everything you’ve asked, everything that’s been expected. I’ve put up with your unreasonable demands and your requests disguised as demands and I’ve been the perfect fucking girlfriend, but I’m done. Unless you listen to me right now, I’m fucking done!”
He inhales slowly and runs his hand through his hair. I stare at him, my chest heaving, and wait for him to argue.
“This is because of this morning, isn’t it?” His voice is gentle. Soft. Caressing.
“It took you long enough to work it out.” I snort. “Yes, it’s about this morning. What the fuck, Aaron?”
“I…”
I raise my eyebrows.
“I hate it, Day. How you treat me like any of your clients.”
“You are my client!”
“No I’m not!” A vein in his neck bulges and he balls his hands into fist. “Fuck. Can you honestly look at me and say I’m just a fucking client to you? Go on. Do it right now. Look at me and tell me I’m just a normal client.”
“You’re just a normal client.”
“Liar! You’re lying to yourself and you’re lying to me.”
I back away. “The past is in the past. Stop bringing it up.”
“I didn’t. You did that when you walked into the hotel.”
“You hired me!” I fist my hands in my hair. “Jesus. What did you want me to do? Walk away?”
“I wish you had. I wish you had, but I’m so glad you didn’t.”
“How does that even make sense?” Shit! I walk forward and grab my glass, taking two big mouthfuls of wine.
“I don’t know. Nothing has ever made sense to me where you’re concerned.”
“Well join the goddamn club!” I put the glass down and lean my forehead against the wall. “Why did you say it? What you did this morning?”
He sighs heavily. “I already told you. I want you to treat me like me, not some asshole you don’t know in a hotel room.”
“And what about me? What if I don’t want that? What if I’m better off with you being my client?”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” I straighten and look him in the eye. I take a deep breath and fight the rollercoaster of emotions riding around my body. “You’re better off staying my client. I was better off not even coming here.”
“Don’t say that. Jesus, Day, don’t say it.”
“Goddammit, Aaron!” I smack the wall. “Are you only thinking about yourself? All this ‘do this,’ ‘do that’ bullshit. Are you only thinking about what you want?”
He says nothing.
“What about what I want, huh? What about if it’s hard enough being your girlfriend in public? What if that pretense, knowing how pure the real thing is, is too much? And you want me to do that all the time. Have you even thought about how that feels for me? Have you sat back in your expensive suit and your fancy car and considered for just one second how pretending to be your girlfriend all the time might feel? What it would do to me?”
He shakes his head slowly, letting a long breath escape through parted lips. “No. No, I haven’t.”
“Why not? Do my feelings mean that little that it doesn’t matter to you?”
“Don’t you ever fucking say that!” He storms to me and cups my face. “Don’t ever say that.”
“Then listen to me when I say I can’t!” I push his hands from my cheeks. “I can’t. Okay? Do you hear that? It’s not that I won’t. I can’t. Physically, mentally, emotionally, I can’t do that.”
“Why?”
His blue eyes are full of anger and pain and heat and what once was.
“I can’t fall in love with you,” I whisper. “Not again. If I have to pretend all the time, I might just do that.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
“Yes!” I find his eyes and hug myself. My voice increases in volume until I’m shouting so hard my throat hurts. “Yes! I loved you before, and walking away from you destroyed me. I nearly didn’t survive you, Aaron. You wrecked me! That summer took every part of me and wound it into something so pure and beautiful, and the day I left, a string holding it together was tugged and I unraveled. Falling in love with you and losing that was losing a part of me. I won’t do that again!” I close my eyes and swallow back the moisture in my eyes. The tears. “I won’t do it again.”
His lips touch mine. Firmly but full of honesty. “You don’t have to. You don’t ever have to walk away again.”
“I do. Call girls don’t fall in love.”
“Fuck call girls. You’re not that. Not deep down.” He curves his hand around my neck. “Look at me.”
I shake my head.
“Look at me. Please.”
The desperate tone of his voice makes my eyes open.
“You’re not that person. Not really. You’re still my Dayton. You’re still the girl I fell in love with who was addicted to vanilla coffee and awed by the Eiffel Tower and loved Bambi with an obsession so unhealthy it rivaled mine with you.”
I grab his shirt because I have to if I want to stay on my feet. “I’m not her. I can’t even remember who she was.”
“I can. I never forgot.”
“I hate vanilla coffee, the Eiffel Tower doesn’t amaze me now, and I’m not obsessed with Bambi anymore.”
“You’re still my Dayton. No matter what. You’ve always been mine.”
“No, I’m not. I don’t belong to anyone except myself.”
His lips crash into mine ferociously. I gasp at the sudden assault of his tongue between my lips, and feel all my resistance leave me for a fleeting moment. Then it’s back and I’m pushing at his shoulders, shaking my head, and he’s shaking his right along with me.
“You can’t fight everything,” he whispers. “Stop trying.”
“I’m not fighting everything. Just you.”
“I am everything, Dayton. Open your eyes and you’ll see it.”
His mouth silences me again, and this time I melt into him fully. His hand cupping my ass and the other holding my head to his means I’m pressed against him, feeling his cock harden against my lower stomach and my nipples pebble against his chest. He kisses me deeply, his tongue sweeping through my mouth possessively.
We spin and I’m lowered back to the sofa. My body sinks into the plush material, and the hand that was just on my behind creeps up and around my body. Aaron’s skin is red hot against mine, his lips even more so as they trail a path down my neck. He tugs at the belt holding my robe closed, and the soft towel falls away, exposing my body.
He draws in a sharp breath, sending bolts down to my core, his eyes focused on my hardened nipples. He lowers his head and takes one in his mouth, his tongue rough against my tender flesh. I arch into him, pushing my breast into his mouth, and he turns his attention to the other.
Every muscle in my pussy clenches at the unexpected invasion of his fingers, and I’m pretty sure I moan into his shoulder. The slow, torturous caress of his fingers inside me combined with the tugging of his mouth on my nipple is overloading me with an overwhelming sensation.
Heat swamps me and I buck my hips, pulling his fingers deeper into me. I don’t want to come. Not at all.
Not like this.
“Please,” I whisper, burying my fingers in his hair. “Please.”
He removes his shirt and pushes his pants down. I wrap my legs around his waist at the feeling of his cock resting against my wet opening.
“You just have to be you.” He sucks lightly on my bottom lip. “I don’t want the call girl Dayton or the fake girlfriend Dayton. Just be you.”
“I never wasn’t,” I whisper into his mouth.
Aaron slips inside me. He fills me so perfectly and stretches me in a way that makes my whole body ache. He moves slowly, driving his hips gently into me, rolling them with each thrust. Each movement hits me in the right spot.
Each kiss, each rock of our hips, each mingled breath, and each flick of our tongues against the other’s helps toward the building pleasure in me.
“Aaron.” His name falls from my lips after what seems like a forever of him being inside me.
He takes my mouth roughly. “I can’t. I need to come. Fuck.”
I tilt my hips up and he hits me deeper. “Harder.”
“Jesus, I…” His words are lost as he picks up speed, slamming into me. My head spins with each hit. Sweat slicks my skin and I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe for the intensity of the release tightening my body. “Oh, god.”
“Let it go.” He grazes his teeth down my neck. “Fucking hell, woman! Come now!”
He thrusts into me harder than before. I throw my head back as an orgasm swamps my body. Through the pounding in my ears, I hear Aaron yell my name as he empties himself inside me in hot spurts. My muscles clench around him as we come together, both of us riding on a crazy-intense high.
He murmurs against my neck, unintelligible words, and I let go of his back. I run my hands over the spot I was digging my nails into. I swear I had my hands in his hair minutes ago.
“Come here.”
Aaron steps out of his pants and lifts me, staying inside me as he carries me into the bedroom. I cling to him with alternate arms as he takes my robe off.
We fall back onto the bed the way we fell on the sofa, and he rolls us to the side. His arms cocoon me in warmth and comfort, and I snuggle my still-shaking body into his.
He breathes heavily, each exhale ghosting across my hair. I tangle my legs with his and kiss his chest.
“I don’t care what you say,” he whispers in a shaky voice. “To me, you’re still my Dayton. You’re still my Bambi.”
I hold him tighter and squeeze my eyes shut.
I’m afraid I always will be.