His Brand of Passion

‘I did,’ Aaron admitted. ‘I picked it out myself.’

Pleasure flooded through her in a warm rush and a silly smile spread over her face. ‘You did? Why?’

‘Because,’ he answered, starting towards his bedroom, ‘I didn’t want the gossip flying, as it would if my assistant started shopping for a woman’s dress. It’s not my usual behaviour, and I hardly want to explain our situation just yet.’

Disappointment replaced that rush of pleasure. Of course he had a reason like that. Had she actually hoped, actually thought for a moment that he’d picked the dress out himself because he wanted to? What kind of fantasy land was she living in?

‘Very astute of you,’ she called to him, for he’d disappeared into his bedroom. ‘But when do you plan on coming clean with our arrangement?’ Whatever their arrangement actually was.

‘When things are a bit more final,’ Aaron answered back flatly. ‘I’m just going to change. The limo’s waiting downstairs.’

Zoe paced the living room while he dressed. All her anticipation about the evening, her pleasure in the dress and the shoes, seemed to have leaked right out of her, leaving her flat. And not just flat, but anxious—for What on earth did Aaron mean, when things were a bit more final? The decisions she’d made in moving in here felt all too final. What more was Aaron thinking of? She didn’t even want to ask. She didn’t want to know.

And, instead of the excitement and fragile happiness she’d been feeling at the prospect of an evening with Aaron, all she felt now was disappointment and an inexplicable, nauseating dread.

CHAPTER SIX

AARON CHANGED INTO his tuxedo with jerky movements, his body still irritatingly affected by the sight of Zoe in that dress. He’d known it was right for her as soon as he’d seen it in a shop window, imagining how the silvery fabric would bring out the shimmer in her eyes.

He’d felt a fool blundering into that shop. The sales assistant had positively cooed over him, imagining he was buying a dress for someone special.

And then when he’d actually seen Zoe in it, seen how the colour made her eyes sparkle with the brilliance of diamonds; how the silky material clung to her slender curves, the top barely covering the breasts that looked even more full and more lush than when he’d touched them, kissed them and held them in his hands…

He cursed aloud. The last thing he needed was to go into this evening in a constant and painful state of arousal. Yet he couldn’t deny that since he’d been spending more time with Zoe that had been his sad state of affairs. Just sitting next to her on the sofa, or watching her slurp her ridiculous lo mein noodles, or stretch so her worn T-shirt outlined her breasts all too clearly…

Aaron cursed again.

Over the last week his mind had spun in crazy circles, thoughts darting like a rat in a maze, looking for solutions. Always looking for solutions. Ever since that first lightning strike of guilt that had felled him after he’d offered her money, he’d been trying to figure out how this could work, what he should do. He always wanted, needed something to do—a plan, an answer. And unfortunately, in this case, he didn’t have one. Yet.

Having Zoe live with him had felt like the right decision; he wanted her safe, under his watch, in his control. And, damn it, yes, he did like having her here, even if she didn’t believe him and he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

But what about the future? When the baby was born? They’d be a family, of sorts. A family. The idea was alien, impossible. his own fractured family, with parents long dead and brothers he barely talked to, was hardly an example he wanted to follow. He didn’t want to be the kind of dad who breezed in and out of his child’s life, gone more often than not.

Yet he didn’t know what kind of father he could be, what kind of man he could be. what kind of husband.

He’d been moving carefully, reluctantly, yet with a surprising surge of anticipation towards what seemed like the obvious decision, the most permanent arrangement for him and Zoe. It had come to him in stages: first asking Zoe to stay for a few weeks, then for her entire pregnancy. And now…?

His mouth curved grimly. It wasn’t ideal, of course, even if it had some rather obvious and salient benefits. But it was the solution that had presented itself, that seemed the most reasonable—and yet outrageous. Impossible, even.

By the time he emerged from the bedroom Zoe was looking a bit pale and strained, the obvious pleasure which had lit her eyes damped down completely—his effect on her, no doubt. He should have said something else, something about how beautiful she’d looked, yet the words had stuck in his throat, sharp and painful. Grimly Aaron jerked his head towards the door.

‘Let’s go. The car’s waiting.’

‘I know, you said that already,’ she answered back tartly, and Aaron didn’t respond. Bickering like an old couple already, he thought sourly, without so much as a shred of humour.

Neither of them spoke in the limo on the way down to SoHo. Zoe stared determinedly out of the window, and the passing streetlights highlighted the sweep of her cheek, the angle of her jaw. Aaron watched her out of the corner of his eye—was conscious of every breath she drew, the way her breasts rose and fell, the tiny sigh of exhalation. He turned away and stared out the other window.

‘So what kind of art are we going to go and see?’ she finally asked, after the tense silence had gone on for several minutes.

‘I don’t know. Something modern.’

‘Why are you going, then?’ Zoe asked. She sounded petulant, even childish. This evening was going downhill fast.

‘Several of my clients will be there.’

‘Clients? what is it you do, exactly?’

‘I’m the CEO of Bryant Enterprises.’

‘I know that. But what does that mean?’

It means I live on a knife-edge; I wake up at night in a cold sweat; I devote my entire life to a job I never really wanted. The sudden virulence of his thoughts shocked him. Swallowing, he turned back to the window. ‘I manage the company’s assets, which are varied. But my main personal responsibility is our hedge fund.’

‘That’s what Millie does—hedge funds. Although I’m not even sure what they are.’

‘Essentially an investment fund with a wider range of trading activities than other funds.’

‘Still not sure what you’re talking about,’ Zoe said airily, and Aaron almost smiled. He actually liked that she didn’t get it. He didn’t really want to explain it, or even talk about it.

‘Hedge-fund managers usually invest some of their own money,’ he told her. ‘And the funds are not sold to the public or retail investors.’

‘So you’re managing your own money, as well as someone else’s?’

‘Essentially.’

She turned to face him, her expression strangely serious and intent in the darkness of the car. ‘Do you like it?’ she asked. ‘Do you enjoy what you do?’

Aaron stared back at her, words lodging in his throat, choking him. ‘I make money,’ he finally said.

‘So?’

‘It’s what I do,’ he answered, and made his tone dismissive, even curt. ‘It’s what I’ve always done, what my family has always done.’ There were no other choices.

Zoe felt her spirits lift as soon as they entered the gallery. It was all soaring space and clean angles, huge, messy canvases hanging on the otherwise stark walls. Women in elegant dresses and men in tuxedoes circulated the space amidst black-tied waiters with trays of champagne and fussy-looking hors d’oeuvres.

‘I know you’re not keen on modern art,’ Aaron murmured as they came through the door, and Zoe arched an eyebrow.

‘Who said I didn’t like modern art?’

‘You did say my apartment was awful,’ Aaron reminded her. ‘And it’s rather modern.’

‘True, but there are different kinds of modern. My paintings are modern, in their own way. These—’ she gestured to the bright canvases on the walls ‘—are colourful, lively. I like them,’ she stated firmly and Aaron gave the nearest painting his consideration.

‘I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be.’

Zoe studied it, as well. ‘From a distance it looks like some kind of festival,’ she said slowly. She couldn’t point to any distinct figures or shapes, yet she got the sense of it—of people with arms outstretched or raised, of firelight and dancing, of joy and celebration.

Aaron nodded slowly. ‘Yes…I suppose,’ he said, and Zoe laughed at how dubious he sounded.

‘Not a fan?’ she teased. ‘And with all that modern art in your apartment!’

‘I never said I liked it. I certainly didn’t choose it.’

‘Why have it if you don’t like it?’

He shrugged. ‘An interior decorator chose it all, for effect and re-sale value. I spend very little time there as it is.’

‘And yet I spend a lot of time there,’ Zoe replied tartly. ‘Maybe I should redecorate.’ She saw the expression on Aaron’s face freeze and she rolled her eyes. ‘Chill, Aaron. I was joking. I’ll stick with my few paintings and my plant. That’s enough for you, clearly.’