‘You can redecorate if you want,’ he said stiffly. ‘Since you’ll be living there for at least seven months.’
At least. Because what happened after the baby was born? Zoe pushed the thought away. ‘I want to study the painting,’ she said, and moved closer.
Funnily enough, the closer she got to the painting the less of a sense of it she had. The festive feeling melted into blobs and streaks of oil paint, nothing more. After inspecting a few more paintings in the gallery, she realised this was the artist’s intended effect: the paintings were meant to be viewed from a distance, rather than up close.
Kind of like her and Aaron. From a distance, they looked okay. Like a couple. She’d seen a few women shoot her speculative and even envious looks, and part of her had wanted to laugh, even while another part of couldn’t help but preen. Yes, I’m with him, the most handsome and enigmatic man in the room.
Except she wasn’t with him, not really. Not at all.
She watched him covertly from across the room, talking to a few of his clients. He looked intent and serious and still so unbearably attractive, with his dark hair and eyes, his stern mouth, his broad shoulders. He was devastating in a tuxedo.
As if he sensed her looking at him, he glanced up and his steely gaze locked with hers for a moment, his expression utterly unreadable, and then he looked away. Zoe felt herself deflate. What had she been hoping for—a smile? A wink? Neither, unfortunately, were Aaron’s style, and yet her stupid heart kept insisting on hoping.
By half past ten her feet were killing her—as gorgeous as the stilettos were, comfort was clearly not their concern—and she was nearly swaying with exhaustion.
Aaron approached her, one hand sliding firmly under her elbow. ‘You look like you’re about to fall over.’
‘I feel like it too,’ Zoe admitted with a small smile that ended on a tired sigh.
‘Let me take you home.’
Home. She thought of that stark penthouse apartment where she’d already spent so many lonely days and nights. Was that home now? Would it ever be home?
Still, it was rather nice to have Aaron acting a little protective of her as he guided her from the gallery to his waiting car.
‘How does your driver never get a parking ticket?’ she asked as she slid inside. ‘He’s always double-parked.’
‘He’s very good,’ Aaron answered. ‘And he’s not double-parked for long—I text him right before I need him to arrive.’
‘A good use for your phone,’ she said rather sleepily, for in the warm interior of the car, the leather so soft and luxurious, she felt as if she could almost fall right asleep.
‘Come here,’ Aaron said almost roughly, and he put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him. She nestled against him instinctively, her head on his shoulder, her body snuggled against his muscular side. It felt so good to be held; to breathe in the warm, musky male scent of him; to feel the solid strength of his arm around her, drawing her close, protecting and even cherishing her.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, her eyes drifting closed. ‘For taking me to the gallery. I enjoyed it.’
‘Did you?’ Aaron sounded as gruff as always, but underneath Zoe thought she heard a thread of amusement, maybe even tenderness. Or was she just being fanciful—again? Probably. ‘The last twenty minutes you looked like you were in agony.’
‘These shoes hurt,’ she admitted and wiggled them off, stretching her toes with a sigh of bliss.
‘Ah. Sorry about that.’
‘Did you pick the shoes out too?’
‘The shop assistant suggested them to me.’
‘Well, I love them, no matter how much they pinch.’
‘I didn’t mean to make your feet hurt.’ She felt Aaron’s hand slide down her calf and then his strong fingers were kneading the aching muscles of her feet and Zoe couldn’t keep from letting out a groan of sheer pleasure. Aaron chuckled softly. ‘Feels good?’
‘Heaven.’ She nestled closer and neither of them spoke as Aaron massaged her feet. Zoe fell into a doze, happier than she’d been in a long while.
She didn’t know how long it had been when Aaron was gently nudging her awake. ‘We’re here,’ he said quietly. ‘Can you make it upstairs?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She straightened, embarrassed now at how she’d been cuddling into him. ‘I can hardly have you carry me into your building.’
‘I could,’ he said, and she found herself smiling.
‘I’m sure you’re strong enough. But, if you thought having your assistant buy a dress would bring on the gossip, sweeping me into your building Rhett Butler style would be much worse.’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ he said abruptly and she wished she hadn’t said anything—wished she’d let that surprising tenderness they’d found inside the limo stretch on. Now she just slipped her feet into the pinching heels.
The crisp night air was enough to wake her up completely, and by the time they reached the lift Zoe was conscious of something palpable between them, something confused and yet electric, caught between the intimacy of their moments in the car and the tension that always seemed to spring up between them.
She was achingly aware too of the last time she’d been in a formal dress and Aaron had worn formal clothes. They’d rode the lift up in silence just like they were doing now, and she’d walked into his apartment and stared out at the night sky while he kissed her neck…
Was he remembering that night? Was he feeling it, wanting it like she was? Or was that just her hopeless fantasy?
She cleared her throat, the sound as loud as a gunshot in the confined space of the lift. The doors swooshed open and Zoe stepped into the penthouse, wanting to escape the confines of the lift and the expectations and memories that left her breathless and desperate with need.
The stiletto heel of her shoe caught in the gap between the lift and the floor, and she pitched forward with a sudden, indrawn gasp. Then Aaron’s arms were around her, righting her, hauling her to safety against his chest.
She stared up at him, dazed, even more breathless than before, and he looked back down at her without any expression at all lighting his dark eyes.
‘That was a close one,’ he said, and he didn’t let her go.
Zoe could feel one hand on her bare shoulder, the other seeming to burn right through the thin silk of the dress, on the small of her back. She felt the press of his body against hers, the strength of his thigh and chest, and then, amazingly—yes, wonderfully—the insistent press of his arousal.
Her lips parted and her breath came out in a soft, expectant rush; still she didn’t move and neither did he. She felt his hand pressing into her back, urging her forward, and as her hips bumped against him his awareness flared white-hot, consuming her.
She knew they couldn’t have sex. She didn’t want to endanger her pregnancy, and she knew Aaron wouldn’t take that risk either. Yet the need between them was palpable, overwhelming. Aaron’s hand slid from her shoulder along her bare arm, the touch of his fingers seeming to dust her with sparks. He dipped his head lower and Zoe’s own fell back, her lips parted and waiting for his kiss, every nerve inside her buzzing and humming.
‘Zoe…’ Her name was the softest of sighs and she felt his thumb brush her lower lip. She let out a tiny sound of want, halfway between a mewl and a moan.
With a shuddering breath, Aaron stepped away. ‘You should go to bed.’
She felt as if he’d doused her with ice-water but somehow Zoe managed to nod, disappointment, a little relief and a terrible, aching unfulfillment all warring within her. ‘Yes, I should.’
Aaron turned away, raking his hands through his hair before yanking off his tie. Zoe watched him, knowing he had to be as sexually frustrated as she was. She didn’t want the evening to end here. She didn’t want to go to bed alone. She swallowed, her throat dry, her heart beating hard.
‘Aaron…’
‘What?’ His back was still to her, every taut line of his beautiful body radiating tension.
She shouldn’t want this. Definitely shouldn’t ask for it. Yet something—some great, deep need that had opened up inside her—compelled her to continue, to say aloud what she so desperately craved. ‘Would you…sleep with me tonight? I mean just sleep. In the same bed.’
Aaron stilled, said nothing. Zoe felt herself flush, her insides seeming to hollow out. Then he slowly turned around; in the moonlit darkness she couldn’t make out his expression. Not that she would have been able to, anyway.
‘What for?’
What for? Did she really have to spell it out? Apparently. ‘For company. And closeness. And because…’ She swallowed, her voice dropping to a ragged whisper. ‘I’m lonely.’
He stared at her for a long moment. ‘I always sleep alone.’
‘You slept with me that night—that other night.’ She licked her lips, her mouth so dry she felt as if she’d swallowed dust. She hated that she was trying to argue him into it.
‘That was—an aberration.’
Small concession as that was, it gratified her. With her, he was different. He could be different. ‘And so? Tonight can be an aberration, too.’