His Brand of Passion

‘Sorry.’ He closed his laptop. ‘I just needed to check in with the office.’

‘It’s fine.’ When had Aaron ever apologised for working? It was what he did, who he was. She didn’t want him to change—couldn’t let him, because it would hurt too much. Everything about this hurt. ‘I’ll just go outside and relax by the pool for a bit.’

‘It’s after lunch time. Shall I bring you something?’

Zoe shrugged. She was a little hungry, although she couldn’t rouse herself enough to do much about it. ‘Sure. Thanks.’ She turned her back on him deliberately, not wanting him to follow her out to the terrace.

He didn’t, and as she stretched out on a sun lounger, the sound of the surf a pleasant background noise to lull her to sleep, she hated the confusing mix of disappointment and relief she felt yet again.

She must have dozed off, for she woke when Aaron came out onto the terrace with a tray of food.

‘I got a little bit of everything,’ he said, and set the tray on the table. ‘Coconut shrimp, avocado salad, sliced pineapple and some grilled fish. What would you like?’

She leaned back against the lounger and closed her eyes; the sun was bright and white-hot against her lids. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

Aaron didn’t answer, but she heard him serving the food, the clink of cutlery and porcelain and then the gentle press of his hand on her shoulder. ‘Here.’

She opened her eyes and saw him looking at her with such blatant concern that her throat went tight. She took the plate.

They ate in silence, and even though the food was delicious Zoe only picked at it. Eventually she pushed it aside and rose from the lounger. ‘I think I’ll have a nap.’

Aaron gazed up at her, his own lunch only half finished. ‘All right.’

Without another word, Zoe escaped the terrace and Aaron’s overwhelming presence for the sanctuary of her bedroom—and sleep.

Yet lying there in bed, with the bright tropical sunlight filtering through the curtains, she found she couldn’t sleep after all. She kept seeing Aaron in her mind’s eye, that surprising tenderness softening his features, lowering his voice, making him someone she couldn’t stand. Because it would be so easy to turn to him for comfort, to fall even deeper in love with him. She’d been halfway to it when he’d been hard and cold, and she knew if she let herself weaken now it would seal that awful fate.

There was no baby, and therefore no future for them. Aaron was only acting out of solicitude and maybe even guilt; nothing else bound them together. Nothing at all.

It would be better if he just left, Zoe thought. Left her alone here, to sleep away the days, and somehow eventually try to forget everything that had happened.

She finally drifted into a doze and when she awoke it was evening, the light through the curtain now violet and hazy. Zoe rose from the bed and took a shower, hoping to rouse herself from the grogginess that had overtaken her.

She felt only a little better as she came out into the living room and saw Aaron stretched out on the sofa, asleep. She stopped, her heart juddering in her chest. He looked so much softer in sleep, the lines of his face smoothed out, a day’s stubble darkening his chin.

She had a sudden, insane impulse to go to him, to curl into his solid strength and let him put his arms around her. Let him offer her the comfort she so desperately craved.

She didn’t move.

His eyes flickered open and he stared at her, their gazes holding for a long, silent moment. Suddenly Zoe couldn’t think, couldn’t even breathe. She just stared and longed and finally Aaron spoke.

‘Zoe,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry.’

She froze, then forced herself to move past him into the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of water, her hand shaking.

She heard Aaron rise from the sofa and walk towards her. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’

‘There’s nothing to say.’

‘I disagree.’

‘Why would there be something to say, Aaron?’ She heard her voice rise on a trembling note and took a deep breath. ‘There’s nothing between us anymore. We have no relationship, no future, nothing to talk about.’

He was silent and she didn’t dare turn around. She didn’t have the strength so much as to see the expression on his face, much less have this conversation. She wouldn’t have it.

‘I don’t even know why you’re here,’ she continued, her voice rising again. ‘Unless it’s out of guilt.’

‘Guilt?’ Aaron repeated neutrally. Zoe turned around.

‘Yes, guilt. Because you got what you wanted, didn’t you? And you didn’t even have to pay me a cent, never mind fifty grand.’

She saw Aaron flinch and knew she’d hurt him; she felt a savage twist of both remorse and satisfaction. She wanted to hurt him, wanted to push him away, even if she knew she was hurting herself in the process. ‘You must be celebrating,’ she continued, her voice turning into an awful sneer. ‘Or at least you should be.’

‘Do I look like I’m celebrating, Zoe?’ Aaron asked quietly, his voice turning raw and ragged. ‘Do you honestly think I’m happy about this?’

She scrunched her eyes shut and shook her head. She couldn’t manage any more. She felt his hands curl around her shoulders and he slowly, purposefully drew her to him.

‘Zoe, please stop fighting me. Please stop pushing me away. I want to help you. I want to see you through this.’

‘Why?’ she demanded, her voice choked with tears. With heaving effort she pulled herself away from him. ‘So you can walk away with a clear conscience?’

‘Because I care about you!’ His voice rose in an almost-roar that had them both blinking in shock.

‘It’s too late, Aaron,’ Zoe said after a moment, her voice flat. ‘After everything…’ She shook her head, a cold numbness thankfully stealing over her once more. ‘It’s too late for anything between us now.’

CHAPTER NINE

WHEN ZOE CAME out of her bedroom the next morning, having endured a sleepless, endless night, Aaron was dressed in a business suit. He shut his laptop and slid it into his briefcase.

‘You’re going,’ Zoe said flatly, and he nodded.

‘It seems for the best.’

Which of course it was. It was what she wanted, what she had been pushing him towards last night. Yet in the unforgiving light of day it still hurt—far more than it should.

‘I’ll have someone from the hotel check on you every day,’ he continued, still busy with his briefcase. ‘At least twice a day.’

‘That’s not necessary.’

‘It is.’ He cut her off, his tone relentlessly final. ‘You were very ill, Zoe. You still are. You could have died, you know.’ She heard a faint tremor in his voice and she closed her eyes, fought against the impulse to offer him her own apology, to beg him to stay.

‘Even so.’

‘Dr Adams said you shouldn’t be alone,’ he continued flatly. ‘The only reason I’m leaving at all is because it’s obvious I’m doing more harm than good by staying.’

Guilt speared through her, an awful, sharp-edged thing, lacerating everything it touched. She opened her mouth to say something—but what? How could she explain her own actions without telling him the truth—that she cared too much for him already, that her grief was so overwhelming she didn’t how to deal with it, how to deal with him?

‘Goodbye,’ she finally whispered, and she knew that hurt him, too.

The rest of the day dragged endlessly, a monotonous paradise, before the lull was broken by a phone call from Millie.

‘St Julian’s is beautiful, isn’t it?’ she said lightly, although Zoe still heard the thread of anxiety in her sister’s voice.

‘How did you know I was here?’

‘Aaron called me.’

‘Aaron? I didn’t think he was even on speaking terms with you.’

‘He wasn’t,’ Millie answered wryly. ‘But he’s desperate, and he thinks you need someone to talk to. He’s worried about you, Zoe.’

Her throat closed up and she swallowed with effort, forced herself to speak. ‘He has a guilty conscience.’

‘What do you mean?’

Too late she realised she’d revealed too much. She would never tell anyone, much less her sister, about Aaron’s initial offer. ‘Never mind. It doesn’t matter.’

‘How are you doing?’ Millie asked softly and her throat tightened again.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Oh, Zoe. You remember when I kept saying that, after Rob and Charlotte…?’ Even now Millie had trouble talking about her husband and daughter. ‘You’re not fine. You’re never fine when you suffer a loss.’

‘A miscarriage is hardly the same,’ Zoe answered. ‘You’ve suffered far more than I have, Millie. I’ve always known that.’

‘Is that what you think?’ Millie asked quietly. ‘That my grief is more than yours?’

It was always how she’d thought. How could she talk about her paltry problems—being dumped by her fiancé—when Millie had lost everyone and everything?

‘Zoe,’ Millie said, her voice gentle, ‘grief is grief. And pain is pain. I would never presume to think my experience somehow trumps yours.’