His Brand of Passion (4 page)

‘Don’t,’ he said roughly, the word a warning.

‘Don’t what?’

‘Don’t even think about feeling sorry for me.’ No one did. No one should. He had everything he’d ever wanted, everything anyone wanted. He didn’t need Zoe Parker’s pity.

She laughed softly. ‘Touched a sore spot, did I?’

He saw now that with the wine and the food she was getting over-confident. Presumptuous. Thinking that this meant something, that they were creating some kind of intimate situation here. It was time to start calling the shots, Aaron decided. And to let Zoe know the only kind of
intimate
he was interested in.

She was annoying him, Zoe knew. Making him angry. Shame, because for a little while there things had almost seemed pleasant. Aaron had almost seemed…normal.

And she liked baiting him. She needed to do it, because the intensity of her attraction—and her emotion—scared her. She didn’t do intense, not anymore. Teasing him defused that, at least a little.

Except now the very air felt thick with tension, with desire. She saw his dark eyes flare darker and he set his plate and glass aside as Zoe braced herself, knowing the pleasant little interlude was over. Aaron Bryant was ready to get down to business.

She met his gaze, determined to stay insouciant, never to let him know how much he affected her. How much power he had over her. ‘Party over?’

‘I wouldn’t say that.’ He reached out one powerful hand and closed it around her wrist, pulling her slowly and inexorably towards him. Zoe didn’t resist. She couldn’t; already she felt that heavy languor steal through her veins, take over her brain. She was just way too attracted to this man. ‘I’d say it’s just beginning.’

Aaron pulled her onto his sprawled thighs, his hands on her hips so she was straddling him. She felt the press of his erection against the juncture of her own thighs and pleasure bolted straight through her. It took all her will-power not to press back, not to admit with her body how much she wanted him. She needed to keep some kind of pride. Some kind of defence.

‘A different kind of party,’ Aaron murmured and slid his hands up along her hips and waist to cup her breasts only briefly and then frame her face. He brought her forward to brush his lips against hers, and distantly Zoe realised this was the first time they’d kissed.

It started gently but within seconds it flamed into something else entirely—something deep, primal and urgent. His tongue slid inside the warmth of her mouth and his hips rocked against hers—and so much for her pride, because she rocked back helplessly, her body taking over, already desperately seeking release.

His hands slid back down to her waist, and then to her thighs, and he edged the dress over her bottom so it was rucked about her waist. She was bare below except for a skimpy thong. He slid his fingers along the silky length of her thigh to the heat of her. ‘No phones here,’ he murmured, and Zoe would have laughed except he was kissing her again. His fingers were working deft magic, and all she could think about was how much she wanted this.

In one easy movement Aaron rolled her onto her back so she was splayed out on the fur rug, her dress still around her waist. Aaron lay poised over her, his cheeks faintly flushed, his eyes gleaming with desire, his breath a little ragged. He looked beautiful, dark and powerful and he stole Zoe’s breath away.

He tugged down the zip of her dress and in just a few seconds it was gone, tossed to the side of the room. Zoe stared up at him, wearing only a strapless bra and matching thong, wondering what Aaron Bryant would do with her now. Willing him to do just about anything.

‘I’m amazed you managed to fit a phone in here at all,’ he said, and ran his hand between her breasts, along her stomach, then dipping once more between her thighs. Zoe arched helplessly against his hand, and Aaron slid her panties off her. The bra followed soon after.

She lay there, naked and supine on the rug, every sense spinning into aching awareness. She supposed, distantly, that she should feel bare, exposed, nervous, but she felt none of that. All she felt was a glorious anticipation, an unbearable
readiness. Aaron bent his head to her and his hands, lips and tongue seemed to be everywhere at once, teasing, tasting, tormenting her.

She tangled her hands in his hair, surprised by its softness, for everything else about him was so hard: eyes, mouth, body, attitude.
Heart
. But his hair was soft and she ran her fingers through it, glorying in it even as she arched and writhed beneath him, as his mouth and hands brought her to the brink of that pleasurable precipice again and again.

And then, with a quick rustle of foil, he slid on a condom and drove inside her in one single stroke. He lay suspended above her, braced on his forearms, his body fully inside hers. For one breathless moment he gazed down at her, his eyes blazing dark fire, and Zoe felt something in her lurch, shift. She saw need and something deeper flare in Aaron’s eyes, and for a second this seemed like more than sex.

Then he started to move and she wrapped her legs around his waist to bring him even closer. The moment became one of raw, primal passion, and then one of endless pleasure.

When it was over Aaron rolled onto his back and Zoe lay there, spent and breathless, her mind spinning for a few glorious minutes before she returned to earth with a dull thud. The party was over, she knew, and she didn’t relish being dismissed now that she’d served her purpose. She was pretty sure that was how Aaron treated his women, at least his one-night stands, of which she was most assuredly one. Surreptitiously she rolled over and reached for her discarded underwear, only to have Aaron stay her arm.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘I need to get going,’ Zoe answered, keeping her voice light. ‘Not that the sushi wasn’t delicious.’

Aaron let out a low rumble of laughter, surprising her. For a man who didn’t joke, he’d still managed to laugh twice this
evening, a thought which absurdly pleased her. What did she care if he laughed?

‘Not so fast,’ he said and pulled her towards him. Her body instinctively slid around his, her soft places finding his hard ones, so they fit like two pieces of a puzzle. ‘We need to find my bed.’

She felt a thrill at his gruffly spoken words, a ridiculous, huge thrill. He wanted her to stay? She hesitated, knowing the better, safer thing to do would be to leave. She knew herself, knew her weaknesses. Sex was sex to a man like Aaron, but to her it was something else. No matter what her head dictated, she couldn’t keep her heart from always insisting this was the one, this was love. And already she sensed that she would fall harder and longer for a man like Aaron than any of the other men she’d known. Feeling anything but basic, primal lust for Aaron Bryant bordered on the utterly insane.

‘Well, actually… .’ she began, and that was as far as she got. Aaron was smoothing his hands over her bottom, as if he were touching a rare silk, then his fingers slid between her legs and she gave up the battle she hadn’t really been fighting. ‘You have a bed?’ she managed, and with a throaty chuckle—his third laugh—he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to his bedroom and his wonderful, king-sized bed.

Hours later Zoe lay in that bed with dawn’s first pale fingers streaking across the city sky and watched Aaron sleep. She was exhausted, totally sated, and as she looked at him she felt a little dart of sorrow arrow inside her. She didn’t regret this night; it had been too amazing for that. But as she looked at his face softened with sleep, his lashes feathering his cheeks and his softly sculpted lips slightly parted, she wished things could be different. That Aaron was a different kind of man.

Don’t
, she warned herself.
Don’t do it again. Don’t insist you’re in love with a complete ass
. She’d only done that about
four times before. Millie always teased her about the emotional toe-rags she dated, and Zoe usually laughed it off. After all, it was true. But that didn’t make it hurt less.

Silently she slipped from the bed and went in search of her clothes. The last of the moonlight spilled into the living room, bathing the chrome and glass with a pearly sheen even as the horizon pinkened with the promise of a new day. Zoe dressed quickly and, with one last bittersweet glance towards the bedroom, she left.

Three weeks later Zoe had done her best to forget that incredible night with Aaron Bryant, although she couldn’t keep herself from surreptitiously scanning the headlines of the tabloids and gossip magazines for a glimpse of his name. She saw a photograph of him at a movie premier with a gorgeous B-list actress and felt something inside her tighten, twist. Surely not jealousy? she asked herself. It would be incredibly, criminally stupid to be jealous. Aaron Bryant meant nothing to her, and she obviously meant nothing to him. Their one night, fantastic as it had been, was over.

Resolutely she went to work at The Daisy Café, a funky, independent coffee shop in Greenwich Village where she worked part-time as a barista. She went to the community centre where she worked afternoons as an art therapist, and tried to keep away from the tabloids.

One afternoon in early September she was working at the café when the smell of the coffee beans nearly made her lose her breakfast.

‘I must be coming down with something,’ she told Violet, her co-worker, a young woman of nineteen who had multiple piercings and hair dyed like her name. ‘The smell of coffee is making me sick.’

Violet raised her eyebrows. ‘If I don’t know better, I’d
think you were pregnant.’ Zoe just stared at her, all the blood draining from her face, and Violet pursed her lips. ‘Uh-oh.’

As soon as her shift ended Zoe bought a pregnancy test, telling herself she was being ridiculous. Aaron had used protection, after all. She probably just had some kind of stomach flu, but just to be safe…

She took the test in the tiny bathroom of her studio apartment, sitting on the edge of the tub while she watched two pink lines blaze across the little screen.

Pregnant.

She sat there, the test in hand, utterly in shock and completely numb. Yet as that blankness wore off she probed the emotion underneath like a sore tooth or a fresh scar and realised, to her surprise, it wasn’t dismay or fear that she felt. It was almost…excitement. Happiness.

She shook her head, incredulous at her own emotions. A
baby
. The baby of a man she barely knew, didn’t even like. And yet…a baby. A child, her child, already nestled inside her, starting to grow. She pressed one hand against her still-flat tummy in a kind of dazed incredulity.

She wanted this baby. Despite all the challenges and difficulties of being a single mother on a small salary, she wanted to have this child. She was thirty-one years old, and a happy-ever-after wasn’t likely to be in her future. This was her chance to be a mother, a chance to find her own kind of happiness. And, even though the baby was no more than the size of a bean, it was
there
. And she wanted to nurture that tiny life, that part of her.

Over the next few days she wished she had someone to talk to, but none of her friends were remotely interested in pregnancy or babies, and ever since Millie had lost her husband and young daughter three years ago Zoe hadn’t felt like she could burden her with her problems—and certainly not this. Children were still a no-go area for Millie.

There was, Zoe knew, at least one person she needed to talk to. Aaron, no matter how hands-off he intended to be—and, frankly, she hoped that was considerable—still needed to know he was going to be a father. Zoe didn’t relish that conversation, but it didn’t appear to be one she was going to have any time soon, for every time she called Bryant Enterprises and asked for Aaron she was put off by a prissy-sounding secretary.

She left message after message with her name and number, but a week went by of her calling every day and he never phoned back. Annoyed, she considered not telling him at all, but she knew she could never keep such a devastating secret. And, in any case, that kind of lie of omission would likely come back and bite her. Which left one other option, she decided grimly.

It didn’t take too much effort to get Aaron’s mobile number from Chase on a rather flimsy pretext of needing sponsors for a charity event she was supposed to be coordinating for the community centre, but when she tried his mobile he didn’t answer that either. Jerk.

Ten days after she’d first taken the test Zoe resorted to a text message, which seemed appropriate, considering how a phone had figured in their first encounter.

Grimly she typed in the four words she’d decided would convey her situation to her baby’s father:

I’m pregnant, you ass
.

A
ARON STARED AT
the text message in disbelief. He knew who it was from, even though the number wasn’t one he recognised. Rather unusually, he’d only slept with one woman in the last month and, more significantly, he knew only one woman who would text him such a provocative message.

Zoe.

Pregnant?

Impossible. He’d used protection every time. Aaron stared at the text message, his eyes narrowing. He hadn’t thought Zoe Parker a grasping gold-digger, but he supposed anything was possible. He’d certainly known women to reach for flimsy pretexts in an attempt to ensnare him.

In any case, this was something he could nip in the bud very easily. Frowning, he tossed his phone aside and turned to his laptop. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find out where Zoe worked and lived.

Late that morning Aaron was standing in front of The Daisy Café, patrons spilling out into the September sunshine, holding their vente lattes and chai teas. Aaron could see Zoe behind the curved counter, working the espresso machine. Her hair was back in a neat ponytail, and she wore a tight black T-shirt that reminded him rather uncomfortably of what she’d looked and felt like underneath.

Pushing that unhelpful thought away with an impatient
sigh, he headed inside. Heads turned as soon as he entered. At six feet four with the shoulders of a linebacker, Aaron often caught stares. Some people recognised him, and a woman he didn’t know started to shimmy towards him, a calculating hope in her eyes. Aaron headed for the counter.

‘Zoe.’

She looked up, her grey eyes widening as she took in his presence in the little café. Then her mouth twisted in a sardonic smile and she put her hands on her hips.

‘Well, well, you finally got my message.’

‘Finally?’

‘I’ve only been trying to call you for a week.’

Aaron just shrugged. As far as he was concerned their one night had ended at dawn, when she’d snuck out of bed before he could show her the door. He didn’t do repeats.

‘Is there somewhere private where we can talk?’ he asked and she lifted her chin.

‘I’m working.’

Aaron folded his arms. ‘You’ve been trying to get in touch with me, and now I’m here. What more do you want?’

She glared at him, clearly unwilling to relinquish her anger at his ignoring her messages for the last week. Then she nodded, her jaw set stubbornly. The woman was impossible, yet some contrary part of him admired her spirit. ‘Fine.’

She turned to the other woman behind the counter, a twenty-something woman with purple hair and too many piercings, and said a few words. Then she stalked out of the shop, leaving Aaron, irritatingly, with no choice but to follow her.

‘Well?’ she said once they were out in the street, hands on her hips, pedestrians streaming by in an indifferent blur.

‘I’m not about to conduct this conversation in the middle of a city street,’ Aaron answered tautly. ‘And I’d imagine you don’t want to either.’

The fight seemed to leave her then and she sagged a little bit, looking, Aaron thought, suddenly very tired. ‘No, I don’t. But I have to get back to work.’

‘As do I.’ Every minute spent arguing with this woman was costing him in far too many ways. He simply wanted it dealt with and done. ‘My limo is waiting. Let’s at least conduct this conversation in the privacy of my car.’

With a shrug Zoe followed him to the sleek car idling by the kerb. Aaron jerked open the door and ushered her in, sliding in across from her. He pressed the intercom for the driver.

‘Drive around the block a couple of times, please, Brian.’

‘Very good, sir.’

He took a deep breath and stared hard at Zoe. ‘Look, let’s cut to the chase, Zoe. The baby isn’t mine.’

She stared at him for at least thirty seconds, her gaze sweeping over him slowly, as if taking the measure of him—and finding it decidedly lacking. Not that he cared one iota about her opinion of him. Then she let out one short huff of laughter and looked away. ‘You know, I had a feeling you’d go that route.’

‘Of course I would,’ Aaron snapped. ‘I used protection.’

‘Well, Super Stud, we’re in the lucky two percent when that protection fails.’

‘That’s impossible.’

‘Statistically, no. Two percent does not equal impossible, genius.’

He closed his eyes for a second, willing himself not to lose his temper. He needed to stay in control of this conversation. ‘Very unlikely, then.’

‘I agree with you there.’ She gave a rather grim smile. She didn’t seem very pleased about this turn of events, Aaron realised. And she looked pale and drawn.

‘So what do you want?’ he asked, gazing at her levelly.

‘From you? Nothing. If you want to deny being this baby’s
father, that’s fine with me. I was only telling you as a courtesy anyway.’ She met his gaze, grey eyes blazing, arms folded. Aaron felt a surge of alarm—as well as another tiny dart of admiration at her strength and courage.

‘So you intend to keep this baby.’

Her gaze never wavered from his but he saw shadows in her eyes, like ripples in water. ‘Yes.’

‘I could demand a paternity test, you know.’

‘Go right ahead. I looked into it, anyway. I can have one done at nine weeks.’ Her mouth curved in a humourless smile. ‘Then you’ll finally be able to put your mind at ease.’

Her utter certainty shook him. Was she bluffing, or did she really believe this baby was his?
Could
it be his? The thought was terrifying. And surely—surely—impossible? ‘How do you even know this baby is mine?’ he asked in a low voice.

She pressed her lips together and glanced away. ‘Contrary to the impression you’ve obviously formed of me, I don’t sleep around. You’re the only candidate, hot shot.’

He felt shock bolt through him as he acknowledged for the first time that she was actually pregnant with his baby. His
child
. He let out a long, slow breath, then lifted his grim gaze to hers. ‘All right, then. How much do I have to pay you to have an abortion?’

Zoe blinked and sat back as if he’d struck her. She felt literally winded by his callous cruelty. The sweet passion she’d felt in his arms felt like a distant memory, absurd in light of their relationship—or lack of it—now.

‘You really are a first-class jerk,’ she said slowly. ‘You couldn’t pay me anything. I want to have this baby.’

His mouth tightened. ‘Your life is hardly set up for a baby, Zoe.’

She bristled even as she recognised the stinging truth of his words. ‘What do you know about my life?’

‘You work in a coffee shop.’

‘So?’

‘You live in a fifth-floor walk-up in a bad neighbourhood.’

‘It’s a fine neighbourhood,’ she snapped. ‘And plenty of people who aren’t millionaires living in mansions have babies.’

Aaron folded his arms. ‘Why do you even want this baby?’

‘Why don’t you?’ Zoe flung back. Aaron didn’t answer, although she saw how he glanced away, as if he didn’t want to answer the question.

‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘I’m not asking you for anything, you know. I’ll sign whatever piece of paper you want promising never to ask you for money or help, or even acknowledge you as the father. You don’t have to be on the birth certificate. You’re free, Aaron.’ She flung her arms wide, the gesture mocking. ‘Breathe a sigh of relief, because you don’t have to have a single thing to do with this baby. I’d rather you didn’t. But I’m keeping it.’

Aaron turned to gaze at her once more, his face utterly without expression. ‘Twenty thousand dollars,’ he said in a low voice.

Zoe’s lips parted but no sound came out. ‘Twenty thousand dollars,’ she repeated tonelessly.

‘Fifty thousand,’ Aaron answered. ‘More money than you’ve ever had in your life, I’m sure.’

‘To have an abortion?’ she clarified. He blinked, set his jaw even as his gaze flicked away once more. Even he wasn’t willing to put it into such stark words. She stared at him for a long moment, wondering if he actually thought she might consider his offer for so much as a single second. ‘You’re serious,’ she said, and with obvious effort he glanced at her again.

‘I’m just trying to be reasonable.’

‘You call this reasonable?’

Aaron’s jaw tightened and for a second, no more, he looked almost panicked. ‘I—I can’t be a father.’

She let out a harsh, ragged laugh. ‘Guess what? I’m not asking you to.’

‘Zoe, think about it.’

She shook her head, nausea roiling inside her. It would serve him right if she were sick all over his precious car. ‘Go to hell,’ she finally said, her voice raw and, with the limo stopped at a traffic light, she got out.

Zoe walked down Christopher Street with her legs shaking. She felt physically ill, worse than any morning sickness she’d experienced so far. She thought of Aaron’s unyielding expression as he’d offered her more money than she’d ever had before to get rid of their child.

Helplessly she turned aside and retched onto the sidewalk pavement. People hurried by, oblivious. Zoe didn’t think she’d ever felt more wretched and alone. She’d dated plenty of commitment-phobic jerks in her time, but never someone as deliberately cold and cruel as Aaron Bryant. And he was her baby’s father.

She straightened, took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. ‘I hope, kid,’ she muttered, ‘that you favour my side of the family.’

By the time she returned to the café she thought she’d got herself more or less under control, although she obviously didn’t fool Violet. The other woman raised her eyebrows as Zoe came in, handing a coffee to a customer.

‘So that didn’t go well,’ she said as Zoe came behind the counter and reached for her apron. She just shrugged in response.

‘Let me guess,’ Violet said after they’d dealt with the latest trickle of customers and the café was mostly empty. ‘That was the father.’ Zoe nodded. Violet waited a few seconds. ‘And?’

Another shrug. ‘He’s not thrilled.’

‘We’re talking serious understatement here, right?’

‘Maybe.’ Zoe took a breath and tried to banish the sight
of Aaron’s cold, autocratic expression as he’d offered her fifty thousand dollars. ‘To be fair, it had to have been a huge shock.’

‘To you, too.’

‘Yes, but even so—’ She stopped and shook her head. Why on earth was she defending Aaron to Violet, or to anyone? Why did she insist on believing the best about guys who didn’t deserve it? And Aaron Bryant most definitely didn’t deserve it. He was a cold-hearted bastard and she wouldn’t give him one iota of her compassion or understanding.

And yet he was her baby’s father. They were linked, fundamentally and forever, no matter what his actions. That counted for something, whether she wanted it to or not. She let out a long, slow breath and turned to Violet. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter. He’s not going to be involved.’

Violet frowned. ‘You’re going to raise this kid on your own?’

Zoe heard the scepticism in her friend’s voice and bit her lip. She thought of Aaron’s scathing indictment:
your life is hardly set up for a baby
. No, it wasn’t. She lived on a shoestring budget and her savings were virtually nil. Her apartment wasn’t suitable for a baby, no matter what she’d told Aaron. She knew she could ask for help from her parents, or Millie and Chase, but the thought of their disappointment and censure—no matter if it was unspoken—made her cringe. Millie was the one who had got married, had a real job and lived an exemplary life. Zoe was the screw-up.

‘Hey, Zo.’ Violet put a hand on her shoulder. ‘You know I’ll help you, right? And so will lots of people, I’m sure. You can do this.’

Zoe blinked back sudden tears. Pregnancy hormones were clearly making her stupidly emotional. And while she appreciated Violet’s offer, she wondered how much help a broke
part-time college student could really give her…compared to how much she needed.

Two days later the morning sickness really hit and Zoe went from feeling a little nauseous to barely being able to get out of bed. She dragged herself to work and back again, and the rest of the time she curled up on her sofa and nibbled dry crackers, feeling utterly miserable. She thought about calling Millie, just to have someone to share this with. She knew she’d have to tell her sister as well as her parents some time, but for the moment she couldn’t bring herself to admit her dire state
of
affairs.
I’m pregnant by your brother-in-law and he has no interest in this baby. He offered me fifty thousand dollars to get rid of it
. It was all just too, too awful.

And then one day it all changed. She went to the ladies’ during a break at the café and there was blood in her underwear. Zoe stared at that single rusty streak in disbelief. Could she actually be having a miscarriage? After all she’d endured already, to have it end before it had even begun?

Tears pricked her eyes and her heart lurched. she realised in that moment just how much she wanted this child, despite the awful nausea and Aaron’s horrible rejection.

‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ Violet said when she came back into the café. ‘What’s going on?’

Numbly Zoe told her. ‘You should see a doctor,’ Violet said firmly.

‘Can they even do anything at this stage?’

‘I don’t know, but do you want to take that chance? And it might give you some peace of mind.’ She paused and added somberly, ‘Either way.’

Duly Zoe picked an obstetrician from the internet—she had no friends who could recommend one—and made an appointment for that afternoon.

The OB, Dr Stephens, was a brisk grey-haired woman with a practical but friendly manner. ‘Bleeding in early pregnancy
can be perfectly normal,’ she told her. ‘But it also can indicate miscarriage. There’s really no telling at this point. If you experience more bleeding, with any accompanying cramping, then you should come back.’

Zoe nodded dully. ‘And is there anything I can do?’

‘Nature generally takes its course at this point,’ Dr Stephens told her gently. ‘But of course staying off your feet and resting as much as possible couldn’t hurt.’

Of course. Yet both of those were virtually impossible with her work.

As she walked back to her apartment, Zoe felt even worse. Going to the doctor hadn’t reassured her; it had only made her aware of all the uncertainties, the impossibilities. She was only seven weeks’ pregnant and already it was so unbearably hard…and lonely.