Her eyes flashed silver. ‘Honestly, you are the most arrogant ass of a man I have ever met. I’m amazed there’s enough room in this apartment for you, me and your ego.’
He stared at her, disbelief making his mind go blank. No one talked to him like this. No one. Zoe’s mouth curled into a saccharine smile.
‘I suppose no one has dared to tell you that before?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I think Millie and Chase will be happy together, don’t you?’ Her eyes danced as she posed the question oh, so innocently and Aaron gritted his teeth. As if he wanted to talk about weddings, marriages and happy endings. He didn’t want any of it, at least not for himself.
‘I suppose so,’ he said in a bored voice. ‘I haven’t really given it much thought.’
‘What a surprise.’
‘Why do you want to talk to me, anyway?’ he asked. He hated the way she made him feel as if he’d lost control, and he was determined to get it back—however he could. ‘You obviously don’t like me, or anything about me. So what’s there to chat about, really, Zoe?’ He spread his hands wide, his eyebrows raised in challenge. For a moment she didn’t answer and he felt a surge of triumph. Gotcha.
‘Well,’ she finally said, her mouth curving upwards once more, ‘I always live in hope. No one’s irredeemable, surely? Not even you.’
‘What a compliment.’
‘It wasn’t meant to be one,’ she answered, and he knew she was intentionally parroting what he’d said to her earlier. She eyed him mischievously. ‘But take it as one, if you like.’
‘I’m not interested in anything you say,’ Aaron snapped. ‘Compliments or otherwise. I think we’ve talked enough.’
‘We’re still waiting for the sushi,’ Zoe reminded him and Aaron nearly cursed.
He shouldn’t have ordered the damn sushi. He shouldn’t have gone for any of this, he realised. The moment Zoe had slipped out of his arms and stopped playing by his rules he should have shown her the door. So why hadn’t he?
Because he wanted her too much. And because not having her felt like losing. They’d been locked in a battle from the moment she’d taken his phone, and Aaron knew only one way of assuring sweet, sweet victory.
‘I think we can make good use of the time while we wait,’ he said, his voice deepening to a purr, and with a savage satisfaction he saw awareness—and perhaps alarm—flare in her eyes.
‘I’m sure we could.’ She crossed her legs. ‘So were any of those messages on your phone actually important?’
‘Critical,’ Aaron informed her silkily. He loosened the knot of his ascot and saw how her gaze was drawn to the movement. ‘Absolutely crucial.’
She pursed her lips. ‘Oh, dear.’
‘Considering all the inconvenience you put me to, I think you owe me.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Owe you?’
‘Definitely.’ He shed his tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. ‘And I can think of several ways you can pay me back.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you could.’ Her eyes narrowed as if she wanted to argue, but he saw the rapid rise and fall of her chest and knew she was affected. As affected as he was…Hell, he’d been in a painful state of arousal since she’d first slid into his limo.
The intercom buzzed, and the tension that had been coiling and tautening between them was, for the moment, broken. Aaron strode towards the door and buzzed the delivery man up, conscious of Zoe; she’d risen from the sofa and was wandering around the living room, glancing at a few of the paintings on the walls, her body like a lithe shadow as she moved through the darkened room.
She turned and joined him at the door, and he breathed in the scent of her, some soap or shampoo that smelled like vanilla. The ends of her hair brushed his shoulder. ‘So what kind of sushi did you order, anyway?’
‘The real kind.’ Not that he had any interest in eating anything. The doorbell rang and he dealt with the delivery man before turning back to her. ‘And you have to try some before I give you your California roll.’
‘Oh, do I?’ Her eyes glinted and she looked intrigued, maybe even a little confused. Hell, he was. Why was he playing this game? Why didn’t he toss her the food, tell her to eat and then take her to bed? Even if that did have a touch of the Neanderthal about it, it was still more his style. Yet some part of him actually enjoyed their sparring. It invigorated him, at least and, even if taking her to bed would be the simpler and more expedient option, he wasn’t quite ready to let go of all the rest.
He grabbed some plates and glasses and a bottle of wine from the kitchen and took it all over to the living area. After a second’s pause he put it all on the coffee table and stretched out on the rug. Everything felt awkward, unfamiliar. He didn’t do this. He didn’t socialise with the women he slept with, he didn’t romance them.
Zoe sat down next to him, a willing pupil. ‘So what am I going to try first?’
‘We’ll start gently. Futomaki.’
‘Which is?’
‘Cucumber, bamboo shoots and tuna.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Okay.’
Aaron handed her a roll and took one himself. Then he opened the wine and poured them both glasses. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers.’ She took a sip of wine and a small bite of the sushi roll.
‘Well?’
‘It’s okay. I can taste the tuna, though.’
He laughed, the sound strangely rusty. ‘You don’t like fish?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘Well, I admire your willingness to try.’ He bit into his own roll, surprised and discomfited at how he was almost—almost—enjoying himself. Relaxing, even, which was ridiculous. He didn’t do either—enjoyment or relaxation. He worked. He strove. Sometimes he slept.
‘I admire your willingness to try too,’ Zoe said, and Aaron glanced at her sharply.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I sense this is outside of your comfort zone,’ she said, a hint of laughter in her voice. ‘I imagine the women you take to bed go directly there, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘They don’t sit on your rug, drinking wine and eating sushi.’
He stilled, feeling weirdly, terribly exposed and even angry. ‘No, they don’t.’
‘Sorry not to fall in step with your plans.’ She didn’t sound remotely sorry.
‘I can be flexible on occasion.’
‘How encouraging.’
‘Try this one.’ He handed her another sushi roll. Zoe stared at it in distaste.
‘What is this?’
‘Narezushi. Gutted fish in vinegar, pickled for at least six months.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’
‘I don’t make jokes.’
‘Ever?’
He considered. ‘Pretty much.’
She put the roll aside, shaking her head, her lips pursed and her eyes glinting. ‘Why, Aaron, I almost feel sorry for you.’
‘Don’t,’ he said roughly, the word a warning.
‘Don’t