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 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.