His Brand of Passion Read Online Free PDF Page A

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 invigoratedhim, 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, ahint 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