Abby Green - An Heir To Make A Marriage

‘Most people assume they know me.’

Rose felt shy and lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. ‘That’s understandable, I guess.’

He turned and faced forward again, leaning on the railing. He looked out over the view for a long moment, and then he looked sideways at her. His voice had a resigned quality. ‘What do you say to a coffee and then I’ll arrange for my driver to take you home?’

The rush of disappointment was acute, even though Rose knew she should be welcoming it. Zac was obviously bored rigid. But even that thought couldn’t compel her do the right thing when she had the chance. She longed for a few last seconds basking in his golden aura.

‘Okay, that sounds good.’

She told herself that she welcomed the chance to sober up, even though she’d hardly even drunk. She felt drunk though—drunk on this man.

Zac just nodded, showing no discernible emotion at her acquiescence, and she preceded him back through the garden.

He directed her to a different door this time, not back to the lift. He opened it and indicated for Rose to go first. She went down a spiralling set of stone steps and then he was reaching past her to push open another heavy door. A huge vast space with floor-to-ceiling glass windows was revealed as she stepped over the threshold.

‘This is my apartment.’

Of course he had the apartment below the garden. Above the nightclub. He probably owned the building.

‘Make yourself comfortable. How do you like your coffee?’

Rose was momentarily distracted by the views outside the massive windows. ‘White with one sugar, please.’

She walked into the casual living space, with lots of luxurious-looking sofas and sleek coffee tables, strewn with big photography and art books. A media centre was set up on shelves that formed a dividing wall, with well-thumbed books and DVDs.

The stark minimalism of a quintessential bachelor pad was evident, but it was softened.

‘Coffee?’

Rose jumped at his voice where she’d been standing, looking at his DVDs, and took the cup he held out, noticing that he’d taken off his jacket and waistcoat, so now he was just wearing the open-necked white shirt and trousers.

He gestured with his head towards the shelves. ‘Don’t tell anyone about my predilection for vintage Kung-Fu movies, will you?’

Rose forced a smile and tried to ignore the sensation of her heart turning over. ‘I won’t.’

The lights of the vast city around them lit up the huge space and it was impossibly seductive. She moved towards a window, cupping her hands around the mug in a bid to put some space between them.

Drink the coffee and get out—before you get lost again.

She marvelled at the life of privilege Zac enjoyed. Although he didn’t give off the air of complacency and entitlement that she’d experienced from others. People like his parents...his mother. Her insides cramped.

‘So...when you say you’re a maid...?’

Zac’s words scattered her guilt and Rose looked at him. She had to bite back a smile at his curious expression. She said dryly, ‘It means that I’m one of those invisible workers who tidies up your world so that when you turn around nothing is out of place.’

He winced. ‘Ouch.’

Rose shrugged. ‘It’s the way it is.’

‘You don’t sound bitter,’ he observed.

She glanced at him again. She wasn’t bitter at all. It had never bothered her that she came from a solidly working-class background. She’d had the love of two parents and knew that that was the most important thing in the world. Which was why she had to save her father...

Rose quickly averted her gaze from that incisive blue one. She felt sick and guilty again. She couldn’t do this.

She put down her cup on a nearby table and straightened and looked at him, steeling herself. But her words dried in her mouth. Zac was looking at her with such searing explicitness that a shiver of anticipation raced through her.

She instructed herself with silent desperation. Say, Thank you for the coffee, but I really should be going. Because I never would have met you in a million years if it hadn’t been for—

And then Zac said, ‘Why do I think that you’re about to bolt, and that if you do I’ll never see you again?’

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