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Agatha’s brow knits. “Are you serious? This is Zayn we’re talking about!”
Charlotte gives her a quiet look. “We know him but Eve hasn’t had the best experience with him, and his playboy lifestyle isn’t doing him any favors. No offense, Zayn. You know I love you.”
I give her a slight grin. “I know. None taken.” I look at the spluttering Agatha. “I don’t know anything about kids, and Eve was actually trying to be nice to me. I ran a check on her financials. She and Mila are well off, financially. Nothing extravagant, but they’re living comfortably. If I were to take her to court over the kid, she’d wipe the floor with my ass.”
Philip and Fergus wince while Ian frowns. “She doesn’t know that, does she?”
I shake my head, a discrete movement. “I don’t think she’s kept up with me that much. She looked a little surprised when I told her that I’d been celibate for six months.”
Agatha stares at the ceiling. “TMI.”
“So, what are you going to do?” Sarah wants to know.
I give her a look. “Go to dinner tomorrow. Buy a Pocahontas doll, whatever that is.”
“We’ve got your back, Zayn.” It is Char
lotte who says that. “Whatever you need, we’re here for you.”
I glance over the lot of them. “I appreciate it. I need this to be kept out of the news. With the new club opening, I’m getting a little too much media attention these days. I don’t want Mila or Eve to be dragged into anything.”
Agatha exchanges a look with me. “I’m on that. Don’t worry.”
I look at Philip as he caresses his sleeping daughter’s face as she sleeps in Charlotte’s arms. I feel a strange sensation blooming in my chest, and not for the first time, I wonder whether I know what I am getting myself into.
Getting the Barbie doll was a hassle.
I stare at the plastic figurine in the box with the long black hair and frown.
What is so interesting about this?
I recall that Agatha used to be crazy about her dolls. Wincing as I recall when she used to force me to play with her. Most of our games were because she blackmailed me with one thing or the other.
Scowling at the memories of drinking imaginary tea from empty plastic cups, I leave the store and glance at my watch.
It is nearing six.
Putting on my helmet, I throw one leg over the bike and dangle the small bag from the handle before roaring away.
This entire thing is more complicated because every time I look at Eve, I want her under me. At the same time, I know that I shouldn’t want her.
Despite the fact that her luscious lips are always seconds away from spouting vulgarities in that husky voice, the way she drawls them out, that casual smirk in her eyes, it makes my cock harden.
So wild and untamed.
She answers to no one, her energy relentless, filled with heat, twisting me into her inferno until all I can see, hear, smell, or taste is her.
How did I survive two years with her, I wonder, without throwing her on the bar and fucking the defiance out of her?
Because I was scared of myself.
She wasn’t someone whom I could just have fucked and walked away from. The way she would look at me, that knowledge in her eyes as if she could see past the persona I adopted for the world to see, it terrified me.
I was damaged beyond repair and the darkness that was in my blood, this thirst for blood and violence that I concealed with this mask of civility and class, surrounding myself with beauty and money. She saw the creature that lurked inside and accepted it.
And that frightened me.
Her allure was always too much, that mocking smile aimed in my direction, the insolence in her gaze when she would use her words to push to me to the edge, because only she had the ability to do that.
