The Innocent Behind The Scandal - Abby Green Page 0,15

people. A lesson I learnt at the hands of selfish and self-absorbed parents.’

She didn’t want to know that about him. She didn’t want to think of him and his sister dealing with their parents’ bitter divorce.

She went to the door and opened it.

Maks said from behind her, ‘Give me your phone.’

She turned around. ‘Why would I do that?’

‘Because this doesn’t end here. But I’m going to leave the ball in your court.’

Torn between wanting to shut down that arrogance and wanting to know what he meant to do, Zoe made a huffing sound and then went to her backpack and pulled out her phone. She handed it to Maks, who took it and punched in some numbers. He handed it back, and somehow she resisted the urge to check it. There was something about his confidence that was as irritating as it was seductive.

He went to the door. She felt that lurch again—as if something very primal inside her objected to him leaving.

She walked over. He was already on the other side of the door.

‘I look forward to hearing from you,’ he said.

Zoe held on to the door. ‘You might not hear from me at all.’

He looked at her for a long moment. ‘I think I will. And then you’ll tell me what happened to you.’

The thought of telling him of her humiliation made her go cold. It helped her to stiffen her spine and say, ‘Goodbye, Maks.’

He shook his head as he backed away, his mouth quirking up. ‘Ciao, Zoe.’

He turned, and he’d disappeared down the stairs before she could say anything else. She closed the door only after she’d heard the door close downstairs, and then the powerful throttle of his car’s engine.

She got ready for bed in a bit of a stupor, still slightly stunned at everything that had happened this evening.

She’d lost her job.

In fairness, it hadn’t exactly been her main source of income. Truth be told, she didn’t have a main source of income. She was an expert in doing lots of things and committing to none. Not even photography. Because committing to something meant showing some kind of vulnerability, risking a massive fail or, worse, pain and loss.

Zoe scowled at herself in the small bathroom mirror. And that was why she didn’t need to invite a man like Maks Marchetti into her life. Because he saw too much and he made her feel too much. And not just physically. That impulse she’d had to ask him to stay scared her even now. It had been so immediate. Visceral. And he was a stranger.

But you want him in a way that’s different—

She clamped down on painful memories. She’d confused desire with being able to trust someone before. But that kiss had blown any kind of understanding of desire she’d had before out of the water. What she’d experienced had been child’s play. This was the real deal. Earthy, raw, out of control. She knew instinctively that Maks Marchetti was a man who would demand nothing less than total surrender. And that was something Zoe couldn’t imagine giving. To anyone. It would ask too much of her.

She looked at herself critically. Pyjamas buttoned up to the neck. Face scrubbed so clean that her scars stood out in pink lines. Superficial scars that hid far deeper scars.

Maks Marchetti would soon forget all about a woman who had intrigued him just for a moment. She wouldn’t be using his number and he wouldn’t be knocking on her door again.

‘What?’ Maks growled at his assistant without turning around from where he stood at the window of his London office.

The city was spread out before him, with the Thames snaking between iconic buildings and under even more iconic bridges, but Maks couldn’t have cared less.

All that had consumed him for a week now was, Why the hell hasn’t she got in touch with me?

Zoe Collins. The woman he’d shared probably the most chaste kiss of his life with, and yet it had left an erotic imprint that lingered in his blood, waking him every night with his body aching for sexual fulfilment.

‘Um...boss, it’s the fact that you’re meant to be overseeing that shoot in New York at the moment...’

Maks turned around to face the young man. He arched a brow. ‘And clearly I’m not?’

Because he was loath to leave London in case she called. When he never normally made decisions based on a lover who wasn’t even a lover. Yet. The thought that she might never be a lover evoked