The Innocent Behind The Scandal - Abby Green Page 0,53

tantalising prospect struck him. Maybe he’d been too hasty? Maybe he could come to an arrangement with her in which—

No. He ruthlessly shut down that train of thought. She wasn’t that kind of woman. Sophisticated. Who knew the rules of the game. He’d been her first lover. She’d just got under his skin.

All he had to do was remember Zoe’s reaction earlier, when he’d broken things off. The way she’d gone so pale. Her eyes huge. Stricken. It had only confirmed for him that he was doing the right thing. They had no future. As it was, he’d already dragged her into the public eye. After accusing her of being a paparazzi! The irony was not welcome.

But he couldn’t regret seducing her—not when it had been so earth-shatteringly satisfying.

He had no right to give her any hope for more. She’d been a brief aberration. A temptation he shouldn’t have succumbed to. A temptation he wouldn’t succumb to again.

Three weeks later

Zoe was gritty-eyed after another broken night’s sleep. Broken by dreams about Maks. And nightmares. In the latest one she’d been in Venice, endlessly wandering the narrow labyrinthine streets, searching for him, only to catch a tiny glimpse at the last second before he disappeared around another corner.

She hated herself for being so weak. He’d dumped her.

She told herself yet again that he’d done her a favour as she walked to her local corner shop for supplies.

There was nothing like being back in the grittier end of London to remind her of where she belonged. So when she looked down and saw the pictures on the front page of the tabloid newspaper she had to blink several times, wondering if she was still dreaming. Or hallucinating.

It was Maks. He was naked. He was smiling intimately at whoever was taking the picture. Drapes fluttered behind him. For a second Zoe felt as if someone had skewered her with a red-hot poker, but then she realised that these weren’t different pictures. These were her pictures. Just after she’d taken this picture his demeanour had changed utterly. And then he’d dumped her.

She hadn’t even looked back at those photos herself since that day. Not wanting to see the moment when his face had gone from dreamy and sexy to icy cold. Yet now they were plastered all over these grubby tabloids for all the world to see.

‘I don’t think it’s a good idea, Miss Collins.’

Zoe tried not to sound as desperate as she felt, after a long day of trying to track Maks down. He’d ignored all her attempts to call or text him. But she knew he was here, at his townhouse.

‘Hamish, please. I need to speak to him.’

Maks’s housekeeping manager looked as if he was about to close the door in her face, but then he stood back and said tersely, ‘I’ll ask him. Wait here.’

Zoe stood in the hall of the stunning townhouse. It was a very different reception from the last one she’d received here. Now it couldn’t be frostier.

After a long moment Hamish returned. ‘He’ll see you for a few minutes. Follow me.’

Relief flooded Zoe, followed quickly by trepidation. She’d been trying to get to Maks all day, but now that she was here she wasn’t even sure what she would say.

Hamish led her into a room she hadn’t been in before. A large study. Dark wood-panelled walls. Shelves. Modern technology. A TV on the wall with the news on mute.

And Maks. Standing behind his desk in a shirt and dark trousers. Sleeves rolled up. Hands on hips.

To see him again in close proximity almost made her stumble. She locked her legs.

The door closed behind her and Maks walked over to a drinks cabinet, pouring himself a drink. He didn’t offer her one. He turned around. He looked calm, but Zoe could feel the tension.

‘Why did you do it, Zoe?’

She felt sick—she’d been feeling sick all day. ‘I didn’t.’

He ignored her denial. ‘How much did you get? If you’d offered them to me first, I might have given you more.’

A sense of desperation flooded Zoe, eclipsing the nausea. ‘I didn’t sell the photos, Maks, I swear. I have no idea how the papers got them.’

Maks put his glass down and perched on one corner of his desk, for all the world as if this was a civil conversation and as if she hadn’t just spoken. ‘I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, you have form. The first time we met you were taking my picture and trespassing.’

Zoe’s cheeks