by Abby Green
There was a knock on her door and her heart thumped. She picked up the clutch bag from a nearby table and opened the door.
Maks was wearing a white tuxedo jacket and shirt with a black bow tie. The snowy white made his skin look darker. Zoe’s mouth dried. That dark grey gaze swept up and down, resting on her chest before moving up. His eyes were wide, his expression arrested.
Immediately Zoe’s fledgling sense of confidence threatened to crumble. ‘What is it? It’s not appropriate, is it? It shows too much...’
Maks let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan. ‘You could say that.’
Then he must have seen something on Zoe’s face. He put out a hand. ‘No, it’s fine. You’ll probably be more covered up than most people there. It’s just...you’re more than beautiful, Zoe. You’re breathtaking.’
‘Oh...’ She felt her confidence slowly return, along with shyness. She touched her hair self-consciously. ‘They put it up...’
Maks reached out and touched her jaw with a featherlight touch. ‘I told you...you don’t have to hide.’
This was too huge for Zoe to analyse right at that moment—that a man like Maks Marchetti should be the one who was seeing all the way into her and not turning away in disgust or disdain.
She picked up the short blazer-style jacket to accompany the dress and said, ‘I’m ready.’
* * *
As the elevator descended to ground level, Maks thought to himself that he was glad one of them was ready, because as soon as she’d opened her door and he’d seen that dress he’d wanted to walk her right back into the room, strip it off her body and bury himself inside her until the rush of blood in his brain cooled down enough for him to think straight again.
* * *
A short while later Zoe flinched minutely under the barrage of flashbulbs and shouts directed at her and Maks. Before, at the ballet, he’d ignored them and gone straight into the venue, but here he was stopping for a minute to let them get pictures.
She could feel his tension. He resented it. She thought of what he’d experienced at the hands of the media when he’d been younger. They’d fed off his and his sister’s pain. No wonder he despised them and their invasion of his privacy.
When they were inside the building—an old disused warehouse on the outskirts of the city—Zoe looked up at Maks. His jaw was tight.
‘Maks... Maks.’
He looked at her. Blankly for a second. As if he’d forgotten she was there. It made a shiver go down Zoe’s back.
‘You can let go of my hand.’
Something flared back to life in Maks’s eyes and immediately he released her hand. ‘Sorry.’
She shook her head. ‘Why did you stop for the photographers just now?’
Maks looked at her. ‘Because, as much as I loathe them, they also help promote our business. Suffice to say they’ll never get anything more from me than a few seconds.’ His mouth quirked. ‘If Nikos was here and not a newly married father he’d probably still be outside, preening for them.’
‘What about Sharif?’ Zoe was glad to see him relax, even as she didn’t welcome how much it meant to her.
‘Sharif has a similar attitude to the paps as me. When our father kidnapped him—’
Zoe gasped. ‘Kidnapped him?’
Maks nodded. ‘His mother took him back to her Arabian home when she realised our father had only married her for her dowry. Sharif lived there with her for nine years, until our father went after him because he was coming of age. As the mysterious eldest son of Domenico Marchetti, half-Arab, half-Italian, Sharif was subjected to an intense scrutiny that has never let up.’
Zoe absorbed that. But before she could ask Maks any more, they were approached by a waiter carrying glasses of champagne.
Maks took two and handed her one. ‘Na zdorovie.’
Zoe tried to wrap her tongue around that. ‘Nostrovia...?’
Maks smiled. ‘Good enough.’
He clinked his glass on hers and they each took a sip. Zoe felt warm under his gaze, and it was an effort to break eye contact and look around.
It was a huge old warehouse—very industrial chic. Catwalks were set up all through the room, with models walking up and down. People in elegant finery milled around, looking at the models, consulting brochures. Zoe spotted her dress designer in the distance, standing near a catwalk and presumably showcasing her designs. Zoe recognised the whimsical romantic nature of her dresses.
A couple of people approached Maks, and that started a constant stream of people over the next couple of hours. Zoe was happy to hang back, but he always drew her forward, introducing her even though his conversations were invariably in Russian or another European language so she couldn’t really participate.
Hanging out with Maks made her feel very conscious of the fact that she hadn’t gone to university. But you could have, pointed out a small inner voice. Zoe knew it was irrational, and probably very stupid, but she’d always felt that if Ben, her brother, hadn’t had a chance to go to university and fulfil his potential, then what right had she?
‘Okay?’
Jolted out of her momentary introspection, Zoe looked up at Maks. He was alone, his legion of fans and sycophants having melted away. She nodded, and pasted a bright smile on her face. ‘Fine.’
He took her hand. ‘Liar. One day you’ll tell me what you’re thinking of when you disappear like that.’
The fact that he’d noticed made her feel alternately warm inside and fearful. Maks saw everything. And she did have secrets. Secrets that she worked hard at ignoring.
Zoe said brightly, ‘I hate to disappoint, but I wasn’t thinking of much at all.’
Maks made a sound to indicate how much he believed that, and said, ‘Ready to go?’
‘Can we?’
Maks smiled. ‘I’m an expert at showing my face, talking to the right people and then leaving.’ His gaze swept her up and down. He suddenly looked hungry. ‘Anyway, I’ve been fantasising about snapping those far too flimsy straps so that you’re naked and on my bed in the shortest time possible.’
Heat curled inside Zoe’s lower body, flames licking at her core. Breathlessly she said, ‘You’ll do no such thing. I promised Oksana I’d take care of her dress.’
Maks arched a brow. ‘Oksana?’
‘One of the designers you’re showcasing and supporting?’
Maks rolled his eyes. ‘Fine—I won’t damage the dress.’
Zoe felt like giggling. She wasn’t used to feeling this...light. Bubbly. Emotion gripped her and she pushed it back down. It had no place here. This was just physical. Not emotional.
Maks tugged her towards the entrance. ‘Come on—it’s our last night in St Petersburg. I want to take you to my favourite late-night café.’
Zoe let Maks bundle her into the back of his chauffeur-driven car and they were whisked across the sparkling city. Soon they pulled up outside a tall, ornate building. Huge oak doors were opened by a man in a dark suit wearing an earpiece. He nodded at Maks, clearly recognising him.
Inside it was dark and mysterious. Zoe saw alcoves with velvet banquette seats. Candles flickered over faces, half-hidden. Low music played. A sleek blonde woman met them and showed them to one of the booths.
Zoe had never felt more transported in her life. They could have stepped back in time to the playground of the decadent Tsars. And that feeling was only compounded when a selection of food was brought to the table. Small baked puff pastries filled with cheese. Blinis rolled and filled with caviar. And desserts: layered honey cake and balls of dark chocolate. All washed down with sweet sparkling wine.
Zoe was drunk on the wine, the food, but most of all on Maks. He sat beside her, feeding her morsels, not satisfied until she’d tasted a little piece of everything. One arm was stretched out behind her and his fingers grazed the back of her bare n
eck. Making her skin tight and hot. Making her breasts ache and her nipples tighten with need.
He lifted a tiny piece of toast with caviar. Zoe shook her head, laughing. ‘I can’t. I’ll burst.’
‘Fine. I’ll have it.’
Maks popped it into his mouth, smiling as he ate. The lightness Zoe had felt earlier still infused her. It was heady. Maks had undone his bow tie and it hung open rakishly, the top button of his shirt was undone too, revealing the bronzed column of his throat.
Zoe saw his gaze drop and rest on her chest. She looked down to see the dress was gaping slightly, showing the curve of her bare breast. The blood pulsed between her legs, hot and heavy. She looked back up and saw Maks was reaching for her, cupping her jaw and angling her head to take her mouth in a kiss that sent her hurtling over the edge of all restraint.
She strained towards him, her arms around his neck. His hand slid into the front of her dress and closed around one breast, squeezing her flesh, trapping a nipple between his fingers. Zoe gasped into his mouth.
He said roughly, ‘I want to taste you, right now.’
She drew back, shocked at how desperate she felt. ‘Okay.’
Maks smiled and took his hand off her breast. He somehow communicated to the discreet staff that they were leaving, and when he’d paid the bill he led her out on shaky legs to the car.
The journey back to the hotel was a blur. Zoe didn’t feel drunk any more. Everything was crystal-sharp.
As soon as they got into Maks’s suite he pulled off his jacket and shirt, reached for his trousers. Zoe kicked off the sandals she was wearing. Maks’s hands were now on his briefs, pulling them down, releasing his arousal.
Zoe’s mouth watered. Feeling bold, she dropped to her knees in front of Maks, the dress billowing out around her on the ground, a cloud of silk and tulle. But she was oblivious to that.
‘Zoe...what are you—’
Maks groaned as Zoe took his erection in her hand and came close. She darted her tongue out, licking the head. Tasting the salty bead of moisture.
‘Zoe, you don’t have to—’
But she didn’t hear what he said because she was taking him into her mouth, running her tongue around the ridge below the head experimentally. She felt Maks’s fingers in her hair and she put her hands on his thighs as she explored the silky heat of his body, marvelling at how powerful she felt when she was the one on her knees.
She could feel the tremor in Maks’s hand, and the way his hips were jerking as if he couldn’t control himself. She took him deeper, relishing his essence, her hands tightening on his thighs as he jerked into her mouth.
Then he was pulling back, out of her mouth, and she looked up. Maks emitted a curse in Italian, or Russian—she wasn’t sure which—and then he was hauling her up, reaching under her dress to pull her underwear down.
He lifted her against the door, saying roughly, ‘Put your legs around my waist.’
And then he was thrusting up, right into the heart of her. His big, slick body was embedded in hers so tightly and deeply that she saw stars. Zoe clung to Maks as he effortlessly held her, thrusting deeper and deeper, harder... Until Zoe had nowhere to go except over the edge, crying out as her whole body shattered around Maks’s.
She was barely aware of him pulling free and the hot splash of his release against her belly, under the dress.
Maks lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom, stripping off the dress and then taking her by the hand into the shower, where she would have sunk to the floor in a state of sated bliss if he hadn’t held her up as he lathered soap all over her body and shampooed her hair.
Afterwards he dried her with a huge soft towel. Then he took a robe from the back of the door and wrapped her in it, leading her to the bed, where she lay down, unable to move a muscle.
A few hours later Zoe woke with a start. She sat up, becoming aware of the voluminous robe, and then she remembered that desperate coupling against the door. The taste of Maks’s body on her tongue. In her mouth. Her inner muscles squeezed at the memory.
The bed beside her was empty. She went out of the bedroom, passing a chair with the beautiful dress draped over it carefully. Her face felt hot when she realised she couldn’t even remember Maks taking it off her.
She walked down the corridor, making no sound on the plush carpet, and found Maks standing at the window, looking out at the sleeping city, its lights twinkling in the distance. He was bare-chested, but had pulled on his trousers.
He turned around when he heard her. She walked over, feeling shy, and stood beside him. She sensed tension.
He said, ‘I apologise for earlier... I’m not usually so...uncivilised.’
Zoe turned to face him, surprised. ‘You didn’t hurt me.’
Maks’s mouth firmed. ‘Maybe not, but—’
Zoe reached out, touching his arm. ‘I liked it.’
Very much.
She blushed, and was glad of the low lighting that disguised it.
He looked at her, and then reached for her, pulling her into his side. ‘You did?’
Zoe ducked her head against him, not wanting him to see how much she had liked it. His skin was warm, his muscles hard. She nodded against him, embarrassed by the depth and strength of her own desires.
He tipped up her chin. He still looked serious. ‘You’re small. I was afraid I’d taken you so quickly that you hadn’t had time to be ready, or even to say no...’
Zoe’s heart swelled dangerously. He was so much the opposite of her ex-boyfriend, who had ultimately been prepared to use violence to get what he wanted.
She shook her head. ‘Honestly, you didn’t hurt me. I was...ready.’
And she was ready again. She could feel her body softening, ripening. Just from being near him.
‘You’re sure?’
She came around in front of him and reached up. Putting her arms around his neck. Bringing her body flush with his. ‘Yes. I’m sure. I’m not delicate, Maks.’
She had a sense, then, of her own innate strength. An awareness that was new and revelatory. Maks had given her this, and it was more priceless than any jewel.
He looked at her for a long moment and then he brought his hands to her hips. She could feel his body harden against her and she shifted against him. The serious look faded as his eyes blazed with renewed heat. Zoe still couldn’t believe that she had such an effect on him.
He said, ‘This...between us...isn’t over, Zoe. Not by a long shot. We have to leave here tomorrow, but this isn’t over...’
Zoe blinked. She hadn’t even thought about tomorrow. She’d happily let the cocoon of Maks’s world enclose her in a timeless bubble. But now something flickered inside her. Hope.
‘What are you saying?’
He caught a lock of her hair and wound it around a finger. He said, ‘I have to go to Venice, and if you want my plane can take you on to London. But I’d like you to come to Venice with me for a couple of days.’
Zoe felt a yearning rise up inside her. It would be so easy just to acquiesce. Even though she knew the sensible and smart thing to do would be to end this now. Go back to her regular life. To reality. Which was far removed from this man and his world, where he clicked his fingers and things manifested themselves as if by magic.
But...would it be so wrong to indulge for just a little longer? It wasn’t as if he was lulling her into a false sense of security. She knew he was only offering a finite affair. And she didn’t want anything more either.
Liar, whispered that small voice.
She ignored it. She was getting good at that. At ignoring her conscience. At ignoring that yearning feeling. Yearning for something she’d shut out for years. Love. A family. No. Those things represented loss and pain. She wasn’t going to risk that ever again. This wasn’t about that. Not remotely. So she was safe.
‘Okay. I’ll come with you.’
Maks smiled. ‘Good.’
And then he bent his head and covered her mouth with his, and she leapt straight back into the fire that was so effective at burning away the voice of her conscience.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ZOE HAD SEEN pictures of Venice her whole life. Who hadn’t? But pictures couldn’t have remotely prepared her for that first view down the Grand Canal from the water taxi. For once, she didn’t even feel the urge to look through the lens of her camera. It was just so...beautiful. Timeless. Iconic. Familiar and yet totally new at the same time. Trying to capture it digitally would inevitably do it a disservice.
The crumbling ancient palazzos had romantic balconies, and windows that winked like eyes as they passed by. Zoe couldn’t help but wonder about the people who had lived in those places....who lived there now. It was like a fairy tale place.
‘You’re impressed.’
Zoe heard the smile in Maks’s voice and glanced at him, feeling gauche. ‘Sorry, you’re probably used to a more blasé, sophisticated reaction.’
He reached out and caught her hand, tugging her into him where he stood near the driver at the wheel, behind a pane of glass. ‘What I’m used to is not necessarily good. It’s a privilege to see Venice again through your reaction.’ Maks looked at the buildings over Zoe’s head. ‘I’d forgotten how amazing it is the first time.’
Zoe was glad he was not looking at her as she blushed at his reference to the first time. It had indeed been amazing.
The water taxi veered smoothly towards one of the impressive buildings. It stood on its own, with an area of greenery to the side, a massive balcony on the first floor. The taxi pulled up to a wooden walkway and a man in a uniform rushed towards them, helping first Zoe, then Maks, out of the bobbing boat.
They were led up to the foyer of the hotel and welcomed as if Maks was returning royalty by a fawning manager, who came with them in the rococo-inspired elevator up to the most sumptuous, luxurious suite of rooms Zoe had ever seen.
