by Abby Green
Their experiences had fostered an unspoken agreement between them never to repeat the mistakes of their parents.
What he felt here, now, with Zoe, was some kind of lust-induced craziness. He knew better than this. He knew not to send mixed messages. And that was exactly what he was doing. Telling her one thing but behaving in the completely opposite way. When he thought of the previous day, wandering around Venice, hand in hand, taking a gondola—which no self-respecting Italian would ever do—he cringed.
Maks and his sister had been the flotsam and jetsam in the wreckage of their parents’ toxic marriage, and while Sasha had no interest in the Marchetti Group, Maks did. He’d made it his priority to ensure that he helped to build a legacy that would prove to be far more stable and durable and lasting than any marriage.
That was what mattered. Not the illusion of something that didn’t exist.
He knew this was an unprecedented situation. He’d never wanted a woman for longer than a couple of dates. So it would be hard to do what he had to. But he would do it because he couldn’t offer Zoe anything more.
* * *
Zoe sat on the bed for a long moment after Maks disappeared into the bathroom. She didn’t have to be a genius to figure out that something seismic had just happened.
She shouldn’t have taken those pictures.
But when she’d woken and seen him standing by the gently fluttering drapes she’d wondered if she was dreaming. Not awake at all. He’d looked like a living sculpture of a Greek god. Every line of his body perfectly proportioned and muscled in the light of dawn, bathing him in a kind of golden celestial glow.
Zoe had had only one impulse—to capture his beauty. She’d barely been aware of reaching for her camera and lifting it to her face. Much like the first time she’d taken his photo.
Realising that she was sitting in some kind of a stupor, waiting for him to emerge, she scrambled out of bed and took some clothes with her, washing and changing in the suite’s other bathroom.
When she was drying herself afterwards she was aware of a tension she hadn’t felt in days. She’d become so engrossed in Maks’s world. In his masterful seduction. To the point where she’d almost forgotten that a far grittier world existed for her outside of all this...fantasy.
She’d almost forgotten that this wasn’t normal. When she’d woken at first, before she’d opened her eyes and seen Maks in all his naked glory, she’d been feeling such a sense of contentment. And peace and safety.
A brief fantastical illusion.
Hard to forget, though, when the after-effects of Maks’s body moving over hers, in hers, still lingered.
A cold finger traced down her spine. She hadn’t felt that sense of happiness or safety in a long time—not since before her world had been torn apart and she’d lost everything she’d loved and known.
She heard Maks’s voice in the suite, low. Her pulse throbbed in reaction even as she realised that this was her wake-up call. She’d allowed no one close enough to hurt her—not even Dean, who she’d known and believed she trusted.
She threw on some clothes, a knot in her belly at the thought of facing Maks. But for a moment, before she walked into the main room of the suite, she was gripped by a fantasy.
Maybe she was being paranoid. Skittish. Maybe Maks wasn’t really that annoyed about the photos and maybe he was even now making arrangements to reschedule his work so they could spend another day together... And maybe she was safe. Maybe he hadn’t got so close that he would burn her alive.
But when she entered the main room and saw Maks pacing back and forth, his cell phone clamped to his ear, dressed in a three-piece suit, she knew something had broken.
He was remote, barely glancing at her. Speaking Italian. He gestured to where breakfast was laid out on the table. Fresh coffee, pastries, fruit, cereal. But Zoe wasn’t hungry.
Newspapers. Something caught her eye in one paper and she picked it up, her blood running cold. There was a picture of her and Maks at the ballet in St Petersburg. And another of them at the fashion event. And one from yesterday, here in Venice. She was holding his hand and looking up at him, smiling. No, laughing.
Zoe sank down into a chair. She felt sick to see herself plastered across the newspapers. But she’d been incredibly naive not to expect this. She recalled seeing those pictures of Maks’s brother’s new wife—Maggie?—in the papers. She’d had a similar deer-in-the-headlights look.
Maks terminated his conversation. Zoe looked at him. He had a stern expression on his face. One she hadn’t seen for some time.
She put down the paper. ‘Is everything okay?’
Maks put his phone in his pocket. ‘Not exactly, no.’
Zoe stood up again, trepidation prickling over her skin. ‘What is it? Did something happen?’
Maks ran a hand through his hair, making it messy. Which only made him look sexier.
He gestured to the papers. ‘I should have warned you what might happen.’
Zoe looked down again. ‘It’s a bit of a shock to see myself in a national newspaper...but it’s not the end of the world, is it?’
‘Of course it’s not. But it won’t happen again.’
Zoe looked at Maks. He stood only a few feet away, but he couldn’t have been more remote. The little fantasy she’d entertained that he might be rearranging his day so they could spend time together mocked her now.
‘What do you mean?’
Maks’s grey gaze looked silver in the light. Impenetrable.
‘What I mean is that this ends here and now, Zoe. It’s not fair to string it out...generating more pictures and headlines...for what? The sake of another few days? Weeks? I have to go to New York today for a meeting with my brother Sharif,’ he continued. ‘I can arrange for you to get back to London, or wherever you want to go.’
Something like desperation filled Zoe’s gut. ‘Maks, I’m sorry I took those photos. I can delete them—’
He waved a hand. ‘This isn’t about that. It’s just...time for this to end. Like I said, I’ll make sure you’re taken wherever you want to go.’
Zoe felt cold. ‘I can make my own way back.’
Maks said, ‘You should call Pierre Gardin, the photographer from the shoot in St Petersburg. He doesn’t encourage people to get in touch unless he rates them. He liked you. I know he’s not a particularly pleasant person, but this is an opportunity for you to get into the business.’
Zoe was too stunned to respond straight away.
Maks looked at his watch. ‘I have to go. My plane leaves within the hour. I’ll leave instructions for the hotel to arrange your onward transport. Please let them take care of you, Zoe.’
He came closer, and for a second Zoe thought she saw a flash of something in his eyes, but she told herself she was imagining things. He reached out and ran a knuckle across her jaw. Her traitorous body sizzled with awareness.
‘I had fun, Zoe. More fun than I’ve had in a long time—I won’t deny it. But this was never going to go any further. I lost perspective for a short time. But better that it ends here. Now.’
Zoe’s brain wouldn’t work. She felt pain—incredible pain—deep inside. The kind of pain she’d only ever felt once before. The kind of pain she’d vowed never to feel again. Yet here she was. Being eviscerated.
Her instinct was to get away as fast as possible. Curl up into a ball and push the pain back down.
He got too close. He’s doing you a favour.
Somehow she managed to formulate words, to sound normal. ‘I think you’re right. Better for both of us to put this behind us and move on.’
Maks smiled, but it was a kind of smile she’d never seen before. Tight.
‘Goodbye, Zoe.’
He walked to the door, picked up a small bag and didn’t look back.
Zoe wasn’t sure how long she stood there, breathless
from the speed at which Maks had ruthlessly cut her out of his life.
She walked over to the balcony and marvelled at how, within twenty-four hours, this view that had felt so full of promise and wonder now felt tawdry and mocking.
She turned back into the suite. Empty. No trace left of the man who had dominated it so easily.
No, his trace was left inside her. A wound that would be added to her other wounds and which would, in time, become a scar. But not visible, like the scars on her face. Invisible.
Anger rose inside her. Anger at herself. For stepping into the blazing centre of a fire that she had known would consume her.
She’d already learnt a lesson at the hands of Dean Simpson—a lesson in not letting herself be weak. How could she have let it happen again? So soon? So fatally?
Because Maks didn’t make you feel weak, said an inner voice.
He’d made her feel strong. Empowered. And yet even now she could hear Maks’s voice in her head, denying that he’d given her those things, those feelings. They’d been within her—all he’d done was encourage her to find them.
And he’d not held back from telling her what his life had been like. Why he had no interest in a relationship or anything more permanent. He’d been scarred too. Except, unlike Zoe, he’d not let himself get lost in a fantasy. He’d not let his innate weakness rise up to drown him. Again.
CHAPTER NINE
‘ARE YOU TAKING Nikos’s place in the tabloids now that he’s an apparently happily settled married man?’
Sharif’s tone was mocking. Maks curbed his urge to scowl at his older brother.
Downtown Manhattan was laid out all around them, visible through the huge windows, people were like industrious ants on the sidewalks. But it was wasted on Maks.
‘I hardly think a couple of photos in a few tabloids is up to Nikos’s standards. Or yours, I might add. You’re racking up quite the tally of kiss-and-tells. Not the best judge of women who can be discreet, hmm?’
Now Sharif did scowl. Not that it marred the handsomeness of his dark good looks. ‘Who is she, anyway?’
Maks bristled at his question. ‘You don’t need to worry about who she is. It’s over.’
Sharif cocked an eyebrow. ‘Pity. The board are still skittish, in spite of Nikos’s reformation. If you were to settle down too...?’
Maks waited for the inevitable sense of rejection that usually accompanied any suggestion or notion of permanence, but all he felt was hollow. Irritation made him say, ‘There’s as much likelihood of that happening as of you getting married.’
To his surprise, Sharif didn’t immediately rebut that statement. When Maks looked at him, his brother’s expression was one he couldn’t read. Almost...resigned.
Maks frowned. ‘Sharif?’
The expression passed as if Maks had imagined it. And a familiar mocking arrogance animated his brother’s face again as he said, ‘That’s enough gossiping, let’s get on with it.’
‘By all means,’ Maks responded, more than happy to focus on work.
* * *
A few hours later, in his hotel suite in Manhattan, Maks nursed a whisky as he looked out over the glittering lights of the city that never slept. He felt as if he might never sleep again. Restless under his skin. Hungry in his blood. For her.
He still wanted Zoe.
He’d never wanted a woman for longer than a brief period.
A 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 grew hot. ‘This isn’t the same.’
&
nbsp; ‘No, it’s not. It’s worse.’
His voice was like the crack of a whip. Zoe’s insides were clenched so tight she almost had a cramp.
‘I know how much you hate your privacy being invaded. You know me...you know I would never do something like this.’
Maks just looked at her, no expression on his face. Those silver eyes cold as mercury.
‘I thought I did. I thought you were an open book. I thought you were different. But you weren’t at all. I knew you weren’t happy when I broke things off,’ he continued. ‘But I had no idea you’d stoop so low to get back at me. Or that you were so mercenary. You had me fooled with your apparent lack of interest in anything material. Your humble but cosy flat.’
Zoe flinched inwardly. How could he think that had all been an act? But her conscience pricked hard. In a way he was right. It wasn’t the whole truth of her existence. But Maks would never want to hear about that. Not now.
All she could say was, ‘I didn’t do this.’
Maks stood up straight, folded his arms. ‘Stop with the lies, Zoe. They make fools of both of us. We know the money went into an account in a bank right beside where you live.’
Zoe stared at Maks, absorbing his words. Shock, dismay and confusion made her head throb. Who could have done this to her? To him?
Maks’s arms were locked so tight across his chest that Zoe could see his biceps bulging under the thin material of his shirt. The blood quickened in her veins. Even now, in the midst of all of this, when he was looking at her as if he wanted to—
His lip curled. ‘Take the grubby money that you got from the papers and get out. You won’t get anything more from me, so if that’s why you came it’s a wasted journey.’
‘Maks, I swear. I didn’t—’ But she stopped talking. Maks was a cold, remote statue. Not interested. Convinced of her guilt.
She felt incredible hurt that he could be so quick to misjudge her.
‘Get out,’ he said. ‘I never want to see you again.’
