‘You’re a nervous passenger?’
She flicked him a quick glance. ‘Something like that.’
‘You don’t drive?’
She shook her head. ‘No. Living in London, I don’t really need to anyway.’
That was the platitude trotted out by most people who hadn’t learned to drive and who lived in London, but Maks sensed there was something more to it.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’m an excellent driver.’
She flicked him another glance. When she saw his face she smiled and let out a small chuckle. ‘I guess that shouldn’t surprise me.’
Maks smiled back. He felt ridiculously buoyed up, to have defused her tension.
After a few minutes he pulled to a smooth stop outside an anonymous-looking townhouse. He unclipped his seatbelt as a valet came around to his door. ‘This is a private club. I hope that’s okay?’
* * *
Zoe did her best to sound nonchalant. ‘Sure.’
Someone opened her door and she got out, her legs feeling slightly wobbly as they inevitably did after a car journey—even a short one. Maks hadn’t lied, though. She’d felt cocooned in his car, and he’d driven with total confidence and competence.
For someone who was as hyper-alert as she was in cars, she’d almost let go of her alertness for a moment. A disconcerting sensation to admit to.
Maks joined her where she stood on the pavement. He indicated a set of steps that led up to a huge oak door. There were no markings on the building and Zoe sensed the exclusivity.
She moved forward and went up the steps, very aware of the man just behind her. As she got closer to the door she wondered why this moment should feel so momentous. She really didn’t want it to. She didn’t want to attribute anything special to this...date. She was sure it would be a one-off. And she told herself it wasn’t as if she was in the market for anything more—not with her woeful track record...
The door opened and a sleek uniformed woman stood back to let them enter. ‘Miss Collins and Mr Marchetti, you’re very welcome. Shall I take your coats?’
Surprise that the hostess knew her name had Zoe hesitating on the threshold for a second. Then Maks’s hand touched her back. It was barely noticeable through two layers of clothes, yet it burned like a brand.
As Zoe followed Maks’s barely discernible prompt to move forward into the hushed space, she knew with a sense of doom that she was in trouble. Because this felt momentous, and there was nothing she could do to quash it.
* * *
‘What do you think?’
Maks looked at Zoe’s rapt face as she took in the surroundings of the private club. She was looking up at a massive chandelier lit with hundreds of fake candles that flickered with a surprisingly realistic effect. He wanted to tuck her hair behind her ear so he could see her better. And then he wondered what the hell he was thinking. He never usually indulged in moments of PDA, even minute ones. They tended to be misconstrued.
Zoe said, ‘It’s...very decadent. It reminds me of a boudoir.’ She glanced at him quickly. ‘Not that I’ve ever been in a boudoir.’
Pink tinged her cheeks. He wondered if she kept her hair down to hide her scars.
He looked around and made a face. ‘It’s a bit over the top, and about five years out of date. We’re redecorating soon.’
She looked at him. ‘You own this place?’
‘It’s part of our portfolio,’ he said carelessly.
‘Is there anywhere you don’t own?’
He looked at her. ‘Plenty...but we’re working on it.’
‘Total world domination?’
He smiled minutely. ‘Something like that.’