The Innocent Behind the Scandal (The Marchetti Dynasty 2)

A companionable silence fell in the sleek car as it easily ate up the distance between the fashionable centre of London and the far less salubrious area where she lived. Zoe hated to admit how comfortable she felt. She wasn’t used to comfortable silences with men. Although admittedly she didn’t have much experience...

‘It’s the next right and then immediately left,’ Zoe said quickly, realising they were practically at her door. ‘This is fine.’

Maks pulled to a smooth stop in a space between two cars. ‘You live here?’

Zoe bristled slightly, imagining how the tall, scruffy house must look to him. ‘Yes. My flat is on the top floor.’ Her tiny, one-bedroom flat.

Maks undid his belt and opened his door, getting out. Zoe had to scramble to catch up. He was already at the bottom of her steps.

He put out a hand. ‘Your keys?’

Zoe looked at him. ‘I can let myself in. This is fine—you can go now.’

He shook his head. ‘I’m not leaving until I know you’re safe.’

She let out an exasperated sound. ‘This area is probably safer than where we just were! It’s a tight-knit community.’

‘Zoe.’

She shivered at the way he said her name, with a slight hint of an accent, an emphasis on the ‘Z’, making it sound exotic, and at his insistence on seeing her safe.

His hair glinted under the moonlight and he looked almost otherworldly against the very humdrum backdrop of houses. Yet he wasn’t getting out of there as quickly as he could. Rushing back to his rarefied world.

She dug into her bag and held out her keys, saying a little huffily, ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

He took the keys and went up the steps. She followed him. He opened the front door, which didn’t stick the way it usually did for her. Then, instead of giving her the keys, he said, ‘Lead on.’

Zoe rolled her eyes. ‘You asked for it—there are five flights and no lift.’

But of course who was out of breath when they got to the top? Not Maks, who was showing no signs of strain. Zoe could feel the heat in her cheeks and beads of sweat on her brow, the lack of breath. Except she couldn’t be sure if that was from the exertion or knowing he had been right behind her the whole way up.

She turned around at her door and held out her hand. ‘My keys, please. I’m safe now.’

Maks held on to her keys. ‘How do you know there isn’t an intruder inside?’

Zoe wanted to stamp her foot. ‘I’m sure there isn’t.’

Maks arched his brow. ‘You’re really not even going to offer me some water before I make the long trip back down to the bottom?’

There was a glint of devilry in his eyes that completely dissolved Zoe’s resistance. She grabbed the keys out of his hand. ‘Fine—you can assure yourself that I’m totally safe.’

She turned around and opened the door and pushed it open, turning on the light at the same time. The soft glow illuminated the tiny room, with its sofa covered in a colourful throw and the plants by the window, which was open a crack to let air in. Photos covered every available wall space.

Zoe turned around, expecting to see horror on Maks’s face at such a rustic basic room, but he was stepping over the threshold, his eyes taking it all in, not looking surprised. Looking...interested.

At the last moment Zoe remembered her manners. ‘I don’t have anything alcoholic, but I can offer you some tea or coffee?’

‘Coffee would be great, thank you. Black, no sugar.’

No frills. Like the man.

Zoe went into her tiny galley kitchen, off which was the even smaller bedroom and bathroom. She made the coffee, glancing through the hatch to see what Maks was up to. His hands were in his pockets and he was staring at the photos on the wall.

The fact that he was here, in her private space, should feel...overwhelming. She’d never felt entirely comfortable when Dean had been here, which should have been an alarm she paid heed to. But Maks being here...it didn’t feel intrusive, or uncomfortable. She felt safe.

She brought him his coffee and he took the cup, barely glancing at her. ‘Who is this?’ He pointed to a black and white picture on the wall. It was of a young girl with a huge smile that almost eclipsed the horrific scars on her face.

Zoe held her own mug of coffee in both hands. ‘That’s Fatima. She’s a refugee from Syria. I do some work with the Face Forward charity.’