The Innocent Behind the Scandal (The Marchetti Dynasty 2)

Zoe had to restrain an impulse to study his face and imprint it on her brain for ever. And somehow she knew she didn’t need to do that. He would be hard to forget.

After Hamish had dropped her at her flat, Zoe sat on her bed feeling deflated. Hollow. She opened up her laptop and did what she’d been reluctant to do before, because that would have meant she was interested.

She searched online for Maks Marchetti.

As she might have expected, compared to his two brothers, not much came up for Maks at all. There was a handful of pictures of him with women, all stunningly beautiful and accomplished. Which made his interest in Zoe even more unlikely.

There were no salacious kiss-and-tell stories—unlike a recent one involving his older brother Sharif. Nor were there screaming headlines as there were about his other brother settling down, speculating about how long it would last.

Zoe saw some pictures of Nikos with his new wife. She was a tall redhead, and Zoe realised that she looked familiar. She was the woman Maks had been talking to at the fashion event where she’d met him again.

She shuddered to think of being in the public eye like that and felt sympathy for Nikos’s wife, who didn’t look completely comfortable in the photos.

There were some older pictures of his parents—his father was tall and dark, very masculine. His mother was tall, almost taller than his father, and very, very beautiful. Blonde with grey eyes. Maks’s grey eyes.

Zoe winced when she saw the hundreds of images of Maks and Sasha when they were younger. Coming out of a palatial villa in Rome. Going to school with security guards. Skiing. On beaches. Nowhere had been safe from the paparazzi, it would seem.

One picture caught Zoe’s eye. Maks was in swimming trunks, on a beach. He looked about sixteen, tall and rangy, his body only hinting at the adult power and strength to come. He had his hand out towards whoever was taking the picture, his face twisted in anger.

Zoe saw there was a girl behind him, looking fearful, embarrassed, in a one-piece swimsuit, all gangly limbs and braces on her teeth. She looked hunted. Sasha.

No wonder he hated the paparazzi so much.

But, compared to his brothers and his parents, Maks had since become a veritable recluse. Evidently he and his sister did all they could to avoid the limelight now, and who could blame them if they’d been hounded like that?

Zoe pushed the laptop away and lay back on her bed. She’d effectively turned Maks off tonight, even if he had been enough of a gentleman to say otherwise.

She told herself she was relieved. Maks was a force of nature. A man who would demand nothing less than everything she had to give. Yet she couldn’t ignore the ache at the thought of never seeing him again.

Zoe realised now that she’d never been entirely honest with herself where her ex-boyfriend was concerned. She’d convinced herself that she’d desired him, but it hadn’t been desire. Because now she knew how that felt.

It had been loneliness. Pure and simple. A weak need for intimacy. Weak, because she’d always vowed not to let anyone close enough to become important to her.

She’d only let Dean close because she’d known subconsciously that he couldn’t affect her. But Maks did affect her. So it was a good thing that it was over before it had started.

A wave of heat went through her body just from thinking about how it had felt to be in his arms. His mouth on her flesh. And it hadn’t just been the physical response he’d unleashed—it had been the other, more tender responses. Emotional responses. The instinctive need to open up. Trust him.

Zoe got under the covers of her bed and pulled a pillow over her head. As if that could help her ignore the sense of loss. She told herself over and over again that it was a good thing Maks wasn’t interested in pursuing this—her—further, until she finally fell asleep.

When she woke, bleary-eyed, the next morning, to the persistent silent buzzing of her phone she had to shake her head to make sure she wasn’t still dreaming. Numerous missed calls from Maks and three texts.

I’m outside, let me in.

Zoe? Are you there?

Zoe, if you don’t let me in in the next ten minutes I’m calling the police.

Zoe scrambled to call him back. ‘I’m here... I’m here.’

‘I have coffee and cakes.’

‘What are you doing here? I thought...’ She trailed off.

‘Can we discuss this over coffee? And by the way it’s raining. I’m getting wet out here.’

Zoe looked out of the window. The rain was lashing. She put down the phone and got up, and pressed the buzzer to release the door downstairs. She heard it open and close. Footsteps. And then Maks appeared outside her door. Huge. Broad. And very wet. Drops of water clung to his hair and his short jacket. He was holding cups of takeaway coffee and a bag of what looked like pastries.

His scent hit her nostrils. Musky and masculine. Expensive. She really wasn’t dreaming. He was here. Twelve hours after she’d thought he’d said good riddance.