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.’
Something cracked apart inside her, breaking into a thousand pieces. She’d thought she’d protected herself so well, but she hadn’t protected herself at all.
* * *
It took a few seconds for the red haze to fade enough in Maks’s head for him to realise that Zoe had left. For a stomach-plummeting second he thought he might have actually imagined that she’d come here, that she’d stood in front of him protesting her innocence. Hair down. Those scars visible against her pale skin. Her eyes as big as he remembered. Her mouth as lush. As tempting.
No.
He unlocked his arms from his chest and unclenched his jaw. She had been here. He could smell her scent in the air and had to resist the urge to breathe it deep.
He picked up his glass and drained it in one gulp. He didn’t even wince as it flamed down his throat. He barely felt it. His fingers gripped the heavy crystal so tightly he had to relax them for fear of cracking it.
His skin still crawled when he thought of the look on his executive assistant’s face that morning when he’d arrived at the Marchetti offices shortly after dawn—and the fact that he hadn’t been sleeping well for the past few weeks was not something he wanted to associate with the women who had just left.
His assistant hadn’t been able to meet his eyes as he’d cleared his throat and said, ‘Have you seen the papers yet, sir?’
Maks, feeling irritable, had replied, ‘No. Why?’
‘There’s something you should see.’
His assistant had laid out a sheaf of the main tabloids on his desk and it had taken Maks a moment even to understand what he was looking at. Himself. Naked.
His first reaction hadn’t even been anger. Or shock. It had been to remember that morning, with the sun coming up on the Grand Canal in Venice, the breeze cooling his overheated body. The sense of contentment and sensual satisfaction that had oozed through him. Along with that delicious pique of anticipation.
The picture in the papers had captured that moment when he’d looked around and caught Zoe with her camera raised to her face. He’d smiled. Not minding in that first instance that she was taking his picture. And then reality had hit like a bucket of cold water. He’d realised just how lax he’d been. How blinded by lust. To let someone get that close! Close enough to steal his very soul.
The thing that burned and roiled in Maks’s gut most was that a lifetime of cynicism had let him down. He never would have suspected Zoe of having the kind of wherewithal to do something like this, and yet up until he’d met her he would have assumed anyone was capable of anything. No matter how innocent they looked or acted.
He thought of all the little moments when he’d doubted she could really be that gauche, that innocent. Naive. No, not naive. Unjaded.
For all he knew she could have faked her virginity—she’d told him beforehand, so of course that would have made him less likely to question if she really was or not. He knew what good actors women were; he’d seen his mother lie over and over again about her numerous affairs until she hadn’t cared any more and had freely admitted to them, to taunt his father.
That was when he’d hit her.
They’d divorced soon after that.
But maybe even worse than all that was the fact that when he’d woken today, after weeks of sleepless nights and sexual frustration eating him up inside, he’d been seriously tempted to get in touch with Zoe again.
And say what? He hadn’t even been sure, but he’d just wanted her. Badly.
He could blame her for making a fool out of him all he wanted, but in the end he was the fool.
Two months later
Nikos clapped Maks on the back as they walked into the exclusive Marchetti Group hotel bar in Paris. ‘I should have posed naked years ago. I always wanted to be named Sexiest Man of the Year—and, let’s face it, I’m way sexier than you.’
Maks gritted his jaw, which seemed to be in a permanent state of grit now. ‘I didn’t pose.’
Nikos ignored him. ‘You could have gone into modelling, Maks. Wasted opportunity.’