Zoe's Lesson. Кейт Хьюит

and he turned so their faces were close, so he could look directly at her, or as directly as he could, in the periphery of his vision. And for a moment, despite the floaters and spots and blurs, he felt he saw perfectly. Her eyes were vivid green, her mouth a perfect pink curve. She was smiling.

      ‘Yes,’ she said softly, ‘I think I am.’

      Resolve fired through him. ‘Good,’ he said, placing his empty glass on a tray. ‘Then why don’t we both get out of here?’

      Zoe watched as Max started stiffly from his corner; he walked with careful, deliberate steps that made her wonder if he’d hurt himself in whatever ‘something’ had caused that scar. He was clearly expecting her to follow him, and after a second’s hesitation she did.

      She didn’t usually leave parties with perfect strangers. Despite her party-girl reputation, she wasn’t quite the wild child her older sister Bella was. She didn’t do one-night stands. She preferred to dance and laugh and flirt—and then go home alone.

      Yet hadn’t the rules changed? Hadn’t she changed? She wasn’t Zoe Balfour any more. She could do whatever she wanted. And she’d sensed in Max Monroe something she felt in herself, a darkness, a despair. Like called to like, she supposed, and she wanted to follow him.

      She wanted to be with him.

      Of course, there was no denying he was an attractive man. Her belly clenched, a coil of desire unfurling and spreading out through her limbs with sleepy warmth as she stared at his broad back and trim hips, his long, powerful legs still taking their careful strides as he weaved his way through the party’s crowd, and Zoe followed. She wasn’t, she realised belatedly as they made it to the foyer, even conscious of the stares.

      She handed her ticket to the woman at the coat check and took her filmy wrap. Max, she saw, had uttered a few terse instructions into his mobile. He slid it back into his jacket pocket and turned to her.

      ‘My car will be here in a moment.’

      ‘Brilliant,’ Zoe answered, for lack of anything else to say. She was realising how little she knew this man, how tense and even angry he seemed.

      Was this—could this possibly be—a good idea?

      ‘You don’t have to come,’ he said abruptly. Zoe started in surprise. ‘You seem nervous.’

      She gave a little shrug. ‘No matter what you may think, this isn’t my usual behaviour.’

      ‘Oh?’ He arched one eyebrow, his expression one of slightly smug curiosity. He had her all figured out, Zoe supposed. Or thought he did. Well, she’d thought she had herself figured out too. She was only now realising she didn’t. ‘So what is your normal behaviour?’ He paused. ‘Who are you?’

      The question startled her, for it was the question she had not been wanting to ask herself for these past three weeks. She stared at him in astonished silence until he clarified impatiently, ‘I just want your name.’

      ‘Zoe.’

      He arched his eyebrow a little higher. ‘Just Zoe?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘Just Zoe.’

      A limo pulled sleekly to the curb outside the gallery, and with one arm Max ushered her outside.

      The air was balmy, the darkness soft around them. Zoe glanced around, realising she was on a tiny side street in Soho with no idea where or how to find a cab if she even wanted one. The street was empty, the sidewalks deserted, and somewhere in the distance a car alarm set to a mournful wailing.

      A man in a chauffeur’s uniform jumped out of the driver’s seat and opened the limo’s door, gesturing for Zoe to enter.

      ‘Having second thoughts?’ Max murmured in her ear. His breath, cool and scented with mint and champagne, tickled her cheek.

      ‘More like third thoughts,’ Zoe quipped, and a tiny smile flickered across Max’s face, easing the tension and lightening his features.

      ‘You’re a beautiful woman, Zoe,’ he said. His face was half averted to her, yet still he slowly, carefully reached out to brush a tendril of hair away from her bare shoulder, his cool fingers barely skimming her skin. She quivered under the tiny caress. ‘I’m sure any man in there would want to be in my position right now.’

      ‘Most assuredly,’ she agreed lightly. Her heart had started to hammer and she felt suddenly, unreasonably, dizzy with longing. No single touch had ever affected her so much. Made her want so much.

      Made her forget…if only for a moment, for a night.

      He reached out again, this time letting his fingers caress her collarbone, barely brushing her skin, yet still making her quiver and ache deep inside with an unexpected and fierce longing. ‘It’s up to you, of course.’

      Slowly Zoe nodded. When Max Monroe touched her, every thought—every memory, every fear—went clean out of her head. That was what she wanted.

      Not just passion, but oblivion.

      Slowly, silently, she climbed into the car.

      Max climbed in after her, and the chauffeur closed the door. Within seconds they were speeding through the night, the darkness relieved only by the passing lights of an occasional taxi.

      Zoe sat back against the plush leather seat, surveying the well-stocked minibar and contemplated downing most of its contents. Had she really just climbed into a car with a total stranger? An angry, bitter, sardonic stranger at that? Well, she thought, swallowing a bubble of nervous laughter, at least it was a limo.

      ‘Nice ride,’ she said, and forced herself to relax—or at least seem relaxed—stretching her arms along the back of the seat, letting her head fall back as if she were utterly comfortable, completely in her element. ‘So where are we going?’

      Although Max sat next to her, he suddenly seemed oceans away, his face averted from hers as he stared out the window at the darkness.

      ‘My apartment is in Tribeca. Unless you’d rather go somewhere else?’ He turned to her, his smile—although it didn’t quite feel like a smile—gleaming in the darkness.

      ‘And miss seeing your place? I’m sure it’s something fabulous.’ She gave him a breezy smile and shook her hair back over her shoulders.

      ‘And I’m sure you’re quite used to fabulous,’ he murmured, and she laughed, the sound husky.

      ‘Absolutely.’

      They didn’t speak again, lapsing into a silence that was tense with unspoken thoughts. Expectations.

      Zoe smoothed her silky black trousers, nervously pleating the fabric between her fingers before she forced herself to stop, and affected an air of unconcerned insouciance once more.

      The limo came to a stop, and Zoe slipped out after Max. They were on a patch of old cobbled pavement—murder for her heels—in front of what looked like an abandoned warehouse near the waterfront. Zoe’s heart lurched against her ribs. Oh, Lord, what had she got herself into? She turned around; the limo had disappeared and there wasn’t a soul in sight…except Max.

      He stood on the uneven cobbles, looking almost frozen, as if he didn’t know where he was going, or was actually afraid to move.

      The look of uncertainty on his face visible in the sickly yellow glare of a street lamp banished Zoe’s own fears and compelled her to ask gently, ‘Max…?’

      ‘This way.’ He spoke brusquely, shaking off that strange, uncertain look, the way a dog shakes off water, before striding across the sidewalk with long, deliberate steps to the warehouse.

      Of course, Zoe saw as they approached the building, it wasn’t an abandoned warehouse at all. Perhaps it once had been, but as they came closer signs of its upscale refurbishment were clearly visible. Instead of what had first looked like broken or blank windows, Zoe saw they were merely tinted. The front doors were