Zoe and the Tormented Tycoon by Kate Hewitt Page A

Zoe’s own cheeks burn with shame and resentment. Had he learned of her own birth? It would have only taken the most rudimentary Internet search to discover who she was; she’d given him the ammunition when she’d told him her full name. Was that why he looked so contemptuous now, because he knew who she was? He knew she didn’t belong here, didn’t deserve—
    Zoe clamped down on these thoughts and gazed levelly at Max. ‘What do you want?’
    â€˜Are we going to be so uncivilised as to stand here in the hall?’
    â€˜You’re hardly one to speak of civility,’ Zoe fired back.
    Max inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘I’m sorry.’
    Surprised, it took Zoe a moment to find her tongue. ‘You said that before.’
    â€˜You shocked me. I spoke out of turn.’ The words were spoken flatly, without emotion, yet their meaning made Zoe’s heart turn. Was he having second thoughts? Good ones?
    â€˜Follow me.’ She turned and led the way into the living room, with its thick Aubusson carpet and its sweeping view of Central Park. After the slightest hesitation, Max followed.
    â€˜I’m sorry I look such a fright,’ Zoe said in what she hoped was a flippant tone. ‘If I’d known you were coming, I would have taken a bit more care.’
    Max just shrugged. ‘It’s not important.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Have you been feeling well?’
    Zoe let out a disbelieving laugh. ‘You see me like this and you can ask that? No, I’ve been feeling wretched.’
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ Max said after a moment.
    â€˜It’s meant to pass in a few weeks,’ Zoe replied. ‘I think.’ They both lapsed into a tense, uneasy silence. Max stood in the centre of the room, unmoving, his face so terribly expressionless. Zoe had no idea what he was thinking, wanting. Wearily she pushed a tangled mass of hair behind one ear and asked, ‘Why are you here, Max?’
    He turned slowly to face her, his body tense and straight, shoulders thrown back, chin angled haughtily, yet even so Zoe wondered if she saw a shadow of vulnerability in his dark eyes. Or was she just being fanciful, hoping for some more tender emotion that wasn’t there?
    â€˜I told you, I spoke out of turn the other day,’ Max said tightly. ‘I…I shouldn’t have dismissed you quite so readily.’
    Was that actually meant to be an apology? Zoe wondered. ‘Thanks for that,’ she said, not bothering to hide her sarcasm. ‘It didn’t take you long to realise you were an utter cad—’
    â€˜I was surprised,’ Max cut her off, his voice sharpening. ‘And I still don’t know how—’ He stopped, his lips pressed tightly together, and Zoe felt a thrill of trepidation ripple coldly through her.
    â€˜How what?’ she asked quietly.
    â€˜How any of this will work, if you actually intend to have this baby,’ Max snapped. ‘We’re strangers , Zoe—’
    â€˜Strangers who slept together.’ She couldn’t quite hide the note of sorrow from her voice. Max simply shrugged and Zoe drew herself up. ‘So what exactly are you proposing?’ she asked, then winced at her choice of words.
    â€˜I’m not proposing anything,’ Max returned evenly. ‘But if you are indeed having my child, then naturally I have a certain responsibility.’ He made it sound so cold, so heartless, a matter of duty, not desire, yet Zoe knew she couldn’t really expect much more. ‘Are you planning on remaining in New York for the duration of your pregnancy?’
    â€˜I…I haven’t thought…’ Zoe pleated the worn fabric of her track bottoms between her fingers. She hadn’t thought through anything, yet she knew she couldn’t return to England—not yet, not when the tabloid’s rabid eye would be trained so viciously on her,