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girl.’
    â€˜Ah.’
    â€˜And what about you?’
    He took another sip of his drink. ‘What about me?’
    â€˜You’re a businessman.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜What do you do, exactly?’
    â€˜Business.’
    Zoe rolled her eyes. ‘How enlightening.’
    â€˜I manage investments. I buy companies. I take risks.’ He shrugged, the movement one of powerful, eloquent dismissal. ‘I make money.’
    â€˜Money is good.’
    His mouth quirked up in something that looked like a smile but didn’t feel like one. ‘Isn’t it just.’
    â€˜How did you get that scar?’ The question popped out inadvertently; she hadn’t meant to ask it. She suspected he was sensitive about it, perhaps self-conscious. And how could he not be? It was noticeable, impossible to ignore, a livid line of whitened flesh from his eyebrow to his chin, snaking along the side of his nose, a vivid reminder of—what? Something, he’d said. Something terrible.
    â€˜An accident.’ He spoke flatly, unemotionally, yet Zoe sensed the darkness—the sorrow and despair and even the fury—pulsing underneath. He said the word accident the way she said illegitimate .
    â€˜It must have been some accident.’
    â€˜It was.’
    â€˜Were you alone?’
    â€˜Yes.’ He paused, his throat working before he elaborated in that same flat tone. ‘I was flying my plane.’
    â€˜You’re a pilot?’
    â€˜I was.’ He paused. ‘Recreationally.’
    His voice was flat, his face expressionless as he took a sip of his drink.
    â€˜So.’ Zoe tried to keep her voice light, as if her tone could stave off the darkness emanating from Max, swirling around her soul. ‘What happened?’
    â€˜I crashed.’ He smiled, the curve of his mouth terribly cold. ‘It happens.’
    â€˜I suppose so.’ Zoe crossed and recrossed her legs, searching for something to say. ‘You’re lucky you escaped with your life,’ she finally said, and at that moment it felt like a terribly inane sentiment.
    â€˜Oh, yes,’ Max agreed, and there was a darker note in his voice now, the pulsing emotion underneath bubbling to the fore, as hot and dangerous—and fascinating—as a latent volcano. He walked towards her with slow, deliberate strides. ‘I’m very lucky.’
    Zoe resisted the urge to press back against the chair. She didn’t like the dark look in Max’s eyes, the sudden, cruel twist of the mouth she’d just kissed.
    â€˜How long have you been flying?’ she asked in a desperate attempt to restore a sense of normality to the moment. It didn’t work; Max just kept walking. He stopped only when he was a hand span away, and then, to her surprise, he dropped to his knees in front of her so they were level, his eyes gazing darkly, intently, intensely, into hers.
    They stared at each other for a moment, neither speaking, the only sound the harsh tear of their breathing. Zoe felt trapped, transfixed, and yet with a strange, new need inside her. What was happening here?
    Max didn’t move, didn’t tear his gaze from hers—it was as if he were waiting, needing something…needing her…
    Then, out of instinct and even her own need, Zoereached out—with the same careful deliberation he had touched her moments ago—and with the tip of one finger traced the jagged path of the scar along his face. The damaged flesh was surprisingly smooth, almost silky, and faintly puckered.
    Zoe didn’t know why she did it, didn’t know how Max would react. She didn’t really know what was happening here, what this feeling was between them—so much feeling . Pain and sorrow and even a jagged little shard of hope.
    Max stilled, tensing under her touch, and then she felt him relax, the resistance trickling from his body, leaving him loose and pliant under her hand. He closed his eyes.