However, as she leaned over his shoulder to type something in the computer, one of her barrel-roll curls landed on his shoulder. A driving need grew in him to wrap her silky strands around his finger. If he were to turn ever so slightly—if he were to reach out to her and draw her closer—she’d land in his lap.
As though in a trance, he reached out. His fingers slid down over the soft, smooth strands. What would it hurt to taste her sweetness again? He started at the end of her curl. His finger and thumb worked together wrapping her hair inch by inch around his digit.
Her surprised gaze met his. His heart pounded in his chest. But there was something more in her gaze. Interest. Excitement. Desire.
The fact that he could still turn her on sent the blood roaring through his veins, drowning out his common sense. Long-denied desire drove him onward. One thing that couldn’t be denied was that they had chemistry. They should have a warning sign—combustible when mixed.
With each twist of her hair, her face moved closer. He would show her what she’d given up. He’d remind her that all of this could have been hers if only she’d believed in them—if only she’d loved him.
A noise in the hallway caused her to jump back. He reluctantly relinquished his hold on her hair, allowing her to straighten. He tried to tell himself that it was for the best, but a sense of regret churned in his gut.
He cleared his throat as he tried to remember where they’d left off. “What about this gray-blue color? I like it.”
There was an unmistakable pause before Zoe spoke. “That is a bit dark and you have to realize the darker the shade, the smaller the space will appear. Why don’t you see what you like on this page?” She adjusted the computer so that it displayed dozens of much lighter shades of blue. “Trust me. They’ll appear darker on the wall.”
This time instead of hovering, she stepped back, giving him space. Though he knew it was for the best, he missed that brief moment where they’d recaptured a bit of the past. He’d have to be more alert going forward. Things were already complicated enough between them.
For the next hour, they went over the various shades, mixing and matching. There was even a slick computer software program that let her slip the colors into the basic layout of the common rooms. It gave them a better idea of what it would look like in real life. But Zoe insisted there was nothing like seeing it in person with the natural light bouncing off the walls. He took her word for it. They agreed to wait until then to make the final decisions.
* * *
Two full days had passed. And she still had a job.
Zoe smiled.
This arrangement, though a bit bizarre working with her ex, just might work out in the end.
After a long day at the palace offices, Zoe had Demetrius’s car drop her off at the market so she could pick up some food for dinner—not that she had much appetite these days. It seemed her stomach was forever filled with the sensation of a swarm of fluttering butterflies. She hoped a salad might pique her appetite.
Armed with fresh fruit, vegetables and some still-warm-from-the-oven bread, she walked toward her apartment. Ever since she’d left the market, something hadn’t felt right. Zoe glanced over her shoulder.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
Still, the little hairs on Zoe’s arms remained lifted.
She picked up her pace. At an intersection, she paused and glanced back. Her gaze met a set of dark, menacing eyes. The creepy reporter. Her heart lurched.
Though he didn’t approach her, there was something threatening about the way he looked at her. There was no point calling for help. What would she say? He looked at her the wrong way?
The best thing she could do was keep moving. It wasn’t much farther to her apartment. Hopefully she’d lose him. Her feet moved rapidly along the sidewalk. She refused to glance back again. She was making too much of seeing the reporter. Still, she recalled his eerie words about finding out her secrets. What secrets? About her mother? Demetrius?
Zoe rushed across the street. Her apartment building was in the next block. Though she’d promised herself she wouldn’t, she paused and glanced back. The street was busy as people rushed home to their families. She didn’t see any sign of the reporter. She breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps it’d just been a coincidence.
Once safely in her apartment, she did something she didn’t normally do—locked her door. She rushed to the kitchen window and peered out. She searched up the street. Nothing. Down the street. Nothing.
Get a grip. You’re imagining things.
And then she saw him across the street. He emerged from between the buildings. The breath caught in her throat. He leaned back against the bakery and pointed his camera up at her. She ducked out of sight. Hastily, she closed the kitchen curtains.
What do I do now?
She rushed to put her groceries in the fridge, having lost any bit of hunger she may have had. She thought of calling Demetrius, but what would she say? Some guy was following her? Would Demetrius believe her? And after the way she’d walked out of their marriage, why should he care?
Knock. Knock.
Zoe jumped.
She moved to the window and peeked out. The reporter was gone.
Knock. Knock.
Or was he?
* * *
It was time they talked.
And Zoe had given him the perfect excuse.
Demetrius glanced down at her leather-bound day planner. She always had it close at hand, marking every meeting and deadline in it. She impressed him with her attention to detail. He knew that he could have left the planner on her desk till the morning, but he liked having an excuse to visit her at home—especially if her mother answered the door.
He’d knocked twice but still no one answered the door. That was strange. He’d thought he’d overheard her mention to Annabelle that she was planning to stay in and make a salad—not that he’d stuck around eavesdropping. Perhaps she’d decided it was easier to eat out. That would be just his luck.
Unwilling to give up the thought of seeing her—of finally gaining some answers about the annulment—he knocked one last time.
“Go away!”
What?
“Zoe? Open the door.”
“If you don’t leave, I’m calling the polizia.”
The polizia?
What is going on?
“Zoe, it’s me. Demetrius. Open up.”
There was the sound of footsteps. Then a pause as he felt her gaze through the peephole. Followed by the click of the lock. At last the door swung open. A pale-faced Zoe stood there.
“I...I wasn’t expecting you.” Her gaze didn’t quite reach his.
“Obviously. Who did you think I was?”
She shook her head and waved away his question. “It’s nothing.”
“It is quite obviously something. I insist you tell me.” Her face was devoid of color. Her eyes were filled with worry. He wasn’t leaving until he got to the bottom of what had her scared.
“Remember that reporter from the interview at the mansion? You know, the creepy one?”
He nodded, not liking the direction this conversation was going. “What did he do to you?”
She shook her head again. “Nothing.”
“You look awfully worked