Chapter 2

Zoe was so furious she could barely contain herself. "Aren't you even going to ask why I burned that coffee shop down? Some creep was harassing me because he thought I was pretty! Look, he even touched my hand! Doesn't that make you the least bit jealous?"

Ian glanced at her hand, his expression betraying nothing. "Next time something like that happens, have your bodyguards handle it."

Zoe clenched her teeth. His complete inability to take a hint was driving her insane.

"Ian Grant, you insufferable old prude! You're boring, uptight, and absolutely hopeless!"

Ian actually gave her accusation some serious thought. "You're only twenty-four, and I'm five years older. I suppose I am a little old."

...

That did it. Zoe was ready to explode.

It was always like this. No matter how hard she tried to provoke him, it was like punching a pillow. Nothing ever got through, and all she was left with was the maddening sense of her own helplessness.

When Ian reached for her hand, she angrily pulled away and climbed into the waiting car ahead of him.

Ian followed her inside and instructed the driver to take them back to the estate.

The car was just about to pull away when Zoe suddenly spoke up. "Wait. Go find somewhere else to be for a while. Come back later."

The driver glanced at Ian in the rearview mirror. Only after receiving a slight nod of approval did he hurriedly climb out, looking thoroughly relieved to escape.

"What are you up to?" Ian asked.

Rather than answer, Zoe leaned closer, her nimble fingers finding the buckle of his expensive belt and undoing it. A teasing smile curved her red lips.

"Has the great Mr. Grant forgotten his own schedule? Today's the seventeenth. You know, one of the days you set aside for sex."

Ian glanced through the window at the busy street outside. "You want to do it here? In the car?"

"Why not?" Zoe gave him a seductive look, tracing lazy circles over his taut abs. "Don't you think it's time we gave that old machine of yours a little excitement?"

Ian studied her in silence for several seconds, his dark eyes unreadable. Then, without another word, he caught the back of her neck and leaned down to kiss her.

His kiss was unmistakably his, cool and commanding.

Zoe responded eagerly, determined to set him on fire. She dragged her nails down his back, let soft, suggestive moans escape against his ear, and tried every seductive trick she knew.

Yet even in the heat of the moment, Ian remained as controlled as a master musician playing a familiar piece, never deviating from the score. Not even his breathing lost its steady rhythm.

Zoe was on the verge of giving up when his phone, lying beside him, suddenly rang.

Ian stopped and reached for it. She couldn't make out what the person on the other end said, but for the first time, his perpetually composed expression changed.

It was barely anything, just the slightest furrow of his brow and a sudden darkening of his eyes. But to Zoe, it was earth-shattering.

He withdrew from her and straightened his slightly disheveled clothes.

"Zo, something's come up. I need you to get out."

Zoe stared at him, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Ian Grant! But I haven't even..."

"Be good," he interrupted, his voice softening just a fraction, though that familiar emotional distance remained. "I'll make it up to you later."

Then, unbelievably, he opened the door on her side and motioned for her to get out.

Trembling with rage, Zoe could only watch as he hurried into the driver's seat, started the engine, and sent the black luxury SUV speeding away like a bullet, leaving her stranded on the curb outside the police station.

"Ian Grant, you bastard! You cold, unromantic blockhead!"

She stamped her foot and shouted after him, but beneath her fury, an overwhelming sense of frustration and curiosity was taking hold.

What on earth could be so important that Ian Grant would lose his composure and walk out on a woman as gorgeous as her right in the middle of intimacy?