The Bride Fonseca Needs Read online

  And then Darcy turned around. Her voice was low. ‘I know how important this deal is to you.’

  The way she said it made Max feel exposed. She couldn’t know the real extent of why it was so important—that it would bring him to a place of acceptance, both internally and externally, where he would finally be able to move on from the sense of exposure and humiliation that had dogged him his whole life. And, worse, the sense of being abandoned.

  Yet he couldn’t deny it. ‘Yes. It’s important to me.’

  She fixed her wide blue gaze on him but he could see how pinched her face was. Reluctance oozed from her every pore.

  ‘I’ll stay on—but only until the deal is done and only if what happened tonight doesn’t happen again.’

  She looked at him, waiting for a response. The truth was that if Max wanted something he got it. And he wanted Darcy. But for the first time in his life he had to recognise that perhaps he couldn’t always get what he wanted. That some things were more important than others. And this deal with Montgomery was more important than having Darcy in his bed, sating his clawing sense of frustration.

  Also, he didn’t want her to see that it was a struggle for him to back off. That would be far too exposing.

  So he said, with an easiness that belied every bone in his body that wanted to throw her onto the nearest flat surface, ‘It won’t happen again, Darcy. Go home. We’ve got another long day and evening ahead of us tomorrow. Don’t forget to bring a change of clothes for dinner tomorrow night. We’ll be going straight from the office.’

  Darcy didn’t say anything. She just turned and walked out of the room and the door closed with incongruous softness behind her.

  Max walked over to the window. After a few minutes’ delay he saw her emerge from the building in her coat, walking briskly away from the building, merging with Rome’s late-night pedestrian traffic.

  Something in his body eased slightly now that she was no longer in front of him, with those wide blue eyes looking so directly at him that he felt as if he were under a spotlight.

  No woman was worth messing up this deal and certainly not little Darcy Lennox, with her provocative curves. Max finally turned around again and sighed deeply when he saw the slew of papers strewn across his desk and floor.

  Instead of leaving himself, he went back to the bar, refilled his glass with whisky and then sat down and pulled the nearest sheaf of papers towards him. He put Darcy firmly out of his head.

  * * *

  Darcy tossed and turned in bed a little later, too wired to sleep. It was as if her body had been plugged into an electrical socket and she now had an excess of energy fizzing in her system.

  She’d been plugged into Max.

  Even though she was lying down, her limbs took on a jelly-like sensation when she recalled that moment of suspended tension just before he’d kissed her and everything had gone hazy and hot. She could still feel the imprint of his body against hers and between her legs she tingled. She clamped her thighs together.

  They’d taken a quantum leap away from boss/PA, and it had happened so fast it still felt unreal. Had she really threatened to leave her job? And had he more or less threatened her future employment prospects if she did? She shivered slightly. She could well imagine Max doing just that—she’d witnessed his ruthlessness when it came to business associates first-hand.

  The deal with Montgomery meant more to him than the potential awkwardness of having shared an intimate and highly inappropriate moment with his PA.

  No matter what Max said, Darcy had no doubts that what had happened had been borne out of insanity brought on by fatigue and the moment of intimacy that had sprung up when he’d told her about his past.

  She hadn’t expected to hear him reveal that he’d been homeless. Any other student from Boissy wouldn’t have lasted two days on the streets. But Max had lasted two years, and crawled his way out of it spectacularly.

  He’d mentioned a brother, and his father. His parents’ divorce. Questions resounded in Darcy’s head as the enigmatic figure of Maximiliano Fonseca Roselli suddenly took on a much deeper aspect.

  Unable to help herself, she leaned over and switched on the bedside light, picked up her tablet. She searched the internet for ‘Max Fonseca Roselli family’ and a clutch of pictures sprang up.

  Darcy’s breath was suspended as she scrolled through them. There was a picture of a very tall and darkly handsome man: Luca Fonseca, Brazilian industrialist and philanthropist. Max’s brother. His name rang a bell. And then more pictures popped up of the same man with a stunningly beautiful blonde woman. They were wedding photos. Darcy recalled that she’d read about the wedding between Luca Fonseca and the infamous Italian socialite Serena DePiero recently.

  Had Max gone to the wedding? Darcy was about to search for more information on his parents when she realised what she was doing and closed the cover of her tablet with force.

  She flipped off the light and lay down, angry with herself for giving in to curiosity about a man with whom she’d shared a very brief and ill-advised moment of pure unprofessional madness. A man she should have no further interest in beyond helping him to get this deal so that she could get the hell out of his orbit and get on with her life.

  CHAPTER THREE

  DARCY LOOKED AT HERSELF critically in the mirror of the ladies’ toilet next to her office, but she didn’t really see her own reflection. She was on edge after a long day in which Max had been overly polite and solicitous, with not so much as a sly look or hint that they’d almost made love on his desk the previous night.

  At one stage she’d nearly snapped at him to please go back to normal and snarl at her the way he usually did.

  The fact that she’d allowed a level of exposure and intimacy with Max she’d never allowed before was something she was resolutely ignoring. Her previous sexual experiences with men had come only after a lengthy dating period. And in each case once the final intimacy had been breached she’d backed off, because she’d realised she had no desire to deepen the commitment.

  She snorted at herself now. As if she would have to worry about something like that with Max Fonseca Roselli. He was the kind of man who would leave so fast your head would be spinning for a week.

  She forced her mind away from Max and took a deep breath. Her dress was black and had been bought for exactly this purpose—to go from work to a social event. And, as far as Darcy had been concerned when she’d bought it, it was modest.

  Yet now it felt all wrong. It was a dress that suited her diminutive hourglass shape perfectly, but suddenly the scooped neckline was too low and the waist too cinched in. The clingy fabric was a little too clingy around her bottom and thighs, making her want to pluck it away from her body. The capped sleeves felt dressy, and when she moved the discreet slit up one side seemed to shout out, I’m trying to be sexy!

  All at once she felt pressured and frazzled, aware of time ticking on. She’d already been in the bathroom for twenty minutes. She imagined Max pacing up and down outside, looking at his watch impatiently, waiting for her. Well, too late to change now. Darcy refreshed her make-up and spritzed on some perfume, and slid her feet into slightly higher heels than normal.

  She’d left her hair down and at the last moment felt a lurch of panic when she looked at herself again. It looked way too undone. She twisted it up into a quick knot and secured it with a pin.

  Her cheeks were hot and beads of sweat rolled down between her breasts. Cursing Max, and herself, she finally let herself out, her work clothes folded into a bag. It was with some relief that she noted that Max wasn’t pacing up and down outside.

  Stowing her bag in a cupboard, making a mental note to take it home after the weekend, Darcy took a deep breath and knocked once briefly on Max’s office door before going in.

  When she did, though, she nearly took a step ba
ck. Max was standing with a remote control in his hand, watching a financial news channel on the flat screen TV set into his wall. His hair was typically messy, but otherwise any resemblance to the Max she’d expected to see dissolved into a haze of heat.

  His jaw was clean-shaven, drawing the eye to strong, masculine lines. He was wearing a classic three-piece suit in dark grey, with a snowy-white shirt and grey silk tie. Darcy swallowed as Max turned and his gaze fell on her. She couldn’t breathe. Literally couldn’t draw breath. She’d never seen anyone so arrestingly gorgeous in her life. And the memory of how that lean body had felt when it was pressed against hers, between her legs, was vivid enough to make her sway slightly.

  There was a long, taut silence between them until Max clicked a button on the remote and the faint hum of chatter from the TV stopped.

  He arched a brow. ‘Ready?’

  Darcy found her voice. ‘Yes.’

  He moved towards her and she backed out of his office, almost tripping over her own feet to pick up her evening bag and a light jacket matching the dress. As she struggled into it inelegantly she felt it being held out for her and muttered embarrassed thanks as Max settled it onto her shoulders.

  She cursed the imagination that made her think his fingers had brushed suggestively against the back of her neck, and strode out of the office ahead of Max before she could start thinking anything else. Like how damn clingy her dress felt right then, and what rogue devil had prompted her not to wear stockings. The slide of her bare thighs against one another felt sensual in a way she’d never even noticed before. She’d never been given to erotic flights of fancy. Far too pragmatic.

  Darcy didn’t look at Max as they waited for his private lift, but once they were inside his scent dominated the small space.

  He asked, ‘You have the documents?’

  ‘Yes.’ Darcy lifted the slim attaché case she carried alongside her bag. It held some documents they wanted to have on hand in case Montgomery asked for them.

  The lift seemed to take an eternity to descend the ten or so floors to the bottom.

  ‘You know, we will have to make eye contact at some point in the evening.’ Max’s voice was dry.

  Reluctantly Darcy looked up at him, standing beside her, and it was as if a jolt of lightning zapped her right in the belly. She sucked in a breath and saw Max’s eyes flare. The shift in energy was as immediate as an electric current springing up between them, as if it had been waiting until they got close enough to activate it.

  No wonder they’d been skirting around each other all day. They’d both been avoiding this.

  For the nano-second it took for this to sink in, and for Max to make an infinitesimally small move towards her—for her to realise how badly she wanted to touch him again—there was nothing outside of the small cocoon of the lift. Desire pulsated like a tangible thing.

  But then a sharp ping sounded, the doors opened silently and they both stopped—centimetres from actually touching each other.

  Max emitted a very rude Italian curse. He took her arm to guide her out of the lift, although it felt more as if he was marching her out of the building.

  Once outside, walking to his chauffeur-driven car, he said tersely, ‘I said eye contact, Darcy, not—’

  ‘Not what, Max?’ Darcy stopped and pulled her arm free, shaky from the rush of adrenalin and desire she’d just experienced, and self-conscious at the thought that she’d been all but drooling. ‘I didn’t do anything. You’re the one who looked at me as if—’

  He came close. ‘As if what? As if I suddenly couldn’t think of anything else except what happened last night?’ His mouth was a thin line. ‘Well, I couldn’t—and neither could you.’

  Darcy had nothing to say. He was right. She’d been utterly naïve and clueless to think that she could experience a moment like that with Max Fonseca Roselli and put it down as a rash, crazy incident and never want him again. A hunger had been awoken inside her.

  But she could deal with that.

  What she couldn’t deal with was the fact that Max—for some unfathomable reason—still wanted her too.

  He glanced at his watch and said curtly, ‘We’ll be late. We can’t talk about this now.’

  And then he took her arm again and led her to the car, following her into the plush interior before she could protest or say another word.

  * * *

  The journey to the restaurant was made in a silence that crackled with electric tension. Darcy didn’t look anywhere near Max, afraid of what she’d see if she did. She couldn’t handle that blistering gaze right now.

  One thing was clear, though. She would be handing in her notice before this deal was done. She couldn’t continue to work for Max after this. But she didn’t think he’d appreciate hearing her tender resignation right now.

  The car came to a stop outside one of Rome’s most exclusive restaurants. It took lesser mortals about six months to get a table, but Max had a table whenever he wanted.

  He helped her out of the car, and even though Darcy wanted to avoid physical contact as much as possible she had to take his hand or risk sprawling in an ungainly heap at his feet.

  She’d just stood up straight, and Max was still holding her hand, when a genial voice came from nearby.

  ‘You didn’t mention that you were bringing a date.’

  Darcy tensed, and Max’s hand tightened on hers reflexively. But almost in the same second she could tell he’d recovered and his hand moved smoothly to her arm as he brought her around to meet their nemesis.

  Cecil Montgomery was considerably shorter than Max, and considerably older, with almost white hair. But he oozed charisma, and Darcy was surprised to find that on first impression she liked him.

  His eyes were very blue, and twinkled benignly at her, but she could see the steeliness in their depths. A tall woman stood at his side, very elegant and graceful, with an open friendly face and dark grey eyes. Her hair was silver and swept up into a classic chignon.

  ‘Please—let me introduce you to my wife, Jocasta Montgomery.’

  ‘Pleasure...’ Darcy let her hand be engulfed, first by Montgomery’s and then by his wife’s.

  It was only when they were walking into the restaurant that Darcy realised Max hadn’t actually introduced her as his PA—or had he and she just hadn’t heard?

  She hadn’t had anything to do with Montgomery herself, as he and Max had a direct line of communication, so it was quite possible he still thought she was Max’s date. The thought made Darcy feel annoyingly self-conscious.

  They left their coats in the cloakroom and were escorted to their table, the ladies walking ahead of the men. The restaurant oozed timeless luxury and exclusivity. Darcy recognised Italian politicians and a movie star. The elaborate furnishings wouldn’t have been out of place in Versailles, and even the low-pitched hum of conversation was elegant.

  Jocasta Montgomery took Darcy’s arm and said sotto voce in a melodious Scottish accent, ‘I don’t know about you, my dear, but I always find that places like this give me an almost overwhelming urge to start flinging food around the place.’

  It was so unexpected that Darcy let out a startled laugh and something inside her eased out of its tense grip. She replied, ‘I know what you mean—it’s an incitement to rebel.’

  They arrived at a round table, the best in the room, and took their seats. To Darcy’s surprise the conversation started and flowed smoothly. Max and Montgomery dominated it, with talk of current business trends and recent scandals. At one point between starters and the main course Jocasta rolled her eyes at Darcy and led her into a conversation about living in Rome and what she liked about it.

  They skirted around the edges of the fact that this dinner was really about whether or not Montgomery was going to hand his precious life’s blood to Max to manage until coffee had been
served after dessert.

  Darcy had almost forgotten why they were there, she’d enjoyed talking to Jocasta so much. But now there was a palpable buzz of tension in the air and Darcy saw the very evident steely gleam in Montgomery’s eyes as he looked at Max, who was unmistakably tense.

  It was slightly disconcerting to recognise how keenly she felt Max’s tension as Montgomery looked at him over his coffee cup before putting it down slowly.

  ‘The fact is, Max, quite simply there is no one I can imagine handling this fund and making it grow into the future better than you. As you’re aware I’m very concerned about philanthropy, and your own brother’s work has been inspirational to me.’

  Max inclined his head towards the older man, but his face was expressionless.

  ‘My one reservation, however, is this...’

  Darcy tensed and avoided looking at Max.

  ‘You have been leading a committedly single lifestyle for a long time.’ He glanced at Darcy and said half apologetically, ‘Present company notwithstanding. My fund and my life’s work has been built upon and developed with family in mind. My family, primarily, of course, but also for the benefit of many others. This would never have happened if I hadn’t had a very strong sense of family values running through previous generations. That’s why the Montgomery fund has lasted as long as it has, and grown so strong...’

  Darcy was barely aware of Montgomery’s continued misunderstanding about who she was. He was going on...

  ‘And you, Max—you come from a broken home... For years you were estranged from your father, you didn’t speak to your own twin brother, and you are not close to your mother.’

  Darcy’s mind boggled. Max’s brother was a twin?

  She looked at him now and could see his face was still expressionless, but a vein popped slightly over one temple, near his scar, which stood out against that dark olive skin. The scar he’d got because his own mother had forgotten about him. Left him defenceless on the streets.