The Bride Fonseca Needs Read online

  Darcy felt breathless. ‘You said you’re closer now?’

  Max raised a brow. ‘Did I?’

  ‘Last night...you said you were working with him.’

  Max’s mouth tightened. ‘For a cause—not because we sit up at night drinking cocoa and reminiscing about our childhood experiences.’

  Darcy rolled her eyes at his sarcastic response just as the plane banked. She took the opportunity to escape Max’s gaze and looked out to see Paris laid out in all its glory, the distinctive Eiffel Tower glinting in the distance. Fine. Obviously Max wasn’t about to launch into any more confessionals. He’d probably already told her far more than he wanted to.

  And she wasn’t curious. Not at all.

  * * *

  Max watched as Darcy inspected the trays of rings laid out for their perusal. He almost smiled at her overwhelmed expression. She had been pretty slack-jawed since they’d walked into the opulent Rococo interior of one of the oldest jewellery establishments in the world. A byword in luxury, wealth and romance. These jewellers had supplied jewels for all the major royal houses, iconic movie stars and heads of state.

  But he was still curbing the irritation he’d felt ever since Darcy’s very stark insistence that they observe professional boundaries—marriage or no. Was the woman completely blind? All he had to do was come within two inches of her and the electricity was practically visible.

  Even now he couldn’t take his gaze off the way her breasts pressed lushly against the edge of the glass case they were sitting in front of. He’d noticed the sales assistant’s eyes drop too, and had glared at the man so fiercely he’d almost dropped a tray of priceless rings.

  Darcy’s reminder that she would have been long gone if not for this wedding arrangement caused another ripple of irritation. Max wasn’t used to things morphing out of his control. It was a sense of control hard won and fought for—literally.

  But when Darcy looked at him with those huge blue eyes all he wanted to do was throw control out of the window and give in to pure basic instinct. And yet she had the wherewithal to sit there and draw a little prim circle around herself saying, Not over the line.

  She looked at him now, and Max couldn’t imagine a woman looking less enthusiastic to be here.

  He frowned. ‘What is it?’

  She glanced at the assistant, who moved away for a moment, discreetly polishing a ring.

  ‘I don’t know what to choose—they’re all so ridiculously expensive... I mean, you’re going to insure the ring, right? I’d hate for anything to happen to it—especially when this isn’t even for real.’

  Max saw the clear turmoil on Darcy’s face and it was like a punch to his gut to realise just how different she was from any other woman he might have brought to a place like this. They would have had absolutely no qualms about choosing the biggest and most sparkly bauble in the shop. And he would have indulged them without even thinking. It gave him a sense of distaste now.

  He took her hand in his. It felt unbearably small and soft. ‘Darcy, you’re overthinking this. Just choose a ring. We’ll get it insured. Okay?’

  After a moment she nodded, and then said, ‘Sorry, I’m probably making this boring for you.’

  She looked back at the rings and some hair slipped over her shoulder, obscuring her face. Without thinking Max reached for it and tucked it behind her ear again. She looked at him and he couldn’t resist. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss next to the corner of that surprisingly lush mouth.

  Immediately her eyes went darker, but then they flashed. ‘I told you—’

  His hand gripped hers and he smiled as he said, ‘We’re buying a ring for our whirlwind engagement, cara mia, people are watching.’

  She looked around quickly and then ducked her head, whispering fiercely, ‘Fine...just in public.’

  Max said nothing, but vowed right then to make sure they were in public as much as possible.

  * * *

  Darcy looked at the ring on her finger from different angles as Max discreetly paid the bill. Someone had delivered her a glass of champagne and she sipped it now. Grateful for the slightly numbing sensation. Numbing her from thinking about how choosing the ring had impacted on her so much.

  It had brought up all sorts of unwelcome and tangled emotions. As a small girl she’d used to love going into her mother’s jewellery box and looking at the glittering earrings and bracelets. But the engagement ring had been her favourite, made of nine baguette diamonds surrounded by sapphires and set in white gold.

  Darcy had used to put it on, holding it in place and imagining herself in it, marrying a handsome prince.

  And then one day it had disappeared. Darcy had asked her mother where it was, only to be told curtly that she’d sold it. That had been the beginning of the end of the fairytales in Darcy’s imagination, as her parents’ marriage had fractured and split apart over an agonising year of arguments and bitter recrimination.

  Today the ring Darcy had chosen in the end had been far too close to something she might choose for real, but she hadn’t been able to resist—some rogue devil had urged her on. A rectangular-shaped diamond, surrounded by smaller baguette diamonds, set in platinum. It was positively discreet when compared with some of the other choices, but right now it felt like an unbearably heavy weight on her hand.

  ‘Ready?’

  Darcy looked up to see Max waiting. She grew warm, thinking of him watching her as she’d been inspecting the ring, and almost sprang out of the chair.

  ‘Ready.’

  Max guided her solicitously out of the shop and Darcy couldn’t help noticing a young couple as they passed, obviously head over heels in love. The pretty woman was crying as her boyfriend presented her with a ring.

  Darcy caught Max’s look and raised brows and scowled as he tutted, ‘Now, that’s not going to convince anyone.’

  Just inside the clear revolving doors Max stopped her and turned her towards him. ‘What—?’ was all she managed to get out before Max cupped her jaw in one big hand and angled her face up to his so that he could kiss her.

  Immediately the hot insanity of the other night slammed back into Darcy with such force that she had to cling onto his shirt to stay standing. It was an explicit kiss, and Darcy was dimly aware that someone like Max probably couldn’t deliver a chaste kiss if his life depended on it. He was like a marauding pirate, sweeping in and taking no prisoners. It was hot, decadent, and the slide of Max’s tongue against hers made her want to press her breasts against his chest and ease their ache.

  When he pulled back she went with him, as if loath to break the contact. She opened her eyes and Max said smugly, ‘That’s a bit better.’

  Darcy’s brain felt sluggish as Max pulled her out of the shop, but it snapped back to crystal clarity when they faced a veritable wall of flashing lights.

  ‘Max! Over here! Max! Who is the lucky lady? What’s her name?’

  The barrage of questions was deafening and terrifying. Max had his arm around Darcy and her hand was still gripping his shirt. She could feel the tension in his body as he said, in a masterful voice that sliced through the cacaphony, ‘We will be releasing a statement on Monday. Until then please afford my fiancée and I some privacy.’

  ‘Show us the ring!’

  But Max’s car materialised then, as if out of nowhere, and he was guiding Darcy into the back of it, shutting the baying mob outside as it took off smoothly into the Paris traffic.

  Darcy vaguely heard Max curse, and then a glass was being pushed into her hands. She looked down, feeling a little blank and blinded.

  ‘Take a sip, Darcy, you’re in shock... Maledizione, I should have realised... You’ve never been papped before.’

  When she didn’t move he cursed again and lifted the glass to her lips, forcing liquid to trickle into her mouth and
down her throat. She coughed as it smarted and burned and realised she was shaking from the adrenalin and shock of being in front of the paparazzi for the first time.

  She looked at Max, who took the glass away and put it back in the car’s mini-bar. ‘How did they know?’

  He had the grace to look slightly sheepish. ‘I got my PR people to tip them off.’

  Darcy thought of their kiss just inside the door, and all the lenses that must have been trained on them every moment, capturing her reaction. Not for one second did she want Max to know how angry it made her or how betrayed she felt. Stupid to think that a private moment had been invaded. It hadn’t been a private moment—it had been manufactured.

  ‘Well,’ she said, as coolly as she could, ‘I hope Montgomery sees it—or they’ll have wasted an afternoon when they could have been chasing someone far more exciting.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I should have warned you.’

  Darcy feigned unconcern. ‘Don’t worry about it—at least it’ll look authentic.’

  ‘Good,’ Max said briskly. ‘Because we’re going to a function in Rome this evening. It’ll be our first official outing as a couple.’

  Darcy looked at him and hated the way her voice squeaked as she said, ‘Tonight?’

  Max nodded. ‘It’s a charity gala.’ His eyes flicked down over her chainstore dress and he glanced at his watch as he said, ‘When we get back to Rome you’ll be taken straight to meet with a stylist. She’s going to put together a wardrobe for you. And a wedding dress.’

  Darcy’s hands curled into fists. She was barely aware that they were already on the outskirts of Paris again, heading back to the airport. ‘I might have plans for tonight.’

  Max looked at her, and there was something distinctly proprietorial in his gaze. ‘Any plans you have from now on are my plans. And I’ve been thinking: it’ll look better if you move in with me. You should pack a weekend bag for now—we can move the rest of your stuff next week...’

  Darcy didn’t even bother opening her mouth, knowing resistance was futile. That was it. In the space of twenty-four hours her life had been neatly pulled inside out, and the worst thing was she’d agreed to it all.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  MAX LOOKED AT his watch again. Where was she? He’d meant to go and meet her at the apartment, but he’d been delayed in the office by a conference call to New York, so he’d changed there.

  He’d texted Darcy to explain and got back a terse, Fine. See you there.

  Max almost smiled; he couldn’t imagine many women he knew texting him back like that. His almost-smile faded, though, when he thought of that morning and choosing the ring in Paris, and afterwards when they’d run into that wall of paparazzi.

  He could still recall Darcy’s jerk of fright and the way she’d burrowed into him instinctively. He’d felt like a heel. He’d totally underestimated how frightening that might be for someone who hadn’t experienced it before. He was used to women revelling in the attention, preening, lingering... Darcy had been pale and shaking in the aftermath—not that she’d let it show for too long.

  Something in Max’s chest tightened. And then she was there, in the doorway of the function room, looking for him. Hair pulled up. One shoulder bare in an assymetrical dress that clung to her breasts, torso, and hips, before falling to the ground in a swirl of black silk and chiffon.

  The room fell away, and the ever-present thrum of awareness made his blood sizzle.

  How had he ever thought she was unassuming? She was stunning.

  He could see her engagement ring from here, the brilliant flash of ice-white, and he pushed down the tightness in his chest. That same sense of protectiveness and possessiveness he’d felt earlier outside the jewellers hit him again, and he pushed that down too. It was nothing. It was the thrill of anticipated triumph over the deal that would finally take him away from that moment on the streets in Rome, when his own peers had seen him shabby and feral. Reduced to nothing.

  Her eyes met his and he went forward to meet her.

  * * *

  Darcy saw Max almost as soon as she stopped in the doorway. Of course she did. He stood head and shoulders above most of the crowd. He was wearing a classic black tuxedo and she felt as if someone had hit her right between the eyes.

  He’d made some effort to tidy his hair and it was swept back from his face now, dark blond and luxurious, but still with that trademark unruly length. And she could see from here that his jaw was clean-shaven.

  In truth, she’d been glad of a little space from Max for the rest of the day—especially now she knew she’d be heading back to his apartment with him that night. She wasn’t ready for that at all.

  He was cutting a swathe through the crowd, heading straight for her, and—damn it—her breath was short again.

  When he got to her he just looked at her for a long moment before slipping a hand across her bare shoulder and around the back of her neck. Her skin sizzled as his head came closer and his mouth—that perfect sensual mouth that rarely smiled—closed over hers.

  She wanted to protest—Stop kissing me!—even as she knew he was only doing it for the benefit of their audience. But the fact was that every time he kissed her another little piece of her defences around him fell away.

  There was nothing but blinding white heat for a second, as the firm contours of Max’s mouth moved enticingly over hers, and then a rush of heat swelled all the way up her body from the pulse between her legs.

  When he took his mouth away and pulled back she was dizzy, hot. It had been mere seconds. A chaste kiss on the mouth.

  Max still had a hand around her neck. He was so close she could smell him, feel his heat around her. It was as if he was cocooning her slightly from the crowd and Darcy was reminded of the shock and vulnerability she’d felt in front of those paparazzi.

  She pulled away from him.

  ‘You look...beautiful.’

  ‘You don’t have to say that.’

  Darcy felt exceedingly self-conscious in the dress the stylist had picked out for her to wear tonight. She glanced up at him from her eyeline, which was roughly around the centre of his chest—she’d been avoiding his gaze till now and his jaw was tight.

  ‘It’s not a line, Darcy, I mean it. You look...stunning.’

  ‘I...’ She couldn’t speak. No man had ever complimented her like this before. She’d never felt beautiful before. But for a second, now, she did.

  Max took her hand and led her into the throng, stopping to take the glass of champagne offered by a waiter before handing it to Darcy. She took a gulp, glad of the sustenance, aware of the interested looks they were getting—or rather that she was getting.

  She hated the prickling feeling of being under scrutiny. The crowd in the ballroom of the exclusive Rome hotel was seriously intimidating. This was A-list territory. Actually, this made the A-list look like the B-list. She’d just spotted a European royal and an ex-American president talking together in a corner.

  In a bid not to appear nervous, Darcy asked, ‘So, what charity is benefiting from this function?’

  Max glanced down at her. ‘Numerous charities—I’ve nominated one I run with my brother.’

  Darcy looked at Max, wondering again about his relationship with his brother, but she found herself distracted by his clean-shaven jaw and the white line of his scar that gave her a small jolt every time she saw it.

  Just then a gong sounded and the crowd started to move into another room.

  Max explained, with a cynical tinge to his voice, ‘They’ll get the charity auction and the posturing out of the way now, so that they can get on with the really important stuff.’

  Max let go of her hand so she could sit down, and Darcy smiled politely at the man next to her. When Max took the seat next to hers she said, ‘You mean the wheeling and dealin
g? The real reason why people are here?’

  He looked at her approvingly. ‘I’ll make a proper cynic of you yet.’

  Darcy felt a little hollow. She didn’t need Max to make her a cynic. Her parents’ spectacular break-up had gone a long way to that end already. Not to mention this pseudo-engagement.

  She thought of something then, and looked at Max. ‘You said to Montgomery that we’d be getting married in two weeks?’

  He looked at her. ‘We will. I’ve arranged for a special licence.’

  Darcy felt as if she was drowning a little. ‘Is it really necessary to go that far?’

  Max nodded. ‘It’s just a piece of paper, Darcy. Neither of us really believes in marriage, do we?’

  For a moment Darcy wasn’t sure what she believed. She’d always sworn she’d avoid such a commitment, but she knew deep inside that some small part of her still harboured a wish that it could be different. Buying the ring today had tapped into it. And she hated it that this weakness was becoming evident here, in front of Max, under that gold gaze.

  She forced a brittle smile. ‘No, of course not. With our histories we’d be mad to expect anything more.’ And she needed to remember that—especially when Max’s touch and kisses scrambled her brain.

  To take her mind off that she looked around and took in the extreme opulence. Even though her parents had always been well off—apart from her father’s recessionary blip—she’d never moved in circles like this. Except for her time at Boissy. She grimaced at that memory, wondering if any of her old Boissy classmates were here. It was quite likely. This was definitely their stomping ground. Some of the offspring of Europe’s most prominent royal families had been at the school.

  The auction started and it was mesmerising. The sheer amounts being bid escalated well into the millions.

  After one bid she gasped. ‘Did someone really just buy an island?’ Max’s mouth quirked and Darcy immediately felt gauche. ‘Don’t laugh at me. I haven’t been to anything like this before.’