The Bride Fonseca Needs Page 8

  There was a lull after the last few bids and he reached for her hand and lifted it up, turning it so that he could press a kiss to her palm. Darcy’s heart-rate accelerated and she tried to pull her hand back, but he wouldn’t let go, those eyes unnervingly direct on hers.

  Feeling more and more discomfited, she whispered tetchily, ‘We need to set some rules for an acceptable amount of PDAs. I wouldn’t have thought you were a fan.’

  Inwardly, Max reacted to that. Normally he wasn’t. At all. He hated it when lovers tried to stake some kind of a public claim on him. But every time he touched Darcy he felt her resistance even as she melted against him. It was a potent mix of push and pull, and right now he wanted to touch her.

  ‘You’re big on rules and boundaries, aren’t you?’ He kept her hand in his when she would have pulled away, fascinated by the way colour washed in and out of her face so easily.

  Her mouth tightened. ‘They’re necessary—especially when one is trying to be professional.’

  Max chuckled, surprised to find himself enjoying being here with her so much. It had been a long time since he’d seen anyone interested in a charity auction. ‘I don’t think I need to tell you our professional boundaries are well and truly breached.’

  She hissed at him. ‘As if I’m not aware of that. Do I need to remind you that if it wasn’t for this crazy marriage farce I’d be long gone by now?’

  Something inside Max went cold. She would be gone because of what had happened in his office that night. He didn’t doubt it. But Max knew now that he would have felt compelled to try and persuade her to stay...or to seduce her properly. She’d set a fire alight that night, and a very unwelcome and insidious suspicion occurred to him. Had he on some level wanted to keep her at all costs? Precipitating his flashbulb idea of marrying her?

  Panic washed through him and he handed her hand back. ‘You’re right. We don’t want to overdo it—no one would believe it.’

  The sudden hurt that lanced Darcy made her suck in a breath. Of course they wouldn’t believe it. Because why on earth would someone like Max—a golden god—be with someone like her?

  She got up jerkily and Max frowned.

  ‘Darcy—wait. I didn’t mean it like—’

  But she cut him off with a tight smile and muttered something about the bathroom, making her escape.

  Everyone was standing up now and moving, starting to go back out to the main ballroom, where a world-famous band were about to play a medley of their greatest hits. She found a blissfully empty bathroom off the main foyer and looked at herself in the mirror with horror.

  In spite of Max’s cruel words she was flushed, and her eyes looked wide and bright enough to be feverish. Just because he’d held her hand? Pathetic.

  She ran the cold water and played it over her wrists, as if that could douse the fire in her blood. Damn Max anyway. He shouldn’t have the power to hurt her.

  Sounds came from outside—voices. She quickly dried her hands and left just as some women were coming in on a wave of expensive perfume. They were all chattering, and stopped abruptly as soon as they saw her.

  Darcy pinned a smile on her face and tried not to let the fact that they’d obviously been discussing her intimidate her.

  * * *

  As she approached the ballroom again Darcy saw Max standing at the main door, hands in his pockets. He looked...magnificent. Hateful. Proud. But also apart. Like a lone wolf. Good. A man like him didn’t deserve friends. And that just made Darcy feel horrible.

  He turned around and saw her and she could almost feel the place where the cold water had run on her wrists sizzle.

  He frowned as she came closer. ‘Are you okay?’

  Now she felt silly for rushing off. ‘Fine. Needed to go to the bathroom.’ She thought a little despondently that his usual lovers probably didn’t suffer the mundane bodily functions of mortals—and certainly never mentioned them to him.

  He took her arm. ‘We’re done now. Let’s go.’

  Suddenly the thought of going back to his apartment with him loomed like a spectre in the dark. Anger at him pierced her, and anger at herself—for letting him hurt her so easily.

  A rogue voice made her dig her heels in and say, ‘Actually, I’m not ready to go yet.’

  He looked at her, not a little stunned. He was not used to people saying no to him.

  She tipped up her chin and took a moment of inspiration from the music nearby. ‘I like this band. I want to dance.’

  Now Max looked horrified. ‘Dance?’ Clearly he never indulged in such pedestrian activities.

  She arched a brow, enjoying needling Max a little. ‘Dance, Max. You know—a recreational social activity designed to bring people together in a mutually satisfactory way.’

  Clearly angry now, Max moved closer to Darcy and pulled her into his body. ‘I can do a “mutually satisfactory” activity, dolcezza, if that’s what you’re looking for—but it’s not called dancing.’

  Darcy’s breath hitched. She should have known better than to tease him. She was serious. ‘A dance, Max. That’s what I’m talking about.’

  He lifted a hand and cupped her jaw, for all the world the besotted fiancé. She cursed. She was playing right into his hands.

  ‘Fine, then. Let’s dance.’

  Max took her hand in a firm and slightly too tight grip that told her of his irritation and led her onto the dance floor just in time for a slow number. Darcy cursed herself again for opening her big mouth.

  He turned and gathered her close and she had to put her arms around his neck. He looked down at her and said mockingly, ‘Forgive me. I had no idea you were so eager to make our charade look even more authentic.’

  Darcy snorted, and then went still when one of Max’s hands moved lower, to just above her buttocks, pressing her even closer. She closed her eyes in frustration for a moment—as if she needed to be reminded that he resented this PDA as much as she did.

  And then she felt his hand brush some hair back off her cheek and he said, in a different tone of voice that set off flutters in her belly, ‘Darcy, look at me.’

  Reluctantly she opened her eyes, far too aware of his lean, hard body pressed against hers.

  ‘I think you misunderstood me before... I meant no one would believe it because I don’t usually indulge in any kind of overt affection with lovers in public.’

  Darcy hated it that he’d seen her hurt. She shrugged. ‘It’s cool, Max, you don’t have to explain anything.’

  Even so, the hurt dissipated like a traitorous little fog.

  ‘The problem is,’ he went on, as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘I can’t seem to stop myself from touching you.’

  She looked up at him, and they stopped moving on the dance floor while everyone kept going around them. Max pressed against the small of her back, moving her closer to his body, where she could feel the distinctive thrust of his arousal.

  Now he looked intense. ‘This is not usual for me, Darcy.’

  She was barely aware of where they were any more, and she whispered, ‘You think it’s usual for me?’

  Max started to move again subtly, ratcheting up the tension between them. Panic flared at the thought of going back to his apartment. ‘Max, this isn’t... We can’t do this. We need to keep this pro-professional.’

  Great. She was stuttering now. All she knew was that if Max seduced her she wouldn’t have anything left to hold him at bay with. He’d already swept through her life like a wrecking ball.

  He arched a wicked brow. ‘You know what I think of professionalism? It’s overrated.’

  And then he kissed her, deeply and explicitly, and Darcy knew she was right to fear him—this. Because she could feel her very cells dissolving, merging into his. She was losing herself.

  She pulled back with effort. ‘No
, Max.’

  A faster, more upbeat song was playing now, and she and Max were motionless in the middle of the floor. He grabbed her hand and pulled her from the throng. Her legs were like jelly.

  Once away from the dance floor Max stopped and turned to Darcy, running a hand through his hair, an intense look on his face.

  ‘Look, Darcy—’ He stopped suddenly as something caught his eye over Darcy’s head. He cursed volubly and an infinitely hard expression came over his face.

  Darcy frowned and looked behind her to see a stunningly beautiful woman in the far corner of the room. Something pulled at a vague memory. She was wearing a skin-tight black dress that shimmered and clung to her spectacular figure. Dark hair was swept back and up from her high-cheekboned face, and jewels sparkled at her ears and throat.

  Darcy’s insides cramped a little as she wondered if it was an ex-lover of Max’s she’d seen in a magazine.

  He was propelling them across the room before she could say anything, and as they got closer she could see that the woman was older than she’d imagined—but incredibly well-preserved.

  She was arguing with a tall, handsome man, holding a glass of champagne and gesticulating. The wine was slopping messily onto the ground.

  The man looked at Max with visible relief and more than a little irritation. He said curtly, ‘I’ve had enough—you’re welcome to her, Roselli.’

  The woman whirled around, and just as Darcy noticed with a jolt of shock that she had exactly the same colour eyes as Max he was saying, in a tone tinged with steel, ‘Mamma.’

  His mother issued a stream of vitriol. Her eyes were unfocused and there was a sheen of perspiration on her face. Her pupils were tiny pinpricks. It was shocking to come face-to-face with Max’s mother like this, and it made Darcy’s heart clench to think he’d probably only told her half of what she’d been like.

  The other man had walked away. Max’s mother made as if to go after him but Max let go of Darcy’s arm to stop her, taking her glass away and handing it to Darcy. His mother screeched and Darcy could see people looking.

  Max had his mother in a firm grip now, and he said to Darcy, ‘I’ll take her home. If you wait here I’ll get my driver to come back for you.’

  Darcy was about to agree, but then she said quickly, ‘Shouldn’t I go with you? It’ll look a little odd if I don’t.’

  Max was clearly reluctant to have Darcy witness this scene—she had a keen sense that he wouldn’t allow many, if any people to witness it—but he obviously realised she was right.

  ‘Fine, let’s go.’

  Staff had ordered Max’s car to come round and he got into the back with his mother, who was remonstrating volubly with Max now. Darcy got in the front, her nerves jumping. Max was apparently used to this, and was on his phone making a terse call.

  When they pulled up outside an exclusive apartment block in a residential part of Rome a man in a suit was waiting. Max introduced him as Dr. Marconi and he came in with them. Once inside a palatial apartment Max and the doctor and his mother disappeared into one of the rooms, with the door firmly closed behind them.

  Darcy waited in the foyer, feeling extremely out of place. Max’s mother was shouting now, and crying. Darcy could hear Max’s voice, low and firm.

  The shouting stopped.

  After a long while Max re-emerged and Darcy stood up from where she’d been sitting on a gilt-edged chair.

  ‘How is she?’

  Max’s hair was dishevelled, as if he’d been running his hands through it, and his bow tie was undone. He looked grim. ‘I’m sorry you had to witness that. I would have introduced you, but as you could probably tell her response was unlikely to be coherent.’

  ‘You’ve dealt with this before...?’

  Max smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘You could say that. She’s a drug addict. And an alcoholic. The man at the party was her latest enabler, but evidently he’s had enough. So what’ll happen now is she’ll enter an exclusive rehab centre, that’s got more in common with a five-star resort than a medical facility, and in about a month, when she’s detoxed, she’ll rise like a phoenix from the ashes and start all over again.’

  The other man emerged now, and spoke in low tones to Max before taking his leave after bidding goodnight to Darcy. Max turned to her.

  ‘You should go. My driver is outside. I’m going to wait for a nurse to come and then make sure my mother is settled before I go. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Clearly he wanted her to go now. She backed away to the door.

  ‘Goodnight, Max.’ She turned back from the door to say impulsively, ‘I’m sorry...about your mother. If there’s anything I can do...’ She trailed off, feeling helpless.

  ‘Thank you,’ Max said shortly. ‘But it’s not your problem. I’ll deal with it.’

  For a fleeting moment Darcy thought that if this was a real engagement then it would be her problem too. She wondered if a man like Max would ever lean on anyone but himself and felt an almost overwhelming urge to go to him and offer...what?

  She left quickly, lest Max see anything of her emotions on her face.

  In the car on the way home Darcy had a much keener and bleaker sense of what things must have been like for Max when he’d left Brazil with his mother. The fact that he’d ended up on the streets wasn’t so hard to believe now, and the empathy she felt for him was like a heavy weight in her chest.

  * * *

  A few hours later Max sat back in the chair in his dark living room and relished the burn of the whisky as it slid down his throat. He finally felt the tension in his body easing. He’d left his mother sleeping, with a nurse watching over her.

  When he’d seen Elisabetta Roselli across the function room earlier tension had gripped him, just as it always did. It was a reflex born of years of her inconsistant mothering. Never knowing what to expect. And even though he was an adult now, and she couldn’t affect his life that way any more, his first reaction had been one of intense fear and anxiety. And he hated it.

  Darcy... He could still see her face in his mind’s eye when she’d turned back from the door, concerned. The fact that she’d handled seeing his mother in that state impacted on him in some deep place he had no wish to explore.

  His brother had not had to suffer dealing with the full vagaries of their mother. Max was used to dealing with it on his own... But for a moment, with Darcy looking back at him, he’d actually wanted to reach out and pull her to him, feel her close, wrapping her arms around him...

  A soft noise made Max’s head jerk up. Darcy stood silhouetted in the doorway of the living room as if conjured right out of his imagination. She was wearing loose sleep pants and a singlet vest that did little to hide those lush heavy breasts, the tiny waist. Her hair was long and tumbled about her shoulders.

  ‘Sorry, I heard a noise...you’re back. Is she...your mother...is she okay?’

  Max barely heard Darcy. He was so consumed with the sight of her breasts, recalling with a rush of blood to his groin how they’d felt pressed against him on that dance floor.

  Damn it to hell. He didn’t want to want her. Especially not when he felt so raw after the incident with his mother. But even from across the room her huge blue eyes seemed to see right through him—into him. Right down to the darkest part of him.

  It made something twist inside him. A need to push her away, push her back. Avoid her scrutiny.

  ‘Getting into character as my wife already, Darcy? Careful, now—I might believe you’re starting to like me. I guess having an addict for a mother is bound to score some sympathy points...’

  CHAPTER SIX

  DARCY IMMEDIATELY PALED in the dim lighting, and Max didn’t even have time to regret the words that had come out of his mouth before her eyes were flashing blue sparks.

  ‘I know
you’re a ruthless bastard, Max, but I’ve never thought you were unnecessarily cruel. If that’s the way this will play out then you can find yourself another convenient wife.’

  She whirled around and was almost gone before Max acknowledged the bitter tang of instant remorse and shot up out of his chair, closed the distance between them and grabbed her arm in his hand, stopping her in her tracks.

  He cursed and addressed the back of that glossy head. ‘Darcy. I’m sorry.’

  After a long moment she turned round. She was so tiny in her bare feet, and it reminded him of how she’d fitted against him earlier that day, making him aware of an alien need to protect, to cosset.

  Her eyes were huge, wounded. He cursed himself silently. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, aware that he’d probably never uttered those words to anyone.

  ‘You should be.’

  Her voice was husky and it had an effect on every nerve-ending in Max’s body.

  ‘You didn’t deserve that.’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  And then, because it felt like the most natural thing in the world, as well as the most urgent, Max took her other arm and pulled her round to face him. The air crackled between them. He could see Darcy’s breasts rise and fall faster with her breathing, and he was so hard he ached.

  He dipped his head and pressed his mouth to Darcy’s, drawing her up against him. She was as still as a statue for a long moment, as if determined to resist, and then on a small indrawn breath her mouth opened under Max’s and the blood roared in his head.

  His hands dropped and settled on her waist, over the flimsy fabric of her vest, relishing the contours of her tiny waist. She triggered something very primal in him in a way no other woman ever had.

  His tongue stroked into her mouth, finding hers and tangling with it hotly. His erection jerked in his pants in response and he groaned softly.

  Darcy tasted like the sweetest nectar on earth, but her small sharp tongue was a pointed reminder that she had an edge. That only fired up his blood even more. She was soft, sweet, malleable...and melting into him like his hottest fantasy.