by Abby Green
They were soon separated and caught up in a round of congratulations and chatter. Darcy felt even more like a fraud, aware of Max’s tall form on the other side of the room as he spoke to his brother. She felt as if she had ‘fake bride’ emblazoned on her forehead.
When there was a lull Serena surprised her by coming over and handing her a glass of champagne.
Darcy took a grateful sip. ‘Thanks, I needed that.’
Serena frowned minutely. ‘Are you okay? You look a little pale.’
Darcy smiled weakly. ‘It’s just been a bit of a whirlwind two weeks.’
Serena was about to say something when her husband Luca appeared at her side and wound his arm possessively around her waist. They shared a look so intimate that Darcy felt like a voyeur. And something worse: envy.
To Darcy’s intense relief a gong sounded then, indicating that lunch would be served. She siezed on the excuse to break away and find her seat, and pushed down the gnawing sense of emptiness that had no place here, at a fake wedding.
* * *
The tension that gripped Max whenever he saw his brother had eased somewhat by the time they were sipping fragrant coffee after lunch. He looked around at the guests at the long table. He and Darcy were at the head and she was leaning towards the man on her left, one of Max’s accountants.
This wedding was putting him in pole position to achieve everything he’d ever wanted: the ultimate respect among his peers. So why wasn’t he feeling a sense of triumph? Why on earth was he preoccupied with his very fake wife and how delectable she looked in her wedding dress? How he’d like to peel it bit by bit from that luscious body?
At that moment he spied his brother and his wife, sitting halfway down the table. They were side by side and looking at one another with utter absorption. It made something dark twist inside him.
He shouldn’t have invited them. All anyone would have to do would be to look at Luca and Serena and realise how flimsy the façade of his marriage to Darcy was.
Once again his brother was effortlessly proving Max’s lack. And worse was the evidence that whatever blows Luca had been dealt in his life they hadn’t touched some deep part of him, tainting him for ever. For the first time, Max felt more than envy—he felt hollow.
‘What is it? You look as if you’re about to murder someone.’
The low voice came close to his ear and Max turned his head to see Darcy’s face, a small frown between her eyes. He felt exposed—and frustrated. There was a futile sense of rage in his gullet that was old and dark, harking back to that one cataclysmic day in his childhood. Still to be bound by that day was galling.
He acted instinctively—seeking something he couldn’t put a name to. Perhaps an antidote to the darkness inside him. An escape from the demons nipping at his heels. He uncurled his hand and put it around Darcy’s waist, tugging her into him before claiming her mouth in a kiss that burned like wildfire through his veins.
It didn’t bring escape, though. It brought carnal hunger, and a need that only she seemed able to tap into. Incensed that she could do this to him so easily—and here, in front of witnesses—made Max deepen the embrace. He felt rather than heard Darcy’s moan as both hands moved around her back.
Eventually some sliver of sanity seemed to pierce the heat haze in his brain and he pulled back. Darcy took a second to open her eyes. Her mouth was pink and swollen, her breasts moving rapidly against him.
And then he saw her come to her senses. Those blue eyes went from hot to cold in seconds and she tried to pull free, but Max didn’t let her go, keeping her attention on him.
Darcy couldn’t seem to suck enough oxygen into her heaving lungs. When she could, she hissed at Max, ‘What the hell was that little caveman move?’
She knew damn well that his urge to indulge in that very public display of affection hadn’t been entirely inspired by the need to fool their guests, because the look on his face just before he’d kissed her had been dark and haunted. It struck a raw nerve.
She pushed herself free of Max’s embrace and stood up.
He stood up too, frowning. ‘Where are you going?’
Darcy whispered angrily, ‘I’m taking ten minutes’ break from this charade—if that’s all right with you?’
She forced a poilte smile at their guests, who had now started moving around after lunch, but didn’t stop, heading straight for a secluded balcony through an open set of French doors. She needed air. Now.
She went and stood at the stone wall and looked out over Rome, basking benignly in the midafternoon sun. It was idyllic, and a million miles from the turmoil in her belly and her head.
Damn Max and his effortless ability to push her buttons. The galling thing was she didn’t even know what button he was pushing. She just knew she was angry with him, and she hated feeling like a puppet on a string. This was a mistake. No amount of money was worth this. She’d happily live as a nomad for the rest of her life if she could just be as far away from Max as possible.
Liar.
‘Darcy?’
She closed her eyes. No escape.
Darcy turned from the view. It was the thread of concern in his voice that made her glance at him, but his face was unreadable.
She looked at him accusingly. ‘Why did you kiss me like that? It wasn’t just to put on a show for people.’
‘No,’ he admitted reluctantly, ‘it wasn’t just for that.’
A pain that Darcy knew she shouldn’t be feeling gripped her when she thought of the anger and frustration she’d sensed in the kiss.
‘It’s one thing to be wilfully and knowingly used for another’s benefit, and to agree to that, but I won’t let you take the fact that I’m not the lover you want out on me.’
Max’s eyes widened. And then he came in front of her and put his hands on the wall either side of her, caging her in. In a low, fierce voice he said, ‘That statement is so far from the truth it’s not even funny. The only woman I am remotely interested in is right in front of me.’
Darcy swallowed and tried not to let Max’s proximity render her stupid. ‘But you were angry...I could feel it.’
Max pushed himself off the wall and ran a hand around his jaw. He stood beside Darcy and looked out at the view. Then he sighed and without looking at her said, ‘You’re right. I was angry.’
Darcy rested her hip against the wall, her own anger diffusing treacherously. ‘Why?’
Max’s mouth twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. More a reflex. ‘My brother, primarily. I saw them—him and his wife...’
Without elaborating Darcy knew exactly what he meant. She’d seen it too. Their almost unbearable intimacy.
Max shrugged and looked down for a moment. ‘He gets to me like no one else can. Pushes my buttons. I always feel like I’m just catching up to him, two steps behind.’
Darcy could see it then: the intense hunger Max had to feel he wasn’t in competition with his brother any more. Whatever had happened when their parents had split up had marked these two men indelibly.
Feeling tight inside, she said, ‘Well, I don’t like being used to score a point. Next time find someone else.’
She went to move away, to go back inside, but Max caught her before she could leave with his hands around her waist, holding her fast. His eyes were blazing down into hers.
‘I kissed you because I want you, Darcy. If there was anger there at my brother it was forgotten the moment my mouth touched yours. I do not want you to be under any illusions. When I kiss you I know exactly who I’m kissing and why.’
Darcy stared up at him, transfixed by the intensity of his expression.
‘Maledizione. I can’t think when you look at me like that.’
He pulled her closer and Darcy fell against him, unsteady in her shoes. She braced her hands against his chest. He
was warm. Hard.
‘Max...’ Darcy protested weakly—too weakly. ‘There’s no one here to see.’
‘Good,’ he said silkily. ‘Because this is not motivated by any reason other than the fact that I want you.’
One hand cupped the back of Darcy’s head and the other was tight around her waist, almost lifting her off her feet. When Max’s mouth met hers she was aghast to realise how badly she wanted it, and she met him with a fervour that should have embarrassed her. But it didn’t. She wound her arms around his neck, her breasts swelling against his chest.
He backed Darcy into the wall, so it supported her, and their kiss was bruising and desperate. Two weeks of pent-up frustration and denial. Max’s hands were on her hips and he gripped her so tightly she wondered dimly if the marks of his fingers would be on her flesh.
Darcy became aware of a noise after a few long seconds of letting Max suck her into a vortex of mindlessness and realised it was someone clearing his throat in a very obvious manner when she pulled back and was mortified to see a staff member—also mortified—waiting for them to come up for air.
Max released her hips from his grip and stood back. His hair was mussed, his tie awry. Darcy felt as if she might float away from the ground, she was so light-headed.
Max turned to face the red-faced staff member, who was obviously eager to pass on his message so he could escape.
‘Sorry to disturb you, Signor Roselli, your car is ready when you are.’
The young man left and Darcy looked at Max, feeling stupid. ‘Car? Where are we going?’
‘The villa—Lake Como—for a long weekend.’
She must have looked as stupid as she felt.
‘Our honeymoon?’ he said.
Max had informed her a week before that they’d go away for a long weekend after the wedding, just so that everything looked as authentic as possible. She’d completely forgotten. Until now.
And suddenly the thought of a few days alone in a villa with Max was terrifying.
‘Surely we can just stay here in Rome? There’s so much to prepare for Scotland—’ she gabbled.
Max was shaking his head and taking her hand to lead her back inside. ‘We’re going to Como, Darcy. Non-negotiable.’
He let go of her hand inside the door to the dining room and, as if sensing her growing desire to escape said firmly, ‘Say goodbye to your parents, Darcy. I’ll meet you in the foyer in an hour.’
She watched, still a little numb, as he strode over to some of the guests to start saying goodbye and felt a looming sense of futility wash over her. A weekend alone in a villa with Max Fonseca Roselli...after that kiss... She didn’t stand a chance.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE JOURNEY TO his private jet passed mainly in silence. Max had been waiting for Darcy in the lobby, as promised, and she’d been aware of every move he’d made in the car. Now, in the jet, he took a seat with graceful athleticism.
As much as she didn’t want to attract his attention, it was hard to drag her eyes off him. He’d changed into dark trousers and a dark grey lightweight long-sleeved top that did little to disguise the sheer breadth and power of his chest. The grey of his top seemed to make his eyes burn more intensely, and Darcy looked away quickly, in case she was caught, as the small plane left the ground.
She’d changed too, into a ‘going-away’ outfit—a soft flowing knee-length sleeveless dress of dark cream with a matching jacket. Her hair was down and her scalp still prickled from the pins that had been holding it up, along with the veil.
She gently massaged her skull and thought of the poignant moment that had caught her unawares when she’d packed the dress and veil away in their boxes. She’d been thinking what a pity it was that she’d never have a daughter to hand it down to.
The stylist had seen her expression and said, ‘Don’t worry, Signora Roselli, we’ll take good care of them for you.’
Hearing Signora Roselli had been enough to break her out of that momentary weakness and bring her back to reality. She was only Signora Roselli because Max craved world domination, and she—the fool—was helping him achieve it.
‘For a new bride you’re surprisingly quiet. Nervous about our wedding night, darling?’
Darcy cursed Max. If there was one mood in which he was pretty much irresisitible it was this more playful one that he so rarely displayed.
She glared at him and quirked a brow. ‘I wouldn’t know—not having much experience of being a new bride, and having even less inclination to be one ever again.’
Max tutted and smiled wolfishly. ‘Don’t worry, dolcezza mia, I’ll be gentle with you.’
To Darcy’s horror she felt herself getting hot, wondering what it would be like if this was real and Max was really promising to be gentle. She had an image of him with that intent look on his face as he thrust into her carefully, inch by inch... Between her legs she spasmed, her muscles reacting to her lurid imagination.
Horrified at her wayward body and, worse, at her desire to know what it would be like, she said curtly, ‘Save it, Max. I’m not a virgin.’
She looked away when he said, ‘So I don’t need to be gentle, then? Good, because when we come together—’
Darcy snapped open her seatbelt and stood up, swaying a little as the plane hit some turbulence. She gripped the back of the seat to stay steady and said, ‘I’m going to lie down. I’m tired.’
Max caught her wrist as she went past him and when she looked down he was frowning, all humour gone. ‘What the hell, Darcy...? I’m just teasing you.’
She pulled her wrist free, already feeling like a prize idiot to have risen to such easy bait. ‘I’m fine. I told you—I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.’
She made her way to the small bedroom and slammed the door shut behind her, pressing the backs of her hands to hot cheeks. She cursed herself roundly as she paced back and forth. Of all the stupid— Why had she let Max wind her up like that?
She sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly weary. Because the truth was that this whole day had got to her much more than she’d ever imagined it would, and his teasing had just highlighted that.
When she’d agreed to this marriage with Max she’d somehow believed that she could do it and remain relatively intact. Unscathed by the man.
But that had all been shot to hell. It had been shot to hell after that night in his office, when the true depth of her attraction to him had become painfully apparent.
Why did he have to find her attractive? This wasn’t how the world worked—men like Max did not find women like Darcy attractive. She had no doubt that it was an aberration—a freakish anomaly. A desire borne out of the fact that she was so different from his usual type of woman. Stress-induced. Something-induced. But not real.
Her circling thoughts brought her back to one question: why had she followed that crazy instinct to apply for a job working for the man in the first place?
With a heartfelt groan Darcy flopped back onto the bed and shut her eyes, willing sleep to come and make her mind blissfully blank.
* * *
A sleek car was waiting for them when they arrived at the small airport just outside Milan. When their bags had been stowed Max sat in the driver’s seat and Darcy got into the passenger side. The car was luxurious, and obviously high-end. When Max drove out of the airport it felt as if it was barely skimming the road.
He must have seen something of her appreciation because he said, ‘This is the new Falcone road car. I’m friends with Rafaele—he lends me cars to test-drive every now and then.’
Darcy’s mouth quirked, even though she was still wary after her outburst earlier. But she couldn’t let Max see that he could get to her so easily. ‘The perks of being friends with one of the world’s most famous car manufacturers?’
Max shrugged li
ghtly, wearing his mantle of privilege easily. Darcy sighed. She couldn’t even fault him for that, though. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t earned it.
‘Darcy...’ he said carefully. ‘What happened earlier—’
She sat up and said quickly, ‘It was nothing, really. It’s just been a lot to take in.’
Max’s hands clenched on the steering wheel and he said after a long moment, ‘Do you know I’ve never really said thank you?’
She looked at him and his jaw was firm. He glanced at her, and then back to the road. ‘Thank you, Darcy, for doing this. I don’t underestimate how big a favour it is.’
Darcy felt herself weakening, any residual tendrils of anger fading. She knew Max well enough to know that he rarely said thank you unless it really meant something to him.
She was about to say something in response when an insidious suspicion occurred to her and her eyes narrowed on Max, taking in his oh, so benign expression in the half-light of the car. She folded her arms. ‘I’m not sleeping with you, Max.’
He glanced at her again and that mocking look was back on his face. ‘I wasn’t aware I’d asked the question.’
‘You don’t have to. It’s there between us... But I just can’t.’
Because you’ll hurt me.
Darcy sucked in a breath, the truth finally revealing itself to her. She was in way too deep with Max already. If they slept together his inevitable rejection would crush her. The thought was utterly galling, but it was a fact.
Max’s jaw was firm again in the low light of the car. ‘I said before that I don’t play games, Darcy. It’s your choice.’ He slid her a darkly wicked look. ‘But I won’t promise not to try to change your mind.’
In a firm bid to ignore that disturbing promise, Darcy changed the subject. ‘Who owns the villa we’re going to?’
‘A good friend of mine and his family—Dante D’Aquanni.’
