by Abby Green
‘I’ve heard of him,’ Darcy said. ‘He’s in construction?’
Max nodded, negotiating a hairpin turn by the lake with skill. ‘He and his family are living temporarily in Spain while he works on a project.’
‘How do you know him?’
Max’s hands tightened momentarily on the wheel. ‘We go back a long way... He was one of the first clients I had who trusted me to invest his money for him.’
Precluding any further conversation, Max turned into a clearing where huge ornate gates loomed in the dark, with stone walls on either side. When the gates swung open Max drove in and a stunningly beautiful villa was revealed, with stone steps leading up to an impressive porch and door.
Golden light spilled from the doorway when it opened and a housekeeper came bustling out. A younger man joined the old woman who met them and took their bags. Max greeted the housekeeper warmly and introduced Darcy to the woman, who was called Julieta.
The D’Aquannis’ housekeeper led them inside, chatting to Max easily, and Darcy guessed he’d been there before. The interior was awe-inspiring, with high ceilings, an impressive staircase, and huge rooms visible off the stone-flagged reception area.
One room, when Darcy peeked into it, seemed to have a blue glass ceiling. Murano glass? she wondered.
Max turned to Darcy after Julieta had offered some refreshments and Darcy seized the opportunity to reply in front of a witness, saying in Italian that she was tired and would like to go to bed. She ignored Max’s undoubtedly mocking look.
It was with a feeling of mounting dread, however, as they followed Julieta upstairs, that Darcy wondered if they were going to be shown to one bedroom...
To her abject relief Julieta opened a door, motioning to Max, and then led Darcy to the next door along the wide corridor, opening it to reveal a sumptuous bedroom with en suite bathroom and dressing room.
Julieta bustled off again, after pointing some things out to Darcy and telling her that breakfast would be ready at nine a.m.
Darcy’s relief lasted precisely as long as it took for Max to appear in an adjoining doorway, with a wicked glint in his eye.
Arms folded across that broad chest, he leaned gracefully against the doorframe. ‘I told Dante about the true nature of our marriage...needless to say I’m regretting that impulse now.’
Darcy put her hands on her hips. ‘Well, I’m not. Goodnight, Max.’
Max said musingly, almost as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘You know, I’ve never really had to woo a woman before—I’m looking forward to it.’
Her belly exploded as if a hundred butterflies had been set free. Of course Max Fonseca Roselli Fonseca had never wooed a woman before, because they always fell into his lap like ripe plums.
She started walking towards the door, prepared to shut it in his face. ‘I’ll save you the trouble. I’m really not worth it.’
Max’s gaze dropped down over her body with explicit directness. ‘On the contrary...I think you’ll be very worth it.’ He stood away from the door then, and said, ‘Goodnight, Darcy.’
And then the adjoining door closed in her face, before she could make a smart retort, and she looked at it feeling ridiculously deflated, curbing the urge to open it again and follow Max into his room.
What had she expected? That Max would ignore a challenge? She was very afraid that she’d handled this all wrong. Max would accept nothing less than total capitulation, and his tone of voice said that he didn’t expect it to take all that long.
Darcy stomped around the thickly carpeted room, getting unpacked and ready for bed, and muttered to herself, ‘Do your worst, Roselli. I’m stronger than you think.’
* * *
Apparently she wasn’t as strong as she thought after all. When she emerged for breakfast the following morning and saw Max sitting at the table which had been set up on a terrace at the back of the villa she immediately felt weak.
She studiously ignored the spectacular view of the lake—she had a very old fear of any expanse of water, no matter how scenic it was.
Max was wearing worn jeans and a dark polo top, his hair dishevelled by the breeze. When he lifted his hand to take a sip from a small coffee cup his well-formed bicep bulged and Darcy went hot all over.
As if sensing her scrutiny, he looked up and smiled. ‘Good morning...sleep well?’
She fixed a bright smile on her face and moved forward, avoiding direct eye contact. ‘Yes, thank you—like a baby and all people with a clear conscience.’
Max made an ouch sound and said dryly, ‘Then I hate to inform you that I must be on the side of the angels as I slept well too.’
Darcy snorted inelegantly, helping herself to some pastries and pungent coffee, closing her eyes for a moment to savour the smell. Heaven.
When she opened them again it was to find Max giving her a leisurely once-over. His gaze stopped at her breasts and Darcy looked down, aghast to see the hard points of her nipples pushing against the thin material of the light sundress she’d put on, in the absence of anything remotely businesslike.
She resisted the urge to fold her arms over her chest and took her time over eating the delicious pastries and some fruit, avoiding Max studiously. When she did glance at him he seemed fixated on the corner of her mouth, and then he leaned forward to reach out and touch it with his index finger.
When he sat back she saw some jam on it, and he proceeded to lick it off the top of his finger—which had a direct effect on the pulse between Darcy’s legs and abruptly made her appetite fade to be replaced by a much earthier one.
Not willing to sit there like a mouse, while Max the predatory cat played with her, Darcy stood up and said briskly, ‘I’ll find out where the study is, shall I? And check e-mails and—’
Max stood up too and reached for Darcy easily, taking her hand. ‘You’re doing no such thing. I’ve got plans for today and they won’t be taking place in a study.’
Darcy pulled free and stepped back, panic fluttering along her nerve-endings at the thought of Max devoting all his attention to her. ‘I don’t mind. We should really make sure that—’
Suddenly Max dipped out of sight and Darcy’s world was upended. She found herself in his arms, clinging onto his neck in fright.
‘What the hell—?’ she got out in a choked voice.
But Max was saying something to Julieta over her head about being back later for dinner. The woman smiled at them benevolently, as if she saw this kind of thing all the time. It made Darcy wonder about the owners.
Max finally let her down once they were outside, in order to open the passenger door of the car. Darcy tried to make a dash for it, back to the villa, but he wound an arm around her waist, practically lifting her into the passenger seat.
Darcy fumed as she watched him come around the front of the car, his eyes on hers warning her not to defy him again. When he swung in and quickly locked the doors from the inside Darcy sputtered, ‘This is tantamount to kidnap...and you’re blatantly taking advantage of my size... You’re a...a sizeist!’
Max was already driving smoothly out of the villa and he looked at her with dark amusement and said, ‘I have to admit that your...portability makes you a little easier to control.’
Darcy made a strangled sound of outrage and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring out of the window as Max drove away from the villa. Damn him and his superior strength.
But while she hated the ease with which he was able to compel her to do his bidding all she could think about was how it had felt to be held so securely in his arms—how her instinct had been to burrow closer and seek a kind of refuge she’d never felt like seeking before. The fact that she could be as susceptible as the next woman to Max’s caveman antics was not welcome.
* * *
Darcy only recognised where they were when she saw the sig
ns for Milano. She turned to Max and said eagerly, ‘You’ve come to your senses and we’re going back to Rome to work?’
He quirked a half-smile. ‘No. I’m taking you out.’
Out where, though? Darcy looked at him suspiciously but he gave nothing away.
And then he said, ‘Apart from my very serious intention to get you into my bed, it’ll be good for us to be seen together the weekend after our marriage. We are meant to be on honeymoon, after all.’
Darcy had no answer for that. He was right.
They parked in a private and exclusive car park with valet parking and emerged onto a busy Milan street that was bustling with weekend activity.
It was like a fashion parade, with beautiful women walking up and down—some with the requisite small dogs—and beautiful men... A little too metrosexual for Darcy, but then this was the fashion capital of Italy and arguably Europe. Predictably, Max stood out among these beautiful people and there were plenty of heads turning in recognition and appreciation.
After all, Darcy recalled, hadn’t the Italians invented a word for walking around in order to be seen? Passeggiata?
Max took Darcy’s hand in his and led her down the street. She wanted to pull away, but as if reading her mind he held on tight. Veering off to a small side street, Max ducked into a boutique with a world-famous designer’s name over the door.
He was greeted like a superstar—and as a regular, Darcy noted with a dart of something dark. But before she could emit so much as a squeak she was whisked away behind a curtain and Max was left out in the foyer. At one stage she caught a glimpse of him sipping coffee and reading a newspaper.
She was completely bemused as industrious assistants flitted around her like exotic butterflies. Finally fitted into a stunning bodycon cocktail dress—a bit too bodycon for Darcy’s taste—she was all but pushed back out onto the main salon floor. She realised she was being paraded for Max’s benefit when he lowered his paper and looked her over as if she were a brood mare.
Anger started down low and then rose through her body in a tidal wave of heat and humiliation. She hissed at him, ‘What the hell is this?’
His eyes snapped to hers. ‘I’m taking you shopping.’
‘I don’t need any more clothes.’
Max looked nonplussed for a moment, as if he literally could not compute Darcy’s reaction. It would have been funny if she hadn’t been so angry. And what was making her even angrier was the evidence that this was obviously a regular occurrence for him...bringing women shopping.
So angry that she couldn’t see straight, and feeling seriously constricted in the dress, she went straight to the door and walked out, almost tripping in the ridiculous heels. She was halfway down the street, with steam coming out of her ears, before Max caught up with her, standing in front of her to block her way easily.
‘What the hell was that?’
‘Exactly. What the hell was that? I thought you said you weren’t used to wooing women? Does taking them shopping not count as wooing? Because evidently you do it a lot, going by your familiarity with those assistants in that shop—and quite a few others, I’d imagine.’
Max threw his hands up in the air. ‘What woman doesn’t love shopping?’
Darcy pointed a finger at herself. ‘This one.’ Then she folded her arms, her eyes narrowed on him. ‘Maybe you consider taking women shopping as foreplay?’
They glowered at each other for a long moment, and then Max sighed deeply and put his hands on his hips. Eventually he muttered something like, ‘Should have known better...’
Darcy put a hand behind her ear. ‘Sorry? What was that?’
Max looked at her and his mouth twitched ever so slightly. He said, with exaggerated precision, ‘I’m sorry for assuming you would want to go shopping. I should have known better.’
Darcy’s own mouth was tempted to twitch, but she curbed the urge. ‘Yes, you should. And I can’t breathe in this dress.’
Max’s gold gaze dropped and took her in, and then he said roughly, ‘I don’t think I can breathe with you in that dress.’
Immediately Darcy’s brain started to overheat and she was in danger of forgetting why she was angry.
Max put out his hand. ‘Come on—let’s take it back.’
With her hand in his, walking back down the street, Darcy felt a little foolish for storming out like a petulant child. That wasn’t her. She winced. But it was her around Max. He just wound her up. After all, he’d only been doing what he’d thought would make her happy.
She squeezed his hand and he looked at her just before they got to the shop. ‘I’m sorry. I just... I’m not that into shopping. It’s not that I’m not grateful.’
Max gave her a wry grin. ‘I didn’t exactly go about it with any finesse. Come on.’
He pushed the door open and a very sheepish Darcy walked in behind him, mortified under the speculative gazes of the staff.
When she was dressed in her own clothes she breathed a sigh of relief, and when she was out in the main part of the shop again she spied a bright, colourful scarf and took it to the till.
Immediately Max was there to pay for it. Darcy glared at him, but he ignored her and she sighed. When they were outside she tucked the scarf into her bag and he looked at her expressively. Feeling defensive, she said, ‘Well, I felt like I had to buy something!’
Max rolled his eyes and said dryly, ‘Believe me, those saleswomen are like piranhas.’
Darcy sniffed. ‘I just felt bad, that’s all.’
Max took her hand and Darcy glanced up. He was looking at her with a funny expression on his face. ‘You’ve got a good heart, Darcy Lennox.’
She snorted, but inwardly fluttered. ‘Hardly.’
And then, just as they were passing another boutique—much smaller but no less exclusive—Darcy stopped in her tracks. The dress in the window was exquisite—off the shoulder, deep royal blue satin, with a scooped neck and a boned bodice that would accentuate an hourglass figure.
When Darcy realised what she was doing she grew hot with embarrassment and went to keep walking, but Max stopped her, an incredulous look on his face.
‘And you call me mercurial?’
Darcy smiled weakly. ‘I didn’t say I hate shopping. I’m like a heat-seeking missile—once I see what I want I go for it and then get out again.’
‘Do you want it?’ he asked.
Darcy squirmed. ‘Well...I like it...’ She looked at it wistfully.
Max pulled her into the shop and this time paced the small space while she tried the dress on, together with suitable underwear and shoes.
The assistant stood back and said appreciatively, ‘Bella figura, signora.’
Max appeared at the dressing room door, clearly a little bored. When his eyes widened Darcy’s heart-rate zoomed skywards.
‘Is it okay?’ she asked shyly. And then she babbled, ‘You know, I probably do need a dress for the Montgomerys’ party, so...’
‘We’ll take it.’ Max’s voice sounded slightly constricted.
Once Max had arranged for the dress and sundries to be sent to his office in Rome they left again. Darcy had tried to pay for the dress but of course he hadn’t let her.
Back out in the sunshine, he looked at her and said, almost warily, ‘What now?’
Darcy looked around, enjoying seeing Max knocked slightly off his confident stride. ‘Well, first I want some gelato...’
Max’s eyes boggled. ‘After you’ve just bought that dress?’ And then he shook his head. ‘Incredibile.’
Smiling now, he took her hand and pressed a kiss to the palm. Darcy looked around surreptitiously for paparazzi, but couldn’t see any obvious cameras pointed at them.
‘And after the gelato?’
She screwed up her nose and thought. ‘Wel
l, I’ve never seen The Last Supper by Leonardo Da Vinci, so that’d be nice, and I’d like to walk on the roof of the Duomo and see if we can see the Alps.’ Darcy looked at Max. ‘What about you?’
Max blinked. What about him? No one had ever asked him before what he’d like to do. And the fact that he’d assumed for a second that he could just take Darcy shopping— He shook his head mentally now at his lack of forethought. But he hadn’t been thinking—he’d just wanted to get them out of the villa before she could lock herself in the study.
Clearly, though, he’d underestimated her and would need to be far more inventive. For the first time in a long time Max felt the thrill of a challenge and something else—something almost...light.
‘Do you know what I’d like?’
She shook her head.
‘To go and see the AC Milan game.’
Darcy looked at her watch and then said impishly, ‘Well, then, you’re going to have your work cut out making sure we fit it all in, aren’t you?’
* * *
‘That last goal...’ Darcy shook her head and trailed off.
Max glanced at her, sitting in the passenger seat. They were almost back at the villa and he couldn’t remember a day he’d enjoyed as much.
They’d stood before one of the great artworks of the world and then climbed to the top of a magnificent cathedral to see the spectacular view. They hadn’t seen the snowy Alps through the heat haze that hung over the city, much to Darcy’s disappointment, and it had made Max feel an absurd urge to fix that for her. And they’d been to a football match. He never got to go to see his favourite team play. He was always too busy.
He teased Darcy. ‘So you’re a fan of AC Milan now?’
She looked at him and grinned. ‘I could get used to it. I never realised football was so gladiatorial. My father’s a rugby man, so I grew up being dragged to rugby matches. Whatever country we were in I found it was a way of orientating myself, because we moved around so much.’
Max found himself thinking of something that had nagged at him, and asked curiously, ‘Does that have anything to do with the very specific amount of money you requested?’
