The Bride Fonseca Needs

by Abby Green

  ‘So why aren’t you in my bed?’

  ‘Because,’ Darcy said tersely, well and truly awake now, ‘I don’t care for the hot and cold routine, and you’ve made it perfectly clear that now we’ve consummated the relationship you’re done with any niceties.’

  Max came close to the bed and Darcy hated the way her blood sizzled with anticipation.

  ‘I never said I was nice, Darcy,’ he pointed out. ‘Are you going to come to my bed?’

  ‘No,’ Darcy said mutinously.

  Max just shrugged and left, and Darcy let out a shaky sigh of...disappointment. She lambasted herself. She was pathetic. And then her mouth dropped open when Max walked back in with a bunch of clothes and some toiletries.

  She watched, dumbfounded, as he proceeded to strip and get into the bed beside her. He leaned on one elbow, unselfconsciously naked in the way that only the most gorgeous people could be, and those tawny eyes glinted with pure devilment.

  ‘The honeymoon is over, but this isn’t.’

  He reached for her and Darcy had a split second to realise that she could take the moral high ground and resist Max’s arrogant pull or, as she asked herself belligerently, why shouldn’t she use Max as he was using her? Take her own pleasure from him until she was sated?

  That was the weak logic she used, anyway, as she hurled herself back into the fire.

  When she woke in the morning and all those little voices were ready to rip her to shreds for her weakness she resolutely ignored them and told herself she could do this. Max didn’t have the monopoly on being cold and ruthless.

  * * *

  As the days progressed, getting closer to the time they’d be leaving for Scotland, their working hours got longer. And in the nights...the passion between them seemed to burn brighter and fiercer with each coupling. Darcy’s anger with herself and Max added something that seemed to hurl her over the edge further and further each time, until she was left spent and shaking.

  Some nights Max seemed to forget what part he was playing, and he’d scoop her close and hold her to him with arms like vises around her. It was on those nights that Darcy knew she was fooling herself the most.

  This game she was playing with Max was costing her. She knew that she wasn’t strong enough emotionally to keep it up indefinitely, and that it would have to stop before she got burned in the fire completely.

  But just not right now...

  The Montgomery estate, north of Inverness

  Darcy huffed out a breath and stopped to look at the view. It was spectacular, and it soothed some of the tension inside her. Hills and mountains stretched as far as the eye could see, and small lochs were dotted here and there like black pools. Clouds scudded across the blue sky.

  In true Scottish fashion, even though it was summer, it had rained since they’d arrived, a couple of days ago. But now the sun was out and the countryside sparkled.

  Darcy was relishing a rare chance to be alone. She’d had enough of Max’s tense mood infecting her own.

  Wily old Montgomery was playing hard to get right to the end. The party was tonight, and Max still wasn’t sure where he stood. To make things even worse, there were several other high-profile financiers invited. Darcy almost felt sorry for Max—but then she thought of the sensual torture he’d put her through the previous night and promptly felt unsorry for him.

  She sat down on a piece of soft springy ground and sighed, pushing her hair back off her hot cheeks. Here against this timeless and peaceful backdrop she couldn’t keep running from her own conscience and her heart.

  In spite of everything, she’d fallen for Max. Self-disgust that she should fall for someone so ruthless and single-minded took the edge off the awful tendency she felt to cry. And yet her bruised heart still pathetically wanted to believe that the Max she’d seen that weekend in Como was real...

  One thing Darcy did know was that Max fooled himself as much as everyone around him. He had feelings, all right, but they were so buried after years of hiding them that it would be like mining for diamonds trying to extract them.

  She knew why her instinct had always warned her off deeper commitment if this was the pain it brought.

  But she couldn’t continue with the status quo. It was a form of self-destruction that Darcy knew she had to stop now—he’d worn her down and broken her apart like the pro he was, and she couldn’t let it continue.

  Max wasn’t going to like it, but he’d get over it. He’d have to, because nothing would compel her to change her mind. Not even his singular seduction.

  * * *

  That night Darcy felt jittery, and Max said beside her, ‘Stop fidgeting.’

  She sent him a dark look. She had her arm tucked into his, for all the world the happy newly married couple.

  Mrs Montgomery had come up to Darcy earlier and said confidentially, ‘Why, he’s a new man, my dear. He was always so brooding before.’

  Darcy had smiled weakly and looked to see Max throwing his head back and laughing at something his companion said. Her gut had twisted. Was he different? And then she’d clamped down on that very dangerous line of thought.

  She was wearing the royal blue satin dress she’d seen in the window of the boutique that day in Milan. When she’d spotted it hanging in her wardrobe in Max’s apartment it had given her a jolt as she’d recalled a much more light-hearted Max.

  She hadn’t wanted to wear it, but he’d insisted. And the look in his eyes when she’d put it on had been nearly enough to make her skin sizzle.

  He’d growled, ‘If we weren’t already late for dinner I’d lock the door to this room, make you take it off, make love to you and then make you put it on again... But I’d probably only want to take it off again...’

  A voice had wheedled in Darcy’s head—What’s one more night...?—and she’d shut it out. She couldn’t afford one more night with Max.

  The crowd was making a toast now, to Cecil Montgomery, his smiling wife and their four children and assorted grandchildren. Darcy’s heart constricted. Happiness was there for some people. The very few.

  She felt Max tense beside her. Time for the announcement.

  Montgomery started by going into a long-winded account of his career, clearly building up to the big moment. Darcy bit her lip and looked at Max, but his face was expressionless.

  ‘As many of you will know, it’s been my life’s work to cultivate, protect and grow the famous private equity fund of this family that goes back generations. It’s my legacy to my children and grandchildren—not to mention our very important philanthropic work...’

  Montgomery cleared his throat and kept going.

  ‘As we all know in these uncertain times, expert advice is necessary to ensure the growth and protection of anything of importance. And this fund is not just my life’s work, but my ancestors’. It’s been of the utmost importance that I choose someone who has those sensibilities in mind. Who understands the importance of family and legacy...for the benefit of not only my own family but also much larger concerns.’

  He paused dramatically and then took a breath.

  ‘There is only one person I would trust with this great responsibility, and I’m pleased to announce that that man is...Maximiliano Fonseca Roselli.’

  Darcy could feel the surge of emotion in Max’s body. He shook with it. She waited for him to turn and acknowledge her, as much for appearances’ sake as anything else, but after a moment he just disengaged her arm from his and strode forward to accept Montgomery’s handshake and congratulations.

  Darcy could see people looking at her. It was as brutal a sign of where she really stood in his life as a slap in the face, and she realised then that all along she’d been harbouring some kind of pathetic hope that perhaps she was mistaken and he did feel something for her.

  Seeing the crowd lining up to con
gratulate Max, Darcy took advantage of the moment to slip out of the room and walk blindly through the castle, eyes blurred but refusing to let the tears well and fall.

  She would not cry over this man. She would not.

  * * *

  Max cursed silently. Where was she? He knew Darcy was petite, but he’d realised that somehow he had an uncanny knack of finding her glossy dark brown head in any crowd. He thought of her as she’d stood before him in the bedroom not long ago, the deep blue of the satin dress curving around her body in such a way that it had made him feel animalistic. He’d almost forgotten what the evening was about. Almost.

  Lingering tendrils of relief and triumph had snaked through him as he’d forged his way through the throng, accepting congratulations and slaps on the back. Funny, he’d expected to bask in this moment for a lot longer, but he was distracted.

  Darcy. Where was she?

  She’d been standing beside him when Montgomery had called out his name and his first instinct had been to turn to her. She’d done this with him. He wouldn’t have done it without her. He’d wanted to share it with her.

  The surge of alien emotion that had gripped him had caught him right in his throat and at the back of his eyes, making them sting. Horrorstruck, in a nano-second he’d been aware that he was on the verge of tears and about to let Darcy see it. So at the last second he’d pulled away and strode forward. Not wanting her to see the rawness he was feeling. Not ready for the scrutiny of those huge blue eyes that saw too much.

  He cursed again. She wasn’t here. A quick tour of the surrounding rooms didn’t reveal her either, and Max made his way to the bedroom with a growing sense of unease.

  When he opened the door to the bedroom the sense of unease coalesced into a black mass in his gut. Darcy barely looked up when he walked in. She’d changed into black trousers and a stripy top. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She looked about sixteen. She was packing her suitcase.

  Max folded his arms, as if that might ease the constriction in his chest.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  She glanced at him, her face expressionless. ‘I’m leaving.’

  Seizing on his default mechanism of acerbity, Max drawled, ‘I think I could have deduced that much.’

  Darcy shrugged as she pulled the top of the suitcase down and started to zip it up. ‘Well, then, if it’s that obvious why ask?’

  Anger started to flicker to life in Max’s gut as the full impact of what he was looking at sank in. She was leaving. He didn’t like the clutch of panic. Panic was not something he ever felt.

  ‘What’s going on, Darcy? They’ve only just made the announcement—dinner hasn’t even been served yet.’

  Darcy stopped zipping up the bag and looked at him. For a moment he saw something flicker in her eyes but then it was gone.

  ‘I’m done, Max. I’ve more than paid my dues as your convenient wife. When you can’t even acknowledge me in your moment of glory it’s pretty obvious that I’ve become superfluous to your requirements.’

  The panic gripped him tighter. He’d messed up. ‘Look, Darcy, I know I couldn’t have achieved this without you—’

  She laughed, short and sharp. ‘You had this all along. I think Montgomery just enjoyed watching you jump through hoops... It’s not many deals or many men Maximiliano Fonseca Roselli will do that for.’

  Darcy picked up the jacket that was laid over the back of a nearby chair and shrugged it on, turning those huge blue eyes on him.

  ‘What did you expect to happen now, Max? Some kind of fake domestic idyll? The deal is done. This is over. There’s no more need for the charade.’

  Max felt tight all over, in the grip of something dark and hot. He bit out, ‘You won’t even stay one more night.’ He didn’t pose it as a question, already hating himself for saying it.

  Darcy shook her head and her glossy ponytail slid over one shoulder. ‘No. I’ve given you enough of my time, Max. More than enough.’

  Was it his imagination or had there been a catch in her voice? Max couldn’t hear through the dull roaring in his head. He felt himself teetering on the edge of something... Asking her to stay? But, as she’d said, for what? What did he want from her now? And what was this terrifying swooping of emotion, threatening to push him over the edge, spurred on by the panic which made his insides feel as loose as they’d felt tight a moment ago...?

  He’d only ever felt like this once before. When he’d stood before another woman—his mother—and let her see the full extent of his vulnerability and pain. He’d tipped over the edge then and his life had never been the same.

  He was not going to tip over the edge for anyone else. He had just achieved the pinnacle of his success. What did he need Darcy for? He had everything that he’d ever wanted. He could go on from here and live his life and know that he was untouchable, that he had surpassed every one of his naysayers and doubters. Every one of the bullies.

  He and Luca would finally be equals—on his terms.

  The realisation that no great sense of satisfaction accompanied that knowledge was not something Max wanted to dwell on. Suddenly he was quite eager to get on with things. Without that incisive bluer than blue gaze tracking his every movement.

  The fact that he looked at Darcy even now and felt nothing but hunger was irritating, but he told himself that once she was out of his orbit it would die down...fade away.

  He would take a new lover. Start again.

  He uncrossed his arms. ‘Your bonus will be in your bank by Monday. My solicitor will work out the details of the divorce.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Darcy avoided his eye now, picking up her bag.

  A knock came to the door and she looked up. ‘That’ll be the taxi. The housekeeper is sending someone up for my bags when it arrives.’

  Max had pushed everything he was feeling down so deep that he was slightly light-headed. Like a robot, he moved over to the bed and took Darcy’s suitcase easily in one hand. He took it to the door and opened it, handing it out to the young man on the other side. One of the estate staff.

  And then Darcy was in the doorway, close enough for him to smell her scent. It had an immediate effect on him, making his body hard.

  Damn her. Right now he was more than ready to see the back of her. That edge was beckoning again, panic flaring.

  He stepped back, allowing her to leave the room. He forced himself to be solicitous even as he had a sudden urge to haul her back into the room and slam the door shut, locking them both inside.

  And what then? asked a snide voice.

  Another one answered: Chaos.

  ‘Good luck, Darcy. If you need anything get in touch.’

  ‘I won’t.’ Her voice was definitely husky now, and she wasn’t looking at him. ‘But thank you. Goodbye, Max.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  DARCY WASN’T SURE how she managed it, but she stayed in a state of calm numbness until she was on the train at Inverness Station and it was pulling out in the direction of Edinburgh, followed by London.

  As the train picked up speed, though, it was as if its motion was peeling her skin back to expose where her heart lay in tatters, just under her breastbone. It had taken almost every ounce of her strength to stand before Max and maintain that icy, unconcerned front.

  She just made it to the toilet in time, where she sat on the closed lid, shuddering and weeping and swaying as the train took her further and further away from the man who had taken all her vulnerabilities and laid them bare for his own ends.

  And she couldn’t even blame him. She’d handed herself over to his ruthless heartlessness lock, stock and barrel. She’d made that choice.

  Three months later

  Darcy climbed up the steps from the tube and emerged in a quiet road of a leafy suburb in north London. Well, not so leafy now th
at autumn was here in force, stripping everything bare.

  After walking for a few minutes she hitched her bags to one hand as she dug out her key and put it in the front door of her apartment building. A familiar dart of pleasure rushed through her. Her apartment building. Which housed her bijou ground-floor two-bedroomed apartment that had French doors leading out to her own private back garden.

  The bonus Max had provided had more than covered the cost of the apartment with cash—making the sale fast and efficient. She’d moved in three weeks ago.

  Max. He was always on the periphery of her mind, but Darcy shied away from looking at him too directly—like avoiding the glare of the sun for fear of going blind.

  For a month after she’d left him in Scotland she’d had to endure seeing him emblazoned over every paper and magazine: the wunderkind of the financial world, accepted into the highest echelons where heads of state and the most powerful people in the world hailed his genius.

  The emotion she’d felt thinking that he finally must have found some peace had mocked her.

  There’d been pictures of him in gossip columns too, attending glittering events with a different beautiful woman on his arm each time. The pain Darcy had felt had been like a hot dagger skewering her belly, so she’d stopped watching the news or reading the papers.

  She put her shopping away with little enthusiasm and thought idly of inviting her neighbour from upstairs for something to eat. John was the first person to make her laugh since she’d left Max.

  After a quick trip upstairs, and John’s totally overjoyed acceptance of her invitation—‘Sweetie, you are the best! I was about to die of hunger...like literally die!’—Darcy went back downstairs and prepared some dinner, feeling marginally better.

  She could get through this and emerge intact. She could, she vowed as she skewered some chicken with a little more force than necessary.

  * * *

  ‘You know, if you ever want to tell Uncle John about the bastard who done you wrong, I’ll get a few boxes of wine and we’ll hunker down for the weekend. Make a pity party of it.’