Читать книгу Modern Romance June 2015 Books 1-8 - Эбби Грин, Natalie Anderson - Страница 11
ОглавлениеDARCY LOOKED AT HERSELF critically in the mirror of the ladies’ toilet next to her office, but she didn’t really see her own reflection. She was on edge after a long day in which Max had been overly polite and solicitous, with not so much as a sly look or hint that they’d almost made love on his desk the previous night.
At one stage she’d nearly snapped at him to please go back to normal and snarl at her the way he usually did.
The fact that she’d allowed a level of exposure and intimacy with Max she’d never allowed before was something she was resolutely ignoring. Her previous sexual experiences with men had come only after a lengthy dating period. And in each case once the final intimacy had been breached she’d backed off, because she’d realised she had no desire to deepen the commitment.
She snorted at herself now. As if she would have to worry about something like that with Max Fonseca Roselli. He was the kind of man who would leave so fast your head would be spinning for a week.
She forced her mind away from Max and took a deep breath. Her dress was black and had been bought for exactly this purpose—to go from work to a social event. And, as far as Darcy had been concerned when she’d bought it, it was modest.
Yet now it felt all wrong. It was a dress that suited her diminutive hourglass shape perfectly, but suddenly the scooped neckline was too low and the waist too cinched in. The clingy fabric was a little too clingy around her bottom and thighs, making her want to pluck it away from her body. The capped sleeves felt dressy, and when she moved the discreet slit up one side seemed to shout out, I’m trying to be sexy!
All at once she felt pressured and frazzled, aware of time ticking on. She’d already been in the bathroom for twenty minutes. She imagined Max pacing up and down outside, looking at his watch impatiently, waiting for her. Well, too late to change now. Darcy refreshed her make-up and spritzed on some perfume, and slid her feet into slightly higher heels than normal.
She’d left her hair down and at the last moment felt a lurch of panic when she looked at herself again. It looked way too undone. She twisted it up into a quick knot and secured it with a pin.
Her cheeks were hot and beads of sweat rolled down between her breasts. Cursing Max, and herself, she finally let herself out, her work clothes folded into a bag. It was with some relief that she noted that Max wasn’t pacing up and down outside.
Stowing her bag in a cupboard, making a mental note to take it home after the weekend, Darcy took a deep breath and knocked once briefly on Max’s office door before going in.
When she did, though, she nearly took a step back. Max was standing with a remote control in his hand, watching a financial news channel on the flat screen TV set into his wall. His hair was typically messy, but otherwise any resemblance to the Max she’d expected to see dissolved into a haze of heat.
His jaw was clean-shaven, drawing the eye to strong, masculine lines. He was wearing a classic three-piece suit in dark grey, with a snowy-white shirt and grey silk tie. Darcy swallowed as Max turned and his gaze fell on her. She couldn’t breathe. Literally couldn’t draw breath. She’d never seen anyone so arrestingly gorgeous in her life. And the memory of how that lean body had felt when it was pressed against hers, between her legs, was vivid enough to make her sway slightly.
There was a long, taut silence between them until Max clicked a button on the remote and the faint hum of chatter from the TV stopped.
He arched a brow. ‘Ready?’
Darcy found her voice. ‘Yes.’
He moved towards her and she backed out of his office, almost tripping over her own feet to pick up her evening bag and a light jacket matching the dress. As she struggled into it inelegantly she felt it being held out for her and muttered embarrassed thanks as Max settled it onto her shoulders.
She cursed the imagination that made her think his fingers had brushed suggestively against the back of her neck, and strode out of the office ahead of Max before she could start thinking anything else. Like how damn clingy her dress felt right then, and what rogue devil had prompted her not to wear stockings. The slide of her bare thighs against one another felt sensual in a way she’d never even noticed before. She’d never been given to erotic flights of fancy. Far too pragmatic.
Darcy didn’t look at Max as they waited for his private lift, but once they were inside his scent dominated the small space.
He asked, ‘You have the documents?’
‘Yes.’ Darcy lifted the slim attaché case she carried alongside her bag. It held some documents they wanted to have on hand in case Montgomery asked for them.
The lift seemed to take an eternity to descend the ten or so floors to the bottom.
‘You know, we will have to make eye contact at some point in the evening.’ Max’s voice was dry.
Reluctantly Darcy looked up at him, standing beside her, and it was as if a jolt of lightning zapped her right in the belly. She sucked in a breath and saw Max’s eyes flare. The shift in energy was as immediate as an electric current springing up between them, as if it had been waiting until they got close enough to activate it.
No wonder they’d been skirting around each other all day. They’d both been avoiding this.
For the nano-second it took for this to sink in, and for Max to make an infinitesimally small move towards her—for her to realise how badly she wanted to touch him again—there was nothing outside of the small cocoon of the lift. Desire pulsated like a tangible thing.
But then a sharp ping sounded, the doors opened silently and they both stopped—centimetres from actually touching each other.
Max emitted a very rude Italian curse. He took her arm to guide her out of the lift, although it felt more as if he was marching her out of the building.
Once outside, walking to his chauffeur-driven car, he said tersely, ‘I said eye contact, Darcy, not—’
‘Not what, Max?’ Darcy stopped and pulled her arm free, shaky from the rush of adrenalin and desire she’d just experienced, and self-conscious at the thought that she’d been all but drooling. ‘I didn’t do anything. You’re the one who looked at me as if—’
He came close. ‘As if what? As if I suddenly couldn’t think of anything else except what happened last night?’ His mouth was a thin line. ‘Well, I couldn’t—and neither could you.’
Darcy had nothing to say. He was right. She’d been utterly naïve and clueless to think that she could experience a moment like that with Max Fonseca Roselli and put it down as a rash, crazy incident and never want him again. A hunger had been awoken inside her.
But she could deal with that.
What she couldn’t deal with was the fact that Max—for some unfathomable reason—still wanted her too.
He glanced at his watch and said curtly, ‘We’ll be late. We can’t talk about this now.’
And then he took her arm again and led her to the car, following her into the plush interior before she could protest or say another word.
* * *
The journey to the restaurant was made in a silence that crackled with electric tension. Darcy didn’t look anywhere near Max, afraid of what she’d see if she did. She couldn’t handle that blistering gaze right now.
One thing was clear, though. She would be handing in her notice before this deal was done. She couldn’t continue to work for Max after this. But she didn’t think he’d appreciate hearing her tender resignation right now.
The car came to a stop outside one of Rome’s most exclusive restaurants. It took lesser mortals about six months to get a table, but Max had a table whenever he wanted.
He helped her out of the car, and even though Darcy wanted to avoid physical contact as much as possible she had to take his hand or risk sprawling in an ungainly heap at his feet.
She’d just stood up straight, and Max was still holding her hand, when a genial voice came from nearby.
‘You didn’t mention that you were bringing a date.’
Darcy tensed, and Max’s hand tightened on hers reflexively. But almost in the same second she could tell he’d recovered and his hand moved smoothly to her arm as he brought her around to meet their nemesis.
Cecil Montgomery was considerably shorter than Max, and considerably older, with almost white hair. But he oozed charisma, and Darcy was surprised to find that on first impression she liked him.
His eyes were very blue, and twinkled benignly at her, but she could see the steeliness in their depths. A tall woman stood at his side, very elegant and graceful, with an open friendly face and dark grey eyes. Her hair was silver and swept up into a classic chignon.
‘Please—let me introduce you to my wife, Jocasta Montgomery.’
‘Pleasure...’ Darcy let her hand be engulfed, first by Montgomery’s and then by his wife’s.
It was only when they were walking into the restaurant that Darcy realised Max hadn’t actually introduced her as his PA—or had he and she just hadn’t heard?
She hadn’t had anything to do with Montgomery herself, as he and Max had a direct line of communication, so it was quite possible he still thought she was Max’s date. The thought made Darcy feel annoyingly self-conscious.
They left their coats in the cloakroom and were escorted to their table, the ladies walking ahead of the men. The restaurant oozed timeless luxury and exclusivity. Darcy recognised Italian politicians and a movie star. The elaborate furnishings wouldn’t have been out of place in Versailles, and even the low-pitched hum of conversation was elegant.
Jocasta Montgomery took Darcy’s arm and said sotto voce in a melodious Scottish accent, ‘I don’t know about you, my dear, but I always find that places like this give me an almost overwhelming urge to start flinging food around the place.’
It was so unexpected that Darcy let out a startled laugh and something inside her eased out of its tense grip. She replied, ‘I know what you mean—it’s an incitement to rebel.’
They arrived at a round table, the best in the room, and took their seats. To Darcy’s surprise the conversation started and flowed smoothly. Max and Montgomery dominated it, with talk of current business trends and recent scandals. At one point between starters and the main course Jocasta rolled her eyes at Darcy and led her into a conversation about living in Rome and what she liked about it.
They skirted around the edges of the fact that this dinner was really about whether or not Montgomery was going to hand his precious life’s blood to Max to manage until coffee had been served after dessert.
Darcy had almost forgotten why they were there, she’d enjoyed talking to Jocasta so much. But now there was a palpable buzz of tension in the air and Darcy saw the very evident steely gleam in Montgomery’s eyes as he looked at Max, who was unmistakably tense.
It was slightly disconcerting to recognise how keenly she felt Max’s tension as Montgomery looked at him over his coffee cup before putting it down slowly.
‘The fact is, Max, quite simply there is no one I can imagine handling this fund and making it grow into the future better than you. As you’re aware I’m very concerned about philanthropy, and your own brother’s work has been inspirational to me.’
Max inclined his head towards the older man, but his face was expressionless.
‘My one reservation, however, is this...’
Darcy tensed and avoided looking at Max.
‘You have been leading a committedly single lifestyle for a long time.’ He glanced at Darcy and said half apologetically, ‘Present company notwithstanding. My fund and my life’s work has been built upon and developed with family in mind. My family, primarily, of course, but also for the benefit of many others. This would never have happened if I hadn’t had a very strong sense of family values running through previous generations. That’s why the Montgomery fund has lasted as long as it has, and grown so strong...’
Darcy was barely aware of Montgomery’s continued misunderstanding about who she was. He was going on...
‘And you, Max—you come from a broken home... For years you were estranged from your father, you didn’t speak to your own twin brother, and you are not close to your mother.’
Darcy’s mind boggled. Max’s brother was a twin?
She looked at him now and could see his face was still expressionless, but a vein popped slightly over one temple, near his scar, which stood out against that dark olive skin. The scar he’d got because his own mother had forgotten about him. Left him defenceless on the streets.
‘You’ve done your research,’ Max said easily, but Darcy recognised the edge of something dangerous.
Montgomery shrugged. ‘No more than you yourself have done, no doubt.’
‘My relationship with my brother, my mother, has no bearing on my ability to manage your fund, Cecil.’
A lesser man would have quailed at the distinct threat in Max’s voice. Not Montgomery.
‘No,’ said the other man, looking at Max assessingly. ‘I think for the most part you are right. But my concern would be the risks you’d be prepared to take on behalf of my fund—risks that you might not consider taking if you had a different perspective on life. My fear is that, based on your experiences, you might actually be biased against the very values I’ve built this fund upon, and that it would influence your decision-making process because you have only yourself to worry about.’
Darcy’s insides had turned to stone. Cecil Montgomery, with a ruthless precision she’d never even witnessed in Max, had just laid Max’s life bare and dissected it with clinical and damning detachment.
She felt a very disturbing surge of something like protectiveness. A need to defend.
Even Jocasta Montgomery had put her hand on her husband’s arm and was saying something indistinct to him.
Darcy looked at Max, who had carefully put his own coffee cup down. The restaurant was largely empty by now.
‘You are right about almost everything, Cecil.’ He smiled, but it was a thin, harsh line. ‘I do come from a broken home, and my brother and I did suffer at the hands of two parents who really couldn’t have cared less about our welfare.’
Jocasta broke in. ‘Please, Max, don’t feel you have to say—’
But Max held up a hand, not taking his gaze off Montgomery. ‘I said that your husband is right about almost everything. There’s one thing his research hasn’t shown up, however.’
Montgomery raised a brow. ‘I’m intrigued. What is it that I’ve missed?’
Max’s jaw clenched, and to Darcy’s shock he reached over and took her hand in his, holding it tight.
‘Darcy.’
Darcy looked at Max, but he hadn’t said her name to call her attention and speak to her.
He was still looking at Montgomery and gripping her hand tight as he said, ‘You can be the first to congratulate my fiancée and I on our engagement.’
Darcy might have enjoyed Montgomery’s almost bug-eyed response if she hadn’t been so afraid that her own eyes were bugging out of her head at the same moment.
‘But... But...’ Jocasta Montgomery said, ‘Darcy told me she’s your PA...’
Max looked at Darcy briefly and through waves of shock she could see something implacable in his expression that forbade her from saying anything.
He looked back to the couple on the other side of the damask-covered table. ‘She is. That’s how we met...again.’
‘Again?’ asked Montgomery sharply.
Max nodded. ‘Darcy and I went to the same school—Boissy le Chateau in Switzerland. That’s where we first met. She came to work for me three months ago...’ Max shrugged, ‘And the rest, as they say, is history.’
‘Oh, Cecil.’ Jocasta Montgomery put her hand over her husband’s and looked at him with suspiciously bright eyes. ‘That’s how we met.’
Darcy felt it like a punch to the gut. She remembered that small detail now. Jocasta had been his secretary in the seventies, in Edinburgh.
Cecil Montgomery was looking at Max through narrowed eyes. Obviously suspicious. And then he turned his gaze on Darcy and she could feel her cheeks grow hot.
‘Well, then, my dear, it would seem that congratulations are in order. When did this happy event occur?’
Max’s hand tightened on hers as he inserted smoothly, ‘Some weeks ago... I knew after just a few weeks that Darcy was unlike any other woman I’ve ever known. We had a bond at school...and it was rekindled.’
Darcy was still too shocked even to consider saying anything, but she tried to pull her hand out from under Max’s—to no avail.
‘My dear, are you quite all right? You look a little ill.’ Jocasta Montgomery was leaning forward with concern.
Darcy sensed Max’s tension beside her, reaching out to envelop her, inhibit her. She knew that she should pull away, stand up, throw her napkin down and say that it was all untrue. This was her chance. She should walk away from Max right now and not look back.
And put a nail in the coffin of his chance to get this deal with Cecil Montgomery.
If she wanted revenge for what he’d just done that was what she’d do.
But she couldn’t get out of her head the way Montgomery had so brutally assessed Max’s background, casting doubts on his ability. And she couldn’t get out of her head the way she’d felt that instinctive need to defend him. And right now the instinct was still there, in spite of the rage bubbling down low at having been put in this untenable position.
She forced a smile and looked at Jocasta. ‘I’m fine—really. It’s just a bit of a shock to hear it made official. Up till now it’s been our secret.’
She risked a glance at Max and her gaze was caught and snared by his. It was expressionless, but something flickered in the depths of those extraordinary eyes. Relief? His hand loosened on hers fractionally.
Jocasta was making a tsking noise. ‘And my husband provoked Max into letting it slip? Well, I think the least we can do is celebrate now that your secret is out.’
Before Darcy could say anything else a waiter was summoned and a bottle of vintage champagne was being delivered to the table and expertly poured into slim flutes. It seemed to Darcy that everything was moving at warp speed, and her heart was beating too fast.
They were all holding up their glasses and Jocasta was beaming at them. Her husband was still looking less than convinced though and Max’s jaw was tight. Darcy felt an urge to giggle, and quickly took a sip of the sparkling drink to make it go down.
‘When are you getting married?’
Darcy looked at Montgomery, just as Max said, with all the natural-born charm of a ruthless man intent on his prize, ‘Two weeks.’
His hand tightened on Darcy’s again and when she turned to him he looked at her so intently that her insides combusted.
‘I want to make her mine before she realises what I’m really like and leaves me for ever.’
For the first time since Max had made his outrageous statement Darcy felt her wits return. She pulled her hand free and said with some acerbity, while holding up her hand, ‘Well, seeing as you haven’t even bought me a ring yet, darling, I’m thinking that perhaps there’s a flaw in the arrangements.’
Jocasta chuckled. ‘Yes, Max, a lady in possession of a marriage proposal generally deserves a beautiful ring.’
Max smiled, and it was dangerous. He took Darcy’s hand again and lifted it to his mouth, pressing a kiss over her ring finger, making any of the wits that had come back to her melt again.
‘Which is why I’ve arranged to take my fiancée to Paris tomorrow, for a private appointment in Devilliers—it was meant to be a surprise.’
Darcy’s eyes opened wide. Devilliers was possibly the oldest and most exclusive jewellers in the world.
Jocasta made a noise. ‘And now we’ve ruined it. Cecil, stop goading Max. They’re engaged. Look at them—they can’t keep their eyes off each other.’
‘Well, then,’ said the older man. ‘It seems that perhaps your perspective is indeed changing, Max. However, I’ve decided that the announcement of my decision as to whom I’m entrusting my fund will take place at our fortieth wedding anniversary celebrations in Scotland, surrounded by my family.’
The Montgomerys shared a fond look and Max let Darcy’s hand go. Montgomery looked at him, and then to Darcy. ‘You will both, of course, be extended an invitation. It takes place in three weeks. Perhaps you could include the trip to Inverness as a detour on your honeymoon?’
Honeymoon?
The full enormity of what was occurring hit Darcy, and as if sensing her dawning horror Max put a firm hand on her leg, under the table, just above her knee.
‘We would like nothing more—would we, cara?’
Max was looking at her, his big hand heavy on her leg, and treacherous heat was spreading upwards to between her thighs. ‘No...’
Max knew exactly what Darcy’s very ineffectual ‘no’ meant. It didn’t mean that she agreed—it meant Stop this now. But he took ruthless advantage of the ambiguity and angled his body towards hers, slipping his other hand around the back of her bare neck, pulling her towards him so that he could cover her mouth with his and stop her from saying anything else.
By the time he let her go again she was hot, breathless, addled and completely out-manoeuvred by a master. The Montgomerys were preparing to leave, saying their goodbyes, clearly believing that they were playing gooseberry now.
Darcy didn’t know if she wanted to stamp her foot, slap Max, or scream for them all to stop so she could put them right. But, like the treacherous heat that had licked up her thighs and into her belly during Max’s kiss, something was holding her back—and she was too much of a coward to investigate what it was.
They stood to bid goodbye to the older couple and Darcy was vaguely aware that the restaurant had emptied. When they were alone again Max sat down, a look of supreme satisfaction on his face.
This time Darcy did throw down her napkin, and he looked at her. Anger at herself for being so weak made her blurt out, ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at, Max?’
Max cast a quick look around and took Darcy’s wrist, pulling her down. She landed heavily on the seat.
Something occurred to her then—an awful suspicion. ‘Please tell me you didn’t have that planned all along?’
Max’s jaw firmed. He was unapologetic. ‘No, but I saw an opportunity and took it.’
Darcy let out a slightly horrified laugh. ‘An opportunity? That’s what you call fabricating a fake engagement to your PA?’
He turned to face her, stretching an arm across the back of her chair, placing his other hand on the table. Boxing her in.
‘It won’t be a fake engagement, Darcy. We’re going to get married.’
Darcy’s mouth opened but nothing came out. On some level she had known what she was doing, going along with Max’s crazy pronouncement, but she’d also expected that as soon as they were alone again he’d reassure her that of course it wouldn’t happen. It had been just to placate Montgomery and there would be some method of undoing what had been done.
She shook her head, as if that might restore sanity and order. But he was still looking at her.
She found her voice. ‘Maybe it’s the fatigue, Max, or the stress, but I think it’s quite possible that you’ve gone entirely mad. This conversation is over and this relationship is over. Find someone else to be your convenient bride/PA, because I’m not going to be it just because I’m under your nose and you’ve decided that it’s appropriate to kiss me when you feel like it. We both know I’m not your type of woman. No one will ever believe you’ve chosen to marry someone like me—Montgomery patently didn’t believe a word of it—so in the end it’ll achieve nothing.’
Darcy was breathless after the tumult of words and stood up on shaky legs. Before Max could stop her she turned to walk quickly through the restaurant, reality slamming back into her with each step. And humiliation. Max had seen an opportunity, all right—a cheap one, at Darcy’s expense. To think that he would use her like this, just to further his own aims, shouldn’t have come as a shock. But it did.
* * *
Max watched Darcy walk away, rendered uncharacteristically dumb. He could appreciate her very apparent sense of shock because he was still reeling himself, trying to recall what exactly had prompted him to make such an outrageous statement to Montgomery.
And then he remembered. ‘You come from a broken home...estranged from your mother...brother...different perspective...’ He remembered the hot rush of rage when Montgomery had so coolly laid his life bare for inspection. Questioning his motives and ability based upon his experiences.
He’d wanted to do something to take that knowing smirk off Montgomery’s face. And in a moment of mad clarity he’d known what he had to do to push the man off his sanctimonious perch. Fake a marriage. To Darcy.
And she’d gone along with it—even if she had looked as if someone had just punched her in the belly.
Darcy. Max’s usual clear-headed focus came back and he went cold inside at the thought of Darcy leaving. She wasn’t going anywhere—not now. Not when everything was at stake.
* * *
‘Get in the car, Darcy. Please.’
Darcy was valiantly ignoring Max and the open car door nearby. She was about to stretch her arm out to hail a passing taxi when he took her arm in a firm grip and all but manhandled her into the back of the car.
She sputtered, ‘This is kidnap.’
Max was terse. ‘Hardly. Take us to my apartment, please, Enzo.’ And then he hit a button so that a partition went up, enclosing them in silence.
Darcy folded her arms and looked at the man on the other side of the car. In a louche sprawl of big long limbs, he’d never looked more like a rebel.
‘You’ve gone too far this time, Max. I don’t care what you have to do but we’re not getting married—I’ve changed my mind, I’m not waiting until the deal is done. I’m on the first plane out of Rome as soon as you let me go.’
Max gave her a withering look. ‘There’s no need for dramatics. We are just going to talk.’
He leaned back and looked out of the window, clearly done with the conversation for now. Darcy fumed, hating the ever-present hum of awareness in her blood at being in such close proximity to him. He was such an arrogant...bastard. Saying the word, even silently, made her feel marginally better.
Within minutes they were pulling up outside a sleek modern building. Max was out of the car and holding out a hand for Darcy before she could think what to do. Knowing she couldn’t escape now, she scowled and put her hand into his, let him help her out, jerking her hand away as soon as she was on her own two feet.
Max led her into a massive steel-and-chrome foyer, where huge works of modern art were hung on the walls. It was hushed and exclusive, and in spite of herself she found herself wondering what Max’s apartment would be like.
With an acknowledgement to the concierge, Max led Darcy to an open lift and stabbed at the ‘P’ button. Of course, Darcy thought snarkily. Of course he’d be living in the penthouse.
Once in the lift she moved to the far corner. Max leaned back against the wall and looked at her from under hooded lids. ‘No need to look like a startled rabbit, Darcy. I’m not going to eat you.’
‘No,’ she said sharply. ‘Just turn my world upside down.’
