Читать книгу Modern Romance June 2015 Books 1-8 - Эбби Грин, Natalie Anderson - Страница 12
ОглавлениеDARCY FOLLOWED MAX into his apartment warily. From what she could see, as he flicked on low lights, it was as sleek and modern as the building that housed it. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered astounding views of Rome glittering at night.
Her feet were sore in the high-heeled shoes, but she would let them bleed before taking them off. She was still recalling her bare feet in the office the previous night—the cocoon of intimacy and where that had led.
‘Drink?’
Darcy looked over to where Max was pulling his tie out of its knot and undoing the top buttons of his shirt. He’d already taken off his jacket and he looked sinfully sexy in the waistcoat of the three-piece suit.
She shook her head. ‘No. I don’t want a drink, Max, and I don’t want to talk. I’d like to go to some corner of the earth far away from you.’
He just shrugged, ignoring her pronouncement, and proceeded to pour himself a measure of something. He gestured to a seat. ‘Please—sit down.’
Darcy clutched her bag tighter. ‘I told you...I don’t want to—’
‘Well, tough, because we’re talking.’
Darcy made a rude sound and stalked over to an uncomfortable-looking chair and sat down.
Max started to pace, then stopped and said, ‘Look, I didn’t plan to announce an engagement to you this evening.’
‘I’m not so sure you didn’t, Max. It certainly seemed to trip off your tongue very easily—along with that very inventive plan to treat me to a Devilliers ring. Tell me, are we taking your private jet?’
Max cursed before downing his drink in one and setting the glass down with a clatter.
He glared at her. ‘I didn’t plan it. He just... Dio. You heard him.’
Darcy’s insides tightened as she recalled the sense of protectiveness that had arisen when Montgomery had baldly dissected Max’s life. The truth was that no one goaded Max. He’d remained impervious in the face of much worse provocation. But this had been personal. About his family.
Darcy stood up, feeling vulnerable. ‘I heard him, Max. The man clearly has strong feelings about the importance of family, but do you think he really cares if you’re married or not?’
‘You heard him. He believes my perspective will be skewed unless I have someone to worry about other than myself.’ Max sounded bitter.
‘So you fed me to him?’
He looked at her. ‘Yes.’
‘I’m just a means to an end—so you can get your hands on that fund.’
* * *
Max looked at Darcy. Her hair had begun to get dishevelled, falling down in tendrils around her face and neck. ‘I’m just a means to an end.’ Why did those words strike at him somewhere? Of course she was a means to an end—everything in his life was a means to an end. And that end was in sight.
‘Yes.’
Her jaw tightened and she stepped back. Max did not like the flash of something like panic in his gut.
‘Yes, you are a means to an end—I won’t pretty it up and lie to you. But, Darcy, if you do this you won’t walk away empty-handed. You can name your price.’
She let out a short curt laugh and it made Max wince inwardly. It sounded so unlike her.
‘Believe me, no price could buy me as your wife, Max. I don’t think I even like you all that much.’
Max felt that like a blow to his gut, but he gritted out, ‘I’m not asking you to like me, and I’m not buying a wife, Darcy. I’m asking you to do this as part of your job. Admittedly it’s a little above and beyond the call of duty...but you will be well compensated.’
Darcy tossed her head. ‘Nothing could induce me to do this.’
‘Nothing...?’ Max asked silkily as he moved a little closer, his vision suddenly overwhelmed with the tantalising way Darcy filled out her dress.
She put out a hand. ‘Stop right there.’
Max stopped, but his blood was still leaping. He’d yet to meet a woman he couldn’t seduce. Was he prepared to seduce Darcy into agreement? His mind screamed caution, but his body screamed yes!
He erred on the side of caution.
Darcy’s hand was still held out. ‘Don’t even think about it, Max. That kiss...whatever happened between us...was a mistake and it won’t be happening again.’
He kept his mouth closed even as he wanted to negate what she’d said. He needed her acquiescence now.
‘Everyone has a price, Darcy. You can name yours. We only need to be married for as long as it takes the deal to be done, then we’ll divorce and you can get on with your life. No harm done. It’s just an extension of your job, and I’ll make sure that you get a job wherever you want in the world after this.’
She snorted, telling him succintly what she thought of that. She moved away from him now, stalking over to one of the big windows.
Max felt disorientated for a moment. It wasn’t usual for him to bring a woman back to his apartment. He preferred to keep women out of his private space. Especially women he seduced. Because he never wanted them to get any notions.
But Darcy was here, and it felt bizarrely as if she’d been here before. He was too consumed with bending her to his will right now to look at that little nugget. Too consumed with ignoring the inferno raging in his blood as he took in her curvy silhouette against the backdrop of Rome outside.
And then she turned around, her hands still clutching her bag. ‘Why is this so important to you?’
* * *
Max immediately went still, as if drawing his energy back inwards. Darcy had a moment to collect herself, to try and remove her see-sawing emotions and hormones from this situation.
As she’d looked out of the window she’d had to ask herself why the prospect of marrying Max was such a red-hot button for her. Apart from the fact that it was a ludicrous thing to ask of anyone.
After all, she came from a very broken home, so if anyone had the necessary cynicsm to embark on a marriage of convenience it was her. And she was ambitious enough to appreciate the aspect that Max wasn’t exaggerating—she would have the pick of any job she wanted if she did this. It would be the least he owed her.
But she was not stupid enough to think that the way she’d felt when Max had kissed her could be ignored. He’d tapped into something untouched deep inside her—something that went beyond the physical to a secret place she’d never explored herself, never mind with anyone else.
And there was his astounding arrogance in thinking she would just go along with this decree. Like some king who expected his minions to obey his every word.
‘Well, Max? If I’m to even consider this crazy idea for one second I want to know why you want this so badly.’
He seemed to glower at her for a long moment, and then he stuck his hands in the pockets of his trousers and came closer. Darcy couldn’t move back because the window was behind her. He came and stood near her, looking out at the view, face tight.
‘Montgomery mentioned my brother. We’re twins. We were six when our parents split up and split us up. I only ever saw Luca again when he came to Rome for brief holidays or on trips to see our mother. I see him a little more frequently since we’ve been adults.’
Max sighed.
‘He grew up being groomed to be my father’s heir. There was never any question of me getting a share. That was my punishment for choosing to go with my mother...not that our father really cared which son he got as long as he had an heir to pass his corrupt legacy on to. But that’s just part of it. Luca did offer me my half of his inheritance after our father died, but I didn’t want it.’
He looked at Darcy then, almost accusingly.
‘I didn’t want his charity and I still don’t. By then I’d already made my first million. I wanted to succeed on my own merit—surpass anything my father had ever done. Do it on my own. It’s the one thing that’s kept me going through it all. The need to know that I’ve done it without anyone handing me anything.’
He looked away again and Darcy was silent. Mesmerised by the passion blazing out of Max. And the unmistakable pride.
‘For years I felt tainted. Tainted by my mother’s lack of care and her sordid affairs. That’s how she made her living—little better than women who call themselves what they really are: prostitutes.’
Darcy winced.
‘I was on the streets one night, foraging for food in a bin at the back of an exclusive restaurant, when some guests came outside to smoke. Boys from my class at Boissy.’
She sucked in a breath, imagining the scene all too well.
As if he’d guessed her suspicion his mouth quirked and he said, ‘There was no blood. I walked away—but not before they recognised me and told me that they’d never expected anything more of someone like me. I’d been born into one of the wealthiest families in South America, but thanks to my fickle parents my brother and I were used almost like an experiment to see who would flourish better. One of us was given everything. The other one had everything stripped away.’
He turned to look at her, his face stark in the dim lights.
‘That’s why I want this. Because if Montgomery hands me his fund I’ll have proved that even when you have your birthright stripped away it’s still possible to regain your dignity and get respect.’
He didn’t have to elaborate for Darcy to imagine how his litany of humiliations had bred the proud man in front of her. Montgomery held an almost mythical place in the world’s finances. Akin to financial royalty. Darcy knew that what Max said was true. His endorsement would make Max untouchable, revered. The boys who had bullied him at school and witnessed him at his lowest moment on the streets would be forced to respect him.
‘And it’s not just for me,’ he said now, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I’m a partner in a philanthropic organisation with my brother. We’re finally putting our father’s corrupt legacy to good use, and I’ll be damned if I can’t contribute my own share.’
Max turned to face her more fully.
‘That’s why I want this, Darcy. Everyone has a price. I’ve just told you mine. You can name yours.’
Why did that sound like the worst kind of deal with the devil?
Because it is, whispered a small voice.
* * *
When Darcy woke up the next day she felt strangely calm. As if a storm had passed and she’d been washed up on land—alive and breathing, if a little battered.
Max had made no further attempt to stop her from leaving once she’d said, ‘I need a night to think it over.’
It was as if he’d recognised how precarious his chance was. He’d escorted her down to his car and bade her goodnight, saying, ‘Just think of your price, Darcy.’
And so she had.
After hours of tossing and turning she’d got up and looked at her tablet, at the properties she’d marked on a website. It was her secret, most favourite thing to do. Earmark the properties she’d buy if she had the money.
Her heart had thumped hard when she’d seen that her current favourite was still available. The price, in her eyes, was extortionate; London property gone mad. But she knew to Max it would be a pittance. Was this her price? A place of her own? The base she wanted so badly? The base it would take her years to afford under normal working circumstances?
Darcy could empathise with Max’s determination to do it all on his own. She could ask her parents for the money to buy a house and have it tomorrow. But when she’d seen her father almost lose everything it had forged in her a deep desire to ensure her own financial stability, to be dependent on no one else.
She’d been eight when her parents had split up and she’d been tossed back and forth like a rag doll, across time zones and countries, with nice airline ladies holding her hand through airports. It had been in those moments that Darcy had wished most fervently that she still had a home—somewhere she could go back to that would always be there. Something that wasn’t in a constant state of flux. Security. Stability.
When Max had revealed that he’d been only six when his parents had split up her silly heart had constricted. And he had a twin brother. She couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to have been ripped apart from a sibling. Never mind taken to the other side of the world, never to connect with one of your parents again.
She got up and showered and made herself coffee. She hated that knowing about Max’s tumultuous past made it harder for her to keep seeing him as ruthless and cynical. But he was, she assured herself. Nothing had changed. He was out for himself—unashamedly. And yet who could blame him? He’d been abandoned by his own mother, forgotten by his father. Estranged from his brother.
The thing was, did he deserve for her to help him?
Darcy’s mobile phone pinged with a text message. From Max.
Well?
She almost smiled. Something about his obvious impatience at the fact that she wouldn’t come to heel easily comforted her. Things had morphed from relatively normal to seriously weird in a very short space of time.
She texted back.
Do you think you could use that word in a sentence?
She pictured him scowling. A couple of minutes passed and then...
Dear Darcy,
Please will you marry me so that I can secure Montgomery’s fund and live happily ever after?
Yours truly, Max.
Darcy barked out a laugh. The man was truly a bastard. Her phone pinged again.
Well?
Now she scowled.
I’m thinking.
Think faster.
Darcy threw her phone down for a moment. Pressure was building in her chest. And then the picture of the property she loved so much caught her eye. If she did this, she would get that.
We all have a price.
She picked up the phone, almost daring it to ping again with some terse message—because if it did she would tell Max where to go. But it didn’t, almost as if he knew how close she was to saying no.
She took a deep breath and texted.
If—and that’s a big if—if I agree to do this I want £345,000.
She let out a breath, feeling like a mercenary bitch. But it was the price of the flat she loved. And if she was being a mercenary bitch she was nothing in comparison to Max. His soul was black.
She continued.
Also, this farcical marriage will last only for as long as it takes Montgomery to announce his decision, and then you will give me a stunning reference which will open the door to whatever job I want.
Her heart thumped hard as she looked over the text, and then her finger pressed the ‘Send’ button. ‘Delivered’ appeared almost straight away.
It took longer than she’d expected, but finally Max’s response came back.
Done and done. Whatever you want. I told you. Now, what’s it to be?
Darcy’s finger traced over the picture of the flat. In a few months she could be living there, with a new job. A new start. A settled existence for the first time since she’d been a child. And no Max messing with her hormones and her ability to think clearly.
She texted quickly before she lost her nerve: Yes.
Almost immediately a message came back.
Good. My car will pick you up in an hour. We’re going to Paris.
The ring. For a moment Darcy almost texted Max back, saying she’d changed her mind, but her fingers hovered ineffectually over her phone. And then she got distracted.
What the hell did someone wear on a whirlwind trip to Paris to buy an engagement ring for a fake wedding?
* * *
In the end Darcy decided to wear one of her smarter work outfits: a dark navy wrap dress with matching high heels. She felt self-conscious now, in the small plane, and resisted the urge to check and see if her dress was gaping a little too much. The way Max had looked at her when she’d walked out of her apartment building had almost made her turn around and change into jeans and a T-shirt.
He was dressed similarly, smart/casual in a dark blue suit and white shirt. When she’d walked over to the car earlier he’d smirked slightly and said, ‘We’re matching—isn’t that cute?’
Darcy had scowled and dived into the car. When he’d joined her she’d said, ‘Can you put up the partition, please?’
She’d been more discomfited than she’d liked to admit by this more unreadable and yet curiously accessible Max. The boundary lines had become so blurred now they were non-existent, and she’d needed to lay down some rules.
When the window had gone up she’d crossed her arms over her chest. Max’s eyeline had dropped to her cleavage.
‘We need to discuss some formalities.’
Max’s eyes had snapped up. ‘Formalities?’
‘All this marriage is, as far as I’m concerned, is a serious amount of overtime. You’re basically paying me to be an executive PA par excellence. It’s still just work. And if I hadn’t agreed to this I would still be tendering my notice because of what happened the other night.’
Max sat back, looking dangerous and sexy, jaw dark with stubble. ‘What happened, Darcy?’
Darcy shot a look at the partition and back again, her cheeks growing hot. ‘You know very well what happened. We crossed the line.’
‘We almost made love on my desk.’
Darcy felt hotter. ‘But we didn’t.’ Thank God. ‘We came to our senses.’ She waved a hand. ‘What I’m trying to say is that even now we are embarking on this ridiculous charade—’
‘That I’ll be paying you handsomely for...’ Max pointed out, immediately making Darcy’s irritation levels rise.
‘And for which you’ll be earning your place among the financial giants of the world,’ she lashed back.
Max’s jaw clenched. ‘Touché.’
Darcy had leaned forward in her agitation but she pulled back now, forcing herself to stay calm. ‘What I’m saying is that this marriage is going to be fake in every sense of the word. If you want anything physical then I’m sure you can get it from the legion of women in your little black book.’
Max folded his arms and regarded her. ‘There’s something incredibly ironic about the fact that I always swore I’d never enter into the state of matrimony and yet now I find myself on the brink of such a situation—’
‘Caused by you,’ Darcy flung at him.
That made him dip his head in acknowledgement before he continued, ‘I find myself with a wife who won’t sleep with me. I would never have anticipated that as a problem to be surmounted.’
‘No,’ Darcy said waspishly. ‘I don’t imagine you would have. Like I said—call someone else to provide you with any extra-curricular services you might require. I’m sure you can be discreet.’ She looked at him, wondering just why this conversation was making her so angry. ‘I would just avoid a three-in-a-bed romp—that won’t endear you to Montgomery if it gets out like the last one did.’
Max made an irritated sound. ‘For what it’s worth that was a PR stunt for charity that ended up being leaked before we could explain it, so it never got used. You can’t seriously think I’d be so crass?’
Darcy looked at him and cursed him. He looked positively angelic. Wrapped up in a demon. And of course he wouldn’t be so crass. Max oozed sophistication. She should have known better. And now she’d revealed that she’d been keeping an eye on his exploits. Damn him.
She looked away. ‘Whatever, Max—just don’t make me look like a fool.’
‘The same goes for you, you know,’ came the softly delivered response.
Darcy looked at him and for a moment all she could see was the way Max had looked at her the other night, when she’d pulled back from his embrace, cheeks flushed, eyes glittering dangerously. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, as frigidly as she could, ‘I won’t have a problem curbing my urges.’
Max had muttered something she couldn’t catch—something like We’ll see about that—just as the car had pulled up outside the small plane.
Darcy’s attention came back to the plane. Max was staring out of his window. Not goading her or looking at her with those mesmerising eyes. She remembered what he’d told her last night and how she’d wanted to leave his apartment—get away before he might see something on her face or in her expression. Empathy. A treacherous desire to help him achieve what he wanted.
‘I didn’t know your brother was a twin.’
Max turned his head slowly and looked at her. ‘It’s not really common knowledge.’
‘I saw pictures of him...the wedding. You’re not identical?’
Max shook his head and smiled, but it was hard. ‘I’m prettier than my brother.’ His self-mocking expression was anything but pretty. It was utterly masculine, making a mockery of ‘pretty’. Especially with that scar running from his temple to his jaw.
Darcy felt breathless. ‘You said you’re closer now?’
Max raised a brow. ‘Did I?’
‘Last night...you said you were working with him.’
Max’s mouth tightened. ‘For a cause—not because we sit up at night drinking cocoa and reminiscing about our childhood experiences.’
Darcy rolled her eyes at his sarcastic response just as the plane banked. She took the opportunity to escape Max’s gaze and looked out to see Paris laid out in all its glory, the distinctive Eiffel Tower glinting in the distance. Fine. Obviously Max wasn’t about to launch into any more confessionals. He’d probably already told her far more than he wanted to.
And she wasn’t curious. Not at all.
* * *
Max watched as Darcy inspected the trays of rings laid out for their perusal. He almost smiled at her overwhelmed expression. She had been pretty slack-jawed since they’d walked into the opulent Rococo interior of one of the oldest jewellery establishments in the world. A byword in luxury, wealth and romance. These jewellers had supplied jewels for all the major royal houses, iconic movie stars and heads of state.
But he was still curbing the irritation he’d felt ever since Darcy’s very stark insistence that they observe professional boundaries—marriage or no. Was the woman completely blind? All he had to do was come within two inches of her and the electricity was practically visible.
Even now he couldn’t take his gaze off the way her breasts pressed lushly against the edge of the glass case they were sitting in front of. He’d noticed the sales assistant’s eyes drop too, and had glared at the man so fiercely he’d almost dropped a tray of priceless rings.
Darcy’s reminder that she would have been long gone if not for this wedding arrangement caused another ripple of irritation. Max wasn’t used to things morphing out of his control. It was a sense of control hard won and fought for—literally.
But when Darcy looked at him with those huge blue eyes all he wanted to do was throw control out of the window and give in to pure basic instinct. And yet she had the wherewithal to sit there and draw a little prim circle around herself saying, Not over the line.
She looked at him now, and Max couldn’t imagine a woman looking less enthusiastic to be here.
He frowned. ‘What is it?’
She glanced at the assistant, who moved away for a moment, discreetly polishing a ring.
‘I don’t know what to choose—they’re all so ridiculously expensive... I mean, you’re going to insure the ring, right? I’d hate for anything to happen to it—especially when this isn’t even for real.’
Max saw the clear turmoil on Darcy’s face and it was like a punch to his gut to realise just how different she was from any other woman he might have brought to a place like this. They would have had absolutely no qualms about choosing the biggest and most sparkly bauble in the shop. And he would have indulged them without even thinking. It gave him a sense of distaste now.
He took her hand in his. It felt unbearably small and soft. ‘Darcy, you’re overthinking this. Just choose a ring. We’ll get it insured. Okay?’
After a moment she nodded, and then said, ‘Sorry, I’m probably making this boring for you.’
She looked back at the rings and some hair slipped over her shoulder, obscuring her face. Without thinking Max reached for it and tucked it behind her ear again. She looked at him and he couldn’t resist. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss next to the corner of that surprisingly lush mouth.
Immediately her eyes went darker, but then they flashed. ‘I told you—’
His hand gripped hers and he smiled as he said, ‘We’re buying a ring for our whirlwind engagement, cara mia, people are watching.’
She looked around quickly and then ducked her head, whispering fiercely, ‘Fine...just in public.’
Max said nothing, but vowed right then to make sure they were in public as much as possible.
* * *
Darcy looked at the ring on her finger from different angles as Max discreetly paid the bill. Someone had delivered her a glass of champagne and she sipped it now. Grateful for the slightly numbing sensation. Numbing her from thinking about how choosing the ring had impacted on her so much.
It had brought up all sorts of unwelcome and tangled emotions. As a small girl she’d used to love going into her mother’s jewellery box and looking at the glittering earrings and bracelets. But the engagement ring had been her favourite, made of nine baguette diamonds surrounded by sapphires and set in white gold.
Darcy had used to put it on, holding it in place and imagining herself in it, marrying a handsome prince.
And then one day it had disappeared. Darcy had asked her mother where it was, only to be told curtly that she’d sold it. That had been the beginning of the end of the fairytales in Darcy’s imagination, as her parents’ marriage had fractured and split apart over an agonising year of arguments and bitter recrimination.
Today the ring Darcy had chosen in the end had been far too close to something she might choose for real, but she hadn’t been able to resist—some rogue devil had urged her on. A rectangular-shaped diamond, surrounded by smaller baguette diamonds, set in platinum. It was positively discreet when compared with some of the other choices, but right now it felt like an unbearably heavy weight on her hand.
‘Ready?’
Darcy looked up to see Max waiting. She grew warm, thinking of him watching her as she’d been inspecting the ring, and almost sprang out of the chair.
‘Ready.’
Max guided her solicitously out of the shop and Darcy couldn’t help noticing a young couple as they passed, obviously head over heels in love. The pretty woman was crying as her boyfriend presented her with a ring.
Darcy caught Max’s look and raised brows and scowled as he tutted, ‘Now, that’s not going to convince anyone.’
Just inside the clear revolving doors Max stopped her and turned her towards him. ‘What—?’ was all she managed to get out before Max cupped her jaw in one big hand and angled her face up to his so that he could kiss her.
Immediately the hot insanity of the other night slammed back into Darcy with such force that she had to cling onto his shirt to stay standing. It was an explicit kiss, and Darcy was dimly aware that someone like Max probably couldn’t deliver a chaste kiss if his life depended on it. He was like a marauding pirate, sweeping in and taking no prisoners. It was hot, decadent, and the slide of Max’s tongue against hers made her want to press her breasts against his chest and ease their ache.
When he pulled back she went with him, as if loath to break the contact. She opened her eyes and Max said smugly, ‘That’s a bit better.’
Darcy’s brain felt sluggish as Max pulled her out of the shop, but it snapped back to crystal clarity when they faced a veritable wall of flashing lights.
‘Max! Over here! Max! Who is the lucky lady? What’s her name?’
The barrage of questions was deafening and terrifying. Max had his arm around Darcy and her hand was still gripping his shirt. She could feel the tension in his body as he said, in a masterful voice that sliced through the cacaphony, ‘We will be releasing a statement on Monday. Until then please afford my fiancée and I some privacy.’
‘Show us the ring!’
But Max’s car materialised then, as if out of nowhere, and he was guiding Darcy into the back of it, shutting the baying mob outside as it took off smoothly into the Paris traffic.
Darcy vaguely heard Max curse, and then a glass was being pushed into her hands. She looked down, feeling a little blank and blinded.
‘Take a sip, Darcy, you’re in shock... Maledizione, I should have realised... You’ve never been papped before.’
When she didn’t move he cursed again and lifted the glass to her lips, forcing liquid to trickle into her mouth and down her throat. She coughed as it smarted and burned and realised she was shaking from the adrenalin and shock of being in front of the paparazzi for the first time.
She looked at Max, who took the glass away and put it back in the car’s mini-bar. ‘How did they know?’
He had the grace to look slightly sheepish. ‘I got my PR people to tip them off.’
Darcy thought of their kiss just inside the door, and all the lenses that must have been trained on them every moment, capturing her reaction. Not for one second did she want Max to know how angry it made her or how betrayed she felt. Stupid to think that a private moment had been invaded. It hadn’t been a private moment—it had been manufactured.
‘Well,’ she said, as coolly as she could, ‘I hope Montgomery sees it—or they’ll have wasted an afternoon when they could have been chasing someone far more exciting.’
‘I’m sorry. I should have warned you.’
Darcy feigned unconcern. ‘Don’t worry about it—at least it’ll look authentic.’
‘Good,’ Max said briskly. ‘Because we’re going to a function in Rome this evening. It’ll be our first official outing as a couple.’
Darcy looked at him and hated the way her voice squeaked as she said, ‘Tonight?’
Max nodded. ‘It’s a charity gala.’ His eyes flicked down over her chainstore dress and he glanced at his watch as he said, ‘When we get back to Rome you’ll be taken straight to meet with a stylist. She’s going to put together a wardrobe for you. And a wedding dress.’
Darcy’s hands curled into fists. She was barely aware that they were already on the outskirts of Paris again, heading back to the airport. ‘I might have plans for tonight.’
Max looked at her, and there was something distinctly proprietorial in his gaze. ‘Any plans you have from now on are my plans. And I’ve been thinking: it’ll look better if you move in with me. You should pack a weekend bag for now—we can move the rest of your stuff next week...’
Darcy didn’t even bother opening her mouth, knowing resistance was futile. That was it. In the space of twenty-four hours her life had been neatly pulled inside out, and the worst thing was she’d agreed to it all.
