Читать книгу Modern Romance June 2015 Books 1-8 - Эбби Грин, Natalie Anderson - Страница 15
ОглавлениеTHE JOURNEY TO his private jet passed mainly in silence. Max had been waiting for Darcy in the lobby, as promised, and she’d been aware of every move he’d made in the car. Now, in the jet, he took a seat with graceful athleticism.
As much as she didn’t want to attract his attention, it was hard to drag her eyes off him. He’d changed into dark trousers and a dark grey lightweight long-sleeved top that did little to disguise the sheer breadth and power of his chest. The grey of his top seemed to make his eyes burn more intensely, and Darcy looked away quickly, in case she was caught, as the small plane left the ground.
She’d changed too, into a ‘going-away’ outfit—a soft flowing knee-length sleeveless dress of dark cream with a matching jacket. Her hair was down and her scalp still prickled from the pins that had been holding it up, along with the veil.
She gently massaged her skull and thought of the poignant moment that had caught her unawares when she’d packed the dress and veil away in their boxes. She’d been thinking what a pity it was that she’d never have a daughter to hand it down to.
The stylist had seen her expression and said, ‘Don’t worry, Signora Roselli, we’ll take good care of them for you.’
Hearing Signora Roselli had been enough to break her out of that momentary weakness and bring her back to reality. She was only Signora Roselli because Max craved world domination, and she—the fool—was helping him achieve it.
‘For a new bride you’re surprisingly quiet. Nervous about our wedding night, darling?’
Darcy cursed Max. If there was one mood in which he was pretty much irresisitible it was this more playful one that he so rarely displayed.
She glared at him and quirked a brow. ‘I wouldn’t know—not having much experience of being a new bride, and having even less inclination to be one ever again.’
Max tutted and smiled wolfishly. ‘Don’t worry, dolcezza mia, I’ll be gentle with you.’
To Darcy’s horror she felt herself getting hot, wondering what it would be like if this was real and Max was really promising to be gentle. She had an image of him with that intent look on his face as he thrust into her carefully, inch by inch... Between her legs she spasmed, her muscles reacting to her lurid imagination.
Horrified at her wayward body and, worse, at her desire to know what it would be like, she said curtly, ‘Save it, Max. I’m not a virgin.’
She looked away when he said, ‘So I don’t need to be gentle, then? Good, because when we come together—’
Darcy snapped open her seatbelt and stood up, swaying a little as the plane hit some turbulence. She gripped the back of the seat to stay steady and said, ‘I’m going to lie down. I’m tired.’
Max caught her wrist as she went past him and when she looked down he was frowning, all humour gone. ‘What the hell, Darcy...? I’m just teasing you.’
She pulled her wrist free, already feeling like a prize idiot to have risen to such easy bait. ‘I’m fine. I told you—I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.’
She made her way to the small bedroom and slammed the door shut behind her, pressing the backs of her hands to hot cheeks. She cursed herself roundly as she paced back and forth. Of all the stupid— Why had she let Max wind her up like that?
She sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly weary. Because the truth was that this whole day had got to her much more than she’d ever imagined it would, and his teasing had just highlighted that.
When she’d agreed to this marriage with Max she’d somehow believed that she could do it and remain relatively intact. Unscathed by the man.
But that had all been shot to hell. It had been shot to hell after that night in his office, when the true depth of her attraction to him had become painfully apparent.
Why did he have to find her attractive? This wasn’t how the world worked—men like Max did not find women like Darcy attractive. She had no doubt that it was an aberration—a freakish anomaly. A desire borne out of the fact that she was so different from his usual type of woman. Stress-induced. Something-induced. But not real.
Her circling thoughts brought her back to one question: why had she followed that crazy instinct to apply for a job working for the man in the first place?
With a heartfelt groan Darcy flopped back onto the bed and shut her eyes, willing sleep to come and make her mind blissfully blank.
* * *
A sleek car was waiting for them when they arrived at the small airport just outside Milan. When their bags had been stowed Max sat in the driver’s seat and Darcy got into the passenger side. The car was luxurious, and obviously high-end. When Max drove out of the airport it felt as if it was barely skimming the road.
He must have seen something of her appreciation because he said, ‘This is the new Falcone road car. I’m friends with Rafaele—he lends me cars to test-drive every now and then.’
Darcy’s mouth quirked, even though she was still wary after her outburst earlier. But she couldn’t let Max see that he could get to her so easily. ‘The perks of being friends with one of the world’s most famous car manufacturers?’
Max shrugged lightly, wearing his mantle of privilege easily. Darcy sighed. She couldn’t even fault him for that, though. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t earned it.
‘Darcy...’ he said carefully. ‘What happened earlier—’
She sat up and said quickly, ‘It was nothing, really. It’s just been a lot to take in.’
Max’s hands clenched on the steering wheel and he said after a long moment, ‘Do you know I’ve never really said thank you?’
She looked at him and his jaw was firm. He glanced at her, and then back to the road. ‘Thank you, Darcy, for doing this. I don’t underestimate how big a favour it is.’
Darcy felt herself weakening, any residual tendrils of anger fading. She knew Max well enough to know that he rarely said thank you unless it really meant something to him.
She was about to say something in response when an insidious suspicion occurred to her and her eyes narrowed on Max, taking in his oh, so benign expression in the half-light of the car. She folded her arms. ‘I’m not sleeping with you, Max.’
He glanced at her again and that mocking look was back on his face. ‘I wasn’t aware I’d asked the question.’
‘You don’t have to. It’s there between us... But I just can’t.’
Because you’ll hurt me.
Darcy sucked in a breath, the truth finally revealing itself to her. She was in way too deep with Max already. If they slept together his inevitable rejection would crush her. The thought was utterly galling, but it was a fact.
Max’s jaw was firm again in the low light of the car. ‘I said before that I don’t play games, Darcy. It’s your choice.’ He slid her a darkly wicked look. ‘But I won’t promise not to try to change your mind.’
In a firm bid to ignore that disturbing promise, Darcy changed the subject. ‘Who owns the villa we’re going to?’
‘A good friend of mine and his family—Dante D’Aquanni.’
‘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 signs 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. ‘Well, 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?’
Darcy went still, but then she wrinkled her nose and said lightly, ‘Isn’t it a little crass to talk about money with your fake wife?’
Max shook his head. ‘You’re not avoiding the question so easily. You should have asked for a different amount. Ever heard of rounding up?’
Darcy scowled, making Max even more determined to know what the money was for. He would have given it to her in bonuses anyway, but the fact that she’d asked for it...
She sighed, and then said, ‘When my folks split up they sold the family home. They never really settled again. I went to boarding school, my dad was travelling all over the world, and my mother was wherever her newest lover was. When my father’s business fell apart and I went back to the UK to a comprehensive school it was my most settled time—even if we were living out of a cheap hotel.’
She shrugged.
‘I’ve just always wished that I had somewhere...somewhere that I knew would always be there.’ She let some hair slip forward, covering her face, and muttered, ‘It’s silly, really. I mean, lots of people don’t have a home at all—’
Max reached out and put his hand over hers. ‘It’s not silly.’
He couldn’t say any more because he knew exactly what Darcy was talking about. He’d never had that safe centre either.
He took his hand away to change gears. ‘So, the money—it’s for a house?’
Darcy nodded and smiled, not looking at him. ‘It’s a small flat in London. I’ve been keeping my eye on it for a few months now.’
Max could see Darcy all too easily—stepping out of a cute little flat on a leafy street, getting on with her life, disappearing into the throng of people. And he wasn’t sure he liked it at all. In fact, if he wasn’t mistaken, the flare of dark heat in his gut felt suspiciously like jealousy.
* * *
When Darcy had freshened up and changed into comfortable loose trousers and a silk top she went downstairs to dinner. It was set up on the terrace, in the lingering twilight. Flickering candles lent everything a golden glow and the opulent rugs and furnishings made her wonder about the couple who were lucky enough to own this idyll. Did they have a happy marriage? Somehow, Darcy thought they must, because there was an air of quiet peace about the place.
And then she shook herself mentally. She wasn’t usually prone to such flights of the imagination.
Max wasn’t there yet and she breathed a sigh of relief, going to the stone wall and looking out over the dark expanse of the lake at the lights coming on on the other side.
Even here, far away from the water, she felt it like a malevolent presence and shuddered lightly.
‘Cold?’
Darcy whirled around, her heart leaping into her throat, to see Max holding out a glass of wine. She took it quickly, ducking her head. ‘No, I’m fine...just a ghost walking over my grave.’
She sneaked a look at him as he stood beside her. He’d changed too, into dark trousers and a white shirt which inevitably made his dark skin stand out even more. He oozed casual elegance, and yet with that undeniable masculine edge that made him all man.
The day they’d spent together had passed in an enjoyable blur of sights and sounds, but mostly Max had been a revelation. Darcy had never seen him so relaxed or easygoing. As if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
At the football match he’d been like a little boy—jumping up and down with the crowd, embracing her and the man next to him when his team scored. Also spouting language that had shocked her when things hadn’t gone well.
Julieta and the young man who it had turned out was her grandson delivered their dinner: fragrant plates of pasta to start, and then a main course of tender pork in a traditional sundried tomato, prosciutto and sage sauce.
Darcy groaned appreciatively when she tasted the delicious pork and said wryly, ‘I may have to be rolled out of here in a couple of days.’
Max looked at her, and his gaze running over her curves told her exactly what he thought of that. Unused to being appreciated for what she normally considered to be a drawback, she avoided his eye again. A part of her still couldn’t really believe he wanted her, but all day he’d touched her with subtle intention, keeping her on a knife-edge of desire.
In a bid to try and pierce this bubble of intimacy that surrounded them on the terrace, with the sound of the lake lapping not far away, Darcy asked about the couple who owned the house. ‘I just wondered what they’re like. This seems to be a happy place.’
Max pushed his empty plate away and then stood up, saying, ‘I’ll show you a picture.’
He returned a couple of minutes later with a beaming Julieta, who was dusting a picture with her apron. She handed it to Darcy. It showed an insanely handsome dark man, smiling widely, with a very petite blonde woman whose hair was a mass of crazy curls. She was also grinning, and holding a young boy with dark hair by the hand, while the man held a toddler high in his arms—a little girl with dark curly hair, a thumb stuck firmly in her mouth, eyes huge.
Something lanced Darcy deep down. This was a picture of familial happiness that she only knew as a distant dream. And who was to say that they wouldn’t split up, with those poor children destined to spend a lifetime torn between two parents?
Aghast that she was even thinking of this in the face of such evident joy, she handed the picture back quickly with a fixed smile. ‘They’re lovely.’
Julieta took the picture away, carefully cleaning it again. She obviously missed them. She must be more like a member of the family than a housekeeper to them, Darcy guessed.
Max said into the silence, ‘Perhaps not everyone goes through what we experienced.’
Darcy looked at him, wondering why she was surprised he’d read her mind. It seemed to be a speciality of his. ‘Do you really believe that?’
He smiled and shook his head. ‘Personally? No. But I have to admit that Dante and Alicia seem very...happy.’ And then he asked abruptly, ‘Why did you step in that day? During the fight?’
Darcy knew immediately that Max was referring to what she’d witnessed at Boissy, when she’d intervened. The memory of how exposed she’d felt after doing it made her squirm now. ‘I can’t believe you remember that.’
Max’s mouth tipped up at one corner. ‘It was pretty memorable. You single-handedly scared off three guys who were all easily three times your size.’
Max took her hand in his and hers looked tiny. It made her too aware of their inherent differences.
She shrugged. ‘I just...saw them...and I didn’t really think, to be honest.’ She bit her tongue to stop herself from revealing that she’d used to watch Max far too intently, far too aware of his presence. Aware of the insolence he’d worn like a shield.
Afraid that he might see it, she deflected the conversation back onto him.
‘You and your brother...do you think you’ll ever be close?’
Darcy thought he’d pull his hand away, but he left it there, holding hers.
Quietly, he said, ‘We used to be close. Before we were separated. Closer than anyone.’ He looked at Darcy and smiled. ‘We had a special language. It used to drive our parents crazy.’ And then the smile faded. ‘Luca was stronger than me, though...older by a few minutes. When our parents told us they were taking one each he just stood there—not crying, not saying anything. I’ll never forget it.’ Max’s mouth twisted. ‘I was the one that fell apart.’
Darcy turned her hand in Max’s and gripped it. A sense of rage at his parents filled her, shocking in its intensity. ‘You were little more than a baby, Max...’
Just then Julieta appeared, with a coffee pot on a tray, and Darcy blinked up at her, broken out of the web of intimacy that had come down over her and Max without her even realising it. Suddenly she felt very raw, and absurdly emotional. The full impact of the day was hitting her. She was in danger of losing herself out here with Max.
Acting on impulse, she seized the opportunity like a coward, pulling her hand back from Max’s, avoiding his eye. She stood up, smiled, and said, ‘No coffee for me, thanks—it’s been a long day.’
Unfortunately she couldn’t quite manage to leave at the same time as Julieta because Max had caught her wrist. Darcy looked down and her heart skipped a beat. To her intense relief his expression indicated nothing of their recent conversation. He looked altogether far too sexy and dangerous. Far too reminiscent of that younger Max—cocky and confident, but still human underneath it all.
He smiled, and it was the smile of a shark. ‘You’re not willing to concede defeat yet?’
Darcy shook her head and struggled against the blood that pounded in her veins. ‘No, Max, I still don’t think it’s a good idea.’
To her surprise he let her go and leaned forward to pour himself some coffee. ‘Buonanotte, then, Darcy...’
Feeling unsure, because she didn’t trust Max an inch, Darcy sidled around him to get to the doorway.
And then she heard him say softly, ‘It’s better that you go to bed now because you’ll need your sleep. I’ll be waking you early in the morning. I’ve got more plans for tomorrow.’
She looked at him suspiciously. ‘What are you talking about?’
He just smiled and said, ‘You’ll see.’
Darcy started to speak. ‘Look, Max—’
He speared her a look that told her in no uncertain terms that he was hanging on to his control by a thread and that if she stayed a moment longer he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.
‘Goodnight, Darcy. Go to bed while you still can...or it won’t be alone.’
She had the sense not to ask anything else and fled.
