Читать книгу Modern Romance June 2015 Books 1-8 - Эбби Грин, Natalie Anderson - Страница 16

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘LEMME ALONE. IT’S THE middle of the night.’ Darcy burrowed back into the bed as deep as she could, but big firm hands reached in determinedly and ripped the covers back.

She squealed, wide awake now, and looked at Max looming over her, in the very early morning gloom.

‘Buongiorno, mia moglie.’ My wife.

Darcy scowled, feeling thoroughly disgruntled and aware that she was in just skimpy pants and a vest top.

She scrabbled for a sheet but Max insisted on pulling it back again, saying briskly, ‘Now, I can dress you, or you can dress yourself—it’s up to you. I’ve laid some clothes out for you.’

There was enough light in the room for a squinting Darcy to see that Max was wide awake, dressed casually, and that those mesmerising eyes were making a very thorough and leisurely appraisal of her body.

Then he said throatily, ‘If, on the other hand, you’d prefer to stay in bed, I won’t object.’

Her body jumped with anticipation but she ignored it and scrambled off the bed, reaching for a robe. ‘I’m up.’ She rounded on him, saying grumpily, ‘And I can dress myself.’

Max made a considering noise. ‘Not a morning person? I’ll make a note to prepare myself for that in the future.’

‘It’d be more accurate to say not a middle of the night person,’ Darcy snapped.

Max was thankfully backing away, and he glanced at his watch, saying, ‘Downstairs in fifteen minutes. We’ve time for a quick breakfast.’

Darcy grumbled about arrogant bossy men as she washed and got dressed in jeans and a pretty silk long-sleeved top, shoving her feet into flat shoes.

She didn’t like to admit that her defences still felt a little battered after yesterday and their intimate supper last night. She’d had disturbing dreams of small boys clinging onto each other as unseen hands forced them apart, and of bright red blood on pristine snow.

When she went down she was surprised to see Julieta up and about, greeting her with a cheery hello. She showed her to a covered part of the terrace at the back of the villa, clearly in deference to the fact that only the faintest trails of dawn could be seen in the sky, like delicate pink ribbons.

Max was drinking coffee. He looked at her and stood to pull out a chair.

Darcy felt exposed, with her freshly scrubbed face and her hair tied back in a ponytail. She valiantly tried to ignore Max and picked at a croissant and some fruit, still feeling fuzzy from sleep.

‘You’re not going to tell me where we’re going, are you?’

Max shook his head cheerfully. ‘It’s a surprise.’

Darcy was already reacting to the prospect of another day in close proximity to Max... Her body was humming with energy.

She pushed her plate back, having no appetite this early, and said, ‘I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you I hate surprises?’

She did, too, having learnt long ago that they were usually of the very unwelcome variety—more often than not something promised by one or other of her parents to assuage their guilt or to compensate for their absence at some event or other.

Hence carving out a steady, dependable career for herself, where no surprises would jump out to get her.

Until she’d agreed to this ridiculous charade.

Max stood up and put down his napkin. ‘You’ll like it—I promise. Ready?’

Darcy looked up and sighed inwardly at the determination stamped on his face. ‘I don’t have much choice, do I?’

He shook his head. ‘Not unless you want me to put you over my shoulder and carry you out.’

Darcy had no doubt that Max wouldn’t hesitate to put her over his shoulder—after all, he’d picked her up as if she was a bag of flour yesterday.

She stood up with as much grace as she could muster and said witheringly, ‘You don’t have to demonstrate your he-man capabilities again. I can walk.’

* * *

They drove a relatively short distance to a big flat open field, with several low buildings inside the gates. Max parked the car alongside some other vehicles and got out.

When she met him in front of the car, thoroughly bemused, he handed her something. ‘Here, you’ll need this—it might be a bit chilly.’

She took the fleece and guessed it must belong to the lady of the villa, because it fitted her perfectly and she’d looked to be about as petite as Darcy—if not smaller. Darcy zipped it up, suddenly glad of the extra layer against Max’s far too intense perusal.

He’d put on a fleece too, and now took a basket from the boot of the car. Determined not to give Max the satisfaction of knowing how curious she was, Darcy just followed him around one of the low hangar-like buildings—and then stopped in her tracks and gasped out loud.

As she took in the significance of the scene in front of her she could feel the last of her defences crumble to dust. And, absurdly, tears pricked her eyes.

Max had stopped and was looking at her, the picture of innocence. Darcy curled her hands into fists at her sides and glared at him, willing the emotion to stay down.

In a husky voice she said, ‘Of all the low-down, dirty, manipulative things to do, Max Fonseca Roselli...this just proves how cold-hearted you are.’

It was a hot air balloon, on its side, being inflated by a crew.

And it was on her bucket list.

One night, while working late in the office in that first couple of months, Darcy had asked Max idly about what might be on his bucket list—because what could someone who had nearly everything possibly want?

He’d given her a typical non-answer, in true evasive Max style. And then he’d asked her what was on hers. She’d replied, with some measure of embarrassment, that she’d always wanted to take a hot air balloon ride.

And now he was giving it to her.

Emotion tightened her chest.

Max just looked amused. ‘You don’t want to go?’

She glared at him. ‘Of course I want to go.’

She folded her arms across her chest, hating it that he could make her feel so much, wanting to extract some kind of payment.

‘But I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s on your bucket list. And I want a proper answer this time.’

Max’s expression hardened. ‘I don’t have a bucket list. This is ridiculous, Darcy. We’ll miss the best part of the sunrise if we don’t move now.’

She could see the balloon, lifting into the air behind Max. She tapped her foot. Waiting...

He sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair impatiently. ‘Nothing with you comes easy, does it?’

‘No.’ She smiled sweetly, feeling some measure of satisfaction to be annoying him—especially when he’d hauled her out of bed so early.

‘Okay, I’ll tell you—but you’re not to laugh.’

Darcy shook her head and said seriously, ‘I promise I won’t.’

Max looked up, as if committing his soul somewhere—or hers, more likely—and then down again, and said in a rush, ‘I want to own a football club.’

He’d said it like a young boy, blurting something out before he could lose his nerve, and Darcy’s chest squeezed even tighter.

She pushed the emotion down and nodded once. ‘Thank you. Now we can go,’ she said.

Once she felt on a more even keel with Max she was like a child, with the full excitement of what he’d organised for her—whatever his motive—finally hitting her.

They were helped into the basket alongside the pilot, and then suddenly they were lifting off the ground and into the clear dawn-streaked sky. Darcy wrapped her hands tight around the basket’s edge, eyes wide at the way the ground dropped away beneath them.

It was pure terror and exhilaration. Max stood beside her as the pilot edged them higher and higher, but she couldn’t look at him, too afraid of what he might see on her face.

Time and time again her father had promised to do this with her and it had never happened. And now she was here with her husband. Except he wasn’t really her husband.

Emotions twisted like a ball in her gut and she took a deep breath.

Max’s hand covered hers. ‘Okay?’

When she felt more in control she looked at him and smiled. ‘Perfect.’

The balloon made lazy progress over the spectacular countryside, with the pilot pointing out Lake Como and the other lakes. Far in the distance they saw the snowy tips of the Alps. Milan was a dark blur in the distance as they passed over fields and agricultural lands.

Darcy was entranced. When the gas wasn’t firing, to propel the balloon higher, she thought she’d never experienced such peace and solitude.

When she could, she tore her eyes from the view and looked at Max. ‘Is this your first time in a balloon too?’

He nodded and smiled, leaning one elbow on the basket-edge. Darcy had the uncomfortable sensation that he’d been looking at her and not the view. And she hated it that she was relieved he hadn’t done this with anyone else.

She teased him now. ‘You’re not twitching at being so far from communication and Montgomery?’

Max lifted his phone out of his pocket and held it up to show that it had no bars of service, then put it back. ‘Nope.’

He sounded inordinately cheerful about the fact, and Darcy marvelled again at this far more relaxed Max.

The view filled her eyes so much that it almost hurt as the sky got lighter and lighter, exploding into shades of vivid pink and red as the sun came up over the Alps in the distance.

She didn’t notice that Max had been doing anything until he produced a glass of sparkling wine for her and another for himself. He offered one to the pilot, who smiled but declined.

Max clinked his glass off hers and then the view was blotted out as his mouth came over hers and she fell deep into a spinning vortex that had only a little bit to do with the fact that they were suspended above the earth in a floating balloon.

Only their mouths were touching, but Darcy felt as if his hands were moving over her naked flesh. When Max pulled back she had to grip the edge of the basket tight, afraid she might just float off into the sky altogether. She was telling herself desperately that it had only been for the benefit of the pilot. To keep up appearances.

She took a sip of the wine and the bubbles exploded down her throat and into her belly. She couldn’t be more intoxicated right now than if she’d drunk three bottles in quick succession.

They sipped their wine and gazed over the view in companionable silence. Every now and then the pilot pointed something out, or Max asked him a question about the balloon’s mechanics.

Darcy hadn’t even realised she was shivering lightly until Max came and took her empty glass and moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her, his hands over hers.

She settled into the hard cocoon of his body far too easily. Stripped bare by the experience. His fingers entwined with hers and his head bent and he feathered a hot kiss to her exposed neck. She shivered again, but this time it wasn’t because of the cold.

They stood like that for a long time, and then the pilot said something low to Max and she felt him take in a breath behind her. Even though she knew what he was going to say, she didn’t want it to end.

‘We have to turn back... The air is starting to warm up...’

Darcy was glad he couldn’t see her face. Tears stung her eyes but she said lightly, ‘Okay.’

The ride back seemed to pass in a flash, and all too soon they were descending and the ground was rushing to meet them. They landed with a soft thud and a small bounce before the crew grabbed the basket and held it upright while they got out.

Max got out first and then lifted Darcy into his arms. For a moment he didn’t put her down. Something in his eyes held her captive. And then she realised they had an audience and she blushed and scrambled down.

She went to the pilot and pressed an impetuous kiss to his cheek. ‘I know you must be used to it—but, truly, that was magical. Thank you.’

The man looked pleased, but embarrassed, and said gruffly, ‘You never get used to it. Grazie, Signora Roselli.’

Max took her by the hand, and as they walked to the car Darcy was aware that she’d made a decision. It was as if the balloon ride’s unique perspective on the earth had shown her an eagle eye view of just how fragile life looked from above...how silly she was being not to reach out and grab precious moments, no matter how finite they might be.

The thought of continuing to deny herself after what she’d just experienced made her feel panicky—as if something incredibly precious might slip out of her grasp for ever. She didn’t care about the consequences.

Max stopped at the car and faced her. He had a look of resolute determination on his face. ‘Ready for the next part of the surprise?’

Darcy looked at him. She wouldn’t put it past him to have organised something like a trip to Venice for the day... But she shook her head and said clearly, ‘No more surprises.’

A range of expressions crossed Max’s face: irritation, disappointment, renewed determination...

She took a breath. ‘I don’t mean what you think I mean. I’m wooed, Max. I don’t even really care if that balloon ride was a purely cynical move on your part, I loved it too much and thank you for planning it. And I’m done fighting you. I want you. Take me back to the villa.’

* * *

Max wasn’t sure how he drove in a straight line back to the villa. He kept Darcy’s hand in his and the journey was made in silence, with the mounting anticipation coursing through his body saturating the air between them.

When he glanced at Darcy he could see a similar kind of tension on her small face and it only made his blood flow hotter. Dio. He wanted this woman so badly. More than he’d ever wanted anything.

Some kind of warning prickled over his skin at that assertion, but he ignored it.

She’d accused him of being cynical in his decision to organise the hot air balloon ride and he might have been...before. But he’d only thought of it the previous day, when they’d stood on the roof of the Duomo in Milan and she’d been disappointed not to see the Alps.

Max had remembered Dante talking about taking a hot air balloon ride with his family and seeing the Alps, and at the same time Max had recalled Darcy mentioning it some months ago.

In truth, the experience had moved him far more profoundly than he would ever have expected. He’d never seen the earth from above like that when not encased in a plane, with stacks of facts and figures in front of him, hurtling towards yet another meeting to shore up his funds, his reputation. That had all felt dangerously inconsequential when floating soundlessly through the sky.

Max was aware of the fact that this marriage to Darcy was not proceeding at all the way he might have expected when he’d first proposed the idea...the means to his end were veering way off the track. But right now he couldn’t care less. All he cared about was Darcy and the fact that she would be his.

* * *

When they got back to the villa it was early afternoon. Darcy knew she should be feeling hungry because she hadn’t had much breakfast, but she was only hungry for one thing: Max. Now that she’d decided to stop fighting him—and herself—the full extent of her desire was unleashed and it was fearsome.

He held her hand as they went into the villa and Julieta greeted them, clearly surprised to see them back early—evidently Max had had more plans for the day, but Darcy was too keyed up to care what they might have been.

She heard him say to Julieta that she could take the rest of the weekend off if there were some provisions in the kitchen. The housekeeper only lived in the gate lodge nearby, but still Darcy’s face burned with embarrassment, as if it was glaringly obvious what they intended to do.

But the woman took her leave cheerfully, after extracting a promise that they’d ring if they needed anything. Evidently she was used to such instructions.

Once she was gone, and the villa had fallen silent around them, Darcy looked at Max. Within seconds she was in his arms, their mouths fused, desperation clawing up from somewhere...the deepest, hottest part of her.

After long, drugging kisses and shedding outer layers they broke apart, and Max said gutturally, ‘I’m not taking you here in the hall.’

Before she could object he’d picked her up in his arms, taken the stairs two at a time and shouldered his way into his bedroom. Sunlight streamed in the window and bathed Max in a golden glow. Never more so than now had he looked so awe-inspiring, and Darcy had to push down the quiver of self-doubt that he really desired her at all.

He put her on her feet and reached behind him to pull his top over his head. His chest was bare and right in front of her face. Wide and muscled. Lean. Dark golden hair dusting the surface.

Darcy wasn’t sure if she was breathing—but she was still upright, so she must be. She reached out a tentative hand and touched him, hearing his indrawn breath as her nail scraped a nipple.

He cupped her jaw and tipped her chin up. Dark colour slashed his cheekbones. She could see the question in his eyes and was surprised—she’d have expected him to take ruthless advantage of her acquiescence, giving her no time to change her mind.

To stop the rise of dangerous emotions, and before he could say anything, she put her hand over his mouth. ‘I know who you are, I know who I am, and I know what I want—and that’s you.’

She felt shaky. That was about as close as she could get to telling Max that she was perfectly aware that he’d move on once he’d had her but she was okay with that. If she didn’t want him so badly right now she might hate herself for grinding her self-respect into the dust.

The question faded from Max’s eyes and he put his hands to the bottom of her top, lifting it up. She raised her arms and it slipped up and over her head. Next Max pulled free the band holding her hair, so that it feathered down over her shoulders.

His gaze dropped to the swells of her breasts, encased in lace. ‘Bella...’ His voice was thick.

Darcy reached around behind her and undid her bra, letting it slip to the floor. She groaned softly when Max reverently cupped her breasts, pushing the voluptuous mounds together, rough thumbs making her nipples spring to attention, tight with need. She’d never felt so grateful for her curves as she did right then.

Her hands were busy on his jeans, undoing the top button. Warm flesh and his hard lower belly contracted against her fingers. It was heady to know she could do this to him.

He’d lowered his head and was exploring her with his hot mouth, his wicked tongue flicking against her breasts, learning the shape of her and the way her flesh quivered and tightened at his touch.

Darcy’s hands were clumsy as she ripped free buttons and felt the potent hard bulge of him against her knuckles. Eventually she was able to push down his jeans over lean hips, but then she had to stop because Max had one of her nipples between his teeth, teasing it gently before letting it go to suck the fleeting pain away.

Her legs wouldn’t hold her up any more and she fell back onto the bed. Max stood tall, his chest moving rapidly with his breath. He pushed his jeans down the rest of the way, and then his briefs, and Darcy’s eyes widened on his impressive erection.

Her mouth watered, and when Max bent over to undo her jeans and pull them down she lifted her hips to help him. She felt only mounting impatience as he looked her over with possessive heat, pulling her panties off to join her jeans on the floor. No teenage crush could have prepared her for this reality. She felt as if she was burning up from the inside out as her hungry gaze roved over Max’s perfect form, every muscle hard and honed.

A broad chest tapered down to lean hips, where his masculinity was long and thick, cradled between his strong thighs, long legs. He truly was a warrior from another time.

The ache between her own legs intensified and she widened them in a tacit plea, not even really aware of what she was doing, knowing only that she craved this man deep in her core—now.

Max cursed softly and reached into his bedside console for something. Protection. He smoothed it onto his length and then came down over Darcy, an arm under her back, arching her up, mouths fused, tongues duelling. Her breasts were crushed against his chest and she was arching into him, begging...

Max pulled away for a second. ‘I need you, Darcy... The first time I can’t do slow.’

She felt as if she was caught in the grip of something elemental. ‘I don’t want slow. I need you too—now.’

For an infinitesimal moment everything seemed to be suspended, and then he thrust into her in one smooth move, so deep that Darcy gasped, and her back arched at this invasion of her flesh, ready as she was.

Max stopped. ‘Dio...have I hurt you? You’re so small...’

‘No,’ said Darcy fiercely, wrapping her legs around him as far as they’d go. ‘Don’t stop...’

The initial sting of pain was fading. She’d never felt so stretched, so full. And as Max moved his big body in and out she felt a deep sense of peace bloom and grow within her even as intense excitement built and built, until all her muscles were shaking with the effort it took to hold on against the rising storm.

Max put a hand between them, unerringly finding her centre and touching her there. ‘You first, Darcy...then I’ll fall...’

Darcy looked deep into his eyes, locked onto them tight as she finally relinquished her control to this man and fell so hard and so fast that she blacked out for a moment. She only came back to her dulled senses when Max’s heavy body slumped over hers, their breathing harsh and ragged in the quiet room.

* * *

When the sky was tinged with the dying rays of the sun outside they made love again. Slowly, taking the time to learn everything they hadn’t had time to do the first time around. Hands slipped and glided, squeezed and gripped. Max’s fingers explored, feeling the telltale slickness between Darcy’s legs, needing no more encouragement. He wrapped his hand around the back of Darcy’s thigh and lifted it so that he could deepen his thrust into her body. He groaned with sheer pleasure that she held him so snugly.

She smoothed back the hair from his forehead, her hands gripping his shoulders, urging him on. It was a long, slow dance, building and building to a crescendo that broke over them, taking Max by surprise with its intensity.

When he had the strength to move he scooped Darcy against his front, with her knees drawn up so her buttocks were cupped in his lap. Wrapping his arms tight around her, he felt his mind blank of anything but a delicious feeling of satisfaction, and slipped into oblivion.

* * *

When Darcy woke it was dark outside. She had no sense of time or space for a disorientating moment, not recognising the room she was in. And then she moved, and winced as muscles—intimate muscles—protested.

Max. His big body thrusting so deep that she’d been unable to hold back a hoarse cry of pleasure... It all rushed back. The desperation of that first coupling, followed by that lengthy, luxurious exploration. Her skin felt sensitive, tenderised.

She sat up now, looking around the moonlit room. No sounds from the bathroom. Moving to the side of the bed, Darcy stood up, wincing slightly again, and reached for the robe left on the end of the bed.

She opened the door and immediately a mouth-watering smell hit her nostrils. She followed it instinctively, realising just how hungry she was as she stumbled to a halt in the doorway of the kitchen.

Max was stirring something in a pot, humming tunelessly, wearing low slung sweat pants and a T-shirt.

‘Hey...’ Darcy hovered at the door, feeling ridiculously self-conscious.

Max turned around and looked her over, those dark eyes gleaming with something she couldn’t read.

‘Ciao.’

Darcy came further in. ‘What time is it?’

‘About three in the morning. You must be starving.’

There was a very wicked gleam in Max’s eyes and Darcy fought back an urge to poke her tongue out at that and at his far too smug look. She was ravenous. Not that she’d admit it.

She shrugged a shoulder, feigning nonchalance. ‘A little, I guess.’

‘Liar,’ Max said easily, and came around the kitchen island to scoop her up against him and kiss away any faux nonchalance for good.

He let her go and walked back around to the pot.

Darcy was dizzy. ‘What are you cooking?’ she managed to get out over her palpitating heart. That kiss had told her that they were nowhere near finished with this mutual...whatever it was...

‘Pasta with funghi porcini in a creamy white wine sauce.’

Max had dished up the pasta now, into two bowls, and was bringing them over to a rustic table. He brought over some bread, and a bottle of wine and two glasses.

Darcy came over, mouth watering. When she took a bite the al dente pasta and its flavours exploded on her tongue. It all felt incredibly decadent—as if this were some kind of illicit midnight feast.

After finishing her pasta, Darcy took a long luxurious sip of wine and asked idly, ‘So what was the other part of the surprise that we missed today?’

Max sat back, cradling his own glass of wine, and smirked at her. ‘I don’t think you deserve to know.’

Darcy dipped her fingers in her water glass and flicked some at him. ‘That’s so unfair.’ She mock pouted. ‘I put out before you even had to go through with it.’

Max gave her a considering look full of mischief. ‘That’s true. If I’d known how easy it would be—’

Now Darcy scooped up a much larger handful of water and threw it at him. An incredible lightness infused her as Max put down his glass and smiled devilishly at her. He still managed to look gorgeous, even as water dripped down his face and onto his chest.

He picked up his own glass of water and looked at her explicitly.

She gasped and got up from her chair, inching away from him. ‘You wouldn’t dare...’

But he would. Of course he would.

Max stood up and advanced on her as Darcy fled behind the kitchen island.

‘Max, stop—we’re adults, and this isn’t our kitchen.’ She was attempting to sound reasonable, but the breathiness in her voice gave her away.

He raised a brow. ‘It’s only water, Darcy. Now, come here like a good girl. You can’t tease me and expect to get away with it.’

Darcy crept around the island as Max followed her and eyed where the door was. When she made her move, feinting left before going towards the door, Max caught her with pathetic ease, grabbing her robe and pulling her into him.

He captured her hands with one of his and pulled her up against him. She caught fire. He was walking her backwards towards the huge table, and illicit excitement leapt in Darcy’s blood. She didn’t play like this. And she suspected Max didn’t either. It was heady.

The back of the table hit her buttocks and Max nudged her until she was sitting on it. He still held the full glass of water over her and he said in a rough voice, ‘Open your robe.’

A sliver of self-consciousness pricked her. ‘Max...’ she said weakly.

‘Open it, Darcy, or I’ll open it for you.’

With far less reluctance than she should have been feeling Darcy undid the tie on her robe and it fell open, exposing her upper body. Max smiled, and it was wicked. His eyes had turned dark and golden.

Darcy felt so hot she feared bursting into flames there and then. It was hard to breathe.

Very slowly and deliberately he tipped the glass over her, until a small stream of icy water trickled down over her chest and breasts. She gasped and tensed, and was almost surprised when the water didn’t hiss on contact with her hot skin.

Her nipples pebbled into tight peaks under Max’s torturously slow administration, and when she was thoroughly drenched, with water running down over her belly and between her legs to where she was hottest of all, he put down the glass and pushed her robe back further, baring her completely.

He braced himself with his hands either side of her body, holding the robe back, keeping her captive. His gaze devoured her and he bent and dipped his head, his hot tongue a startling contrast to the cold water on her skin as he teased and tormented her breasts, tasting them and sucking each hard tip into his mouth until Darcy cried out and begged him to stop.

He lifted his head and smiled the smile of a master sorceror. ‘We haven’t even started, dolcezza... Lie back on the table.’

Unable to stay upright anyway, Darcy sank back and felt Max’s big body push her legs wide, coming between them, baring her to him utterly.

He pressed kisses down her body, over the soft swell of her belly, and his big hands kept her open to him as his mouth descended between her legs and he found the scorching centre of her being. He stroked and licked her with sinful precision, until her hands were clasped in his hair and she was bucking uncontrollably into his mouth...

Later, when they’d made it back to the bedroom, they made love again. And again.

Darcy lifted her head from Max’s chest and asked sleepily, ‘So, will you tell me now?’

Max huffed a small chuckle. ‘I should have known you wouldn’t forget.’

Darcy rested her chin on her hand and said, ‘Well...?’

Max shifted then, and she could tell he was mildly uncomfortable. But he said, ‘I had arranged to take you to Venice... We were going to do a gondola ride and stay the night in a hotel on the Grand Canal.’

He lifted his head then, and looked at her with an endearingly rueful expression—very unMax-like.

‘It would have been the worst kind of cliché, wouldn’t it?’

Darcy’s heart twisted painfully. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, ‘but it would have been lovely.’

And then she ducked her head and feigned falling asleep, because she was terrified to admit to herself just how completely Max had seduced her.