Читать книгу Modern Romance June 2015 Books 1-8 - Эбби Грин, Natalie Anderson - Страница 17
ОглавлениеTHE FOLLOWING MORNING Darcy woke to an insistent prodding that was becoming more and more intimate as a hand smoothed down over her bare backside and squeezed firmly. She smiled and wriggled, hoping to entice the hand into further exploration, but instead it delivered a short, sharp thwack.
She raised her head from the pillow, blinking in the daylight. Max. Looking thoroughly gorgeous and disreputable with a growth of stubble. And he was dressed.
‘What was that for?’
His hand smoothed where he’d slapped her so playfully. ‘That was to get you up and out of bed... I want to take you out on the lake.’
At the word lake Darcy went very still. That big body of water that she’d avoided looking at—probably the only person on the planet who didn’t enjoy the splendour of Lake Como.
She flipped over and held the sheet to her breasts. Max was already leaning back, tugging it out of her hand, but she held on with a death grip and tried to say, as breezily as possible, ‘I’m quite tired, actually... Why don’t you go? You can tell me how it was when you get back.’
Max stopped and his gaze narrowed on her. Damn.
‘Why don’t you want to go on the lake, Darcy? I’ve noticed that you barely look at it.’
She avoided his eye and sat up, feeling at a disadvantage lying down, and plucked at the sheet. ‘I have issues with water. I can’t swim.’
Carefully, Max said, ‘You know, some fishermen can’t swim—because they believe that if the sea claims them it’s meant to be. It doesn’t stop them going out on the water.’
Sensing that Max had no intention of going anywhere until she explained herself, she sighed deeply and said, ‘I nearly drowned as a child. We had a pool at our house and my father was teaching me how to swim. My mother appeared and they started having a row. He got out to argue with her, forgetting about me... I don’t know what happened... One minute I was okay and the next I couldn’t feel the bottom any more and I’d started to drop like a stone. I must have drifted from the shallow end. They were so busy arguing, and I couldn’t get their attention. All I could see was their arms gesticulating and then everything went black, there was a pain in my chest—’
Darcy hadn’t even realised that she was bordering on hyperventilation until Max put a hand over hers, his fingers twining around hers to make her loosen her grip on the sheet.
‘Darcy, it’s okay—just breathe...’
She took a deep breath and looked at Max. ‘That’s why I don’t want to go on the lake.’
He looked as if he was considering something, and then he said, ‘Do you trust me?’
‘Of course not,’ she said facetiously.
Max rolled his eyes. ‘I mean, would you trust me not to let any harm come to you?’
Physically...yes. Emotionally...no.
Damn. Darcy realised it as the heavy weight of inevitability hit her. She was falling for him. She was a disgrace to womankind. One hot air balloon ride and even hotter sex and she was—
‘Okay?’
She blinked at Max, not having heard a word he’d said over the revelation banging around in her head like a warning klaxon going off after the fire had started and the horse had bolted.
‘What?’
He said, with extreme patience, ‘I want to take you somewhere and I promise you won’t have to do anything you don’t want to—okay?’
Right now even a lake was preferable to sitting alone with this new knowledge. ‘Okay...’
And that was how she found herself, a few hours later, in a swimsuit, shivering with fear by the side of a kiddies’ pool at a local adventure centre that Max said was owned by Dante D’Aquanni. A child ran past her and cannonballed into the pool.
Max was standing waist-deep in the water and saying, ‘Look, I promise you’ll be able to touch the bottom. Come on.’
Not even his body was helping to distract her right now.
‘Sit on the edge and come in bit by bit.’
More because she didn’t want to look like a total fool in front of Max than anything else, she gingerly sat down on the edge and put her legs in the water. Immediately she started shaking, remembering how the water had sucked her down.
But Max had his hands on her waist and she gripped his arms.
Slowly, and with far more patience than she would have ever credited him with having, Max gently coaxed Darcy until she was standing in the water. Once she knew she could touch the bottom, he persuaded her to let him pull her along while she kicked her legs.
At one point she saw Max send a glower in the direction of some sniggering kids, but she didn’t care.
And then he turned her on her back, which she only agreed to because he kept his arms underneath her. He was talking to her, telling her something, instructing her to kick her feet, and she was just getting comfortable with the feeling of floating when he said, ‘Darcy?’
‘Hmm?’ It was nice, floating like this.
‘Look.’
She lifted her head and saw Max with his hands in the air. It took a second for the fact that she was floating unaided to compute, and when it did she started to sink. But just as her head was about to go under she was caught, standing with her feet firmly on the bottom and Max holding her.
She was breathing rapidly and he was making soothing noises.
‘I can’t...can’t be—believe you just let me go.’
‘You were totally fine—you’ll be swimming in no time.’
Darcy looked up at Max and her heart turned over. The pool was empty now, and she moved closer to him until their bodies were touching.
‘I know one way of taking my mind off things...’
She reached up and wrapped her arms around Max’s neck, moaning her satisfaction when his mouth came down on hers. Then he was lifting her, and she was wrapping her legs around his waist as he sat her down on the side of the pool and proceeded to do very adult things—until the discreet coughing of a staff member forced them apart like guilty teenagers.
* * *
Much later that night, after Darcy had shown Max her gratitude for helping her to start overcoming her fear of water in a very imaginative way, using her mouth to drive him over the edge of his control, Max couldn’t sleep.
His body was still humming with pleasure...but not yet with the full sense of satisfaction that he usually felt after he’d bedded a woman. The sense of satisfaction that led to a feeling of restlessness and usually preceded his moving on.
Okay, so he knew he couldn’t move on because he and Darcy were married—whether for real or not, they’d gone way over the boundaries of pretence now. But was that it? No. He’d be feeling this way if he and Darcy had started an affair anyway...and that revelation was disturbing.
No woman kept a hold over Max beyond the initial conquest. If he continued a liaison it was usually because it served some purpose not remotely romantic.
But things had escalated with Darcy so fast that his head felt as if it was spinning. She’d made him work for it, but it hadn’t really been game-playing. And the final capitulation... It hadn’t been sweet—it had been fast and furious and intense.
Even now he knew that if she was to turn to him he’d be ready to take her again and again. And tomorrow all over again.
He cursed softly and got out of bed and went downstairs, raiding Dante’s drinks cabinet for some of his fine whisky. He went out to the terrace, where the sound of the lake lapping against the shore should have been calming, but instead Max was remembering the look of stark terror on Darcy’s face as he’d had to coax her into the pool.
Inferno. Since when did he mess about in paddling pools, teaching someone to swim? Yet he couldn’t deny the sheer pleasure he’d taken from seeing her face lose its dread in the pool.
It had given him a kind of satisfaction that he usually reserved for each pinnacle he conquered on his way to the ultimate acceptance and respect in business. Which he still hadn’t attained.
A shiver of something cold crawled up Max’s spine—a memory...crying, feeling as though his guts were going to fall out of his body, his legs shaking...his mother gripping him. ‘Stop snivelling. I’m taking you with me.’
He’d told Darcy practically everything. More than he’d ever told anyone else.
He went even colder and realised that he wasn’t even sure he recognised himself any more. Who was this person who made impromptu wedding proposals? Who chased a woman around a kitchen with a glass of water?
The memory made Max cringe now.
He’d let emotion get in the way once before and had paid the price.
Another more pertinent memory came back: the day he’d seen his old nemesis while he’d been foraging in that bin in Paris. It was one of those moments in life when the fates had literally laughed in his face just to torture him.
One of them had come back and handed Max a five-euro note. Max had taken it and ripped it up, before letting it drop to the ground and spitting on it.
He hadn’t needed anyone then, and he didn’t need anyone now. He knew better than anybody how life could be as fickle and as random as a pair of dice rolling to a stop, dictating the future.
But he’d changed that. The power to dictate everything lay with him.
He’d fought for this control over his destiny and he was damned if he was going to let it slip out of his grasp now just because he was forgetting where his priorities lay. Anger licked through his blood at the knowledge of just how far off course he was in danger of straying.
Darcy was distracting him.
And he was fogetting the most important thing: She was just a means to an end.
* * *
The following morning, on the plane ride home, Darcy didn’t need to be psychic to know that something had changed during the night. Max was back in ruthless boss mode. Brusque. Abrupt.
He’d already been up when she’d woken, dressed and packed.
She’d felt flustered. ‘You should have woken me.’
He’d been cool. ‘I have some work to catch up on in Dante’s study. We’ll leave in half an hour.’
She couldn’t fault Max for wanting to jump straight back into things—after all Montgomery’s party was right around the corner, sealing the deal... But it was almost as if he had just carved out these few days to seduce Darcy and now it was mission accomplished and he was moving on.
She’d expected this. But she hadn’t expected it to be quite so brutally obvious.
Was it a dream or had this man gripped her hips so hard last night that she still bore the marks of his fingers on her flesh? Had she imagined that he’d held her ruthlessly still so that he could thrust up into her body over and over again, until she’d been begging for mercy, and only then finally tipped them both over the edge?
No, because she’d seen the marks in the mirror in the bathroom and her muscles still ached pleasurably.
Darcy felt a little shattered—as if the pieces that Max had rent asunder deep inside her would never come back together again.
Maybe he was regretting the weekend...realising that it had all been a huge mistake. Realising that she hadn’t been worth all that effort...the shopping, the hot air balloon... But even if he was, she wasn’t going to regret it. She’d made her choice.
‘Darcy?’
She looked at Max, who was frowning impatiently. ‘I need you to take some notes—we’ll be going straight to the office from the airport.’
Ignoring the voices screaming at her to leave it alone, Darcy turned to him and said, ‘So that’s it, then? Honeymoon over. Back to work.’
Max looked at her and she shivered.
‘What did you expect?’
‘All that seduction...the hot air balloon...’
Max shrugged. ‘You knew I wanted you in my bed—whatever it took.’
Incredible pain lanced her. ‘I see.’
For a moment Darcy thought she might be sick, but she forced it down. She had to get away from Max. She hated it that she wasn’t strong enough to weather the evidence of his ruthlessness in front of him.
She unbuckled her belt quickly and stood up, muttering something about the bathroom. Once locked inside the small space she saw her face in the mirror, leached of colour.
Stupid, stupid Darcy. How could she have forgotten that this man’s two main traits were being ruthless and being more ruthless. He must have been laughing himself silly when Darcy had all but begged him to go to bed after his piéce de résistance: the balloon ride. It would be tainted in her head for ever now.
She thought of the pool then, of Max’s patience and gentle coaxing, and this time she couldn’t stop the contents of her stomach from lurching up.
When she’d composed herself she looked at herself in the mirror again. She had to get a grip. She’d lost herself for a moment and she’d done it willingly—her hands held tightly onto the sink—but it had only been for a moment. A weekend. She was okay. She could put this momentary weakness behind her and get on with things, and as soon as the ink was dry on the deal with Montgomery she’d be gone.
* * *
When they returned to Max’s apartment after going into the office Max disappeared into his study to do some more work. Darcy took herself out for a long walk around the centre of Rome, coming back with no sense of peace in her head or her heart.
She was feeling increasingly angry with herself for giving in to his smooth seduction, having known what it was likely to do to her.
He was still working when she returned, so she ate alone and went to bed, telling herself that the ache she felt was just her pathetic imagination.
After midnight, just when she was hovering on the edge of sleep, Max came into her room.
‘This isn’t my room.’
Darcy came up on one elbow, anger rising. ‘No, it’s my room.’
‘So why aren’t you in my bed?’
‘Because,’ Darcy said tersely, well and truly awake now, ‘I don’t care for the hot and cold routine, and you’ve made it perfectly clear that now we’ve consummated the relationship you’re done with any niceties.’
Max came close to the bed and Darcy hated the way her blood sizzled with anticipation.
‘I never said I was nice, Darcy,’ he pointed out. ‘Are you going to come to my bed?’
‘No,’ Darcy said mutinously.
Max just shrugged and left, and Darcy let out a shaky sigh of...disappointment. She lambasted herself. She was pathetic. And then her mouth dropped open when Max walked back in with a bunch of clothes and some toiletries.
She watched, dumbfounded, as he proceeded to strip and get into the bed beside her. He leaned on one elbow, unselfconsciously naked in the way that only the most gorgeous people could be, and those tawny eyes glinted with pure devilment.
‘The honeymoon is over, but this isn’t.’
He reached for her and Darcy had a split second to realise that she could take the moral high ground and resist Max’s arrogant pull or, as she asked herself belligerently, why shouldn’t she use Max as he was using her? Take her own pleasure from him until she was sated?
That was the weak logic she used, anyway, as she hurled herself back into the fire.
When she woke in the morning and all those little voices were ready to rip her to shreds for her weakness she resolutely ignored them and told herself she could do this. Max didn’t have the monopoly on being cold and ruthless.
* * *
As the days progressed, getting closer to the time they’d be leaving for Scotland, their working hours got longer. And in the nights...the passion between them seemed to burn brighter and fiercer with each coupling. Darcy’s anger with herself and Max added something that seemed to hurl her over the edge further and further each time, until she was left spent and shaking.
Some nights Max seemed to forget what part he was playing, and he’d scoop her close and hold her to him with arms like vises around her. It was on those nights that Darcy knew she was fooling herself the most.
This game she was playing with Max was costing her. She knew that she wasn’t strong enough emotionally to keep it up indefinitely, and that it would have to stop before she got burned in the fire completely.
But just not right now...
The Montgomery estate, north of Inverness
Darcy huffed out a breath and stopped to look at the view. It was spectacular, and it soothed some of the tension inside her. Hills and mountains stretched as far as the eye could see, and small lochs were dotted here and there like black pools. Clouds scudded across the blue sky.
In true Scottish fashion, even though it was summer, it had rained since they’d arrived, a couple of days ago. But now the sun was out and the countryside sparkled.
Darcy was relishing a rare chance to be alone. She’d had enough of Max’s tense mood infecting her own.
Wily old Montgomery was playing hard to get right to the end. The party was tonight, and Max still wasn’t sure where he stood. To make things even worse, there were several other high-profile financiers invited. Darcy almost felt sorry for Max—but then she thought of the sensual torture he’d put her through the previous night and promptly felt unsorry for him.
She sat down on a piece of soft springy ground and sighed, pushing her hair back off her hot cheeks. Here against this timeless and peaceful backdrop she couldn’t keep running from her own conscience and her heart.
In spite of everything, she’d fallen for Max. Self-disgust that she should fall for someone so ruthless and single-minded took the edge off the awful tendency she felt to cry. And yet her bruised heart still pathetically wanted to believe that the Max she’d seen that weekend in Como was real...
One thing Darcy did know was that Max fooled himself as much as everyone around him. He had feelings, all right, but they were so buried after years of hiding them that it would be like mining for diamonds trying to extract them.
She knew why her instinct had always warned her off deeper commitment if this was the pain it brought.
But she couldn’t continue with the status quo. It was a form of self-destruction that Darcy knew she had to stop now—he’d worn her down and broken her apart like the pro he was, and she couldn’t let it continue.
Max wasn’t going to like it, but he’d get over it. He’d have to, because nothing would compel her to change her mind. Not even his singular seduction.
* * *
That night Darcy felt jittery, and Max said beside her, ‘Stop fidgeting.’
She sent him a dark look. She had her arm tucked into his, for all the world the happy newly married couple.
Mrs Montgomery had come up to Darcy earlier and said confidentially, ‘Why, he’s a new man, my dear. He was always so brooding before.’
Darcy had smiled weakly and looked to see Max throwing his head back and laughing at something his companion said. Her gut had twisted. Was he different? And then she’d clamped down on that very dangerous line of thought.
She was wearing the royal blue satin dress she’d seen in the window of the boutique that day in Milan. When she’d spotted it hanging in her wardrobe in Max’s apartment it had given her a jolt as she’d recalled a much more light-hearted Max.
She hadn’t wanted to wear it, but he’d insisted. And the look in his eyes when she’d put it on had been nearly enough to make her skin sizzle.
He’d growled, ‘If we weren’t already late for dinner I’d lock the door to this room, make you take it off, make love to you and then make you put it on again... But I’d probably only want to take it off again...’
A voice had wheedled in Darcy’s head—What’s one more night...?—and she’d shut it out. She couldn’t afford one more night with Max.
The crowd was making a toast now, to Cecil Montgomery, his smiling wife and their four children and assorted grandchildren. Darcy’s heart constricted. Happiness was there for some people. The very few.
She felt Max tense beside her. Time for the announcement.
Montgomery started by going into a long-winded account of his career, clearly building up to the big moment. Darcy bit her lip and looked at Max, but his face was expressionless.
‘As many of you will know, it’s been my life’s work to cultivate, protect and grow the famous private equity fund of this family that goes back generations. It’s my legacy to my children and grandchildren—not to mention our very important philanthropic work...’
Montgomery cleared his throat and kept going.
‘As we all know in these uncertain times, expert advice is necessary to ensure the growth and protection of anything of importance. And this fund is not just my life’s work, but my ancestors’. It’s been of the utmost importance that I choose someone who has those sensibilities in mind. Who understands the importance of family and legacy...for the benefit of not only my own family but also much larger concerns.’
He paused dramatically and then took a breath.
‘There is only one person I would trust with this great responsibility, and I’m pleased to announce that that man is...Maximiliano Fonseca Roselli.’
Darcy could feel the surge of emotion in Max’s body. He shook with it. She waited for him to turn and acknowledge her, as much for appearances’ sake as anything else, but after a moment he just disengaged her arm from his and strode forward to accept Montgomery’s handshake and congratulations.
Darcy could see people looking at her. It was as brutal a sign of where she really stood in his life as a slap in the face, and she realised then that all along she’d been harbouring some kind of pathetic hope that perhaps she was mistaken and he did feel something for her.
Seeing the crowd lining up to congratulate Max, Darcy took advantage of the moment to slip out of the room and walk blindly through the castle, eyes blurred but refusing to let the tears well and fall.
She would not cry over this man. She would not.
* * *
Max cursed silently. Where was she? He knew Darcy was petite, but he’d realised that somehow he had an uncanny knack of finding her glossy dark brown head in any crowd. He thought of her as she’d stood before him in the bedroom not long ago, the deep blue of the satin dress curving around her body in such a way that it had made him feel animalistic. He’d almost forgotten what the evening was about. Almost.
Lingering tendrils of relief and triumph had snaked through him as he’d forged his way through the throng, accepting congratulations and slaps on the back. Funny, he’d expected to bask in this moment for a lot longer, but he was distracted.
Darcy. Where was she?
She’d been standing beside him when Montgomery had called out his name and his first instinct had been to turn to her. She’d done this with him. He wouldn’t have done it without her. He’d wanted to share it with her.
The surge of alien emotion that had gripped him had caught him right in his throat and at the back of his eyes, making them sting. Horrorstruck, in a nano-second he’d been aware that he was on the verge of tears and about to let Darcy see it. So at the last second he’d pulled away and strode forward. Not wanting her to see the rawness he was feeling. Not ready for the scrutiny of those huge blue eyes that saw too much.
He cursed again. She wasn’t here. A quick tour of the surrounding rooms didn’t reveal her either, and Max made his way to the bedroom with a growing sense of unease.
When he opened the door to the bedroom the sense of unease coalesced into a black mass in his gut. Darcy barely looked up when he walked in. She’d changed into black trousers and a stripy top. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She looked about sixteen. She was packing her suitcase.
Max folded his arms, as if that might ease the constriction in his chest.
‘What are you doing?’
She glanced at him, her face expressionless. ‘I’m leaving.’
Seizing on his default mechanism of acerbity, Max drawled, ‘I think I could have deduced that much.’
Darcy shrugged as she pulled the top of the suitcase down and started to zip it up. ‘Well, then, if it’s that obvious why ask?’
Anger started to flicker to life in Max’s gut as the full impact of what he was looking at sank in. She was leaving. He didn’t like the clutch of panic. Panic was not something he ever felt.
‘What’s going on, Darcy? They’ve only just made the announcement—dinner hasn’t even been served yet.’
Darcy stopped zipping up the bag and looked at him. For a moment he saw something flicker in her eyes but then it was gone.
‘I’m done, Max. I’ve more than paid my dues as your convenient wife. When you can’t even acknowledge me in your moment of glory it’s pretty obvious that I’ve become superfluous to your requirements.’
The panic gripped him tighter. He’d messed up. ‘Look, Darcy, I know I couldn’t have achieved this without you—’
She laughed, short and sharp. ‘You had this all along. I think Montgomery just enjoyed watching you jump through hoops... It’s not many deals or many men Maximiliano Fonseca Roselli will do that for.’
Darcy picked up the jacket that was laid over the back of a nearby chair and shrugged it on, turning those huge blue eyes on him.
‘What did you expect to happen now, Max? Some kind of fake domestic idyll? The deal is done. This is over. There’s no more need for the charade.’
Max felt tight all over, in the grip of something dark and hot. He bit out, ‘You won’t even stay one more night.’ He didn’t pose it as a question, already hating himself for saying it.
Darcy shook her head and her glossy ponytail slid over one shoulder. ‘No. I’ve given you enough of my time, Max. More than enough.’
Was it his imagination or had there been a catch in her voice? Max couldn’t hear through the dull roaring in his head. He felt himself teetering on the edge of something... Asking her to stay? But, as she’d said, for what? What did he want from her now? And what was this terrifying swooping of emotion, threatening to push him over the edge, spurred on by the panic which made his insides feel as loose as they’d felt tight a moment ago...?
He’d only ever felt like this once before. When he’d stood before another woman—his mother—and let her see the full extent of his vulnerability and pain. He’d tipped over the edge then and his life had never been the same.
He was not going to tip over the edge for anyone else. He had just achieved the pinnacle of his success. What did he need Darcy for? He had everything that he’d ever wanted. He could go on from here and live his life and know that he was untouchable, that he had surpassed every one of his naysayers and doubters. Every one of the bullies.
He and Luca would finally be equals—on his terms.
The realisation that no great sense of satisfaction accompanied that knowledge was not something Max wanted to dwell on. Suddenly he was quite eager to get on with things. Without that incisive bluer than blue gaze tracking his every movement.
The fact that he looked at Darcy even now and felt nothing but hunger was irritating, but he told himself that once she was out of his orbit it would die down...fade away.
He would take a new lover. Start again.
He uncrossed his arms. ‘Your bonus will be in your bank by Monday. My solicitor will work out the details of the divorce.’
‘Thank you.’ Darcy avoided his eye now, picking up her bag.
A knock came to the door and she looked up. ‘That’ll be the taxi. The housekeeper is sending someone up for my bags when it arrives.’
Max had pushed everything he was feeling down so deep that he was slightly light-headed. Like a robot, he moved over to the bed and took Darcy’s suitcase easily in one hand. He took it to the door and opened it, handing it out to the young man on the other side. One of the estate staff.
And then Darcy was in the doorway, close enough for him to smell her scent. It had an immediate effect on him, making his body hard.
Damn her. Right now he was more than ready to see the back of her. That edge was beckoning again, panic flaring.
He stepped back, allowing her to leave the room. He forced himself to be solicitous even as he had a sudden urge to haul her back into the room and slam the door shut, locking them both inside.
And what then? asked a snide voice.
Another one answered: Chaos.
‘Good luck, Darcy. If you need anything get in touch.’
‘I won’t.’ Her voice was definitely husky now, and she wasn’t looking at him. ‘But thank you. Goodbye, Max.’
