'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.
CHAPTER FIVE
MAX LOOKED AT his watch again. Where was she? He'd meant to go and meet her at the apartment, but he'd been delayed in the office by a conference call to New York, so he'd changed there.
He'd texted Darcy to explain and got back a terse, Fine. See you there.
Max almost smiled; he couldn't imagine many women he knew texting him back like that. His almost-smile faded, though, when he thought of that morning and choosing the ring in Paris, and afterwards when they'd run into that wall of paparazzi.
He could still recall Darcy's jerk of fright and the way she'd burrowed into him instinctively. He'd felt like a heel. He'd totally underestimated how frightening that might be for someone who hadn't experienced it before. He was used to women revelling in the attention, preening, lingering... Darcy had been pale and shaking in the aftermath-not that she'd let it show for too long.
Something in Max's chest tightened. And then she was there, in the doorway of the function room, looking for him. Hair pulled up. One shoulder bare in an assymetrical dress that clung to her breasts, torso, and hips, before falling to the ground in a swirl of black silk and chiffon.
The room fell away, and the ever-present thrum of awareness made his blood sizzle.
How had he ever thought she was unassuming? She was stunning.
He could see her engagement ring from here, the brilliant flash of ice-white, and he pushed down the tightness in his chest. That same sense of protectiveness and possessiveness he'd felt earlier outside the jewellers hit him again, and he pushed that down too. It was nothing. It was the thrill of anticipated triumph over the deal that would finally take him away from that moment on the streets in Rome, when his own peers had seen him shabby and feral. Reduced to nothing.
Her eyes met his and he went forward to meet her.
* * *
Darcy saw Max almost as soon as she stopped in the doorway. Of course she did. He stood head and shoulders above most of the crowd. He was wearing a classic black tuxedo and she felt as if someone had hit her right between the eyes.
He'd made some effort to tidy his hair and it was swept back from his face now, dark blond and luxurious, but still with that trademark unruly length. And she could see from here that his jaw was clean-shaven.
In truth, she'd been glad of a little space from Max for the rest of the day-especially now she knew she'd be heading back to his apartment with him that night. She wasn't ready for that at all.
He was cutting a swathe through the crowd, heading straight for her, and-damn it-her breath was short again.
When he got to her he just looked at her for a long moment before slipping a hand across her bare shoulder and around the back of her neck. Her skin sizzled as his head came closer and his mouth-that perfect sensual mouth that rarely smiled-closed over hers.
She wanted to protest-Stop kissing me!-even as she knew he was only doing it for the benefit of their audience. But the fact was that every time he kissed her another little piece of her defences around him fell away.
There was nothing but blinding white heat for a second, as the firm contours of Max's mouth moved enticingly over hers, and then a rush of heat swelled all the way up her body from the pulse between her legs.
When he took his mouth away and pulled back she was dizzy, hot. It had been mere seconds. A chaste kiss on the mouth.
Max still had a hand around her neck. He was so close she could smell him, feel his heat around her. It was as if he was cocooning her slightly from the crowd and Darcy was reminded of the shock and vulnerability she'd felt in front of those paparazzi.
She pulled away from him.
'You look...beautiful.'
'You don't have to say that.'
Darcy felt exceedingly self-conscious in the dress the stylist had picked out for her to wear tonight. She glanced up at him from her eyeline, which was roughly around the centre of his chest-she'd been avoiding his gaze till now and his jaw was tight.
'It's not a line, Darcy, I mean it. You look...stunning.'
'I...' She couldn't speak. No man had ever complimented her like this before. She'd never felt beautiful before. But for a second, now, she did.
Max took her hand and led her into the throng, stopping to take the glass of champagne offered by a waiter before handing it to Darcy. She took a gulp, glad of the sustenance, aware of the interested looks they were getting-or rather that she was getting.
She hated the prickling feeling of being under scrutiny. The crowd in the ballroom of the exclusive Rome hotel was seriously intimidating. This was A-list territory. Actually, this made the A-list look like the B-list. She'd just spotted a European royal and an ex-American president talking together in a corner.