The Bride Fonseca Needs(23)

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.





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.'