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.