The Bride Fonseca Needs(28)

       
           



       

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.