The Bride Fonseca Needs(3)

She gritted her jaw as she sat down behind her desk and cursed herself  for a fool if she thought for a second that Max ever looked at her with  anything more than professional interest.

It wasn't as if she even wanted him to look at her with anything more  than professional interest. She was not about to jeopardise the best job  of her career by mooning about after him like she had at school, when  she'd been in the throes of a very embarrassing pubescent crush.                       
       
           



       

* * *

Max finished his call with his friend and stood up to look out of his  office window, feeling restless. The window framed an impressive view of  Rome's ancient ruins-something that usually soothed him with its  timelessness. But not right now.

Sultan Sadiq of Al-Omar was just one of Max's very small inner circle  of friends who had given up the heady days of being a bachelor to settle  down. He'd broken off their conversation just now when his wife had  come into his office with their toddler son, whom Max had heard gabbling  happily in the background. Sadiq had confided just before that they  were expecting baby number two in a few months, and happiness had been  evident in his friend's voice.

Max might have ribbed him before. But something about that almost  tangible contentment and his absorption in his family had made him feel  uncharacteristically hollow.

Memories of his brother's recent wedding in Rio de Janeiro came back to  him. He and his brother weren't close. Not after a lifetime spent  living apart-the legacy of warring parents who'd lived on different  continents. But Max had gone to the wedding-more because of the shared  business concerns he had with his brother than any great need to  'connect'.

If he had ever had anything in common with his brother apart from blood  it had been a very ingrained sense of cynicism. But that cynicism had  all but disappeared from his brother's eyes as he'd looked adoringly at  his new wife.

Max sighed volubly, forcibly wiping the memory from his mind. Damn this  introspection. Since when did he feel hollow and give his brother and  his new wife a moment's consideration?

He frowned and brooded over the view. He was a loner, and he'd been a  loner since he'd taken responsibility for his actions as a young boy and  realised that he had no one to turn to but himself.

And yet he had to concede, with some amount of irritation, that  watching his peers fall by the wayside into domesticity was beginning to  make him stand out by comparison. The prospect of going to dinner with  Montgomery and his wife was becoming more and more unappealing, and Max  was certain that the old man was determined to use it as an opportunity  to demonstrate his unsuitability.

At that moment Max thought of Darcy's suggestion that he take his  ex-lover to dinner. For some reason he found himself thinking not so  much of Noor but of Darcy's huge blue eyes. And the way colour had  flared in her cheeks when he'd told her what he thought of that  suggestion.

He found himself comparing the two women and surmised with some level of grim humour that they couldn't be more different.

Noor al-Fasari was without a doubt one of the most beautiful women in  the world. And yet when Max tried to visualise her face now he found  that it was amorphous-hard to recall.

And Darcy... Max frowned. He'd been about to assert that she wasn't  beautiful, but it surprised him to realise that, while she certainly  didn't share Noor's show-stopping, almost outlandish looks, Darcy was  more than just pretty or attractive.

And, in fairness, her job was not to promote what beauty she did  possess. Suddenly Max found himself wondering what she would be like  dressed more enticingly, and with subtle make-up to enhance those huge  eyes and soft rosebud lips.

Much to his growing sense of horror, he found that her voluptuous  figure came to mind as easily as if she was still walking out of his  office, as she'd done only minutes before. He might have fooled himself  that he'd been engrossed in the conversation with his friend, but in  reality his eyes had been glued to the provocative way Darcy's pencil  skirt clung to her full hips, and how the shiny leather belt drew the  eye to a waist so small he fancied he might span it with one hand.

His skin prickled. It was almost as if an awareness of her had been  growing stealthily in his subconscious for the past few months. And as  if to compound this unsettling revelation he found the blood in his body  growing heated and flowing south, to a part of his anatomy that was  behaving in a manner that was way out of his usual sense of control.

Almost in shock, Max sat down, afraid that Darcy might walk in and  catch him in this moment of confusion and not a little irritation at his  wayward responses.

It was the memory of his ex-lover that had precipitated this random  lapse in control. It had to be. But when he tried to conjure up Noor's  face again, with a sense of desperation, all he could recall were the  shrill shrieks she'd hurled his way-along with an expensive vase or  two-after he'd told her their affair was over.

A brief knock came to his door and Darcy didn't wait before opening it  to step inside. 'I'm heading home now, in case you want anything else?'                       
       
           



       

And just like that Max's blood sizzled in earnest. A floodgate had been  opened and now all he could see was her glossy dark brown hair, neatly  tied back. Along with her provocative curves. Full breasts thrust  against her silk shirt. The tiny waist. Womanly hips, firm thighs and  shapely calves. Small ankles. And this was all in a package a couple of  inches over five feet. When Max had never before found petite women  particularly attractive.

She wasn't even dressed to seduce. She was the epitome of classic style.

He couldn't fault her-not for one thing. Yet all he could think about  doing right now was walking over to her and hauling her up against his  hot and aching body. And, for a man who wasn't used to denying his urges  when it came to women, he found himself floundering.

What the hell...? Was he going crazy?

Darcy frowned. 'Is there something wrong, Max?'

'Wrong?' he barked, feeling slightly desperate. 'Nothing is wrong.'

'Oh,' said Darcy. 'Well, then, why are you scowling at me?'

Max thought of the upcoming dinner date with Montgomery and his wife  and imagined sitting between them like a reluctant gooseberry. He made a  split-second decision. 'I was just thinking about the dinner with  Montgomery...'

Darcy raised a brow. 'Yes?'

Feeling grim, Max said, 'You're coming with me.'

She straightened up at the door. 'Oh.' She looked nonplussed for a moment, and then said, 'Is that really appropriate?'

Max finally felt as if he had his recalcitrant body under some kind of  control and stood up, putting his hands in his pockets. 'Yes, it's  highly appropriate. You've been working on this deal with me and I'll  need you there to keep track of the conversation and make nice with  Montgomery's wife.'

Darcy was clearly reluctant. 'Don't you think that perhaps someone else might be more-?'

Max took one hand out of his pocket and held it up. 'I don't want any  further discussion about this matter. You're coming with me-that's it.'

Darcy looked at him with those huge blue eyes and for a dizzying moment  Max felt as if she could see all the way down into the depths of his  being. And then the moment broke when she shrugged lightly and said,  'Okay, fine. Anything else you need this evening?'

He had a sudden vivid image of ripping her shirt open, to see her lush  breasts encased in silk and satin, and got out a strangled-sounding,  'No, you can go.'

To his blessed relief, she did go. He ran both hands through his hair  with frustration. Ordinarily Max would have taken this rogue reaction as  a clear sign that he should go out and seek a new lover, but he knew  that the last thing he needed right now in the run-up to the final  negotiations with Montgomery was for him to be at the centre of  headlines speculating about his colourful love-life.

So for now he was stuck in the throes of lusting after his very capable  PA-an impossible situation that Max felt some god somewhere had  engineered just for his own amusement.





CHAPTER TWO

A WEEK LATER Darcy was still mulling over the prospect of going to the  Montgomery dinner the following evening with Max. She assured herself  again that she was being ridiculous to feel so reluctant. Lots of PAs  accompanied their bosses on social occasions that blurred into work.

So why was it that her pulse seemed to step up a gear when she thought  about being out in public with Max, in a social environment?

Because she was an idiot. She scowled at herself and almost jumped out  of her skin when Max yelled her name from inside his office. If  anything, his curtness over the last week should have eased her  concerns. He certainly wasn't giving her the remotest indication that  there was anything but business on his mind.