The Bride Fonseca Needs(7)

Had Max gone to the wedding? Darcy was about to search for more  information on his parents when she realised what she was doing and  closed the cover of her tablet with force.

She flipped off the light and lay down, angry with herself for giving  in to curiosity about a man with whom she'd shared a very brief and  ill-advised moment of pure unprofessional madness. A man she should have  no further interest in beyond helping him to get this deal so that she  could get the hell out of his orbit and get on with her life.





CHAPTER THREE

DARCY LOOKED AT HERSELF critically in the mirror of the ladies' toilet  next to her office, but she didn't really see her own reflection. She  was on edge after a long day in which Max had been overly polite and  solicitous, with not so much as a sly look or hint that they'd almost  made love on his desk the previous night.

At one stage she'd nearly snapped at him to please go back to normal and snarl at her the way he usually did.

The fact that she'd allowed a level of exposure and intimacy with Max  she'd never allowed before was something she was resolutely ignoring.  Her previous sexual experiences with men had come only after a lengthy  dating period. And in each case once the final intimacy had been  breached she'd backed off, because she'd realised she had no desire to  deepen the commitment.

She snorted at herself now. As if she would have to worry about  something like that with Max Fonseca Roselli. He was the kind of man who  would leave so fast your head would be spinning for a week.

She forced her mind away from Max and took a deep breath. Her dress was  black and had been bought for exactly this purpose-to go from work to a  social event. And, as far as Darcy had been concerned when she'd bought  it, it was modest.

Yet now it felt all wrong. It was a dress that suited her diminutive  hourglass shape perfectly, but suddenly the scooped neckline was too low  and the waist too cinched in. The clingy fabric was a little too clingy  around her bottom and thighs, making her want to pluck it away from her  body. The capped sleeves felt dressy, and when she moved the discreet  slit up one side seemed to shout out, I'm trying to be sexy!                       
       
           



       

All at once she felt pressured and frazzled, aware of time ticking on.  She'd already been in the bathroom for twenty minutes. She imagined Max  pacing up and down outside, looking at his watch impatiently, waiting  for her. Well, too late to change now. Darcy refreshed her make-up and  spritzed on some perfume, and slid her feet into slightly higher heels  than normal.

She'd left her hair down and at the last moment felt a lurch of panic  when she looked at herself again. It looked way too undone. She twisted  it up into a quick knot and secured it with a pin.

Her cheeks were hot and beads of sweat rolled down between her breasts.  Cursing Max, and herself, she finally let herself out, her work clothes  folded into a bag. It was with some relief that she noted that Max  wasn't pacing up and down outside.

Stowing her bag in a cupboard, making a mental note to take it home  after the weekend, Darcy took a deep breath and knocked once briefly on  Max's office door before going in.

When she did, though, she nearly took a step back. Max was standing  with a remote control in his hand, watching a financial news channel on  the flat screen TV set into his wall. His hair was typically messy, but  otherwise any resemblance to the Max she'd expected to see dissolved  into a haze of heat.

His jaw was clean-shaven, drawing the eye to strong, masculine lines.  He was wearing a classic three-piece suit in dark grey, with a  snowy-white shirt and grey silk tie. Darcy swallowed as Max turned and  his gaze fell on her. She couldn't breathe. Literally couldn't draw  breath. She'd never seen anyone so arrestingly gorgeous in her life. And  the memory of how that lean body had felt when it was pressed against  hers, between her legs, was vivid enough to make her sway slightly.

There was a long, taut silence between them until Max clicked a button  on the remote and the faint hum of chatter from the TV stopped.

He arched a brow. 'Ready?'

Darcy found her voice. 'Yes.'

He moved towards her and she backed out of his office, almost tripping  over her own feet to pick up her evening bag and a light jacket matching  the dress. As she struggled into it inelegantly she felt it being held  out for her and muttered embarrassed thanks as Max settled it onto her  shoulders.

She cursed the imagination that made her think his fingers had brushed  suggestively against the back of her neck, and strode out of the office  ahead of Max before she could start thinking anything else. Like how  damn clingy her dress felt right then, and what rogue devil had prompted  her not to wear stockings. The slide of her bare thighs against one  another felt sensual in a way she'd never even noticed before. She'd  never been given to erotic flights of fancy. Far too pragmatic.

Darcy didn't look at Max as they waited for his private lift, but once they were inside his scent dominated the small space.

He asked, 'You have the documents?'

'Yes.' Darcy lifted the slim attaché case she carried alongside her  bag. It held some documents they wanted to have on hand in case  Montgomery asked for them.

The lift seemed to take an eternity to descend the ten or so floors to the bottom.

'You know, we will have to make eye contact at some point in the evening.' Max's voice was dry.

Reluctantly Darcy looked up at him, standing beside her, and it was as  if a jolt of lightning zapped her right in the belly. She sucked in a  breath and saw Max's eyes flare. The shift in energy was as immediate as  an electric current springing up between them, as if it had been  waiting until they got close enough to activate it.

No wonder they'd been skirting around each other all day. They'd both been avoiding this.

For the nano-second it took for this to sink in, and for Max to make an  infinitesimally small move towards her-for her to realise how badly she  wanted to touch him again-there was nothing outside of the small cocoon  of the lift. Desire pulsated like a tangible thing.

But then a sharp ping sounded, the doors opened silently and they both stopped-centimetres from actually touching each other.

Max emitted a very rude Italian curse. He took her arm to guide her out  of the lift, although it felt more as if he was marching her out of the  building.

Once outside, walking to his chauffeur-driven car, he said tersely, 'I said eye contact, Darcy, not-'

'Not what, Max?' Darcy stopped and pulled her arm free, shaky from the  rush of adrenalin and desire she'd just experienced, and self-conscious  at the thought that she'd been all but drooling. 'I didn't do anything.  You're the one who looked at me as if-'

He came close. 'As if what? As if I suddenly couldn't think of anything  else except what happened last night?' His mouth was a thin line.  'Well, I couldn't-and neither could you.'                       
       
           



       

Darcy had nothing to say. He was right. She'd been utterly naïve and  clueless to think that she could experience a moment like that with Max  Fonseca Roselli and put it down as a rash, crazy incident and never want  him again. A hunger had been awoken inside her.

But she could deal with that.

What she couldn't deal with was the fact that Max-for some unfathomable reason-still wanted her too.

He glanced at his watch and said curtly, 'We'll be late. We can't talk about this now.'

And then he took her arm again and led her to the car, following her  into the plush interior before she could protest or say another word.

* * *

The journey to the restaurant was made in a silence that crackled with  electric tension. Darcy didn't look anywhere near Max, afraid of what  she'd see if she did. She couldn't handle that blistering gaze right  now.

One thing was clear, though. She would be handing in her notice before  this deal was done. She couldn't continue to work for Max after this.  But she didn't think he'd appreciate hearing her tender resignation  right now.

The car came to a stop outside one of Rome's most exclusive  restaurants. It took lesser mortals about six months to get a table, but  Max had a table whenever he wanted.

He helped her out of the car, and even though Darcy wanted to avoid  physical contact as much as possible she had to take his hand or risk  sprawling in an ungainly heap at his feet.

She'd just stood up straight, and Max was still holding her hand, when a genial voice came from nearby.

'You didn't mention that you were bringing a date.'

Darcy tensed, and Max's hand tightened on hers reflexively. But almost  in the same second she could tell he'd recovered and his hand moved  smoothly to her arm as he brought her around to meet their nemesis.

Cecil Montgomery was considerably shorter than Max, and considerably  older, with almost white hair. But he oozed charisma, and Darcy was  surprised to find that on first impression she liked him.