The Bride Fonseca Needs(9)

She forced a smile and looked at Jocasta. 'I'm fine-really. It's just a  bit of a shock to hear it made official. Up till now it's been our  secret.'

She risked a glance at Max and her gaze was caught and snared by his.  It was expressionless, but something flickered in the depths of those  extraordinary eyes. Relief? His hand loosened on hers fractionally.

Jocasta was making a tsking noise. 'And my husband provoked Max into  letting it slip? Well, I think the least we can do is celebrate now that  your secret is out.'

Before Darcy could say anything else a waiter was summoned and a bottle  of vintage champagne was being delivered to the table and expertly  poured into slim flutes. It seemed to Darcy that everything was moving  at warp speed, and her heart was beating too fast.

They were all holding up their glasses and Jocasta was beaming at them.  Her husband was still looking less than convinced though and Max's jaw  was tight. Darcy felt an urge to giggle, and quickly took a sip of the  sparkling drink to make it go down.

'When are you getting married?'

Darcy looked at Montgomery, just as Max said, with all the natural-born  charm of a ruthless man intent on his prize, 'Two weeks.'

His hand tightened on Darcy's again and when she turned to him he looked at her so intently that her insides combusted.

'I want to make her mine before she realises what I'm really like and leaves me for ever.'

For the first time since Max had made his outrageous statement Darcy  felt her wits return. She pulled her hand free and said with some  acerbity, while holding up her hand, 'Well, seeing as you haven't even  bought me a ring yet, darling, I'm thinking that perhaps there's a flaw  in the arrangements.'

Jocasta chuckled. 'Yes, Max, a lady in possession of a marriage proposal generally deserves a beautiful ring.'

Max smiled, and it was dangerous. He took Darcy's hand again and lifted  it to his mouth, pressing a kiss over her ring finger, making any of  the wits that had come back to her melt again.

'Which is why I've arranged to take my fiancée to Paris tomorrow, for a  private appointment in Devilliers-it was meant to be a surprise.'

Darcy's eyes opened wide. Devilliers was possibly the oldest and most exclusive jewellers in the world.

Jocasta made a noise. 'And now we've ruined it. Cecil, stop goading  Max. They're engaged. Look at them-they can't keep their eyes off each  other.'

'Well, then,' said the older man. 'It seems that perhaps your  perspective is indeed changing, Max. However, I've decided that the  announcement of my decision as to whom I'm entrusting my fund will take  place at our fortieth wedding anniversary celebrations in Scotland,  surrounded by my family.'

The Montgomerys shared a fond look and Max let Darcy's hand go.  Montgomery looked at him, and then to Darcy. 'You will both, of course,  be extended an invitation. It takes place in three weeks. Perhaps you  could include the trip to Inverness as a detour on your honeymoon?'                       
       
           



       

Honeymoon?

The full enormity of what was occurring hit Darcy, and as if sensing  her dawning horror Max put a firm hand on her leg, under the table, just  above her knee.

'We would like nothing more-would we, cara?'

Max was looking at her, his big hand heavy on her leg, and treacherous  heat was spreading upwards to between her thighs. 'No...'

Max knew exactly what Darcy's very ineffectual 'no' meant. It didn't  mean that she agreed-it meant Stop this now. But he took ruthless  advantage of the ambiguity and angled his body towards hers, slipping  his other hand around the back of her bare neck, pulling her towards him  so that he could cover her mouth with his and stop her from saying  anything else.

By the time he let her go again she was hot, breathless, addled and  completely out-manoeuvred by a master. The Montgomerys were preparing to  leave, saying their goodbyes, clearly believing that they were playing  gooseberry now.

Darcy didn't know if she wanted to stamp her foot, slap Max, or scream  for them all to stop so she could put them right. But, like the  treacherous heat that had licked up her thighs and into her belly during  Max's kiss, something was holding her back-and she was too much of a  coward to investigate what it was.

They stood to bid goodbye to the older couple and Darcy was vaguely  aware that the restaurant had emptied. When they were alone again Max  sat down, a look of supreme satisfaction on his face.

This time Darcy did throw down her napkin, and he looked at her. Anger  at herself for being so weak made her blurt out, 'What the hell do you  think you're playing at, Max?'

Max cast a quick look around and took Darcy's wrist, pulling her down. She landed heavily on the seat.

Something occurred to her then-an awful suspicion. 'Please tell me you didn't have that planned all along?'

Max's jaw firmed. He was unapologetic. 'No, but I saw an opportunity and took it.'

Darcy let out a slightly horrified laugh. 'An opportunity? That's what you call fabricating a fake engagement to your PA?'

He turned to face her, stretching an arm across the back of her chair, placing his other hand on the table. Boxing her in.

'It won't be a fake engagement, Darcy. We're going to get married.'

Darcy's mouth opened but nothing came out. On some level she had known  what she was doing, going along with Max's crazy pronouncement, but  she'd also expected that as soon as they were alone again he'd reassure  her that of course it wouldn't happen. It had been just to placate  Montgomery and there would be some method of undoing what had been done.

She shook her head, as if that might restore sanity and order. But he was still looking at her.

She found her voice. 'Maybe it's the fatigue, Max, or the stress, but I  think it's quite possible that you've gone entirely mad. This  conversation is over and this relationship is over. Find someone else to  be your convenient bride/PA, because I'm not going to be it just  because I'm under your nose and you've decided that it's appropriate to  kiss me when you feel like it. We both know I'm not your type of woman.  No one will ever believe you've chosen to marry someone like  me-Montgomery patently didn't believe a word of it-so in the end it'll  achieve nothing.'

Darcy was breathless after the tumult of words and stood up on shaky  legs. Before Max could stop her she turned to walk quickly through the  restaurant, reality slamming back into her with each step. And  humiliation. Max had seen an opportunity, all right-a cheap one, at  Darcy's expense. To think that he would use her like this, just to  further his own aims, shouldn't have come as a shock. But it did.

* * *

Max watched Darcy walk away, rendered uncharacteristically dumb. He  could appreciate her very apparent sense of shock because he was still  reeling himself, trying to recall what exactly had prompted him to make  such an outrageous statement to Montgomery.

And then he remembered. 'You come from a broken home...estranged from  your mother...brother...different perspective...' He remembered the hot  rush of rage when Montgomery had so coolly laid his life bare for  inspection. Questioning his motives and ability based upon his  experiences.

He'd wanted to do something to take that knowing smirk off Montgomery's  face. And in a moment of mad clarity he'd known what he had to do to  push the man off his sanctimonious perch. Fake a marriage. To Darcy.

And she'd gone along with it-even if she had looked as if someone had just punched her in the belly.

Darcy. Max's usual clear-headed focus came back and he went cold inside  at the thought of Darcy leaving. She wasn't going anywhere-not now. Not  when everything was at stake.                       
       
           



       

* * *

'Get in the car, Darcy. Please.'

Darcy was valiantly ignoring Max and the open car door nearby. She was  about to stretch her arm out to hail a passing taxi when he took her arm  in a firm grip and all but manhandled her into the back of the car.

She sputtered, 'This is kidnap.'

Max was terse. 'Hardly. Take us to my apartment, please, Enzo.' And  then he hit a button so that a partition went up, enclosing them in  silence.

Darcy folded her arms and looked at the man on the other side of the  car. In a louche sprawl of big long limbs, he'd never looked more like a  rebel.

'You've gone too far this time, Max. I don't care what you have to do  but we're not getting married-I've changed my mind, I'm not waiting  until the deal is done. I'm on the first plane out of Rome as soon as  you let me go.'

Max gave her a withering look. 'There's no need for dramatics. We are just going to talk.'

He leaned back and looked out of the window, clearly done with the  conversation for now. Darcy fumed, hating the ever-present hum of  awareness in her blood at being in such close proximity to him. He was  such an arrogant...bastard. Saying the word, even silently, made her  feel marginally better.