The Bride Fonseca Needs. Эбби Грин

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.

      His eyes were very blue, and twinkled benignly at her, but she could see the steeliness in their depths. A tall woman stood at his side, very elegant and graceful, with an open friendly face and dark grey eyes. Her hair was silver and swept up into a classic chignon.

      ‘Please—let me introduce you to my wife, Jocasta Montgomery.’

      ‘Pleasure...’ Darcy let her hand be engulfed, first by Montgomery’s and then by his wife’s.

      It was only when they were walking into the restaurant that Darcy realised Max hadn’t actually introduced her as his PA—or had he and she just hadn’t heard?

      She hadn’t had anything to do with Montgomery herself, as he and Max had a direct line of communication, so it was quite possible he still thought she was Max’s date. The thought made Darcy feel annoyingly self-conscious.

      They left their coats in the cloakroom and were escorted to their table, the ladies walking ahead of the men. The restaurant oozed timeless luxury and exclusivity. Darcy recognised Italian politicians and a movie star. The elaborate furnishings wouldn’t have been out of place in Versailles, and even the low-pitched hum of conversation was elegant.

      Jocasta Montgomery took Darcy’s arm and said sotto voce in a melodious Scottish accent, ‘I don’t know about you, my dear, but I always find that places like this give me an almost overwhelming urge to start flinging food around the place.’

      It was so unexpected that Darcy let out a startled laugh and something inside her eased out of its tense grip. She replied, ‘I know what you mean—it’s an incitement to rebel.’

      They arrived at a round table, the best in the room, and took their seats. To Darcy’s surprise the conversation started and flowed smoothly. Max and Montgomery dominated it, with talk of current business trends and recent scandals. At one point between starters and the main course Jocasta rolled her eyes at Darcy and led her into a conversation about living in Rome and what she liked about it.