The Bride Fonseca Needs

She thought of something then, and looked at Max. ‘You said to Montgomery that we’d be getting married in two weeks?’

He looked at her. ‘We will. I’ve arranged for a special licence.’

Darcy felt as if she was drowning a little. ‘Is it really necessary to go that far?’

Max nodded. ‘It’s just a piece of paper, Darcy. Neither of us really believes in marriage, do we?’

For a moment Darcy wasn’t sure what she believed. She’d always sworn she’d avoid such a commitment, but she knew deep inside that some small part of her still harboured a wish that it could be different. Buying the ring today had tapped into it. And she hated it that this weakness was becoming evident here, in front of Max, under that gold gaze.

She forced a brittle smile. ‘No, of course not. With our histories we’d be mad to expect anything more.’ And she needed to remember that—especially when Max’s touch and kisses scrambled her brain.

To take her mind off that she looked around and took in the extreme opulence. Even though her parents had always been well off—apart from her father’s recessionary blip—she’d never moved in circles like this. Except for her time at Boissy. She grimaced at that memory, wondering if any of her old Boissy classmates were here. It was quite likely. This was definitely their stomping ground. Some of the offspring of Europe’s most prominent royal families had been at the school.

The auction started and it was mesmerising. The sheer amounts being bid escalated well into the millions.

After one bid she gasped. ‘Did someone really just buy an island?’ Max’s mouth quirked and Darcy immediately felt gauche. ‘Don’t laugh at me. I haven’t been to anything like this before.’

There was a lull after the last few bids and he reached for her hand and lifted it up, turning it so that he could press a kiss to her palm. Darcy’s heart-rate accelerated and she tried to pull her hand back, but he wouldn’t let go, those eyes unnervingly direct on hers.

Feeling more and more discomfited, she whispered tetchily, ‘We need to set some rules for an acceptable amount of PDAs. I wouldn’t have thought you were a fan.’

Inwardly, Max reacted to that. Normally he wasn’t. At all. He hated it when lovers tried to stake some kind of a public claim on him. But every time he touched Darcy he felt her resistance even as she melted against him. It was a potent mix of push and pull, and right now he wanted to touch her.

‘You’re big on rules and boundaries, aren’t you?’ He kept her hand in his when she would have pulled away, fascinated by the way colour washed in and out of her face so easily.

Her mouth tightened. ‘They’re necessary—especially when one is trying to be professional.’

Max chuckled, surprised to find himself enjoying being here with her so much. It had been a long time since he’d seen anyone interested in a charity auction. ‘I don’t think I need to tell you our professional boundaries are well and truly breached.’

She hissed at him. ‘As if I’m not aware of that. Do I need to remind you that if it wasn’t for this crazy marriage farce I’d be long gone by now?’

Something inside Max went cold. She would be gone because of what had happened in his office that night. He didn’t doubt it. But Max knew now that he would have felt compelled to try and persuade her to stay...or to seduce her properly. She’d set a fire alight that night, and a very unwelcome and insidious suspicion occurred to him. Had he on some level wanted to keep her at all costs? Precipitating his flashbulb idea of marrying her?

Panic washed through him and he handed her hand back. ‘You’re right. We don’t want to overdo it—no one would believe it.’

The sudden hurt that lanced Darcy made her suck in a breath. Of course they wouldn’t believe it. Because why on earth would someone like Max—a golden god—be with someone like her?

She got up jerkily and Max frowned.

‘Darcy—wait. I didn’t mean it like—’

But she cut him off with a tight smile and muttered something about the bathroom, making her escape.

Everyone was standing up now and moving, starting to go back out to the main ballroom, where a world-famous band were about to play a medley of their greatest hits. She found a blissfully empty bathroom off the main foyer and looked at herself in the mirror with horror.

In spite of Max’s cruel words she was flushed, and her eyes looked wide and bright enough to be feverish. Just because he’d held her hand? Pathetic.

She ran the cold water and played it over her wrists, as if that could douse the fire in her blood. Damn Max anyway. He shouldn’t have the power to hurt her.

Sounds came from outside—voices. She quickly dried her hands and left just as some women were coming in on a wave of expensive perfume. They were all chattering, and stopped abruptly as soon as they saw her.

Darcy pinned a smile on her face and tried not to let the fact that they’d obviously been discussing her intimidate her.

* * *

As she approached the ballroom again Darcy saw Max standing at the main door, hands in his pockets. He looked...magnificent. Hateful. Proud. But also apart. Like a lone wolf. Good. A man like him didn’t deserve friends. And that just made Darcy feel horrible.

He turned around and saw her and she could almost feel the place where the cold water had run on her wrists sizzle.