The Bride Fonseca Needs

Darcy snorted inelegantly, helping herself to some pastries and pungent coffee, closing her eyes for a moment to savour the smell. Heaven.

When she opened them again it was to find Max giving her a leisurely once-over. His gaze stopped at her breasts and Darcy looked down, aghast to see the hard points of her nipples pushing against the thin material of the light sundress she’d put on, in the absence of anything remotely businesslike.

She resisted the urge to fold her arms over her chest and took her time over eating the delicious pastries and some fruit, avoiding Max studiously. When she did glance at him he seemed fixated on the corner of her mouth, and then he leaned forward to reach out and touch it with his index finger.

When he sat back she saw some jam on it, and he proceeded to lick it off the top of his finger—which had a direct effect on the pulse between Darcy’s legs and abruptly made her appetite fade to be replaced by a much earthier one.

Not willing to sit there like a mouse, while Max the predatory cat played with her, Darcy stood up and said briskly, ‘I’ll find out where the study is, shall I? And check e-mails and—’

Max stood up too and reached for Darcy easily, taking her hand. ‘You’re doing no such thing. I’ve got plans for today and they won’t be taking place in a study.’

Darcy pulled free and stepped back, panic fluttering along her nerve-endings at the thought of Max devoting all his attention to her. ‘I don’t mind. We should really make sure that—’

Suddenly Max dipped out of sight and Darcy’s world was upended. She found herself in his arms, clinging onto his neck in fright.

‘What the hell—?’ she got out in a choked voice.

But Max was saying something to Julieta over her head about being back later for dinner. The woman smiled at them benevolently, as if she saw this kind of thing all the time. It made Darcy wonder about the owners.

Max finally let her down once they were outside, in order to open the passenger door of the car. Darcy tried to make a dash for it, back to the villa, but he wound an arm around her waist, practically lifting her into the passenger seat.

Darcy fumed as she watched him come around the front of the car, his eyes on hers warning her not to defy him again. When he swung in and quickly locked the doors from the inside Darcy sputtered, ‘This is tantamount to kidnap...and you’re blatantly taking advantage of my size... You’re a...a sizeist!’

Max was already driving smoothly out of the villa and he looked at her with dark amusement and said, ‘I have to admit that your...portability makes you a little easier to control.’

Darcy made a strangled sound of outrage and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring out of the window as Max drove away from the villa. Damn him and his superior strength.

But while she hated the ease with which he was able to compel her to do his bidding all she could think about was how it had felt to be held so securely in his arms—how her instinct had been to burrow closer and seek a kind of refuge she’d never felt like seeking before. The fact that she could be as susceptible as the next woman to Max’s caveman antics was not welcome.

* * *

Darcy only recognised where they were when she saw the sig

ns for Milano. She turned to Max and said eagerly, ‘You’ve come to your senses and we’re going back to Rome to work?’

He quirked a half-smile. ‘No. I’m taking you out.’

Out where, though? Darcy looked at him suspiciously but he gave nothing away.

And then he said, ‘Apart from my very serious intention to get you into my bed, it’ll be good for us to be seen together the weekend after our marriage. We are meant to be on honeymoon, after all.’

Darcy had no answer for that. He was right.

They parked in a private and exclusive car park with valet parking and emerged onto a busy Milan street that was bustling with weekend activity.

It was like a fashion parade, with beautiful women walking up and down—some with the requisite small dogs—and beautiful men... A little too metrosexual for Darcy, but then this was the fashion capital of Italy and arguably Europe. Predictably, Max stood out among these beautiful people and there were plenty of heads turning in recognition and appreciation.

After all, Darcy recalled, hadn’t the Italians invented a word for walking around in order to be seen? Passeggiata?

Max took Darcy’s hand in his and led her down the street. She wanted to pull away, but as if reading her mind he held on tight. Veering off to a small side street, Max ducked into a boutique with a world-famous designer’s name over the door.

He was greeted like a superstar—and as a regular, Darcy noted with a dart of something dark. But before she could emit so much as a squeak she was whisked away behind a curtain and Max was left out in the foyer. At one stage she caught a glimpse of him sipping coffee and reading a newspaper.

She was completely bemused as industrious assistants flitted around her like exotic butterflies. Finally fitted into a stunning bodycon cocktail dress—a bit too bodycon for Darcy’s taste—she was all but pushed back out onto the main salon floor. She realised she was being paraded for Max’s benefit when he lowered his paper and looked her over as if she were a brood mare.

Anger started down low and then rose through her body in a tidal wave of heat and humiliation. She hissed at him, ‘What the hell is this?’

His eyes snapped to hers. ‘I’m taking you shopping.’