Horrified at her wayward body and, worse, at her desire to know what it would be like, she said curtly, ‘Save it, Max. I’m not a virgin.’
She looked away when he said, ‘So I don’t need to be gentle, then? Good, because when we come together—’
Darcy snapped open her seatbelt and stood up, swaying a little as the plane hit some turbulence. She gripped the back of the seat to stay steady and said, ‘I’m going to lie down. I’m tired.’
Max caught her wrist as she went past him and when she looked down he was frowning, all humour gone. ‘What the hell, Darcy...? I’m just teasing you.’
She pulled her wrist free, already feeling like a prize idiot to have risen to such easy bait. ‘I’m fine. I told you—I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.’
She made her way to the small bedroom and slammed the door shut behind her, pressing the backs of her hands to hot cheeks. She cursed herself roundly as she paced back and forth. Of all the stupid— Why had she let Max wind her up like that?
She sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly weary. Because the truth was that this whole day had got to her much more than she’d ever imagined it would, and his teasing had just highlighted that.
When she’d agreed to this marriage with Max she’d somehow believed that she could do it and remain relatively intact. Unscathed by the man.
But that had all been shot to hell. It had been shot to hell after that night in his office, when the true depth of her attraction to him had become painfully apparent.
Why did he have to find her attractive? This wasn’t how the world worked—men like Max did not find women like Darcy attractive. She had no doubt that it was an aberration—a freakish anomaly. A desire borne out of the fact that she was so different from his usual type of woman. Stress-induced. Something-induced. But not real.
Her circling thoughts brought her back to one question: why had she followed that crazy instinct to apply for a job working for the man in the first place?
With a heartfelt groan Darcy flopped back onto the bed and shut her eyes, willing sleep to come and make her mind blissfully blank.
* * *
A sleek car was waiting for them when they arrived at the small airport just outside Milan. When their bags had been stowed Max sat in the driver’s seat and Darcy got into the passenger side. The car was luxurious, and obviously high-end. When Max drove out of the airport it felt as if it was barely skimming the road.
He must have seen something of her appreciation because he said, ‘This is the new Falcone road car. I’m friends with Rafaele—he lends me cars to test-drive every now and then.’
Darcy’s mouth quirked, even though she was still wary after her outburst earlier. But she couldn’t let Max see that he could get to her so easily. ‘The perks of being friends with one of the world’s most famous car manufacturers?’
Max shrugged li
ghtly, wearing his mantle of privilege easily. Darcy sighed. She couldn’t even fault him for that, though. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t earned it.
‘Darcy...’ he said carefully. ‘What happened earlier—’
She sat up and said quickly, ‘It was nothing, really. It’s just been a lot to take in.’
Max’s hands clenched on the steering wheel and he said after a long moment, ‘Do you know I’ve never really said thank you?’
She looked at him and his jaw was firm. He glanced at her, and then back to the road. ‘Thank you, Darcy, for doing this. I don’t underestimate how big a favour it is.’
Darcy felt herself weakening, any residual tendrils of anger fading. She knew Max well enough to know that he rarely said thank you unless it really meant something to him.
She was about to say something in response when an insidious suspicion occurred to her and her eyes narrowed on Max, taking in his oh, so benign expression in the half-light of the car. She folded her arms. ‘I’m not sleeping with you, Max.’
He glanced at her again and that mocking look was back on his face. ‘I wasn’t aware I’d asked the question.’
‘You don’t have to. It’s there between us... But I just can’t.’
Because you’ll hurt me.
Darcy sucked in a breath, the truth finally revealing itself to her. She was in way too deep with Max already. If they slept together his inevitable rejection would crush her. The thought was utterly galling, but it was a fact.
Max’s jaw was firm again in the low light of the car. ‘I said before that I don’t play games, Darcy. It’s your choice.’ He slid her a darkly wicked look. ‘But I won’t promise not to try to change your mind.’
In a firm bid to ignore that disturbing promise, Darcy changed the subject. ‘Who owns the villa we’re going to?’