He frowned as she came closer. ‘Are you okay?’
Now she felt silly for rushing off. ‘Fine. Needed to go to the bathroom.’ She thought a little despondently that his usual lovers probably didn’t suffer the mundane bodily functions of mortals—and certainly never mentioned them to him.
He took her arm. ‘We’re done now. Let’s go.’
Suddenly the thought of going back to his apartment with him loomed like a spectre in the dark. Anger at him pierced her, and anger at herself—for letting him hurt her so easily.
A rogue voice made her dig her heels in and say, ‘Actually, I’m not ready to go yet.’
He looked at her, not a little stunned. He was not used to people saying no to him.
She tipped up her chin and took a moment of inspiration from the music nearby. ‘I like this band. I want to dance.’
Now Max looked horrified. ‘Dance?’ Clearly he never indulged in such pedestrian activities.
She arched a brow, enjoying needling Max a little. ‘Dance, Max. You know—a recreational social activity designed to bring people together in a mutually satisfactory way.’
Clearly angry now, Max moved closer to Darcy and pulled her into his body. ‘I can do a “mutually satisfactory” activity, dolcezza, if that’s what you’re looking for—but it’s not called dancing.’
Darcy’s breath hitched. She should have known better than to tease him. She was serious. ‘A dance, Max. That’s what I’m talking about.’
He lifted a hand and cupped her jaw, for all the world the besotted fiancé. She cursed. She was playing right into his hands.
‘Fine, then. Let’s dance.’
Max took her hand in a firm and slightly too tight grip that told her of his irritation and led her onto the dance floor just in time for a slow number. Darcy cursed herself again for opening her big mouth.
He turned and gathered her close and she had to put her arms around his neck. He looked down at her and said mockingly, ‘Forgive me. I had no idea you were so eager to make our charade look even more authentic.’
Darcy snorted, and then went still when one of Max’s hands moved lower, to just above her buttocks, pressing her even closer. She closed her eyes in frustration for a moment—as if she needed to be reminded that he resented this PDA as much as she did.
And then she felt his hand brush some hair back off her cheek and he said, in a different tone of voice that set off flutters in her belly, ‘Darcy, look at me.’
Reluctantly she opened her eyes, far too aware of his lean, hard body pressed against hers.
‘I think you misunderstood me before... I meant no one would believe it because I don’t usually indulge in any kind of overt affection with lovers in public.’
Darcy hated it that he’d seen her hurt. She shrugged. ‘It’s cool, Max, you don’t have to explain anything.’
Even so, the hurt dissipated like a traitorous little fog.
‘The problem is,’ he went on, as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘I can’t seem to stop myself from touching you.’
She looked up at him, and they stopped moving on the dance floor while everyone kept going around them. Max pressed against the small of her back, moving her closer to his body, where she could feel the distinctive thrust of his arousal.
Now he looked intense. ‘This is not usual for me, Darcy.’
She was barely aware of where they were any more, and she whispered, ‘You think it’s usual for me?’
Max started to move again subtly, ratcheting up the tension between them. Panic flared at the thought of going back to his apartment. ‘Max, this isn’t... We can’t do this. We need to keep this pro-professional.’
Great. She was stuttering now. All she knew was that if Max seduced her she wouldn’t have anything left to hold him at bay with. He’d already swept through her life like a wrecking ball.
He arched a wicked brow. ‘You know what I think of professionalism? It’s overrated.’
And then he kissed her, deeply and explicitly, and Darcy knew she was right to fear him—this. Because she could feel her very cells dissolving, merging into his. She was losing herself.
She pulled back with effort. ‘No