‘Max...’ Darcy protested weakly—too weakly. ‘There’s no one here to see.’
‘Good,’ he said silkily. ‘Because this is not motivated by any reason other than the fact that I want you.’
One hand cupped the back of Darcy’s head and the other was tight around her waist, almost lifting her off her feet. When Max’s mouth met hers she was aghast to realise how badly she wanted it, and she met him with a fervour that should have embarrassed her. But it didn’t. She wound her arms around his neck, her breasts swelling against his chest.
He backed Darcy into the wall, so it supported her, and their kiss was bruising and desperate. Two weeks of pent-up frustration and denial. Max’s hands were on her hips and he gripped her so tightly she wondered dimly if the marks of his fingers would be on her flesh.
Darcy became aware of a noise after a few long seconds of letting Max suck her into a vortex of mindlessness and realised it was someone clearing his throat in a very obvious manner when she pulled back and was mortified to see a staff member—also mortified—waiting for them to come up for air.
Max released her hips from his grip and stood back. His hair was mussed, his tie awry. Darcy felt as if she might float away from the ground, she was so light-headed.
Max turned to face the red-faced staff member, who was obviously eager to pass on his message so he could escape.
‘Sorry to disturb you, Signor Roselli, your car is ready when you are.’
The young man left and Darcy looked at Max, feeling stupid. ‘Car? Where are we going?’
‘The villa—Lake Como—for a long weekend.’
She must have looked as stupid as she felt.
‘Our honeymoon?’ he said.
Max had informed her a week before that they’d go away for a long weekend after the wedding, just so that everything looked as authentic as possible. She’d completely forgotten. Until now.
And suddenly the thought of a few days alone in a villa with Max was terrifying.
‘Surely we can just stay here in Rome? There’s so much to prepare for Scotland—’ she gabbled.
Max was shaking his head and taking her hand to lead her back inside. ‘We’re going to Como, Darcy. Non-negotiable.’
He let go of her hand inside the door to the dining room and, as if sensing her growing desire to escape said firmly, ‘Say goodbye to your parents, Darcy. I’ll meet you in the foyer in an hour.’
She watched, still a little numb, as he strode over to some of the guests to start saying goodbye and felt a looming sense of futility wash over her. A weekend alone in a villa with Max Fonseca Roselli...after that kiss... She didn’t stand a chance.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE JOURNEY TO his private jet passed mainly in silence. Max had been waiting for Darcy in the lobby, as promised, and she’d been aware of every move he’d made in the car. Now, in the jet, he took a seat with graceful athleticism.
As much as she didn’t want to attract his attention, it was hard to drag her eyes off him. He’d changed into dark trousers and a dark grey lightweight long-sleeved top that did little to disguise the sheer breadth and power of his chest. The grey of his top seemed to make his eyes burn more intensely, and Darcy looked away quickly, in case she was caught, as the small plane left the ground.
She’d changed too, into a ‘going-away’ outfit—a soft flowing knee-length sleeveless dress of dark cream with a matching jacket. Her hair was down and her scalp still prickled from the pins that had been holding it up, along with the veil.
She gently massaged her skull and thought of the poignant moment that had caught her unawares when she’d packed the dress and veil away in their boxes. She’d been thinking what a pity it was that she’d never have a daughter to hand it down to.
The stylist had seen her expression and said, ‘Don’t worry, Signora Roselli, we’ll take good care of them for you.’
Hearing Signora Roselli had been enough to break her out of that momentary weakness and bring her back to reality. She was only Signora Roselli because Max craved world domination, and she—the fool—was helping him achieve it.
‘For a new bride you’re surprisingly quiet. Nervous about our wedding night, darling?’
Darcy cursed Max. If there was one mood in which he was pretty much irresisitible it was this more playful one that he so rarely displayed.
She glared at him and quirked a brow. ‘I wouldn’t know—not having much experience of being a new bride, and having even less inclination to be one ever again.’
Max tutted and smiled wolfishly. ‘Don’t worry, dolcezza mia, I’ll be gentle with you.’
To Darcy’s horror she felt herself getting hot, wondering what it would be like if this was real and Max was really promising to be gentle. She had an image of him with that intent look on his face as he thrust into her carefully, inch by inch... Between her legs she spasmed, her muscles reacting to her lurid imagination.