Romano’s accusation sliced through the last frayed threads of Maxim’s control like a rusty blade. His fist shot out and connected with Romano’s jaw, the shudder of pain in his knuckles worth it as the man flew backwards and landed on his backside with a thud.
‘Don’t ever talk about my wife again,’ Maxim growled as he flexed his fingers, ignoring the shocked gasps of their audience and the sight of one woman fainting into the arms of her partner.
The red mist of rage refused to clear as he watched Romano jiggle his jaw. ‘Good right hook, Durand,’ the man said as he laughed.
‘Durand? What is going on?’ Donati’s horrified shout did nothing to calm Maxim’s raging heartbeat or the fury pounding through his veins at Romano’s insult. The man had insinuated that Maxim was a whore but, worse than that, he had implied that Cara was a whore too. A woman who had been innocent until he had touched her.
‘Maxim, is everything okay?’ Cara’s concerned voice seemed to tether him to reality as she gripped the sleeve of his jacket.
He turned to see her face, sweet, worried, compassionate. The red mist cleared, to be replaced by something even more disturbing. Grasping her cheeks, he kissed her, the meeting of their lips making her soften instinctively. The heady rush of blood to his groin drowned out the indignant whispers of the crowd, and Donati’s threats to cancel the sale.
Lifting his head, he grasped her hand. They needed to get out of here so he could feed the hunger that would not stop.
He turned to Donati. ‘We’re leaving. If you want to sell to Romano instead, that is your decision, Eduardo. But no one insults my wife.’
He marched out of the ballroom towards his waiting car, with Cara’s hand gripped in his. She stumbled and he stopped, to scoop her into his arms. The crowd parted before him like the Red Sea before Moses, the whispers of outrage only feeding the adrenaline rush.
Damn them.
He didn’t car
e. He couldn’t wait, couldn’t stop—he needed her. The desperation intensified as her body softened against his and her scent filled his senses. The way he had dreamed of for seven long nights and every day he had spent away from her.
‘Maxim, what did Mr Romano say?’ Cara asked as she clung to her husband’s neck and tried to ignore the people gaping at them as Maxim carried her out of the ballroom and down the wide sweeping staircase to the palazzo’s entrance.
The truth was she’d known something was wrong as soon as she’d arrived at the ball. Maxim had been on edge, curt and annoyed, the intensity in him even more pronounced than usual.
She’d tried to swallow her unease. She’d been disappointed that he hadn’t been waiting for her when she’d arrived at the lavish hilltop hotel in Tuscany three hours ago. Instead there had been the familiar battalion of beauty therapists and a stylist waiting to dress her for the ball, and a lonely drive in a limousine—while she chewed on her newly manicured nails—before Maxim had greeted her at the palazzo’s entrance then whisked her inside to introduce her as his wife.
While the usual rush of endorphins had assailed her as soon as his hand had settled on the small of her back, and his fierce gaze had darkened as it roamed over her, she’d felt like a decoration, an accessory, as he’d introduced her to an array of people she didn’t know.
If only he’d contacted her during the last seven days, told her something about the event, she might have been able to get involved in the conversation, and control her nerves.
It had been a struggle not to feel inadequate, or invisible. Or confused again about her place in his life. She’d worked so hard in the last three weeks to be useful at the château—and she’d managed it, despite Maxim’s initial objections.
She’d come to love her ‘work’ as the mistress of Château Durand. Here, at last, was something she could do to help Maxim. Something she was good at.
Maybe Maxim had never said that he appreciated her input. Perhaps he didn’t even notice the changes she’d made—he spent very little time at the château after all. But she noticed, and it made her happy—which was why tonight had felt like a step back.
And now he’d hit a man.
‘That bastard insulted you.’ Maxim bit the words out as he marched out of the palazzo’s main entrance and demanded his car be brought round by the wide-eyed doorman. The limousine whisked to a stop in front of them moments later.
‘What did he say?’ she said, confused, not just by the searing comment itself but by the inappropriate flutter of something in her chest at the thought that Maxim had punched a man to defend her honour. ‘He doesn’t even know me.’
Maxim let her down but, before she had a chance to climb into the car and escape the stares of the staff still watching from the palazzo’s entrance, Maxim grasped her hips and pulled her into his embrace.
‘It doesn’t matter, he won’t be repeating it,’ he said, before covering her mouth with his.
The kiss was firm and hungry, devouring her gasp of surprise. His hands roamed over the bare skin of her back and sent her senses reeling. As always, she reacted instinctively, the flutter turning into a vibrant hum as she kissed him back like a starving woman.
This, at least, was something she understood, something she knew how to do.
He groaned, and ripped his mouth away. ‘Get in the car. I can’t wait much longer to have you.’
The urgency in his voice, and the desire flaring in his eyes, sent her senses into overdrive. She scrambled in.
‘Take us to the Castillo. And don’t disturb us,’ he said to the driver, before pressing the button to raise the privacy screen, plunging them into shadows.