‘Nothing could induce me to do this.’

‘Nothing?’ Max asked silkily as he moved a little closer, his vision suddenly filled with the tantalising way Darcy filled out her dress.

She put out a hand. ‘Stop right there.’

Max stopped, but his blood was still leaping. He’d yet to meet a woman he couldn’t seduce. And was he prepared to seduce Darcy into agreement? His mind screamed caution, but his body screamed yes!

He erred on the side of caution.

Darcy’s hand was still out. ‘Don’t even think about it, Max. That kiss … whatever happened between us … was a mistake and won’t be happening again.’

He kept his mouth closed even as he wanted to negate what she’d said. He needed her acquiescence now.

‘Everyone has a price, Darcy. You can name yours. We only need to be married for as long as it takes the deal to be done—then we’ll divorce and you can get on with your life. No harm done. It’s just an extension of your job, and I’ll make sure that you get a job wherever you want in the world after this.’

Billionaire Brothers

One raised in luxury in Brazil, the other on the streets of Italy …

Luca Fonseca lives with the shame of his father’s unethical dealings and his own mistake of falling for a beautiful face. Now this cold-hearted Brazilian is determined to restore his family’s reputation—with or without his twin brother’s help.

Embittered Max Fonseca Roselli has shunned his heritage and his brother, and despite raising himself on the streets of Rome has carved out his own successful life. He, too, wants respectability—but he has a very different plan …

Two women will bring these brothers together—but is it enough to restore their brotherly bond?

Find out in: Fonseca’s Fury January 2015

The Bride Fonseca Needs June 2015

The Bride Fonseca Needs

Abby Green

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Irish author ABBY GREEN threw in a very glamorous career in film & TV—which really consisted of a lot of standing in the rain outside actors’ trailers—to pursue her love of romance. After she’d bombarded Mills & Boon® with manuscripts they kindly accepted one, and an author was born. She lives in Dublin, Ireland, and loves any excuse for distraction. Visit abby-green.com or e-mail abbygreenauthor@gmail.com

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Contents

Cover

Introduction

Billionaire Brothers

Title Page

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘WELL, WELL, WELL. This is interesting. Little Darcy Lennox, in my office, looking for work.’

Darcy curbed the flash of irritation at the not entirely inaccurate reference to her being little and fought against the onslaught on her senses from being mere feet away from Maximiliano Fonseca Roselli, separated from him only by an impressive desk. But it was hard. Because he was quite simply as devastatingly gorgeous as he’d always been. More so now, because he was a man. Not the seventeen-year-old boy she remembered. Sex appeal flowed from him like an invisible but heady scent. It made Darcy absurdly aware that underneath all the layers of civility they were just animals.

He was half-Brazilian, half-Italian. Dark blond hair was still unruly and messy—long enough to proclaim that he didn’t really give a damn about anything, much less conforming. Although clearly along the way he’d given enough of a damn to become one of Europe’s youngest ‘billionaire entrepreneurs to watch’, according to a leading financial magazine.

Darcy could imagine how any number of women would be only too happy to watch his every sexy move. She did notice one new addition to his almost perfect features, though, and blurted out before she could stop herself, ‘You have a scar.’

It snaked from his left temple to his jaw in a jagged line and had the effect of making him even more mysterious and brooding.

The man under her close scrutiny arched one dark blond brow and drawled, ‘Your powers of observation are clearly in working order.’

Darcy flushed at being so caught out. Since when had she been gauche enough to refer to someone’s physical appearance? He had stood to greet her when she’d walked into his palatial office, situated in the centre of Rome, and she was still standing too, beginning to feel hot in her trouser suit, hot under the tawny green gaze that had captivated her the first time she’d ever seen him.

He folded his arms across his chest and her eye was drawn helplessly to where impressive muscles bunched against the fine material of his open-necked white shirt, sleeves rolled up. And even though he wore smart dark trousers he looked anything but civilised. That gaze was too knowing, too cynical, for politesse.

‘So, what’s a fellow alumna from Boissy le Château doing looking for work as a PA?’ Before she could answer he was adding, with the faintest of sneers to his tone, ‘I would have thought you’d be married into European aristrocracy by now, and producing a gaggle of heirs like every other girl in that anachronistic medieval institution.’

Pinned under that golden gaze, she regretted the moment she’d ever thought it might be a good idea to apply for the job advertised on a very select applications board. And she hated to think that a part of her had been curious to see Max Fonseca Roselli Fonseca again.

She replied, ‘I was only at Boissy for another year after you left...’ She faltered then, thinking of a lurid memory of Max beating another boy outside in the snow, and the bright stain of blood against the pristine white. She pushed it down. ‘My father was badly affected by the recession so I went back to England to finish my schooling.’

She didn’t think it worth mentioning that that schooling had taken place in a comprehensive school, which she would have chosen any day over the oppressive atmosphere of Boissy.

Max made a sound of faux commiseration. ‘So Darcy didn’t get to be the belle of the ball in Paris with all the other debutantes?’

She gritted her jaw at his reference to the exclusive annual Bal des Débutantes; she was no belle of any ball. She knew Max hadn’t had a good time at Boissy, but she hadn’t been one of his antagonists. Anything but. She cringed inwardly now when she recalled another vivid memory, from not long after he’d first arrived. Darcy had come upon two guys holding Max back, with another about to punch him in the belly. Without even thinking, she’d rushed into the fray, screaming, ‘Stop!’

Heat climbed inside her at the thought that he might remember that too.

‘No,’ she responded tightly. ‘I didn’t go to the ball in Paris. I sat my A levels and then got a degree in languages and business from London University, as you’ll see from my CV.’

Which was laid out on his desk.

This had been a huge mistake.

‘Look, I saw your name come up on the applications board—that you’re looking for a PA. I probably shouldn’t have come.’ Darcy reached down to where she’d put her briefcase by her feet and picked it up.

Max was frowning at her. ‘Do you want a job or not?’

Darcy felt tetchy with herself for having been so impetuous, and irritated with Max for being so bloody gorgeous and distracting. Still. So she said, more snippily than she’d intended, ‘Of course I want a job. I need a job.’

Max’s frown deepened. ‘Did your parents lose everything?’

She bristled at the implication that she was looking for work because her family wasn’t funding her any more. ‘No, thankfully my father was able to recover.’ And then she said tartly, ‘Believe it or not, I like to make my own living.’

Max made some kind of a dismissive sound, as if he didn’t quite believe her, and Darcy bit her lip in order to stay quiet. She couldn’t exactly blame him for his assumption, but unlike the other alumnae of their school she didn’t expect everything in life to be handed to her.

Those mesmerising eyes were looking at her far too closely now and Darcy became excruciatingly conscious of her dark hair, pulled back into a ponytail, her diminutive stature and the unfashionably full figure she’d long ago given up any hope of minimising, choosing instead to work with what she had.

Max rapped out in Italian, ‘You’re fluent in Italian?’

Darcy blinked, but quickly replied in the same language. ‘Yes. My mother is from just outside Rome. I’ve been bilingual since I learnt how to talk and I’m also fluent in Spanish, German and French. And I have passable Chinese.’

He flicked a look at her CV and then looked back, switching to English again. ‘It says here that you’ve been in Brussels for the past five years—is that where you’re based?’

Darcy’s insides tightened at his direct question, as if warding off a blow. The truth was that she hadn’t really had a base since her parents had split up when she was eight and they’d sold off the family home. They’d shuttled her between schools and wherever they’d been living which had changed constantly, due to her father’s work and her mother’s subsequent relationships.

She’d learnt that the only constant she could depend on was herself and her ability to forge a successful career, cocooning her from the pillar-to-post feeling she hated so much and the vagaries of volatile relationships.

She answered Max. ‘I don’t have a base at the moment, so I’m free to go where the work is.’

Once again that incisive gaze was on her. Darcy hated the insecurity that crept up on her at the thought that he might be assessing how she’d turned out, judging her against the svelte supermodel types he was always photographed with. Beside them, at five foot two, Darcy would look like a baby elephant! In weak moments over the years she’d seen Max on the covers of gossip magazines and had picked them up to read the salacious content. And it had always been salacious.

When she’d read about his three-in-a-bed romp with two Russian models she’d flung the magazine into a trash can, disgusted with herself.

He suddenly stuck out his hand. ‘I’ll give you a two-week trial, starting tomorrow. Do you have accommodation sorted?’

Darcy blanched. He was offering her the job? Her head was still filled with lurid images of pouting blonde glamazons, crawling all over Max’s louche form. Reacting reflexively, she put out her hand to meet his and suddenly was engulfed in heat as his long fingers curled around hers.

He took his hand away abruptly and glanced at a fearsome-looking watch, then back to her, a little impatiently.

Darcy woke up. ‘Um...yes, I have somewhere to stay for a few days.’ She repressed a small grimace when she thought of the very basic hostel in one of Rome’s busier tourist districts.

Max nodded. ‘Good. If I keep you on then we’ll get you something more permanent.’

They looked at each other as Darcy’s mind boggled at the thought of working with him.

Then he said pointedly, ‘I have a meeting now, I’ll see you tomorrow at nine a.m. We’ll go through everything then.’

Darcy quickly picked up her briefcase and backed away. ‘Okay, then, tomorrow.’ She walked to the door and then turned around again. ‘You’re not just doing this because we know each other...?’

Max had his hands on his hips. He was beginning to look slightly impatient. ‘No, Darcy. That’s coincidental. You’re the most qualified person I’ve seen for the job, your references are impeccable, and after dealing with a slew of PAs—gay and straight—who all seem to think that seducing the boss is an unwritten requirement of the job it’ll be a relief to deal with someone who knows the boundaries.’

Darcy didn’t like the fact that it stung her somewhere very deep and secret to think that Max would dismiss her ability to seduce him so summarily, but before she could acknowledge how inappropriate that was she muttered something incoherent and left before she could make a complete ass of herself.

* * *

Max watched the space where the door had just closed, rendered uncharacteristically still for a moment. Darcy Lennox. Her name on his list of potential PAs had been a jolt out of the blue, as had the way her face had sprung back into his mind with vivid recollection as soon as he’d seen her name. He doubted he could pick many of his ex-classmates out of a police line-up, and Darcy hadn’t even been in his year.

But, as small and unassuming as she had been, and some four years behind him, she seemed to have made some kind of lingering impact. It wasn’t an altogether comfortable realisation for a man who regularly excised people from his life with little regret, whether they were lovers or business associates he was done with.

Her eyes were still seared into his mind—huge and blue, a startling contrast to that pale olive complexion, obviously inherited from her Italian mother.

Max cursed himself. Startling? He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it even messier. He was running on fumes of exhaustion since returning from a trip to Brazil a couple of days ago, and quite frankly it would be a relief to have someone working for him who wouldn’t feel the need to see him as a challenge akin to scaling a sexual Everest.

Darcy Lennox exuded common sense and practicality. Dependability. The fact that she had also been in Boissy, even if her time had been cut short, meant that she knew her place and would never overstep the mark. Not like his last assistant, who had been waiting for him one morning, sitting in his chair, dressed only in one of his shirts.

He tried for a moment to conjure up a similar image featuring Darcy. but all he could see was her serious face and her smart, structured shirt and skirt, the tidy glossy hair. A sense of relief infused him. Finally an assistant who would not distract him from the deal of a lifetime. A deal that would set him up as a serious player in the very competitive world of global finance.

Quite frankly, this was the best thing that had happened to him in weeks. Darcy would meld seamlessly into the background while performing her duties with skill and efficiency. Of that he had no doubt. Her CV was a glowing testament to her abilities.

He picked up the phone to speak to his temp and when she answered said curtly, ‘Send all the other applicants away, Miss Lennox is starting tomorrow.’

He didn’t even bother to reiterate the two-week trial caveat, so confident was he that he’d made the right decision.

Three months later

‘Darcy, get in here—now!’

Darcy rolled her eyes at the bellowed order and got up from behind her desk, smoothing down her skirt as she did so. When she walked into Max’s office and saw him pacing back and forth behind his desk she cursed the little jolt she always got in her solar plexus when she looked at him.

Virile, masculine energy crackled in the air around him. She put her uncomfortable reaction down to the fact that any being with a pulse would be incapable of not responding to his charisma.

He turned and locked that dark golden gaze onto her and snapped out, ‘Well? Don’t just stand there—come in.’

Darcy had learnt that the way to deal with Max Fonseca Roselli was to treat him like an arrogant thoroughbred stallion. With the utmost respect and caution and a healthy dollop of firm-handedness.

‘There is no need to shout,’ she said calmly. ‘I’m right outside your door.’

She came in and perched on the chair on the other side of his desk and looked at him, awaiting instruction. She had to admit that, while his manners could do with finessing, working for Max was the most exhilarating experience of her life. It was a challenge just to keep up with his quicksilver intellect, and she’d already learnt more from him than she had in all of her previous jobs combined.

Shortly after starting to work for him he’d installed her in a luxurious flat near the office at a ridiculously low rent. He’d waved her protests away, saying, ‘I don’t need to be worrying about you living in a bad area, and I will require you to be available to work out of hours sometimes, so it’s for my convenience as much as yours.’

That had shut Darcy up. He was putting her there so she was more accessible to him—not out of any sense of concern because she was on her own in a city she didn’t know as well as she might, considering her mother’s Italian background. Still, she couldn’t complain, and had enjoyed the chance to have a central base from which to explore Rome.

Max had been true to his word. She’d found herself working late plenty of evenings and on some Saturdays for half the day. His work ethic was intimidating, to say the least.

He rapped out now, ‘What was Montgomery’s response?’

Darcy didn’t have to consult her notes. ‘He wants you to meet him for dinner when he’s here with his wife next week.’

Max’s face hardened. ‘Damn him. I’d bet money that the wily old man is enjoying every moment of drawing this out for as long as possible.’

Watching his hands, splayed on his slim hips, Darcy found it hard to focus for a second, but she forced her gaze back up and had to acknowledge that this was unusual. Most people Max dealt with knew better than to refuse him what he wanted.

His mouth was tight as he spoke almost to himself. ‘Montgomery doesn’t think I’m suitable to take control of his hedge fund. I’m an unknown, I don’t come with a blue-blooded background, but worst of all, in his eyes, I’m not respectably married.’

No, you certainly are not, Darcy observed frigidly to herself, thinking of the recent weekend Max had spent in the Middle East, visiting his exotically beautiful lover, a high-profile supermodel. A little churlishly Darcy imagined them having lots of exotically beautiful babies together, with tawny eyes, dark hair and long legs.

‘Darcy.’

She flushed, caught out. Surely working with someone every day should inure you to his presence? Not make it worse?

‘It’s just dinner, Max, not a test,’ she pointed out calmly.

He paced back and forth, which threatened Darcy’s focus again, but she kept her eyeline resolutely up.

‘Of course it’s a test,’ he said now, irritably. ‘Why do you think he wants me to meet his wife?’

‘Maybe he just wants to get to know you better? After all, he’s potentially asking you to manage one of the oldest and most illustrious fortunes in Europe and his family’s legacy.’

Max snorted. ‘Montgomery will have already deemed me suitable or unsuitable—a man like that has nothing left to do in life except amuse himself and play people off each other like pawns.’

He raked a hand through unruly hair, a familiar gesture by now, and Darcy felt slightly breathless for a moment. And then, angry at her reaction to him, she said with not a little exasperation, ‘So take...’ She stopped for a moment, wondering how best to describe his mistress and settled for the most diplomatic option. ‘Take Noor to dinner and persuade Montgomery that you’re in a settled relationship.’

Max’s expression turned horrified. ‘Take Noor al-Fasari to dinner with Montgomery? Are you mad?’

Darcy frowned, and didn’t like the way something inside her jumped a little at seeing Max’s reaction to her suggestion. ‘Why not? She’s your lover, and she’s beautiful, accomplished—’

Max waved a hand, cutting Darcy off. ‘She’s spoilt, petulant, avaricious—and in any case she’s no longer my lover.’

Darcy had to battle to keep her face expressionless as this little bombshell hit. Evidently the papers hadn’t yet picked up on this nugget of information, and he certainly didn’t confide his innermost secrets to her.

She looked at Max as guilelessly as she could. ‘That’s a pity. She sounds positively delightful.’

He made that dismissive snorting sound again and said, with a distinct edge to his voice, ‘I choose my lovers for myriad reasons, Darcy, not one of which I’ve ever considered is because they’re delightful.’

No, he chose them because they were the most beautiful women in the world, and because he could have whoever he wanted.

For a moment Darcy couldn’t look away from Max’s gaze, caught by something inexplicable, and she felt heat start to climb up her body. And then his phone rang. She broke the intense, unsettling eye contact and stretched across to answer it, then pressed the ‘hold’ button.

‘It’s the Sultan of Al-Omar.’

Max reached for the phone. ‘I’ll take it.’

Darcy stood up with not a little sense of relief and walked out, aware of Max’s deep voice as he greeted his friend and one of his most important clients.

When she closed the door behind her she leaned back against it for a moment. What had that look been about? She’d caught Max staring at her a few times lately, with something unreadable in his expression, and each time it had made her silly pulse speed up.

She gritted her jaw as she sat down behind her desk and cursed herself for a fool if she thought for a second that Max ever looked at her with anything more than professional interest.

It wasn’t as if she even wanted him to look at her with anything more than professional interest. She was not about to jeopardise the best job of her career by mooning about after him like she had at school, when she’d been in the throes of a very embarrassing pubescent crush.

* * *

Max finished his call with his friend and stood up to look out of his office window, feeling restless. The window framed an impressive view of Rome’s ancient ruins—something that usually soothed him with its timelessness. But not right now.

Sultan Sadiq of Al-Omar was just one of Max’s very small inner circle of friends who had given up the heady days of being a bachelor to settle down. He’d broken off their conversation just now when his wife had come into his office with their toddler son, whom Max had heard gabbling happily in the background. Sadiq had confided just before that they were expecting baby number two in a few months, and happiness had been evident in his friend’s voice.

Max might have ribbed him before. But something about that almost tangible contentment and his absorption in his family had made him feel uncharacteristically hollow.

Memories of his brother’s recent wedding in Rio de Janeiro came back to him. He and his brother weren’t close. Not after a lifetime spent living apart—the legacy of warring parents who’d lived on different continents. But Max had gone to the wedding—more because of the shared business concerns he had with his brother than any great need to ‘connect’.

If he had ever had anything in common with his brother apart from blood it had been a very ingrained sense of cynicism. But that cynicism had all but disappeared from his brother’s eyes as he’d looked adoringly at his new wife.

Max sighed volubly, forcibly wiping the memory from his mind. Damn this introspection. Since when did he feel hollow and give his brother and his new wife a moment’s consideration?

He frowned and brooded over the view. He was a loner, and he’d been a loner since he’d taken responsibility for his actions as a young boy and realised that he had no one to turn to but himself.

And yet he had to concede, with some amount of irritation, that watching his peers fall by the wayside into domesticity was beginning to make him stand out by comparison. The prospect of going to dinner with Montgomery and his wife was becoming more and more unappealing, and Max was certain that the old man was determined to use it as an opportunity to demonstrate his unsuitability.

At that moment Max thought of Darcy’s suggestion that he take his ex-lover to dinner. For some reason he found himself thinking not so much of Noor but of Darcy’s huge blue eyes. And the way colour had flared in her cheeks when he’d told her what he thought of that suggestion.

He found himself comparing the two women and surmised with some level of grim humour that they couldn’t be more different.

Noor al-Fasari was without a doubt one of the most beautiful women in the world. And yet when Max tried to visualise her face now he found that it was amorphous—hard to recall.

And Darcy... Max frowned. He’d been about to assert that she wasn’t beautiful, but it surprised him to realise that, while she certainly didn’t share Noor’s show-stopping, almost outlandish looks, Darcy was more than just pretty or attractive.

And, in fairness, her job was not to promote what beauty she did possess. Suddenly Max found himself wondering what she would be like dressed more enticingly, and with subtle make-up to enhance those huge eyes and soft rosebud lips.

Much to his growing sense of horror, he found that her voluptuous figure came to mind as easily as if she was still walking out of his office, as she’d done only minutes before. He might have fooled himself that he’d been engrossed in the conversation with his friend, but in reality his eyes had been glued to the provocative way Darcy’s pencil skirt clung to her full hips, and how the shiny leather belt drew the eye to a waist so small he fancied he might span it with one hand.

His skin prickled. It was almost as if an awareness of her had been growing stealthily in his subconscious for the past few months. And as if to compound this unsettling revelation he found the blood in his body growing heated and flowing south, to a part of his anatomy that was behaving in a manner that was way out of his usual sense of control.

Almost in shock, Max sat down, afraid that Darcy might walk in and catch him in this moment of confusion and not a little irritation at his wayward responses.

It was the memory of his ex-lover that had precipitated this random lapse in control. It had to be. But when he tried to conjure up Noor’s face again, with a sense of desperation, all he could recall were the shrill shrieks she’d hurled his way—along with an expensive vase or two—after he’d told her their affair was over.

A brief knock came to his door and Darcy didn’t wait before opening it to step inside. ‘I’m heading home now, in case you want anything else?’

And just like that Max’s blood sizzled in earnest. A floodgate had been opened and now all he could see was her glossy dark brown hair, neatly tied back. Along with her provocative curves. Full breasts thrust against her silk shirt. The tiny waist. Womanly hips, firm thighs and shapely calves. Small ankles. And this was all in a package a couple of inches over five feet. When Max had never before found petite women particularly attractive.

She wasn’t even dressed to seduce. She was the epitome of classic style.

He couldn’t fault her—not for one thing. Yet all he could think about doing right now was walking over to her and hauling her up against his hot and aching body. And, for a man who wasn’t used to denying his urges when it came to women, he found himself floundering.

What the hell...? Was he going crazy?

Darcy frowned. ‘Is there something wrong, Max?’

‘Wrong?’ he barked, feeling slightly desperate. ‘Nothing is wrong.’

‘Oh,’ said Darcy. ‘Well, then, why are you scowling at me?’

Max thought of the upcoming dinner date with Montgomery and his wife and imagined sitting between them like a reluctant gooseberry. He made a split-second decision. ‘I was just thinking about the dinner with Montgomery...’

Darcy raised a brow. ‘Yes?’

Feeling grim, Max said, ‘You’re coming with me.’

She straightened up at the door. ‘Oh.’ She looked nonplussed for a moment, and then said, ‘Is that really appropriate?’

Max finally felt as if he had his recalcitrant body under some kind of control and stood up, putting his hands in his pockets. ‘Yes, it’s highly appropriate. You’ve been working on this deal with me and I’ll need you there to keep track of the conversation and make nice with Montgomery’s wife.’

Darcy was clearly reluctant. ‘Don’t you think that perhaps someone else might be more—?’

Max took one hand out of his pocket and held it up. ‘I don’t want any further discussion about this matter. You’re coming with me—that’s it.’

Darcy looked at him with those huge blue eyes and for a dizzying moment Max felt as if she could see all the way down into the depths of his being. And then the moment broke when she shrugged lightly and said, ‘Okay, fine. Anything else you need this evening?’

He had a sudden vivid image of ripping her shirt open, to see her lush breasts encased in silk and satin, and got out a strangled-sounding, ‘No, you can go.’

To his blessed relief, she did go. He ran both hands through his hair with frustration. Ordinarily Max would have taken this rogue reaction as a clear sign that he should go out and seek a new lover, but he knew that the last thing he needed right now in the run-up to the final negotiations with Montgomery was for him to be at the centre of headlines speculating about his colourful love-life.

So for now he was stuck in the throes of lusting after his very capable PA—an impossible situation that Max felt some god somewhere had engineered just for his own amusement.

CHAPTER TWO

A WEEK LATER Darcy was still mulling over the prospect of going to the Montgomery dinner the following evening with Max. She assured herself again that she was being ridiculous to feel so reluctant. Lots of PAs accompanied their bosses on social occasions that blurred into work.

So why was it that her pulse seemed to step up a gear when she thought about being out in public with Max, in a social environment?

Because she was an idiot. She scowled at herself and almost jumped out of her skin when Max yelled her name from inside his office. If anything, his curtness over the last week should have eased her concerns. He certainly wasn’t giving her the remotest indication that there was anything but business on his mind.

She got up and hurried into his office, schooling her face into a neutral expression. As always, though, as soon as she laid eyes on him her insides clenched in reaction.

He was pacing back and forth, angry energy sparking. She sighed inwardly. This protracted deal was starting to wear on her nerves too.

She sat down and waited patiently, and then Max rounded on her and glared at her so fiercely her eyes widened with reproach. ‘What did I do?’

He snapped his gaze away and bit out, ‘Nothing. It’s not you. It’s—’

‘Montgomery,’ Darcy said flatly.

He looked at her again and his silence told her succintly that that was exactly what it was.

‘I’ll need you to work late this evening. I want to make sure that when we meet him tomorrow I’m not giving him one single reason to doubt my ability.’

Darcy shrugged. ‘Sure thing.’

Max put his hands on his hips, a look of determination stamped on his gorgeous features. ‘Okay, clear the schedule of anything else today and let’s take out everything to do with this deal. I want to go through it all with a fine-tooth comb.’

Darcy got up and mentally braced herself for a gruelling day ahead.

* * *

Much later that evening Darcy sat back on her heels in Max’s office and arched her spine, with her hands on the small of her back. Her shoes had come off hours ago and they’d eaten take-out.

It had to be close to midnight when Max finally said wearily, ‘That’s it, isn’t it? We’ve been through every file, memo and e-mail. Checked into the man’s entire history and all his business endeavours.’

Darcy smiled wryly and reached up to tuck some escaping hair back into her chignon. ‘I think it’s safe to say that we could write an authorised biography on Cecil Montgomery now.’

The dark night outside made Max’s office feel like a cocoon. They were surrounded by the soft glow of numerous lights. He didn’t respond and she looked up at him where he stood behind his desk, shirt open at the throat and sleeves rolled up. In spite of that he barely looked rumpled—whereas she felt as if she’d been dragged through a hedge backwards and was in dire need of a long, relaxing bath.

He was looking at her with a strange expression, as if caught for a moment, and it made Darcy’s pulse skip. She felt self-conscious, aware of how she’d just been stretching like a cat. But then the moment passed and he moved and went over to the bar, his loose-limbed grace evident even after the day’s hard slog. Darcy envied him. As she stood up her bones and joints protested. She told herself she was being ridiculous to imagine that Max was looking at her any kind of which way.

He came back and handed her a tumbler of dark golden liquid. Her first thought was that it was like his eyes, and then he said with a wry smile, ‘Scottish whisky—I feel it’s appropriate.’ He was referring to Montgomery’s nationality.

Darcy smiled too and clinked her glass off Max’s. ‘Sláinte.’

Their eyes held as they took a sip of their drinks and it was like liquid fire going down her throat. Aware that they were most likely alone in the vast building, and feeling self-consciousness again, Darcy broke the contact and moved away to sit on the edge of a couch near Max’s desk.

She watched as he came and stood at the window near her, saw the scar on the his face snaking down from his temple to his jaw.

She found herself asking impulsively, ‘The scar—how did you get it?’

Max tensed, and there was an almost imperceptible tightening of his fingers around his glass. His mouth thinned and he didn’t look at her. ‘Amazing how a scar fascinates so many people—especially women.’

Immediately Darcy tensed, feeling acutely exposed. She said stiffly, ‘Sorry, it’s none of my business.’

He looked at her. ‘No, it’s not.’

Max took in Darcy’s wide eyes and a memory rushed back at him with such force that it almost felled him: a much younger Darcy, but with the same pale heart-shaped face. Concerned. Pushing between him and the boys who had been punching the breath out of him with brute force.

He’d been gasping like a grounded fish, eyes streaming, familiar humiliation and impotent anger burning in his belly, and she’d stood there like a tiny fierce virago. When they’d left and he’d got his breath back she’d turned to him, worried.

Without even thinking about what he was doing, still dizzy, Max had straightened and reached out to touch her jaw. He’d said, almost to himself, ‘“Though she be but little, she is fierce.”’

She’d blushed and whirled around and left. He’d still been reeling from the attack—reeling from whatever impulse had led him to quote Shakespeare.

Darcy was reaching across to put her glass on the table now, standing up, clearly intending to leave. And why wouldn’t she after he’d just shut her down?

An impulse rose up within Max and he heard himself say gruffly, ‘It happened on the streets. Here in Rome, when I was homeless.’

Darcy stopped. She lifted her hand from the glass and looked at him warily. ‘Homeless?’

Max leaned his shoulder against the solid glass window, careful to keep his face expressionless. Curiously, he didn’t feel any sense of regret for letting that slip out. He nodded. ‘I was homeless for a couple of years after I was kicked out of Boissy.’

Darcy said, ‘I remember the blood on the snow.’

Max felt slightly sick. He still remembered the vivid stain of blood on the snow, and woke sometimes at night sweating. He’d vowed ever since then not to allow anyone to make him lose control again. He would beat them at their own game, in their own rareified world.

‘A boy went to hospital unconscious because of me.’

She shook her head faintly. ‘Why did they torment you so much?’

Max’s mouth twisted. ‘Because one of their fathers was my mother’s current lover and he was paying my fees. They didn’t take kindly to that.’

Darcy had one very vague memory of an incredibly beautiful and glamorous woman arriving at the school one year with Max, in a chauffeur-driven car.

She found herself resting against the edge of the desk, not leaving as she’d intended to moments ago. ‘Why were you homeless?’

Max’s face was harsh in the low light. ‘My mother failed to inform me that she’d decided to move to the States with a new lover and left no forwarding details. Let’s just say she wasn’t exactly at the nurturing end on the scale of motherhood.’

Darcy frowned. ‘You must have had other family... Your father?’

Max’s face was so expressionless that Darcy had to repress a shiver.

‘I have a brother, but my father died some years ago. I couldn’t go to them, in any case. My father had made it clear I was my mother’s responsibillty when they divorced and he wanted nothing to do with me. They lived in Brazil.’

Darcy tried not to look too shocked. ‘But you must have been just—’

‘Seventeen,’ Max offered grimly.

‘And the scar...?’ It seemed to stand out even more lividly now, and Darcy had to curb the urge to reach out and touch it.

Max looked down at his drink, swirling it in his glass. ‘I saw a man being robbed and chased after the guy.’ He looked up again. ‘I didn’t realise he was a junkie with a knife until he turned around and lunged at me, cutting my face. I managed to take the briefcase from him. I won’t lie—there was a moment when I almost ran with it myself... But I didn’t.’

Max shrugged, as if chasing junkies and staying on the right side of his conscience was nothing.

‘The owner was so grateful when I returned it that he insisted on taking me to the hospital. He talked to me, figured out a little of my story. It turned out that he was CEO of a private equity finance firm, and as a gesture of goodwill for returning his property he offered me a position as an intern. I knew this was a chance and I vowed not to mess it up...’

Darcy said, a little wryly, ‘I think it’s safe to say you didn’t waste the opportunity. He must have been a special man to do that.’

‘He was,’ Max said with uncharacteristic softness. ‘One of the few people I trusted completely. He died a couple of years ago.’

There was only the faintest low hum of traffic coming from the streets far below. Isolated siren calls that faded into the distance. Everything around them was dark and golden. Darcy felt as if she were suspended in a dream. She’d never in a million years thought she might have a conversation like this with Max, who was unreadable on the best of days and never spoke of his personal life.

‘You don’t trust easily, then?’

Max grimaced slightly. ‘I learnt early to take care of myself. Trust someone and you make yourself weak.’

‘That’s so cynical,’ Darcy said, but it came out flat, not with the mocking edge she’d aimed for.

Max straightened up from the window and was suddenly much closer to Darcy. She could smell him—a light tangy musk, with undertones of something much more earthy and masculine.

He looked at her assessingly. ‘What about you, Darcy? Are you telling me you’re not cynical after your parents’ divorce?’

She immediately avoided that incisive gaze and looked out at the glittering cityscape beyond Max. A part of her had broken when her world had been upended and she’d been split between her parents. But as a rule it wasn’t something she liked to dwell on. She was reluctant to explore the fact that it had a lot to do with her subsequent avoidance of relationships.

She finally looked back to Max, forcing her voice to sound light. ‘I prefer to say realistic. Not cynical.’

The corner of Max’s mouth twitched. Had he moved even closer? He felt very close to Darcy.

He drawled now, ‘Let’s agree to call it realistic cynicism, then. So—no dreams of a picturesque house and a white picket fence with two point two kids to repair the damage your parents did to you?’

Darcy sucked in a breath at Max’s unwitting perspicacity. Damn him for once again effortlessly honing in on her weak spot: her desire to have a base. A home of her own. Not the cynical picture he painted, but her own oasis in a life that she knew well could be upended without any warning, leaving her reeling with no sense of a safe centre.

Her career had become her centre, but Darcy knew she needed something more tangibly rooted.

She tried to sound as if he hadn’t hit a raw nerve. ‘Do I really strike you as someone who is yearning for the domestic idyll?’

He shook his head and took a step closer, reaching past Darcy to put his glass on the table behind her. She knew this should feel a little weird—after all they’d never been so physically close before, beyond their handshake when she’d taken the job. But after the intensity of their day spent cocooned in this office, with the darkness outside now, and after Max had revealed the origin of his scar, a dangerous sense of familiarity suppressed Darcy’s normal impulse to observe the proper boundaries.

She told herself it was their shared experience in Boissy that made things a little different than the usual normal boss/PA relationship. But really the truth was that she didn’t want to move as Max’s arm lightly brushed against hers when he straightened again. The sip of whisky she’d taken seemed to be spreading throughout her body, oozing warmth and a sense of delicious lethargy.

Max looked at her. He was so close now that she could see how his eyelashes were dark gold, lighter at the tips.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t think you are looking for the domestic idyll. You strike me as someone who is very focused on her career. A bit of a loner, perhaps?’

That stung. Darcy had friends, but she’d been working away so much that she only saw them if she went back to the UK. He was right, though, and that was why it stung. The revelation that she might be avoiding platonic as well as romantic relationships was not welcome.

She cursed herself. She was allowing fatigue, a sip of whisky and some unexpected revelations from Max to seriously impair her judgement. There was no intimacy here. They were both exhausted.

She straightened up, not liking the way that put her even closer to Max. She looked anywhere but at him. ‘It’s late. I should get going if you want me to be awake enough to pay attention at dinner tomorrow evening.’

‘Yes,’ Max said. ‘That’s probably wise.’

Her feet seemed to be welded to the floor, but Darcy forced herself to move and turned to walk away—bumping straight into the corner of the desk, jarring her hip bone. She gave a pained gasp.

Max’s hand came to her arm. ‘Are you okay?’

Darcy could feel the imprint of Max’s fingers, strong and firm, and just like that she was breathless. He turned her towards him and she couldn’t evade his gaze.

‘I... Thanks. It was nothing.’ Any pain was fast being eclipsed by the look in Max’s eyes. Darcy’s insides swooped and flipped. The air between them was suddenly charged in a way that made her think of running in the opposite direction. Curiously, though, she didn’t want to obey this impulse.

And then something resolute crossed his face and he pulled her towards him.

Darcy was vaguely aware that Max’s grip on her arm wasn’t so tight that she couldn’t pull free. But a sense of shock mixed with intense excitement gripped her.

‘What are you doing?’ she half whispered.

His gaze moved from her mouth up to her eyes and time stood still. Max’s other hand moved around to the back of her neck, tugging her inexorably towards him. His voice was low and seductive. ‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what this would be like.’

‘What what would be like?’

‘This...’

Before Darcy’s brain could catch up with the speed at which things were moving Max’s mouth came down and covered hers, fitting to her softer contours like a jigsaw piece slotting into place.

He was hard and firm, masterful as he moved his mouth against hers, enticing her to open up to him—which she found herself doing unhesitatingly. The kiss instantly became something else...something much deeper and darker.

Max was bold, his tongue exploring the depths of her mouth, stroking sensuously, making her lower body clench in helpless reaction. His body was whipcord-hard against hers, calling to her innermost feminine instincts that relished such evidence of his masculinity.

The edge of the desk was digging into Darcy’s buttocks, but she barely noticed as Max urged her back so that she was sitting on it, moving his body between her legs so she had to widen them.

It was as if he’d simply inserted himself like a sharp blade under her skin and she’d been rendered powerless to think coherently or do anything except respond to the feverish call of her blood to taste this man, drink him in. It was intoxicating, heady, and completely out of character for her to behave like this.

Max’s hands were moving now, sliding down the back of her silk shirt, resting on her waist over the belt of her trousers. And then he moved even closer between her legs and Darcy felt the thrust of his erection against her belly.

It was that very stark evidence of just how far over the edge they were tipping that blasted some cold air through the heat haze clouding her brain.

Darcy pulled back to find two slumberous pools of tawny gold staring at her. Their breathing was laboured and she was aware of thinking with sudden clarity: Max Fonseca Roselli can’t possibly want me. I’m not remotely his type. He’s playing with me.

She jerked back out of his arms and off the desk so abruptly that she surprised him into letting her go. Her heart was racing as if she’d just run half a marathon.

Some space and air between them brought Darcy back to full shaming reality. One minute they’d been knee-deep in the minutiae of Montgomery’s life and business strategies, and the next she’d been sipping fine whisky and Max had been telling her stuff she’d never expected to hear.

And then she’d been climbing him like a monkey.

She’d never behaved so unprofessionally in her life. She lambasted herself, and ignored the screeching of every nerve-end that begged her to throw herself back into his arms.

Max looked every inch the disreputable playboy at that moment, with frustration stamped onto hard features as he observed his prey standing at several feet’s distance. His cheeks were slashed with colour, his hair messy. Oh, God. She’d had her hands in his hair, clutching him to her like some kind of sex-starved groupie.

When she felt she could speak she said accusingly, ‘That should not have happened.’

Her hair was coming down from its chignon and she lifted her hands to do a repair job. The fact that Max’s gaze dropped to her breasts made her feel even more humiliated. If they hadn’t stopped when they had— She shut her mind down from contemplating where exactly she might be right now.

Allowing him to make love to her on his desk? Like some bad porn movie cliché: Darcy Does Her Boss.

She felt sick and took her hands down now her hair was secured.

Max looked at her and didn’t seem to share half the turmoil she felt as he drawled, with irritating insouciance, ‘That did happen, and it was going to happen sooner or later.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Darcy snapped on a panicked reflex at the thought that he had somehow seen something of her fascination with him. She was aghast to note that her legs were shaking slightly. ‘You don’t want me.’

Max folded his arms across his broad chest. ‘I’m not in the habit of kissing women I don’t want, Darcy.’

‘Ha!’ she commented acerbically as she started to hunt for her discarded shoes. She sent him a quick glare. ‘You really expect me to believe you want me? That was nothing but a momentary glitch in our synapses, fuelled by fatigue and proximity.’ She finally spotted her shoes and shoved her feet into them, saying curtly, ‘This shouldn’t have happened. It’s completely inappropriate.’

‘Fatigue and proximity?’

Max’s scathing tone stopped Darcy in her tracks and she looked at him with the utmost reluctance. He was disgusted.

‘That was chemistry—pure and simple. We wanted each other and, believe me, if we’d been wide awake and separated by a thick stone wall I’d still have wanted you.’

Darcy’s heart pounded in the explosive silence left by his words. He wanted her? No way. She shook her head. Panic clutched her. ‘I’ll hand in my notice first thing—’

‘You’ll do no such thing!’

Darcy’s heart was pounding out of control now. ‘But we can’t possibly work together after this.’ She crossed her arms tightly. ‘You have issues with PAs who don’t know their place.’

He scowled. ‘What just happened was entirely mutual. I have no issue with that—it was as much my responsibility as yours. More so, in fact, as I’m your boss.’

‘Exactly,’ Darcy pointed out, exasperated. ‘All the more reason why I can’t keep working for you. We just crossed the line.’

Max knew on some rational level that everything Darcy was saying was true. He’d never lost control so spectacularly. He was no paragon of virtue, but he’d never mixed business with pleasure before, always keeping the two worlds very separate.

In all honesty he was still reeling a little from the fact that he’d so blithely allowed it to happen. And then his conscience mocked him. As if he’d had a choice. He’d been like a dog in heat—kissing Darcy had been a compulsion he’d been incapable of ignoring.

All day he’d been aware of her in a way that told him the feeling of desire that had sneaked up on him wasn’t some mad aberration. As soon as she’d arrived for work he’d wanted to undo that glossy chignon and taste her lush mouth. All day he’d struggled with relegating her back to her appropriate position, telling himself he was being ridiculous.

Then they’d ordered takeout and she’d sat cross-legged on the floor, eating sushi out of a carton with chopsticks, and he’d found it more alluring than if they’d been in the glittering surroundings of a Michelin-starred restaurant. And when she’d taken her shoes off earlier and knelt down on the floor, to spread papers out and make it easier to sort them, he’d had to battle the urge to stride over and kneel down behind her, pulling her hips back—

Dio.

And now she was going to resign—because of his lack of control. Max’s gut tightened.

‘You’re not walking away from this job, Darcy.’

She blinked, and a mutinous look came over her face. Her mouth was slightly swollen and Max was distracted by the memory of how soft it had felt under his. The sweet yet sharp stroke of her tongue against his... Maledizione. Just the thought of it was enough to fire him up all over again.

Darcy was cool. ‘I don’t think you have much choice in the matter.’

A familiar sense of ruthlessness coursed through Max and he reacted to her cool tone even when he felt nothing but heat. ‘I do—if you care about your future job prospects.’

Darcy paled and a very unfamiliar stab of remorse caught at Max. He pushed it aside.

‘I will not remain in a job where the lines of professionalism have been breached.’

Feeling slightly desperate, and not liking it, Max said again, ‘It was just a kiss, Darcy.’ He ran a hand impatiently through his hair. ‘You’re right, it shouldn’t have happened, but it did.’

He thought of something else and realised with a jolt that he’d lost track of his priorities for a moment.

‘I need you to help me close this deal with Montgomery. I can’t afford the upheaval a new PA will bring at the moment.’

Max saw Darcy bite her lip, small white teeth sinking into soft pink flesh. For a wild second he almost changed his mind and blurted out that maybe she was right—they’d crossed a line and she should leave—but something stopped him. He told himself it was the importance of the deal.

She turned around and paced over to the window and looked out, her back to him. Max found his gaze travelling down over that tiny waist. Her shirt was untucked, dishevelled. He’d done that. He could remember how badly he’d wanted to touch her skin, see if it was as silky as he imagined it would be.

The knowledge hit him starkly: the most beautiful women in the world had treated him to personal erotic strip shows and yet Max was more turned on right now by an untucked piece of faux silk chainstore shirt.

And then Darcy turned around. Her voice was low. ‘I know how important this deal is to you.’

The way she said it made Max feel exposed. She couldn’t know the real extent of why it was so important—that it would bring him to a place of acceptance, both internally and externally, where he would finally be able to move on from the sense of exposure and humiliation that had dogged him his whole life. And, worse, the sense of being abandoned.

Yet he couldn’t deny it. ‘Yes. It’s important to me.’

She fixed her wide blue gaze on him but he could see how pinched her face was. Reluctance oozed from her every pore.

‘I’ll stay on—but only until the deal is done and only if what happened tonight doesn’t happen again.’

She looked at him, waiting for a response. The truth was that if Max wanted something he got it. And he wanted Darcy. But for the first time in his life he had to recognise that perhaps he couldn’t always get what he wanted. That some things were more important than others. And this deal with Montgomery was more important than having Darcy in his bed, sating his clawing sense of frustration.

Also, he didn’t want her to see that it was a struggle for him to back off. That would be far too exposing.

So he said, with an easiness that belied every bone in his body that wanted to throw her onto the nearest flat surface, ‘It won’t happen again, Darcy. Go home. We’ve got another long day and evening ahead of us tomorrow. Don’t forget to bring a change of clothes for dinner tomorrow night. We’ll be going straight from the office.’

Darcy didn’t say anything. She just turned and walked out of the room and the door closed with incongruous softness behind her.

Max walked over to the window. After a few minutes’ delay he saw her emerge from the building in her coat, walking briskly away from the building, merging with Rome’s late-night pedestrian traffic.

Something in his body eased slightly now that she was no longer in front of him, with those wide blue eyes looking so directly at him that he felt as if he were under a spotlight.

No woman was worth messing up this deal and certainly not little Darcy Lennox, with her provocative curves. Max finally turned around again and sighed deeply when he saw the slew of papers strewn across his desk and floor.

Instead of leaving himself, he went back to the bar, refilled his glass with whisky and then sat down and pulled the nearest sheaf of papers towards him. He put Darcy firmly out of his head.

* * *

Darcy tossed and turned in bed a little later, too wired to sleep. It was as if her body had been plugged into an electrical socket and she now had an excess of energy fizzing in her system.

She’d been plugged into Max.

Even though she was lying down, her limbs took on a jelly-like sensation when she recalled that moment of suspended tension just before he’d kissed her and everything had gone hazy and hot. She could still feel the imprint of his body against hers and between her legs she tingled. She clamped her thighs together.

They’d taken a quantum leap away from boss/PA, and it had happened so fast it still felt unreal. Had she really threatened to leave her job? And had he more or less threatened her future employment prospects if she did? She shivered slightly. She could well imagine Max doing just that—she’d witnessed his ruthlessness when it came to business associates first-hand.

The deal with Montgomery meant more to him than the potential awkwardness of having shared an intimate and highly inappropriate moment with his PA.

No matter what Max said, Darcy had no doubts that what had happened had been borne out of insanity brought on by fatigue and the moment of intimacy that had sprung up when he’d told her about his past.

She hadn’t expected to hear him reveal that he’d been homeless. Any other student from Boissy wouldn’t have lasted two days on the streets. But Max had lasted two years, and crawled his way out of it spectacularly.

He’d mentioned a brother, and his father. His parents’ divorce. Questions resounded in Darcy’s head as the enigmatic figure of Maximiliano Fonseca Roselli suddenly took on a much deeper aspect.

Unable to help herself, she leaned over and switched on the bedside light, picked up her tablet. She searched the internet for ‘Max Fonseca Roselli family’ and a clutch of pictures sprang up.

Darcy’s breath was suspended as she scrolled through them. There was a picture of a very tall and darkly handsome man: Luca Fonseca, Brazilian industrialist and philanthropist. Max’s brother. His name rang a bell. And then more pictures popped up of the same man with a stunningly beautiful blonde woman. They were wedding photos. Darcy recalled that she’d read about the wedding between Luca Fonseca and the infamous Italian socialite Serena DePiero recently.

Had Max gone to the wedding? Darcy was about to search for more information on his parents when she realised what she was doing and closed the cover of her tablet with force.

She flipped off the light and lay down, angry with herself for giving in to curiosity about a man with whom she’d shared a very brief and ill-advised moment of pure unprofessional madness. A man she should have no further interest in beyond helping him to get this deal so that she could get the hell out of his orbit and get on with her life.

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