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‘A good friend of mine and his family—Dante D’Aquanni.’
‘I’ve heard of him,’ Darcy said. ‘He’s in construction?’
Max nodded, negotiating a hairpin turn by the lake with skill. ‘He and his family are living temporarily in Spain while he works on a project.’
‘How do you know him?’
Max’s hands tightened momentarily on the wheel. ‘We go back a long way... He was one of the first clients I had who trusted me to invest his money for him.’
Precluding any further conversation, Max turned into a clearing where huge ornate gates loomed in the dark, with stone walls on either side. When the gates swung open Max drove in and a stunningly beautiful villa was revealed, with stone steps leading up to an impressive porch and door.
Golden light spilled from the doorway when it opened and a housekeeper came bustling out. A younger man joined the old woman who met them and took their bags. Max greeted the housekeeper warmly and introduced Darcy to the woman, who was called Julieta.
The D’Aquannis’ housekeeper led them inside, chatting to Max easily, and Darcy guessed he’d been there before. The interior was awe-inspiring, with high ceilings, an impressive staircase, and huge rooms visible off the stone-flagged reception area.
One room, when Darcy peeked into it, seemed to have a blue glass ceiling. Murano glass? she wondered.
Max turned to Darcy after Julieta had offered some refreshments and Darcy seized the opportunity to reply in front of a witness, saying in Italian that she was tired and would like to go to bed. She ignored Max’s undoubtedly mocking look.
It was with a feeling of mounting dread, however, as they followed Julieta upstairs, that Darcy wondered if they were going to be shown to one bedroom...
To her abject relief Julieta opened a door, motioning to Max, and then led Darcy to the next door along the wide corridor, opening it to reveal a sumptuous bedroom with en suite bathroom and dressing room.
Julieta bustled off again, after pointing some things out to Darcy and telling her that breakfast would be ready at nine a.m.
Darcy’s relief lasted precisely as long as it took for Max to appear in an adjoining doorway, with a wicked glint in his eye.
Arms folded across that broad chest, he leaned gracefully against the doorframe. ‘I told Dante about the true nature of our marriage...needless to say I’m regretting that impulse now.’
Darcy put her hands on her hips. ‘Well, I’m not. Goodnight, Max.’
Max said musingly, almost as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘You know, I’ve never really had to woo a woman before—I’m looking forward to it.’
Her belly exploded as if a hundred butterflies had been set free. Of course Max Fonseca Roselli Fonseca had never wooed a woman before, because they always fell into his lap like ripe plums.
She started walking towards the door, prepared to shut it in his face. ‘I’ll save you the trouble. I’m really not worth it.’
Max’s gaze dropped down over her body with explicit directness. ‘On the contrary...I think you’ll be very worth it.’ He stood away from the door then, and said, ‘Goodnight, Darcy.’
And then the adjoining door closed in her face, before she could make a smart retort, and she looked at it feeling ridiculously deflated, curbing the urge to open it again and follow Max into his room.
What had she expected? That Max would ignore a challenge? She was very afraid that she’d handled this all wrong. Max would accept nothing less than total capitulation, and his tone of voice said that he didn’t expect it to take all that long.
Darcy stomped around the thickly carpeted room, getting unpacked and ready for bed, and muttered to herself, ‘Do your worst, Roselli. I’m stronger than you think.’
* * *
Apparently she wasn’t as strong as she thought after all. When she emerged for breakfast the following morning and saw Max sitting at the table which had been set up on a terrace at the back of the villa she immediately felt weak.
She studiously ignored the spectacular view of the lake—she had a very old fear of any expanse of water, no matter how scenic it was.
Max was wearing worn jeans and a dark polo top, his hair dishevelled by the breeze. When he lifted his hand to take a sip from a small coffee cup his well-formed bicep bulged and Darcy went hot all over.
As if sensing her scrutiny, he looked up and smiled. ‘Good morning...sleep well?’
She fixed a bright smile on her face and moved forward, avoiding direct eye contact. ‘Yes, thank you—like a baby and all people with a clear conscience.’
Max made an ouch sound and said dryly, ‘Then I hate to inform you that I must be on the side of the angels as I slept well too.’
