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She shrugged.
‘I’ve just always wished that I had somewhere...somewhere that I knew would always be there.’ She let some hair slip forward, covering her face, and muttered, ‘It’s silly, really. I mean, lots of people don’t have a home at all—’
Max reached out and put his hand over hers. ‘It’s not silly.’
He couldn’t say any more because he knew exactly what Darcy was talking about. He’d never had that safe centre either.
He took his hand away to change gears. ‘So, the money—it’s for a house?’
Darcy nodded and smiled, not looking at him. ‘It’s a small flat in London. I’ve been keeping my eye on it for a few months now.’
Max could see Darcy all too easily—stepping out of a cute little flat on a leafy street, getting on with her life, disappearing into the throng of people. And he wasn’t sure he liked it at all. In fact, if he wasn’t mistaken, the flare of dark heat in his gut felt suspiciously like jealousy.
* * *
When Darcy had freshened up and changed into comfortable loose trousers and a silk top she went downstairs to dinner. It was set up on the terrace, in the lingering twilight. Flickering candles lent everything a golden glow and the opulent rugs and furnishings made her wonder about the couple who were lucky enough to own this idyll. Did they have a happy marriage? Somehow, Darcy thought they must, because there was an air of quiet peace about the place.
And then she shook herself mentally. She wasn’t usually prone to such flights of the imagination.
Max wasn’t there yet and she breathed a sigh of relief, going to the stone wall and looking out over the dark expanse of the lake at the lights coming on on the other side.
Even here, far away from the water, she felt it like a malevolent presence and shuddered lightly.
‘Cold?’
Darcy whirled around, her heart leaping into her throat, to see Max holding out a glass of wine. She took it quickly, ducking her head. ‘No, I’m fine...just a ghost walking over my grave.’
She sneaked a look at him as he stood beside her. He’d changed too, into dark trousers and a white shirt which inevitably made his dark skin stand out even more. He oozed casual elegance, and yet with that undeniable masculine edge that made him all man.
The day they’d spent together had passed in an enjoyable blur of sights and sounds, but mostly Max had been a revelation. Darcy had never seen him so relaxed or easygoing. As if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
At the football match he’d been like a little boy—jumping up and down with the crowd, embracing her and the man next to him when his team scored. Also spouting language that had shocked her when things hadn’t gone well.
Julieta and the young man who it had turned out was her grandson delivered their dinner: fragrant plates of pasta to start, and then a main course of tender pork in a traditional sundried tomato, prosciutto and sage sauce.
Darcy groaned appreciatively when she tasted the delicious pork and said wryly, ‘I may have to be rolled out of here in a couple of days.’
Max looked at her, and his gaze running over her curves told her exactly what he thought of that. Unused to being appreciated for what she normally considered to be a drawback, she avoided his eye again. A part of her still couldn’t really believe he wanted her, but all day he’d touched her with subtle intention, keeping her on a knife-edge of desire.
In a bid to try and pierce this bubble of intimacy that surrounded them on the terrace, with the sound of the lake lapping not far away, Darcy asked about the couple who owned the house. ‘I just wondered what they’re like. This seems to be a happy place.’
Max pushed his empty plate away and then stood up, saying, ‘I’ll show you a picture.’
He returned a couple of minutes later with a beaming Julieta, who was dusting a picture with her apron. She handed it to Darcy. It showed an insanely handsome dark man, smiling widely, with a very petite blonde woman whose hair was a mass of crazy curls. She was also grinning, and holding a young boy with dark hair by the hand, while the man held a toddler high in his arms—a little girl with dark curly hair, a thumb stuck firmly in her mouth, eyes huge.
Something lanced Darcy deep down. This was a picture of familial happiness that she only knew as a distant dream. And who was to say that they wouldn’t split up, with those poor children destined to spend a lifetime torn between two parents?
Aghast that she was even thinking of this in the face of such evident joy, she handed the picture back quickly with a fixed smile. ‘They’re lovely.’
Julieta took the picture away, carefully cleaning it again. She obviously missed them. She must be more like a member of the family than a housekeeper to them, Darcy guessed.
Max said into the silence, ‘Perhaps not everyone goes through what we experienced.’
Darcy looked at him, wondering why she was surprised he’d read her mind. It seemed to be a speciality of his. ‘Do you really believe that?’
He smiled and shook his head. ‘Personally? No. But I have to admit that Dante and Alicia seem very...happy.’ And then he asked abruptly, ‘Why did you step in that day? During the fight?’
Darcy knew immediately that Max was referring to what she’d witnessed at Boissy, when she’d intervened. The memory of how exposed she’d felt after doing it made her squirm now. ‘I can’t believe you remember that.’
