Abby Green - The Bride Fonseca Needs

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.’