The Bride Fonseca Needs. Эбби Грин
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‘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.’
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
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 [email protected]
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Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
EPILOGUE
‘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,