by Tara Pammi
Diego’s housekeeper, Anna, had mentioned a pool out on the terrace. She needed to burn off some of her restless energy.
Walking into the closet, which was the size of her living room, she searched for her swimsuit. By the time Kim had returned from work the day after she had moved in, Anna had unpacked everything for her.
Spotting the trendy one-piece she had bought recently, Kim tugged off her pajamas and tank top.
She knew why she felt so restless. Coordinating her move into Diego’s penthouse to be when he was out of the country had felt like the best idea. Except now she couldn’t dwell on anything else.
Would he be pleased? What if he had changed his mind? She had been on tenterhooks for days after the awards ceremony, waiting for him to manipulate something, anything, in order to get her to move.
But he had surprised her with a strangely disappointing silence.
His words at the awards ceremony wouldn’t leave her alone, though. Neither had she been able to get Liv’s face, when she had waylaid her on the steps of the Plaza, out of her head. Liv had clutched at Kim’s hand, concern pinching her mobile mouth.
Her every action, every word, since she had learned of her pregnancy had been directed by the selfish need to protect herself, to make sure she didn’t reveal the slightest weakness in front of Diego. She had conveniently pushed Liv away, refused to share anything, uncaring of how worried she might be.
When had she stopped caring about everyone else’s feelings along with her own? When had the lines between being strong and selfishness blurred? Would she continue to push Diego away because he was the one man who had the power to hurt her, to drive her to weakness?
Would she do that when she had the child too? Would she put her own well-being first always? Would she put herself before her child as her own mother had done?
The questions had tied her up in knots. So before she lost her nerve and remembered the million reasons why it was a bad idea she had called Anna and informed her she was moving in.
She pulled her robe on and pushed her feet into comfy slippers. It took her a few minutes of walking through the long corridor to reach the lushly carpeted foyer.
She reached the grand salon and sighed. Huge pillars stood in the room, supporting high ceilings. The room could have housed her entire apartment. Pristine white marble floors gleamed beneath her slippered feet, and the glass walls all around offered three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views of midtown Manhattan and the southern end of Central Park.
Contemporary art graced the walls. She smiled as she recognized a couple of artists native to Brazil.
It was the spectacular luxury she had expected from a man with Diego’s assets, and yet it was different. There was no ostentation here or anywhere else in the penthouse. Just a quiet, simmering elegance—a flash of bright red here and there, a candid portrait of a street-fighter on the streets of Rio de Janeiro reflecting Diego’s passionate nature.
The best feature, however, was that it was so big she needn’t ever see Diego unless required.
Feeling a lightness that had been missing for several weeks, she walked through the salon toward the terrace.
She stepped into the covered part of the L-shaped space and a shape emerged from the shadows. She had expected it to be only Anna and her for another night.
A quiet gasp escaping her, she stepped back. A teenager, his bulging biceps inked with elaborate tattoos, one of which looked eerily familiar, met her gaze. Her mouth fell open as he moved toward her and the light from the salon behind her illuminated his face.
The left side of his rugged face was covered in blue and purple bruises. His hair was cropped close to his scalp. A naughty smile split his severely cut mouth, which had blood crusted on it. “You are Diego’s wife?”
Between his thick accent and his swollen lip Kim was barely able to understand him. She nodded, a different kind of shiver overtaking her now.
He stepped in front of her when she moved, leaving only just enough space between them. His gaze traveled over her leisurely in a defiant, purposeful scrutiny that she assumed was meant to make her nervous.
With every inch of her headspace taken up by thoughts of Diego, she wasn’t.
“I’m Miguel,” he said, still sporting that smile, which was just short of lascivious. “If you get...bored with Diego...” He finished his sentence with a wink and a subtle thrust of his hips that left no doubt in her mind. “Call me. I will treat you right.”
She stood stiffly without blinking. “Nice to meet you, Miguel,” she threw at him, refusing to show how much his presence had spooked her.
She stepped onto the rooftop terrace, her head spinning with questions—which fled her mind at the sight in front of her.
The vast terrace was illuminated with little solar lights lined up against the floor. The rest of the light came from the spectacular skyscrapers of Manhattan around them. The effect was breathtakingly simple and just the peace she wanted.
There was a fire pit with comfy-looking recliners to her left, and a small bar with a glass top. But it was the perimeter of the pool that caught and held her attention.
A hot tub was on one side, with a couple of loungers on the other.
She walked toward the pool like a moth drifting to light—until the splish-splash of long, powerful strokes punctured the silence.
It took her a moment to realize that half the pool stretched past the terrace, overhanging the streets of New York. Her heart thudded like a tribal drumbeat, her gaze searching for the powerful figure in the water.
Not that she needed to see him to know that it was Diego. Only he could find swimming in a pool that edged twenty stories into the sky relaxing.
She was about to turn around, ready to flee, when he swam to the edge of the pool facing her and stood.
His wet hair clung to his scalp, outlining the strong angles of his face. Water sluiced enticingly over biceps that flexed while holding him up. His gaze ran over her, sweeping thoroughly from the top of her mussed hair to the opening of her robe and her bare legs. “Is everything okay?”
She folded her arms around her midriff. “Yes, everything’s fine. I just...”
“Did you come up for a swim?”
“What? No. I....” She clasped the sash of her robe, moving to the balls of her feet, ready to run.
She sighed. This was her reality now. Seeing Diego in all his glorious forms, apparently counting up her points on his weird reward system for sex. She smiled at the absurdity that she was actually keeping count.
How desperate was she?
“I did come for a swim,” she said, trying hard to keep her gaze on his face. And not trail down his wet, sexy body. “But not from my own apartment.”
He pushed at the water dripping from his forehead with his hand. His frown grew. “From where, then?”
“Didn’t Anna tell you? I moved in when you went to... Well, wherever it is that you went.”
Luckily he didn’t seem to have noticed the curiosity in her words.
With an agility that was a beauty to watch he pulled himself up in a single movement. And of course he was naked.
She gasped and closed her eyes. But the sight of his chest and midriff, velvet skin rippling over toned muscles, was etched into her mind. A twang shot through to her sex. She squeezed her thighs—which didn’t help at all.
The man was knock-your-knees-out-from-under-you sexy. Was it any wonder he’d always been able to scramble her senses as easily as he did?
“You can open your eyes now.”
She did.
A white towel was wrapped low on his hips. He walked around the pool, reaching the bar on her right in silence. The muscles in his back moved sinuously as he poured himself a drink and quickly guzzled it down.
A faint hum began thrumming over her skin. Even the thin silk of her robe felt oppressive.
The tattoo on his back, right under his shoulderblades, glimmered under the low lights. A memory rose to the surface, heating he
r already warm skin. She had traced that ink with her fingers first and then with her tongue, fascinated by the ripple and play of his muscles at her actions.
Six years on she shivered as sensations from that long-forgotten night touched her just as powerfully.
She moved without realizing it to where he stood, and ran a finger over the wing of the eagle.
He jerked, the muscles in his back bunching tight. As if she had touched him with a hot poker. He faced her before she could blink, his scowl fierce.
She jerked her hand back. “That tattoo...” She licked her lips, her cheeks tightening, “That eagle shape... The teenager I just met—he has—”
Suddenly he was so close that she could smell the scent of him, see the evening stubble on his jaw, feel the warmth of his body. His scowl deepened. “Miguel?” He looked back inside. “Did you run into him? Did he say anything wrong to you?”
“Not really,” she said, hurrying to reassure him. “I just didn’t spot him until he stepped out of the dark. I didn’t know anyone else was here, or that you were back.”
His frown grew. He moved away from her, his movements edgy. “Anything more?”
She shook her head belatedly.
Heat unfurled in the pit of her stomach as he turned to the side, dropped his towel casually and pulled up a pair of black sweatpants. She caught a glimpse of tight butt and rock-hard thighs.
Her heart raced. The stretchy fabric of her swimsuit was chafing everywhere it touched. She needed that swim even more than before.
He turned around to face her, his expression serious. With his glorious rippling chest close enough to touch, it was hard to focus on his face.
“I’ll arrange something else for him. He’s already upset Anna in the few hours he’s been here. Probably why she forgot to mention you were here. He won’t harm you, but I know how nervous you get around people from that background.”
Hurt splintered through her, knocking the breath out of her. Maybe it was because she hadn’t been prepared to see him tonight. Maybe it was her hormones again. She glared at him, finding it hard to speak. “Did I say that?” Her words rang in the silence. “I wouldn’t even have mentioned him if you weren’t flashing that tattoo. I knew this was a bad idea. You might have the best intentions, but you’ll never—”
“Wait.” His long fingers clasped her wrist and pulled her to him.
She fell into him with a soft thump that made her sigh. Her fingers landed on his chest. The thump-thump of his heart was as loud as her own. He was hard and hot and all she wanted to do was curl into him. Even when he flayed her with his words.
She closed her eyes, lacking the strength not to care about his opinion.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” He pulled her chin up and she opened her eyes. His hands on her waist were a languid weight, searing her. “This is our home and I want you to feel safe and be happy here.”
Something warm and gooey bloomed inside her chest. She took a deep breath as if she could capture it there. A tingling warmth spread through her—something she remembered from the cruise. For the first time in her life she had felt cherished.
His fingers lingered on her cheek. “The last time our marriage fell apart it was just us.” Just as easily he took the warmth away. “This time we have someone else to think of... Do you understand?”
She nodded, swallowing her disappointment. She strove to sound just as casual as he did. “It doesn’t bother me. This place is so huge anyway I don’t have to even see you if I don’t want to, right?” His expression didn’t relax. “And...thanks for thinking of me.”
He was right. This wasn’t about what either of them wanted.
At his quick nod, she grabbed his wrist. The hair on his forearms tickled her fingers. “I appreciate your support since I...since we found out about the—” she needed to stop choking on the word baby “—the pregnancy. You’ve been...great about it, and I...well, I haven’t.”
His gaze moved to her mouth and lingered. The need to feel his mouth on hers, the need to touch him, rose inside her.
It wasn’t the blaze of lust that had driven reason from her head a few weeks ago. Now it was more of a slow, soft burn that always smoldered beneath her skin. It was an insidious longing more dangerous than pure lust.
He extracted his hand from hers as though he couldn’t wait to get away. Her heart sinking to her toes, she suddenly realized she wanted his company. Just for a few more minutes. Even if it meant prolonging her own torment.
So she said the first thing that popped into her head. “What happened to Miguel’s face?”
He stopped and turned around, surprise flickering in his gaze. Was her interest in the teenager, in what went on in Diego’s life, so shocking? Really, she wasn’t the one with corrupt memories of their short marriage.
“It was his initiation into a street-gang last week. With everything else going on I wasn’t able to stop it.”
Because he had been dealing with her. “He’s got the same tattoo as you do. Is it the same street-gang you were a part of?”
For a second the same sensuous memory of that long-ago night flared in his gaze, the pupils turning molten gold. “Yes,” he said, in that clipped whatever tone of voice.
Turning away from her, he grabbed a white tee shirt and pulled it on. It was a silent version of show over, move on.
Something within her rebelled. His calm dismissal was beginning to annoy the hell out of her. Before he could walk away she moved closer to him, effectively blocking him.
“So you got him out of the street-gang?”
“Yes—kicking and screaming.”
“He didn’t want to come with you?”
He shook his head. “What I forced him to leave behind is the only life he knows. And I need to keep an eye on him. Like I said, he won’t harm you. But he’s got a grudge against me.”
She slid to a lounger and crossed her legs. “Now it all makes sense.”
He plunked down on the one next to her. “What do you mean?”
She felt him still and hid a smile. Perverse satisfaction filled her. He wasn’t as unaffected by their situation as he made out. “Of course at first I thought it was...you know...the appeal of the sexy older woman and all,” she said, tongue-in-cheek. She was rewarded by his begrudging grunt. “But now I see it was partly to get back at you. Although I have to admit even with half his face covered in bruises he’s quite the looker. He made me a very interesting offer.”
He pounced on her like a predator on his prey. One minute they were sitting on two separate loungers, the next he was on hers, his muscular thighs on either side of her, trapping her neatly. His broad shoulders filled up her vision. The very air she breathed was filled with the scent of him.
“You said he didn’t say anything.” His words were a low growl.
“I meant he didn’t say anything threatening.”
“What did he say to you?”
Diego had been like this with her before, too. And, for all the time she had spent learning to be self-sufficient, his protective attitude had had her melting like butter under the sun. She smiled, just enjoying the moment. “Stop acting all grouchy caveman over the fact that he talked to me and I will tell you.”
* * *
Diego closed his eyes, gripped the edge of the lounger and counted to ten. On two he remembered her laughing face. Five—her long, bare, toned legs. On eight the silk robe clinging to her skin, ending several inches above her knees. The luscious picture she made was etched onto his retinas.
Meu Deus, the temptation she presented—walking around his home, making his space her own—was more than he could handle tonight. Even though it was exactly what he had asked her to do.
His trip to Rio de Janeiro, seeing his half brother in the clinic—just a shell remaining of the boy he had once been—it beat down on him like a relentless wave determined to drown him. He knew what to expect, and yet every time the sight of Eduardo kicked him in the gut.
Now he ha
d Miguel to contend with, too. He really couldn’t afford to make mistakes in handling the teenager.
And throw in his enticingly sexy wife—parading in a swimsuit, no less—he knew where he would slip up.
He must have truly misplaced his marbles to have suggested that she move in, to think that he could keep his libido in check with her under the same roof.
He would see her in the mornings, all mussed up and unraveled, the way he liked her best. And before he went to bed. The sensuous scent of the woman would be absorbed into every inch of his living space. He hoped his child appreciated the torture he was going through for his or her sake.
“Diego?”
Her voice in front of him was tentative, testing, her fingers on his infinitely tempting. He swallowed a groan. The mischievous note in her voice was gliding like velvet over his skin.
Drawing another bracing breath, he opened his eyes. “Tell me what he said.”
“Something about calling him if I ever got bored with you.”
“It’s not a joke, gatinha. Women, like bikes and land, are possessions jealously guarded in that world. Coming onto you is a challenge thrown at me.”
She frowned, studying him with interest. “But you were from the same background and you never treated me like that. In fact it was the oppo...” Her gaze flickered to him, wary.
Something tightened in his chest. “How did I treat you?”
The slender line of her shoulders trembled. “Like I was a princess.”
“And yet you...?”
No. He didn’t want to turn this into a battle again.
“That was my mother’s doing,” he said. “Any little good I have in me, she gave it to me. By the time I was ten I had seen how horribly my father treated her, as if life wasn’t hard enough for her as a single mother. She would have peeled my hide if I was anything but respectful toward a woman.”
Laughter lit up her eyes. “I would have loved to see that.”
Her smile wound around him. He couldn’t breathe for a second. “And you... I could never...”
“What?” She scooted closer and clutched his hands. “Please tell me.”