International Guy: Volume 4

by Carlan, Audrey

  I dig my fingers into the muscles of his back, and he grunts but doesn’t push me away. Not that he could; I’m practically glued to him at this moment.

  He chuckles. “Talk to me.”

  “Um, is it over yet?” My voice is flat and guarded.

  “We’re hitting the top soon.” He whispers into my hair, “Why didn’t you tell me you were afraid of heights?”

  “Because I’m not,” I lie. “Not really. Dangling a thousand feet over mountains, trees, cliffs, and water in a flimsy glass box?” My voice takes on a soprano quality as the fear digs its ugly claws into my psyche. “Yeah, scary.”

  He tucks me against his chest, arms fully wrapped around me, and kisses the crown of my head. “They take a couple of thousand people a day up and down this tram. There’s nothing to be worried about.”

  “Mm-hmm. Just tell me when it’s over.”

  “Okay, Peaches. I will. We’re almost there. Another three minutes. You can handle that.” He presses his lips to my temples. “My brave girl.”

  I close my eyes and let those words sink in and blanket my fear, breathing deeply until his arms tighten and the entire box jolts and locks into place.

  “Hallelujah! Let me off this thing!” I blurt, and he snickers but leads me through the double doors and onto terra firma. I could almost flatten my body and kiss the solid surface if we weren’t in public. Instead I attempt to play it cool.

  “Heights, huh? Thought you were a tough girl?” Paul winks with a sexy smirk as he passes me.

  I scowl and make a face. “I am tough!”

  “Uh-huh. You lost some serious street cred there, sis.”

  “Whatever,” I grumble, but all thoughts of my fear of heights and the desire to maim Paul leave me at the stunning view beyond. Without speaking I walk to the metal railing until I’m finally capable of creating words. “Oh, my heaven . . . it is God’s country.”

  Parker comes up behind me and places his hands on either side of mine on the railing. He rests his chin on my shoulder, and together we look at the extreme beauty. The entire city of Rio is below us, the crescent shape of Copacabana and Ipanema a blip on the horizon. Sailboats and yachts dot the cove in their white brilliance, looking like polka dots against a startlingly deep-blue ocean background. Behind the city is the sprawling mountain range that fills the panorama with lush green tips and ridges that give the viewer an intense desire to explore its wonder. And sitting at the top of the tallest and most pointed is the Christ statue. He looks like he’s watching over his people, arms spread out, expressing his unending love and guiding presence.

  “Do you see that jut in the mountain over there where the Cristo is?” Dennis asks, standing to our right while pointing out over at the mountain range beyond.

  We nod but stay silent, content to just learn from Dennis about his home.

  “That’s called Mount Corcovado, which means in English ‘hunchback.’”

  “Interesting,” I say, while soaking in as much of the view as I possibly can.

  We stand there for at least ten full minutes, not speaking, just taking it all in until Dennis breaks the silence. “Have you ever had ah-sah-ee before?”

  Both Parker and I turn from the view, me rather regrettably, and focus on Denny. “I don’t know what word you’re saying,” I say.

  He frowns, and Paul laughs from behind and spells out the word. “A-c-a-i, you know, the berry?”

  “Oh yeah, of course! It has a ton of antioxidants and is used in a plethora of health drinks and fat-burning diets,” I inform them, because as the girl who’s been on one diet or another her entire life, I could practically be an expert.

  “It comes from Brazil.” Dennis preens proudly. “You must have it, frozen.” He waves us toward a little cart that’s making fresh acai berry in a frozen-yogurt-type fashion but with nothing else but ice added.

  Dennis places his order in rapid-fire Portuguese, pulls out some multicolored bills, and passes them over before either Parker or Paul can say a word.

  “We’re paying for dinner,” Parker announces unnecessarily.

  One of Paul’s eyebrows goes up as though he can magically prevent that from happening through a single look. He obviously doesn’t know my man. One thing Parker never allows me to do is pay for a meal. Ever. I think it goes against his alpha male code of honor or something. I think it’s gallant, and after spending a year and a half with a man who expected me to pay for everything, including his clothes, food, and everything in between, I’m happy my boyfriend is chivalrous.

  I don’t get involved in the daggers the two men are sending through their gazes but, instead, focus on Dennis and the cup he’s handing me with a purple frozen substance inside.

  “Taste it. Americans go crazy over this. For us, it’s really normal, but your country thinks it’s very exotic.”

  I plunk my spoon in and scoop up the frosty purple sludge. “Bottoms up.” I place the frozen morsel on my tongue, and the berry lands in an explosion of flavor. Tart, sweet, not quite sour, but incredibly refreshing. It reminds me of a blueberry but not. A blackberry but not. A strawberry but not. There really is nothing on earth like the taste of pure acai berry, and I freakin’ love it!

  Parker takes his cup and watches me while I moan around my second and then third bites. He plops a bite in his mouth, and I watch while my man’s eyes go wide and his lips pull together. “Shit, this is good.”

  “Told you. Americans love it.” Dennis takes a bite but doesn’t seem all that impressed. “Honestly, I don’t get it, but I’m happy you enjoy the fruit of my country.”

  Paul smirks and shovels in some frozen goodness.

  “What’s next?” I ask, and then scoop in more acai.

  “Why don’t we go to the very top, sit and have a glass of wine with our treat, and then discuss dinner?”

  We follow Dennis up another set of stairs, bringing us even higher, where there are souvenir shops. I immediately walk toward the trinkets and notice these little trees with different-colored gemstones on them.

  Parker follows me into the store as I pick up one of the small trees. The base is about an inch thick and made up of tiny colored rocks pressed together. In the center of the base is a gold twisted wire that leads out to a dozen or so branches, each with a crystal or gemstone intertwined.

  “What is this?” I hold it up to show Dennis.

  He enters the store while Paul stands outside being large and in charge. I place the item in his hand, and he presses up his black Buddy Holly glasses in that way I find completely endearing and adorable. “These are Brazilian wishing trees. You see how many of these have the same-colored stone?”

  I nod and finger one that has all amethyst stones.

  “The trees are meant to be given to someone you wish to give that specific stone’s trait to. The amethyst stones are for strength and purity. If you give that tree to someone, your wish is for them to have an abundance of those things in their life.”

  It’s as if he’s speaking right to my soul.

  “Aw shit, I think we’re going to be here awhile. Paul, maybe you should go up and order us some drinks while Sky shops?” Parker suggests dryly.

  Paul shakes his head. “I’m good right here where I can see you both. Carry on. I’ve got nothing but time.”

  “Humph.” I huff and narrow my gaze but turn back to the beautifully handcrafted souvenirs, and I’m immediately drawn to a tree that has turquoise stones. “What’s this one?”

  Dennis smiles sweetly. “That one is for healing.”

  Instantly I picture Nate lying in his hospital bed. We received a text after we got off the plane that Nate was awake and would be moving out of the ICU at the end of the week. Maybe this little trinket could be a totem to help him heal even faster, as it is my greatest wish.

  Next, I point to one that has red-orange stones, gold wire, and a multicolored base. “And this one?”

  Dennis smiles wide. “That is carnelian and most often is given to someone w
ho you wish to have a baby. It is a fertility stone.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Sky, don’t even touch that one.” Parker grabs for my hand before I can touch it. “You don’t want to mess around with that kind of thing.”

  “But, honey, Wendy wants a baby, and after losing one, maybe this could help.”

  Mentioning what Wendy lost has my guy wincing and cursing. “Fine. Just make sure you’re wishing for her to get pregnant, not you.” He places his hand over my belly. “It’s not our time. Not yet, yeah?” He kisses my neck and gives my belly a squeeze.

  “Yeah, honey. As long as it’s down the road, I’m good to wait awhile.”

  He takes a full breath and lets it out. “Perfect. Fucking. Woman,” he says, then winks.

  I grab the healing tree and the fertility tree and point to one with pink stones. “And that one?”

  Dennis grins. “Pink quartz. Amor eterno. Eternal love.”

  Fingering the pink stones, I say my own little wish under my breath. “I wish to be with Parker for eternity.”

  Once I have all three trees, I take them up to the front. I’m about to use my credit card when Paul is suddenly behind me. He grabs my wrist and shakes his head. “No, sis. Your cards can be tracked.”

  “But we haven’t gotten any pesos.”

  His mouth twitches. “Sweetheart, the currency in Brazil is called the real. Pesos are Mexican currency.”

  “Shit. I’m sorry.” I frown at the checker as Paul pulls out a wad of Brazilian cash and pays for my gifts. “I’ll pay you back,” I promise, and he winks but doesn’t say anything, tucking his roll back into his cargos and moving back to Dennis.

  “Instead of wine, shall we go to this incredible place down the hill that serves . . . What do you call”—he frowns and speaks in Portuguese—“carne no espeto? It is like the meat cooked on a metal spike.”

  Paul nods. “It’s like meat on a stick. It’s a Brazilian steak house. He’s taken me there, and it’s incredible. Finest cuts of meat you’ve ever had. You’ll be stuffed. Roy will be all over it too.”

  “Sounds incredible, and by the time we get down the mountain in the death trap, I’ll be starving.”

  “You ready to hit it?” Parker asks me, as if this entire day is about me and my comfort.

  I hold on to my purchases and think about my wish and how I’m going to put that little Brazilian wish tree on the mantel in our brand-new living room when we move into our home together.

  “Yeah, honey, today’s already been one of the best days we’ve had in a long time.”

  He kisses my temple and loops his arm around my shoulders. “Good food, the beach, excellent views, my brother, his man, and the love of my life sharing an incredible experience . . . Yeah, baby, it’s been a great day.”

  6

  PARKER

  Unfortunately we had to skip “meat on a stick,” as enticing as it sounded, because Royce called the four of us back to the hotel. He’d found something in the financials that was unusual. Now the four guys are sitting at the dining table in our penthouse suite since it has the most room to work. Skyler is placing cocktails she’s concocted in front of each man, humming happily as she does so.

  “Thank you, baby.” I glance at my drink. It has some bits of crushed lime and lemon and is clearish in color. I hold up the glass and sniff it before taking a sip. “What is it?”

  “Caipirinha. It’s the national cocktail in Brazil,” she says with obvious pride. “I found a note in the bar on how to make it. Mostly it’s rum and cachaça and crushed fruit.”

  “And . . . what’s cachaça?”

  “It’s fermented sugarcane juice. I had to GTS it, but honey, I don’t really know—I just followed the directions. Figured when in Brazil, go Brazilian.” She smiles wide, tipping her head from side to side as she assesses her own before tasting it. “Pretty good. A lot of liquor, which isn’t exactly a bad thing.”

  I take a huge glug. “No, it is not.” The sweet of the cachaça and sour from the lime mixed with the white rum makes me crinkle my nose. It’s not unpleasant, but not necessarily something I’d drink more than one of. She is not wrong; there’s a healthy dose of rum in it, which is a good thing.

  “Girl, this is the shit!” Roy sucks down half.

  “Easy, brother, you’re jet-lagged,” I warn.

  He narrows his gaze. “You think I can’t hold my liquor, bro? Let me remind you who drinks the most actual liquor in our band of merry gentlemen.” He reminds me of his predilection for whiskey neat with a subtle curve of his full lips. His black goatee is trimmed neatly around his mouth and jawline, his bald head particularly shiny in this light. He’s wearing a tight-fitting burgundy T-shirt that probably cost more than my entire outfit and a loose-fitting pair of gray pajama bottoms. My brother Roy likes his fabric to be soft—“the underside of a woman’s tit” type of soft—and pays dearly for such threads.

  Royce grabs the pages he has in a stack in front of him and passes out a set to Dennis and another to me. Paul eases back in his chair next to Denny and puts his arm around his guy in a move that shows he’s there for support, but he won’t get his nose dirty in this business if he’s not asked.

  “I’ll order us up some food. The menu talks about something that looks like breaded cheese balls . . . definitely getting those.” My girl scans a menu card.

  “Pão de queijo, Sky. It’s Brazilian cheese bread. You’ll have nothing like it in all the world,” Dennis says. “If they have it, order with feijoada, which is a pork and black bean stew. Excellent together.”

  “Mmm,” Skyler agrees, rubbing her belly. I chuckle but can’t take my eyes off her. She’s silly, sweet, and so damned golden she makes my eyes hurt if I stare too long. It’s times like these I have to remind myself that she’s all mine, and I’m one lucky bastard to be able to make that claim.

  “And, baby girl, if they have those chicken and cheese balls . . . ,” Royce rumbles, and licks his lips making an mmm sound of his own.

  “Coxinha,” Dennis provides helpfully.

  Royce points at Dennis. “Yeah, those. Hook a brother up with those.”

  My girl nods and scans the menu.

  “Also, some pastel, sis. Love those breaded things. Meat or cheese doesn’t matter to me, but those things are delicious.”

  Skyler grins wide. “It seems we’re having bread, cheese, beans, and stew.”

  “When in Brazil, baby . . .” I remind her of her earlier statement so she doesn’t get hung up on the fact that probably everything but the stew she’s going to order is loaded with calories and high in fat. Not that she’s dieting, but she did mention she needs to get in fighting shape for the A-Lister series. “Don’t worry, Peaches, we’ll work it off between the sheets,” I say with a sexy grin.

  Her mouth drops open, and her eyes go wide with shock.

  “I heard that!” Roy chuckles deep as Paul laughs and shakes his head. Dennis’s cheeks blush a solid pink.

  Skyler purses her lips and narrows her gaze at me.

  “Love you, baby.” I kiss the air in her direction.

  She doesn’t lose the fire in her gaze, but I know her too well. She’s not mad, just not altogether pleased that I’m making sexual innuendos in front of others. My girl may be a freak between the sheets, but she’s a bit of a prude when it comes to talking sex outside of the privacy of our bedroom.

  “I’ll just be ordering the food now,” she says. “Anyone need a refill on their drink?”

  The three other men hold up their glasses, but I push mine aside. “I’ll switch to beer if they have it.”

  “Gotcha.” Skyler spins around, her ass swaying delectably in the process.

  “Brother, you’ve got your hands full with that one.” Royce watches her hips and ass sway and laughs heartily.

  I grin. “Two perfect handfuls at all times.”

  Royce cracks up, smacking the table. “Jeez-us. You best be thankin’ the good Lord above for that windfall.”

  I ho
ld out my fist. “Fuck yes, I am.”

  He knocks it and picks up the papers. “All right, how’s about we get to the shit I found. Straight up, Dennis, it doesn’t look good. You’ve got a few shady accounts that aren’t adding up. I need to get in the office tomorrow to dig through more records and request some additional data, but from what I can see, fifty and fifty is not adding up to a hundred. You feel me?”

  Dennis bites into his bottom lip, pushes his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose, and nods.

  “From what I can see here . . .” Roy points to an item on the page. “Line number thirty-two, that account is suspicious. What the fuck is product reserve?”

  Dennis scans the paper in front of him and shakes his head. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s an account that holds money for product purchases?”

  Roy frowns. “Nah, man, those accounts are clearly labeled in line items four through ten. The money goes in and out of those accounts regularly, but for some reason, quite a lot of money keeps getting shifted into this product reserve account, and I can’t find anything in your financials so far that gets paid out of that account. Turn to the third page. Note how money from that account dwindles down every two weeks, always leaving roughly four thousand reais, which is roughly a thousand American dollars?”

  Dennis studies the flow of the money and flips back to the account, goes through a couple of pages, and settles back. “Where does this account go if it’s not going against product payments and accounts receivable and payable?”

  Royce taps the stack of papers. “Exactly. It empties down to that exact amount every two weeks. I need to go into the office to see what account that money is being transferred into, but it’s not in any of these accounts on the books, which means it’s dumping the money into an untracked bank account. I’ve seen this many times before, man. Usually that account is owned by one of the staff in a high position, if you get my drift.”

  “Puta que pariu!” Dennis booms angrily.

  I don’t need to speak Portuguese to know that whatever he said was seriously profane.