‘I did not!’ she denied, lifting her head up from his shoulder so that she could glare that denial into his impassive face.
He was so beautiful her heart turned over. His slumbrous eyelids lowered as he sucked her index finger into his mouth and wrapped his tongue right around it, then began a slow mimic of a different act that set him hardening and swelling inside her.
Her soft gasping quiver had him releasing the finger.
‘You did,’ he insisted, then reached up and brought her mouth down on his before she could answer. A few seconds later and she had forgotten what they were talking about as it all began again in a slow deep mutual loving—just as she had predicted.
Just this one more time, Cristina told herself as she let him take her over.
Back in London, Maria Ferreira Scott-Lee was standing by her dressing table. In her hand she held a small package from Estes & Associates, Advocates of Law, Rio de Janeiro. The package had arrived the same day that her son had flown out to Brazil. Inside it was a jewel box and a letter. The jewel box held an exquisite, priceless diamond-encrusted emerald ring. The letter was personal—deeply personal—handwritten by Enrique himself.
Don’t mess with what you do not yet understand, Maria, Enrique had written as a warning footnote. Our son will marry the widow of Vaasco Ordoniz and you will forget that you ever knew that name if you value our son’s love for you.
But she could not forget Vaasco Ordoniz. She could not forget that Anton would have been Vaasco’s son if Enrique had not got in the way.
Ah, the tangles life could throw at you, she thought on a sigh that had her lowering herself onto the dressing stool. Enrique was the most handsome man she had ever encountered. Meeting him at Vaasco’s ranch had turned into the ruin of her life. Betrothed to Vaasco, in love with Vaasco, she had still fallen for Enrique’s charm and into his bed. When she’d fallen pregnant with Enrique’s child she’d had to tell Vaasco. It was natural that he’d thrown her out of his life.
‘Back to the gutter where you belong,’ he’d said.
Sebastian had come to her rescue. It had been Sebastian who flew her back to Rio and eventually brought her to England with him. Dear Sebastian, who had been in Brazil to buy horses from Vaasco. He’d come back with a brokenhearted, shamed and pregnant woman instead.
Now here was life making a tangling full circle, and the Ordoniz name was haunting her again. Who was this woman? How did Enrique know about her? Why had he sent their son to her? Who was playing a game with whom?
She was young, Kinsella Lane
said. Vaasco had been a very wealthy man. He had trained horses for the polo field as a hobby, not to earn a living. Who was this—person who would marry an old man if she was not some kind of cynical fortune-hunter? And, having managed to inherit Vaasco’s money, was she looking to get her hands on Anton’s money as well?
Maria looked down at the ring box sitting on her dressing table, then at the words in Enrique’s note.
For you, Maria, in sincerest gratitude for the son you gave me and as a token of my regret for the life you had taken away from you on my account. Our son grew in my image. He deserves to know this. He deserves his share in my inheritance. Vaasco turned out badly. One day you will perhaps thank me for saving you from him. Think on that when you meet his widow. She is not what she seems and deserves your pity.
‘I pity no one who means to hurt my son,’ she murmured.
Maria’s son wasn’t hurting. He was sleeping the sleep of the thoroughly sated.
Lying beside him, Cristina watched him—just watched, as she’d used to love watching Luis sleep. He had a way of sprawling on his front across three-quarters of the bed, leaving her one quarter to curl herself into. She never minded. When he awoke, her quarter would become his quarter too, leaving the rest of the bed to grow cool.
Or it would if she intended to be here when he awoke. She had already delayed her departure for much longer than she should have.
But for now—for a few more precious seconds—she was content to reacquaint herself with the way his hair flopped over his forehead and how his face wore the relaxed expression of sleep.
Her tummy muscles quivered, her heart squeezing out a tight, painful ache. He was beautiful, her Luis. Passionate, demanding, insatiable—and the low-down pulse of just how insatiable still played its pleasure across the sensitive muscles where she loved to feel Luis most.
How had she lived six years without being with him?
How was she going to manage without him all over again?
They’d got up at one point between bouts of wild passion, gathering up clothes and closing doors. It had made her blush and him grin when they realised how they had left them standing wide open for anyone to come in and catch them.
‘My staff know better than to intrude on my privacy,’ he had stated with arrogant confidence.
Still, they’d been—noisy. She was blushing again now just remembering some of the gasps and cries she’d emitted in the throes of her pleasure. Or those tense little curses he’d rasped out as his control snapped, and the resulting driving sound of his breathing when he finally gave in.
He was no silent lover, this cool-headed half-Englishman she loved so much, Cristina thought with a smile. The desire to reach out and gently stroke that floppy lock of hair away from his forehead almost got the better of her.
But it was time for her to get up and go…
Stay a little longer, urged a soft voice inside her. See out the rest of the day, then the long dark night with him. Leave tomorrow.
No. The time to go was now…while she could.
Her heart gave that painful little squeeze in protest. At the same moment a pair of ink-black eyelashes lifted upwards and eyes the colour of a dark ocean focused on her face. It was as if he’d sensed what she was thinking, the way a set of long fingers reached up to brush a gentle caress across her cheek.
‘You’re still here,’ he said softly. ‘I was dreaming you’d left me.’
‘No,’ she whispered
Tomorrow, Cristina thought. I will leave tomorrow. ‘Kiss me, Luis,’ she begged.
CHAPTER SIX
IT WAS into the afternoon by the time Cristina let herself into Gabriel’s apartment.
‘Where have you been?’ Gabriel demanded, almost before she had managed to close the door. ‘It was bad enough that the rushed message you left with my answering service last night said almost nothing, but did you have to go missing today too?’
Having spent most of the day trawling through the banks and financial houses of Rio, it was all she could do to utter a weary, ‘Sorry.’
‘Not good enough, Cristina,’ Gabriel censured. ‘I was worried about you. When I rang Scott-Lee to find out what was going on, all I got was some cold Englishwoman claiming that she had never heard of Cristina Marques!’
The lovely Kinsella, Cristina thought dryly. ‘I was there,’ she said, then explained about the mix-up in names.
Gabriel shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘I was beginning to think he’d abducted you,’ he said gruffly. ‘I had this image of him bundling you into a sack and shoving you in the boot of his car, then driving off to some unknown location to have his evil way with you.’
‘Not very English of him, Gabriel,’ she mocked, though Luis had bundled her into bed pretty effectively, she allowed.
‘He does not look very English…just sounds it.’
He makes love in English, Cristina thought, then had to turn away before Gabriel could see the look in her eyes.
Too late, though. ‘You look like death, querida,’ he observed gruffly.
Feel it too, Cristina thought. ‘I need a shower,’ she said, and walked down the hall towards her allotted bedroom.
Gabriel followed. ‘You want to explain why you look like death?’
Not particularly, Cristina thought as she crossed the bedroom to open a drawer that held the bits of underwear she’d brought with her.
‘I spen
t the day visiting the banks,’ she told him, shifting to the wardrobe to rifle through the few items of clothing she had. Just two good dresses worthy of the kind of social events like the gala last night—both black. Vaasco had only allowed her to wear black.
‘Scott-Lee’s offer was not good enough?’
Her shoulders ached with the strain of trying to appear normal. ‘It was not the right one.’
‘As in…?’
As in I would be his willing mistress for the next fifty years even if he married another woman and had twenty children with her. But that was not what Luis wanted.
‘He wanted your body,’ Gabriel derived from her silence. ‘Since you spent the night with him, I conclude that he had your body?’
A strained laugh escaped past the lump in her throat.
‘I cannot believe that you were stupid enough to give him his reward before he’d handed over the money, Cristina,’ he muttered.
It was so like advice for a street hooker that she swung on him angrily. ‘Don’t speak to me like that, Gabriel!’
But he was angry too. ‘What did he do? Seduce you with a load of promises, take what he wanted, then throw you out on the street this morning?’
No, I sneaked away when he wasn’t looking, Cristina thought heavily. ‘Can we leave the lecture until after my shower, please?’ she requested.
‘Sure,’ Gabriel replied, and stormed out, leaving Cristina to wilt down onto the end of the bed, recalling how she had left Luis.
She’d pretended to be perfectly content to lie curled in his bed while he got dressed for a business meeting at his bank. She’d even smiled when he’d kissed her farewell and let that kiss cling enough to send him away with a rueful smile upon his face. The moment he’d left the suite she’d been out of that bed and racing for the shower.
Coward, she thought now. Weak little coward.
It was probably appropriate that she should have met Kinsella Lane
in the hotel lobby, wanting to come into the lift as she was leaving it. The blonde had taken one look at her and said, ‘Bitch,’ shocking a neatly dressed young man standing to one side of the lifts. When she’d tried to walk away Kinsella had grabbed her wrist and spat the kind of venom at her that was still turning her stomach. ‘Don’t kid yourself that I will stand back and let you take my lover away from me, because I won’t. It was my body he drowned in the night before you fell into bed with him, and it will be me he will return to London with.’
Odd how the truth had the power to hurt so much, Cristina thought now. Because Luis would be returning to London with Kinsella, and she—
She spied her suitcase, sitting at the bottom of the wardrobe, and on a sudden burst of urgency pulled it out and tossed it onto the bed. She did not want to think about what she would be doing when Luis returned to London. She did not want to think of anything other than packing her case and catching the first flight to Sao Paulo she could get a seat on, and to hell with—
The door swung open. Gabriel stood there. Big and lean and endearingly handsome, even with that look of contrition on his face. ‘I did not mean to insult you,’ he apologised gruffly.
‘I know that.’ And, strangely enough, she did. Gabriel had been her friend for too long for her to take any real offence because he gave it to her as he saw it.
‘I was worried about you.’
‘Sim.’ She understood that too.
‘I was concerned that you were desperate enough to snatch at any rescue package placed on the table if it stopped the Alagoas Consortium from raping your land.’
‘You know what, Gabriel?’ Her shoulders sagged suddenly. ‘I thought so too…’
‘But it did not work out like that?’
No, it didn’t. Luis had found her ceiling price without even knowing it.
‘I’m going home,’ she said quietly.
‘Since I am watching you pack, minha amiga, I have managed to make that assumption,’ Gabriel drawled. ‘But then what will you do?’
The answer to that was frighteningly simple. ‘I don’t know.’
And neither, by his silence, did Gabriel.
‘Get your shower,’ he advised, after one of those dull, throbbing moments. ‘I will see if I can get you a seat on a flight to Sao Paulo tonight.’
The shower went part-way to lifting her flagging spirits, aided by her refusal to let herself think. She spent time blow-drying some of the wetness from her hair, then left it to do its own thing while she applied a light layer of makeup, then put on fresh underwear, followed by the jeans and a white T-shirt. All she had left to do was to finish packing.
Placing the case ready by the front door, she made her way along the hall towards the kitchen, following the aroma of freshly made coffee. Pushing open the door was the simple part. Taking in the sight that met her eyes was not simple at all.
Her heart ceased to beat, robbing her of the ability to do anything other than stand there and stare at the two men casually propping up the kitchen units, drinking coffee like old friends. Both were wearing dark business suits, their jackets hanging carelessly open over white shirts and dark ties as they sipped coffee from white porcelain mugs. Only one of them had the power to hold her so thoroughly trapped like this.
‘Luis…’ She breathed his name.
‘Does she always call you Luis?’ Gabriel asked curiously.
‘Unique to Cristina,’ Anton replied, eyes like green granite as he flicked them over her loose hair and her casual T-shirt and jeans.
‘W-what are you doing here?’ she demanded stupidly.
‘Treading in the shadow of your stubborn path.’ A black eyebrow arched. ‘Did you really expect me not to come after you?’
‘Cristina has always been stubborn,’ Gabriel put in conversationally. ‘You have an English saying I cannot quite bring to mind that describes this stubbornness perfectly…’
‘Cutting off her nose to spite her beautiful face?’
‘Ah, sim.’ Gabriel nodded. ‘She also hates to admit it when she is wrong…’
Dragging her gaze away from one man, Cristina looked at the other. It did not take many brain cells to read the message in Gabriel’s tone. While she had been showering he and Luis had talked. Gabriel now knew that the rescue package was not only rock-solid but that it came with a very respectable offer of marriage as well. The dream solution, in other words, for not only did she get the money she needed to save Santa Rosa from the wicked developers, she got herself a good looking, filthy rich husband willing to save her miserable, empty little soul at the same time!
Cristina pulled in a breath. Her chin went up. ‘I see,’ she said as she breathed out again. ‘From hating each other, the two of you have now become firm allies over a friendly cup of coffee. Well, forgive me if I don’t bother to join you.’
With that she turned and walked out—escaped was a more honest word. Inside she was trembling and shaking, shocked to find Luis here and truly afraid of what it was going to mean. She’d seen the anger burning in the green granite. She’d heard the warning threat threading his smooth silken voice. And even as she hurried down the hall towards her suitcase she knew she was running scared.
The hand that reached for her suitcase before she could pick it up told her everything. The strong arm that became a manacle around her middle said a whole lot more.
‘Packed already?’ Luis said lightly. ‘Good. Then we can leave.’
‘I am not going with you,’ she told him, standing like a wooden plank in the crook of his arm.
‘You are,’ he returned without compromise. ‘We made a deal.’
‘I changed my mind.’
‘Before or after the sex?’
‘Before,’ she declared. ‘I took the sex because it came free.’
‘You think?’
‘I know.’
‘Nothing comes free in this world, sweetheart,’ Anton mocked. ‘So, say thank you nicely to Gabriel, for letting you stay with him, and then set your treacherous little backside
moving out of the front door or I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you out!’
Cristina heaved in a hot breath as she twisted round in his grasp with the intention of fighting herself free. Only it didn’t work out that way. His arm banded her closer, and she found herself inhaling the clean, washed smell of him, and the much more disturbing scent of very angry male. Looking up into his face, she caught the flare of green in his eyes just before she heard her case hit the ground. Then his other hand was taking control of her nape, and all she managed was a husky, quavering, ‘Don’t…’ before she received the full force of his mouth on hers in a punishing, plundering act of pure vengeance that left her shocked, shaken and shamefully desperate for more.
Feeling like a boneless quivering wreck, it was all she could do to subside weakly against him, her face pressed into his shirt front while he held her there and talked over the top of her head to Gabriel as if the kiss had been nothing at all.
Just the fact that Gabriel had witnessed it was a further humiliation she had to contend with. When she heard him say, ‘I will leave the small print to you, Anton,’ Cristina felt as if she’d lost her only friend in the world.
Anton retrieved her case and pushed her towards the door. She went quietly after that. The lift took them downwards. Neither spoke. A chauffeur driven black Mercedes waited at the kerb. The moment they were both encased in its plush leather interior the car moved off. She sat staring out of the window. He sat staring directly ahead. He was angry…she was angry.
‘I suppose you told Gabriel that I am the love of your life?’ she said tightly.
‘I told him what he needed to hear to let you walk away with me.’
‘Lies.’
He released a dry laugh. ‘You fell apart in my arms over one short kiss, so don’t blame him for believing what his own eyes could see,’ he charged. ‘And we are both good at lying, Cristina, so you can drop that reproof from your voice. It cuts no ice with me.’
‘Does anything?’ She sighed.
‘No.’
‘Gabriel—’
‘Is no fool,’ he incised. ‘He knows I make a better friend than I would an enemy. Let him believe he allowed you to come with me because it’s what you really want. It’s safer for him.’
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