Arido, he thought bleakly, and rolled with her, pulled the covers up over them, then curled his body around her as much as he could.
Of course he ended up kissing her out of it. How long was a man supposed to lie passive while the woman in his arms broke her heart all over him?
And he used words—husky, soft, honest words—like, ‘Eu te amo.’ I love you. ‘Nada matérias outras.’ Nothing else matters. ‘Eu te amo. Eu te amo.’ Until words became warm, thick, tear-washed kisses, and kisses became—something else. It even shocked him how an overdose of heartache and anguish could generate the driving depths of passion they ended up sharing.
Anton still wasn’t over it when he carefully slid from beneath her and stood up from the bed. She was asleep, coiled around the pillow he’d slipped into the place where his body had been. Turning away, he hunted down his discarded clothes and put them on again with a dry promise that this time they’d stay on. Then he let himself out of the room as quietly as he could do.
He needed some time alone to think.
Cristina came awake to find she was hugging the pillow. She sat up, blinking owlishly, trying to decide if the grey light she could see seeping into the room was the fading day or a new day just come.
She felt hot and sweaty, and every one of her muscles ached as if she hadn’t moved them for hours and hours. She had a cloudy recollection of the events that had led up to her falling into a deep sleep here in this bed, but in truth she did not want to think about them.
Luis’s bag still sat on the ottoman, but a swift glance around the room told her that he was not here. She got up, discovered she was wearing his T-shirt again—though she did not recall when she’d pulled it back on after—
She sucked in a sharp breath, not wanting to go there—not yet anyway. Instead she crossed the room to look out of the window, then bit out a very unladylike curse.
It was daylight out there! She had slept the evening and the whole of the night away—plus most of the morning too!
Spinning around, she headed quickly for her own bedroom, where she showered and pulled on clean jeans and a fresh green T-shirt, then tried to soothe her fidgety nerves before she went to find Luis. Only to receive the shock of her life when she found a man—a complete stranger—dressed in a suit, wandering the hall with a clipboard.
‘Good morning, senhorita,’ he greeted her politely when he saw her standing there on the stairs, then just continued with what he was doing!
Anger began to fizz. ‘Do you happen to know where Senhor Scott-Lee is?’ she demanded.
‘I think most of them are in the kitchen,’ he replied absently as he wandered off into one of the reception rooms.
Most of them?
Cristina headed for the kitchen. On her way there she passed one of the women from the village, coming away from the kitchen carrying a mop and bucket. She dipped a shy hello at Cristina and, when asked what she was doing, said she was here to help Orraca with the household chores.
Since Cristina did most of those chores herself, she took the fact that someone had given this woman a mop and bucket and told her to go and clean something as a very personal slight.
Luis, of course. It just had to be him. She’d given in to a little weak weeping on his shoulder and now he thought he could—
Those thoughts ground to a stop at the sight that met her in the kitchen. For a few seconds she could not believe what she was seeing, and even thought of going out and coming in again. For there at her table sat Orraca, sharing what looked like a pot of tea served in the best china with none other than Luis’s mother, who was looking lovely in a soft cambric shirt and pale blue linen trousers, her dark hair loosely looped at her slender nape.
‘Ah, good morning, Cristina,’ the lady herself greeted her warmly.
‘Good—morning.’ Good manners made her reply accordingly.
Scott-Lee smiled. ‘I can see you are surprised to see me here, and I don’t blame you,’ she said. ‘When my son wishes to move mountains, he moves mountains. Please—come and sit down and join us. Orraca and I were just reminiscing about the old times.’
‘How—how long have you been here?’
‘I arrived just half an hour ago. But Anton’s team of experts were here at the crack of dawn.’
‘Team—?’
‘The men who are surveying the land edging the forest with the intention of acquiring a protection order for it.’
‘Protection?’ She was bewildered.
‘Sim. Anton thinks it is best to do it officially, then you will not have to put up with greedy people like the Alagoas Consortium coming at you through the back door, so to speak. Come and sit down,’ his mamma urged yet again. ‘Orraca, another cup and saucer, if you would be so good, my dear…’
Orraca, Cristina saw to her utter amazement, meekly stood from the table and did as she was bade—when no one, but no one, told Orraca to do anything!
Cristina’s eyes gave a flash. ‘Where is Luis?’ she demanded.
‘In Sao Paulo, dealing with some other business. He said to tell you to eat a proper breakfast before you start shouting at me,’ his mother relayed, dark eyes twinkling, and so thoroughly, unfairly disarming that Cristina found herself sitting down and accepting the cup of tea Orraca provided, along with one of her unreadable stares.
‘I suppose you think it is okay to let strangers wander my home?’ she said to the housekeeper.
‘He is an architect.’ Scott-Lee provided the reply. ‘An expert in historical renovation. And he is so in love with your house, Cristina, he almost begged Anton to give him the commission. What do you usually eat for breakfast, meu querida?’
‘She does not eat breakfast.’ Orraca spoke for the first time. ‘She does not eat lunch. Why do you think she is so thin? I am amazed your handsome son wants to marry such a—’
‘I think we will have some hot toast with proper butter,’ Luis’s mother smoothly cut in. ‘I usually deny myself butter,’ she confided. ‘Not good for the figure or the heart. But, since you make your own here, how am I supposed to resist it?’
Orraca moved off without another word to make the suggested toast, while Cristina tried a couple of calming breaths before she attempted to make sense of what was going on here.
‘Senhora Scott-Lee—’
‘Please call me Maria—everyone does—except for Anton, of course. If you prefer it you can call me Mother, as he does, though I always think it’s such a stuffy name—very English.’ She grimaced.
‘He is English,’ Cristina said.
‘You think so?’ His mother looked thoughtful. ‘I suppose he must seem it to you.’
‘Mrs—Maria…’
‘Still, you haven’t met his uncle Maximilian yet. Now, there is the quintessential Englishman—complete with bowler hat and umbrella in his prime. Now he prefers Harris tweed and a walking stick.’
‘Senhora—’
‘Ah, here is our toast. Orraca, I think I would like to steal you away from Santa Rosa. Would you like to live in London, do you think?’
As it began to dawn on Cristina that she was not going to be allowed to ask any questions as to what was going on here, she took a piece of toast, liberally spread with butter, bit into it, and sipped her tea while the other two women slipped into conversation about the advantages and disadvantages of living abroad. She silently seethed.
She was going to kill Luis when he put in an appearance. Who did he think he was? Taking over her home as if he owned it just because she had agreed to—
She stood up. It was the shock that made her do it.
But she had said it—hadn’t she? She had lain in his arms and said yes to his marriage proposal—his proper marriage proposal, complete with—
‘Cristina, what’s wrong?’ his mother asked sharply.
‘I want to see Luis,’ she insisted tautly. ‘I demand to see Luis!’
‘Querida, he isn’t here…’
‘I am not your darling, Scott-Lee,’ Cristina repli
ed. ‘I am viuva de Ordoniz—the woman you travelled thousands of miles to stop from marrying your son!’
‘That was yesterday.’ Maria touched Cristina’s hand in a gentle conciliatory gesture. ‘Today I could not be happier for both of you—’
‘Why should you be?’ Cristina demanded.
‘Ah, here are my two handsome young escorts.’ She smiled with relief as Luis’s two executives appeared at the kitchen door. ‘I hope this means that Anton has returned?’ she enquired hopefully.
‘He went straight to the library—’
‘My library?’ Cristina swung on them.
‘Er—yes.’ They were startled. She did not blame them. If Luis had been there to see her face he would be taking a very wary step back by now.
‘Please excuse me,’ she said, with an icy politeness that did not reflect what she was feeling inside.
Polite? she thought as she walked out of the kitchen, having to sidle past the woman from the village who was mopping the hall floor. Then she caught sight of the architect person, carefully scraping at the plaster on the walls. It was like being invaded, she thought as she stalked past him across the hall and pushed open the library door. Luis was there, all right, standing by her desk, using her telephone, dressed in a sharp dark pinstripe suit and giving off the arrogant appearance that he ruled the world!
Her world.
Cristina slammed the door shut to get his attention. He swung around and snatched her breath away, because he looked so big and lean and alive and—
‘What do you think you are playing at?’ she scythed at him.
The smile that had been about to arrive on his lips disappeared before it made it. With smooth aplomb Anton concluded his call and replaced the receiver on its rest. Then he settled his hips against the desk and just looked at her while he decided how he was going to tackle this.
The tempting way was to provoke what he could already see was erupting. The safer way was to soothe the situation down.
He went for the irresistible. ‘You’ve forgotten.’
‘Forgotten what?’
‘That in a week you and I will be getting married,’ he provided. ‘It is usual to—’
‘A week? I didn’t think it would be so soon!’
‘I moved the date up. I told you I was going to do it last night, when we—’
‘All right.’ She held up a hand. ‘We will begin this stupid conversation again!’ She took in a deep, calming breath. ‘Luis—there is a man wandering around my house, picking plaster off the walls.’
‘An architect.’ He nodded.
‘I know what he is!’ she snapped. ‘Your mother kindly informed me of it. I want to know when it was exactly that I gave my permission for him to be here!’
‘You didn’t. I did.’
‘And your permission came from where?’
He sent her one of those seductively appealing lazy grins. ‘I’m not answering that. I daren’t,’ he confided.
She frowned and crossed her arms. ‘I believe there is also a team of surveyors on my property?’
He nodded in confirmation. ‘After we marry. Santa Rosa will be placed in a trust—or have you forgotten about that too?’
‘A trust for whom?’ she almost choked out.
‘Whoever you decide will inherit it from you.’ He shrugged. ‘Since we won’t be able to spend all our time here it seemed sensible to protect Santa Rosa as much as is possible. The surveyors will also be looking at the forest. The Government frowns on deforestation these days. In fact I am amazed a protection order was not placed on it years ago.’
There was so much sense in what he was saying that he could see she was struggling to find an argument—though she did find one.
‘I would have liked to be consulted about all of this before Santa Rosa was invaded.’
‘No time,’ he said. ‘You were asleep and I needed to get things moving. My mother—’
‘Why is your mother here?’
‘She’s not welcome?’
‘Of course she’s welcome.’ Cristina frowned. ‘But I—’
‘She wants to help you choose your wedding outfit. But if you would rather she—’
‘Luis—I am not marrying you!’
‘Not that again.’ He sighed. ‘Which door would you like me to try and leave by, so you can have a running start at barring my way?’
She flushed. And so she should, Anton thought, losing enthusiasm for the provoking game. He had known she would change her mind again the moment she opened her eyes this morning. He had known that the tragic creature he’d loved in every way he could last night had only been recharging her batteries before she went on the defensive again. He’d meant to stay out of her way—had planned to do that right up until the moment he’d stood over her this morning, watching her sleep with his pillow clutched in her arms, and something had hit him.
The sense of honour that Sebastian must have instilled in him—because he sure as hell hadn’t got it from his real father. Cristina deserved to have her say, even if it did mean yet another battle.
‘I’m going to tell you something I had vowed to keep to myself. But having you continually try to make me walk away from you, I’ve changed my mind.’
Her chin came up in defensive readiness. Anton thought about going over there and just kissing her into surrender, then grimly stuck to his guns and pushed himself into speech.
‘When Ramirez tempted me out to Brazil to look for you he did it with just one clever sentence that insisted I “make reparation” to the woman I ran out on six years before, leaving her in dire straits.’
‘But you didn’t do that.’
‘Did I not?’ He looked grimly at her whitened face. ‘I thought I hadn’t. I thought that you should be making reparation to me for the way you kicked me out of your life—but look at you, Cristina.’ He indicated brutally. ‘Look at the prickly, self-defensive, half-empty shadow you’ve become of that wonderful, excitingly vital and light-hearted creature I knew six years ago.’
She went pale. Anton sighed. ‘Would you have become this person if I’d stayed around and fought for what I wanted? No, you would not,’ he declared without expecting a reply. ‘You would not have let your father sell you to some no-good vengeful swine because you didn’t care what happened to you. You would have been mine! And, on being mine, you would have been pulled by your beautiful hair out of your shock and your grief and made to see that you did not need to be anything other than the beautiful person you are—to be loved by me! However, I walked,’ he breathed in contempt. ‘Which makes the accusation Ramirez made against me true. Because I do owe you—for not being man enough to stop still long enough to think why you needed to lash out at me. I owe you, querida, for six long miserable years of existing in a vacuum breaking your poor heart over me!’
She walked out. Anton stood there staring at the door she’d shut behind her. His hand went up to wipe the angry pallor from his face. He didn’t know why she had walked out, or what she was thinking. He didn’t even know if he’d just made the biggest mistake by telling her that he had his own guilt to feed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ORRACA found Cristina in her bedroom, staring out through the window.
‘Enrique Ramirez is the English gaucho’s papa. His mamma has just told me,’ she announced. ‘Enrique is the man who saved your life when I foolishly let go of your hand. He pulled that horse away from you at great risk to himself, never mind that swine Ordoniz. If Ramirez wants you to marry his son, then do it. You owe him that.’
‘Everyone seems to owe everyone something,’ Cristina murmured.
‘Sim,’ Orraca agreed. ‘But a debt only becomes a burden if you do not want to pay it. You want to pay the debt, child, but you are too surrounded here by bad ghosts that tell you to turn the debt into a burden. Get away from here, Cristina,’ the old woman advised. ‘Marry the son of Enrique Ramirez, spit in the eye of the bad spirits and see what life brings.’
‘Happiness?�
� She turned a sad smile on this woman who had been in her life for as long as Cristina could recall.
‘If he is man enough to pull you free from this place, like his papa pulled that horse free, then he is man enough to give you happiness.’
Maybe Orraca was right. Maybe it was time to stop communing with ghosts—time to stop pulling against Luis.
‘His mama is waiting downstairs to take you to Sao Paulo,’ Orraca said. ‘Go with her, buy the prettiest wedding outfit you can find, and marry your English gaucho. If he turns out to be no good you can always come back here and be miserable again.’
Cristina laughed. She couldn’t help it at such sober advice. Orraca just shrugged and left the room again.
Fifteen minutes later, Cristina was sitting beside her future mother in law in a helicopter, flying to Sao Paulo.
Anton watched them go from one of the windows. She would not be coming back here before they married—though Cristina didn’t know that yet, he reminded himself. Nor would she be seeing him again until they stood in front of the registrar and made their vows—if his mother got Cristina that far, that was.
He turned away from the window, a wry smile playing with the corners of his mouth. His mother was the best gentle bully he knew, but could she handle Cristina if she took fright again and decided to make a run for it?
He had Santa Rosa covered as a place to escape to, because he was staying right here until the morning they married in Rio. And Gabriel Valentim no longer held a reliable bolt-hole because the man was too much the romantic. Gabriel was so convinced that Cristina belonged with Anton that he had agreed to be his best man. And even Rodrigo Valentim had been convinced that he had Cristina’s best interests at heart.
The lawyer had listened to everything Anton had said to him this morning in Sao Paulo, and carefully read the documents he’d placed in front of him which showed that if Cristina could not be happy in their marriage then Santa Rosa would always be here for her, safe and cared for by the trust he was setting up to protect it. Then he’d played his ace card and asked Rodrigo if he would give the bride away. Recalling the way the older man had filled up, Anton was prepared to trust that Rodrigo Valentim’s home would not be a safe bolt-hole for Cristina to use either.
The Brazilian’s Blackmailed Bride - The Ramirez Brides 02 Page 15