“I’m waiting for your answer,” he said.
I dropped my chin and studied the pavement beneath the high heel of my shoe, amazed I was no longer the twenty-nine-year-old virgin. He lifted my chin with his hand, and as he met my gaze, I decided he had a scowl to die for. I wanted to break his spell, because I knew better than to expect anything from this man, and totally believed the smartest thing I could do, would be walk away. Nevertheless, I couldn’t. I was powerless to do anything other than nod my head and wish for one more caress from the handsome man, who less than an hour ago had been so profoundly deep inside of me.
Chapter One
“Send Luci.” I overheard Roth Steinbeck, one-half of Steinbeck and Rollins say. “She’s single and can afford to be away from home.”
In the next moment I saw Jude Rollins step out from the open doors of his plush office.
“Luci,” he said. “Just the person I was looking for. Steinbeck and I were alerted of a potential issue by the majority stockholder of the Copa in Rio. Uh, you are aware we do quite a bit of work for the Copa since Mr. Bellini lives part-time in New York, correct?”
“Yes, sir. I assisted Jon with some of their ledgers last summer.”
“Oh, good,” he said. “Mr. Bellini believes there is a problem with the figures, and asked that we send someone to take a look at the books.”
“Ah,” I said.
“It’s a big account, and will probably take a few weeks to sort it all out.”
“I’m sure you’re correct.”
“We thought you might be able to go.”
If I ever wanted to get ahead, and perhaps see my name as a partner in one of the biggest business management and accounting firms in New York, I had no choice but to get my ass on the first plane out of LaGuardia.
“No problem, Mr. Rollins.”
“Excellent! Have Cal set you up with an expense account, and head out a.s.a.p.”
“I will, and I’ll try to catch a flight for Rio this evening.”
“Wonderful. Steinbeck and I knew we could count on you, Luci.”
I figured the only thing they really counted on was the fact I wouldn’t put up a fuss being away from home since I had no one special that I would be leaving behind, but like it or not, I’d try to overlook the truth of the matter, and take it as a compliment.
“Thank you for the vote of confidence.”
Mr. Rollins bobbed his chin.
“Listen, Luci. If you do find a problem, Steinbeck and I want to know where it originated from, especially if there was an error on our end.”
“Of course,” I said.
“And remember, no matter what you find, problem or not, discretion is of the utmost importance. Mr. Bellini is not only one of our clientele with billion dollar holdings, but he has a lot of important connections that also generate major income for our firm. ”
“I will only report my findings to you and Mr. Steinbeck.”
“Good girl,” he said. “If there is an issue on our accounting end, diplomacy is the answer, and Steinbeck and I will handle it.”
I nodded. Then Mr. Rollins turned and sauntered away with his hands tucked inside the front pockets of his expensive navy blue, pinstriped trousers.
****
After a daunting taxi ride from the airport, I headed into the glamorous, art-deco building known as the Copa, where a young looking bellboy wearing a uniform and nametag that read Alejandro assisted me with my luggage by carrying it to the front desk.
“Hello,” I said to the slim, dark-haired lady behind the marble counter. “I’m Luci Karins, from Steinbeck and Rollins.”
“Yes, Ms. Karins. We have been expecting you,” she said, then typed away on a keyboard. “Mr. Bellini said to place you in one of our suites.”
“That was very kind of him. Is Mr. Bellini available so I may introduce myself, and thank him for the accommodations?”
“No. I’m sorry. He is unavailable.”
“That’s all right. I understand he’s probably a busy man.”
“Here’s your key,” she said as she slid it across the counter, pushing it with the tips of her fingers toward me. “Take the elevator to the sixth floor. Alejandro will take your luggage up for you. And if you need anything at all, please call our twenty-four-hour concierge service.”
I took the key. “Thank you.”
“Perhaps you would like to order dinner.”
“I may,” I said.
“In your suite, you will find information to order from our in house cafe, along with many local delivery options.”
“Okay.”
“Have you been here before?”
“No.”
“It can be a bit overwhelming especially so close to carnival.” She waved her hand. “Travel slows down to a crawl due to all the people,” she clarified.
I nodded. “Yes. I experienced some of those issues during the ride from the airport.”
“If you decide you wish to see what Rio has to offer, I’ll be happy to find someone to accompany you as a tour guide.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I have a lot to do while I’m here, and I don’t know if I will have the time to fit in any sightseeing.”
The lady nodded, solemnly.
“There is one thing I might need assistance with, though.”
“Of course,” she said.
“I’ll need to have access to your main accounting office tomorrow morning.”
“It has all been arranged. When you come downstairs in the morning, have one of the front desk staff call for Luis Franco. He will have a pass key for accounting, and will make sure you gain entry.”
“Will I be able to meet with Mr. Bellini tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid not, Ms. Karins. Mr. Bellini is away from the hotel in preparation for carnival next week.”
“Oh. I see.”
“If you require anything, Luis will assist you. He’s the floor manager of the Copa.”
“Okay. Thank you for your help.”
The lady smiled. “You are welcome, Ms. Karins. We here at the Copacabana hope you find your stay enjoyable, and all of us are at your disposal to help in any way we can.”
I turned to see Alejandro, still waiting patiently off to my left. “Well, should we head on up to my room?”
He grinned so big, that for a moment all I saw was the dazzling pearly white of his teeth shining in contrast against the beautiful mocha color of his skin. “Ready, Ms.”
****
Day one and I was up and prepared to rock and roll by 8:00 a.m. My long sandy-blonde hair had been pulled up into a judicious twist, and my sensible black slacks with a black and white Ralph Lauren short-sleeved blouse hopefully gave the impression I was all business. I located Luis, and made myself at home in accounting. Before I knew it, my day had dwindled away, hidden in a back office at the Copacabana Palace, completely buried nose high in numbers. I had hoped to be able to do a speedy appraisal of the situation, but it was clear this was going to be a long, grueling examination. After doing a quick once over of their reconciliations, and general ledgers, I could already tell I would be requesting more information from their accounting database as I glanced over their current monthly P&L spreadsheets.
“I need to see your profit/loss figures from the beginning of your fiscal year, until now,” I said to Trevor, the accounting office assistant and currently my assistant during my audit of the hotel.
“It will take me a moment to pull them up on the database and print them out for you, Ms. Karins.”
“Thanks. I also want to take a look at the purchases for the year, along with payroll earnings. And while we’re at it, go ahead and pull the figures for the general operating expenses and all account-to-account transfers for the year.”
“Coming up,” he said.
I set the documents I’d been studying aside. “I think I need to take a break, grab a coffee, and look at something other than bar graphs and number lines for a few moments, or I might go cross-eyed.
”
“You do that,” he said.
“Can I bring you anything?”
“No. I’m good. I had a late lunch.”
“All right. When you finish gathering what I need, will you place all the printouts on my desk?”
“Sure will,” he said.
“And since it’s getting late, once you’re done, you go on home for the evening, and I’ll see you again in the morning.”
“You’re not going to pull an all-nighter, are you?”
“No, but I’m fairly positive I’ll be burning the midnight oil for a while.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and help out?” Trevor asked.
“No. You go home and get some rest. I’ll be fine.”
Chapter Two
A week later, I was in the home stretch. I had a few more documents to go over, but found where there had been a handwritten error in an account-to-account transfer that had not been logged properly into their accounting software. As a result, when all the data was electronically transmitted to Steinbeck and Rollins to compile year-end reports for the stockholders, 1.2 million dollars had been unaccounted for in the Copa’s operating expenses. I was working on an amended year-end report, and if things went well, I’d be on a plane, headed back to home-sweet-home.
After sending the revised files to my New York office, and speaking with both Mr. Steinbeck and Mr. Rollins via the phone, they were pleased the error was on the Copa’s end. I explained to them everything I had done, and we went over the highlights of the adjusted reports. They agreed with my recommendation to meet with the head of the accounting department at the Copa, and put some checks and balances in place for handwritten journal entries before I called it a day. I was to assist the Copa accounting staff with anything they needed, make sure everyone was on the same page, and then I could go home.
I tried to schedule an all-staff meeting with accounting, but I wouldn’t be able to accomplish that necessary gathering until tomorrow, since two of the staff were out for the day. With time on my hands, I decided to treat myself. Maybe when the sun went down, and it hopefully became cooler, I’d actually leave the confines of the hotel. It was a beautiful facility, but being locked away in an office, wasn’t really experiencing all the Copa or Rio had to offer.
It was past time for a splurge, so I committed to undergo a facial, a mani-pedi, and a deep tissue massage, prior to heading back to my room to take a long overdue afternoon catnap. I can’t even remember the last time I considered taking a nap in the middle of the day, but I intended on enjoying every last minute of my snooze time.
Needing the exercise, I avoided the elevator and took the stairs. It really was a workout, and I’m pretty confident that I was huffing like a winded cow by the time I stared my room door down like it were the oasis that had been hidden from me.
“Where have you been my whole life?” I said, as I entered my room and made a beeline, first for a bottle of water from the mini bar, and then gulped it as I headed for the comfort of the bed. “What in the heck?” There was a garment bag with a gold insignia that indicated it came from a boutique shop, sprawled over the divan in the living room that stopped me dead in my tracks. Placing my almost empty water bottle on one of the side tables, I unzipped the bag. “Holy, shit!” I was staring at a little black dress. I wondered if someone was somewhere inside my suite. “Hello?” I called out, but I didn’t hear a thing. I stared back at the dress, then pulled it out of the white bag.
There I was, puzzled, standing like an idiot, glaring at a piece of clothing that I didn’t buy. When I started to remove it from the hanger, something brushed against my hand. Instead of a sales tag dangling, it was a handwritten note.
Ms. Karins.
I’m in your debt. Thank you for discovering our error,
and for your hard work and dedication. I hope you
find someplace terrific in Rio to wear this. So
go out and have some fun. It is carnival, after all.
Your humble servant,
Raphael Antonio Bellini
I’d never met Mr. Bellini, and to my knowledge he hadn’t been in the Copa while I was going over the books. By his note, it was obvious that Steinbeck and Rollins had already spoken to him, but what was really baffling was the size of the dress. 14 was on the inside label. How in the Sam Hill did Mr. Bellini know I wore a size fourteen?
****
After a sleepless nap, a long, hot bubble bath, and the application of my make-up, I put on the dress. It fit as best as I could tell, since I avoided the mirror. If I resembled a hoochie, I really didn’t want to know. If there’s one thing I learned long ago, it’s that sometimes, ignorance is bliss.
Chapter Three
Mesmerized. That’s the only word to describe how I felt weaving my way through the crowds at carnival. Even on the sidewalks, people were dancing to the beat of the music coming from the differing bands, while over-the-top floats, and scantily clad or even topless dancers sambaed down the main drag. Women in all the colors of the rainbow shook everything the good Lord gave them, and did it while wearing feathered costumes, and huge headpieces festooned in jewels. Red. Gold. Green. Purple. Blue. No color was left out when it came to the decorations on the floats or the people. My gawking ended when I accidentally bumped into someone, but I noticed the scent of exotic flowers more than I noticed anything else about them. The intoxicating smell blended into the other perfumed and glittered bodies that were continuously in motion, then dissipated quickly.
In an attempt to forgo some of the oncoming waves of people, I ducked down a side street. It too was simply overflowing with a busting population. The beat of the night continued as I walked, until I heard something different. It was the sound of someone playing Spanish guitar. I drifted toward the sound, and the music became more prominent to my ear. A few more steps and I was standing in the open doorway of what looked to be a shanty bar. Like a moth to a flame I seemed to gravitate toward the make-shift stage, were a man was playing. His large hands looked too big to be able to pluck the strings on that instrument in such an expert way, and the quickness of his nimble fingers surprised me.
I could feel the passion of the music he was playing, as if he were strumming every chord from somewhere within me. I was so taken in by this talented stranger, that it wasn’t until he played his second piece I observed the man behind the instrument. His dark hair fell in waves down to his shoulders, and as he continued to play, his face showed just as much passion and expression as the notes that filled the bar.
I studied him, intrigued. He was seated on a barstool, with one booted foot on the peeling, painted surface of the stage, while the other was perched upon the metal pedal of the stool. He was wearing black jeans riddled with holes, with a black shirt, which he wore unbuttoned. His muscled chest was splattered in a light cover of dark black hair which partly obscured his cinnamon-infused skin. He was playing with his eyes closed, but his lashes were thick and black, and his facial features were stunning.
It didn’t take long before the people crowded in around him, their drinks of choice in hand. Women and men danced with each other, while other single women swayed to the rhythm on their own, needing no one to be a partner while they demonstrated their own unique versions of an erotic slow dance.
Without removing my eyes from him, I shuffled to the bar and took a seat. He played three more songs then stopped. When he got up from his seated position, he leaned his old, worn guitar against the rusty, corrugated metal wall. As he stepped off the stage, the crowd encircled him, and for a moment, I lost sight of him.
I about choked when I realized he was standing right in front of me.
“Hello,” he said as he pulled his hair back and secured it into a ponytail with a rubber band he had tugged off his wrist. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you in here before.”
It took me a second to realize I needed to answer him. I’d been riveted to the dark strand of hair he missed. It twisted down his right cheek, and
past his chin, highlighting the cut to his cheekbone and masculine line of his jaw.
“No. This is my first trip to Rio,” I managed to say.
“Ah. And what do you think of our fine city?”
“There’s an awful lot of people,” I said.
He smiled, accentuating his stupendously sexy mouth.
“So you come from a small town?”
“No. New York.”
One dark eyebrow rose. “But isn’t New York full of inhabitants?”
“Yes, but not quite like Rio during carnival,” I said.
He tilted his head. “I was going to order a bowl of feijoada, would you care for some?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what feijoada is.”
My stranger glanced over his shoulder and spoke to the man behind the bar. But I had no idea what he told him since he spoke in Portuguese.
“So tell me, beautiful lady with the startling blue eyes.” I almost fell off my barstool when he called me a beautiful lady. And then I realized he noticed the color of my eyes. “What brings you here? You don’t seem the party type who comes to carnival to blow off steam.”
“Work,” I said.
“What do you do?”
“It’s boring.”
“I doubt anything that falls from those luscious lips could be considered boring if you speak of it.”
I’m unsure if I blushed, but I was getting hotter by the moment, and I don’t think it had anything to do with the weather, or the lack of air circulating through the bar.
“Well, trust me. What I do is boring to most people.”
“All right,” he said, then we were interrupted by a portly man slinging two bowls of something down in front of us.
“What is this?”
“Think of it as a meat stew. It’s made with pork and black beans.”
“Oh.”
“Why are you scrunching up your nose in distaste?”
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