In Bed With the Boss: The Brazilian Boss’s Innocent MistressThe Billionaire Boss’s Innocent BrideThe Surgeon Boss’s Bride

by Sarah Morgan

She clearly had no idea what it took to walk through the jungle in the heat and humidity.

  Five minutes, he said to himself with grim satisfaction. Five minutes was all it was going to take to have her shrieking about snakes and insects and clinging to him.

  Without the heels, the suit and the lip-gloss she’d be lost and vulnerable.

  And she’d turn to him.

  And then he’d move in for the kill.

  ‘Then I will arrange it for tomorrow.’ He rose to his feet. ‘In the meantime one of the staff will escort you to a room so that you can change into something more comfortable.’

  ‘Staff?’

  ‘Of course, staff.’ He raised an eyebrow in mockery. ‘You thought this was a one-man band? You think I swing through the trees in a loincloth and eat pineapples?’

  ‘Pineapples don’t grow in the Atlantic rainforest.’

  She knew that much, then. Which was more than the previous female he’d brought here, who had clearly been painting her nails through all her geography lessons.

  ‘I keep a team of staff in all my houses. It makes my working life more efficient. Your bag has already been taken up. I’ll see you at dinner. Maria will prepare some local delicacies.’ He waited for her shiver of apprehension but she merely smiled.

  ‘Delicious. Thank you. You’re very kind.’

  Kind?

  Over the years women had called him many things but never that. Rafael searched her face for irony but saw nothing except a frank, ingenuous smile.

  The smile raked at his nerves. If she was worried then she wasn’t letting it show and suddenly he was even more determined to put a serious dent in her composure.

  By the time he’d finished with her, she wouldn’t be smiling. She’d be wet and uncomfortable, her feet would be blistered, her skin covered in insect bites and she’d think twice before she ripped anyone off again.

  But if she played her cards right, he just might be prepared to offer some physical consolation.

  Satisfied that he was well in control of the situation, he turned his attention back to the string of phone calls that were awaiting him.

  Feeling slightly shaky after her meeting, Grace followed Maria, the housekeeper, up the winding wooden stairs to her bedroom. She didn’t know whether to be relieved that her ten-minute deadline had been extended or worried that she’d be spending more time in the company of Rafael Cordeiro.

  She’d expected him to be tough and ruthless. After all, that was his reputation, wasn’t it? It was just that she hadn’t expected him to be quite so cold and intimidating.

  But it was probably her fault, she thought gloomily. After all, there was no arguing that her company accounts were less than impressive. And he wasn’t a man who made allowances for naïvety and inexperience. He wasn’t a man who made allowances for anything.

  Grace glanced upwards, wondering how far up the staircase went. To her right were windows, offering tempting views of the forest from different heights, to her left a carved wooden handrail. They seemed to be climbing up to the sky.

  At least more time would help her plead her case, she thought as she walked upwards. She’d have a chance to elaborate on all her plans for the business. Given time, she was sure that she could show him that, whatever she lacked in experience, she made up for with sheer determination and hard work.

  She’d been expecting ten minutes in which to present her case and now it seemed that she’d have considerably longer.

  She should be happy, shouldn’t she? Not nervous.

  Wondering why he’d suddenly changed his mind, she suddenly realised that they’d reached the top of the staircase. It opened straight into a large room, two sides of which were open to the forest.

  Realising that they were level with the treetops, Grace walked across to the carved wooden balcony, which prevented any occupants of the room plunging down to the forest floor. Thoroughly enchanted, she turned to the housekeeper with a smile. ‘It’s really beautiful. Like being in a tree-house.’

  A seven-star tree-house.

  Even though it had been designed to blend in with nature and provide an enviable peep into the mysteries of the rainforest, no luxury had been spared. The room was dominated by a large bed with an intricately carved headboard that demanded closer scrutiny. The cream silk sheets were topped with a velvety throw and softened by piles of cushions in myriad shades of green, which blended with the trees around. A large woven rug almost covered the wooden floor and a gentle breeze played with the filmy gauze curtains that hung in the corners of the room, more for decoration than utility.

  The woman said something in a language that Grace assumed to be Portuguese and she gave an apologetic smile, feeling thoroughly embarrassed. ‘I’m so sorry, I don’t speak a word of Portuguese.’

  ‘I said that your clothes have already been unpacked. If you need anything else, you only have to ask.’ Her voice was soft, her English heavily accented, and Grace nodded.

  ‘Thank you.’ She cast a rueful glance down at herself. ‘I’m going to change.’ She felt sticky and uncomfortable and desperate to get out of her clothes. Not that she’d brought much with her. She’d packed for two nights in Rio de Janeiro. Just long enough for her to fly out to Forest Lodge and back before catching her return flight to London.

  It hadn’t entered her head that he’d invite her to remain as his guest in the rainforest.

  She felt a burst of optimism. Wasn’t this what she’d hoped for? More time in which to persuade him to extend the loan? Well, now she had that time.

  ‘Dinner is served in two hours, on the terrace. If you would like to swim then you can use the forest pool. Take the path on your right and walk for about five minutes. When it forks, go right again.’ Maria gave her an uncertain smile. ‘If you need anything else, please call me.’

  Thinking that all she really needed was an extra dose of courage to go another round with Rafael Cordeiro, Grace smiled. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine. Thank you.’

  Deciding that the privacy of her bedroom was preferable to a pool that might have other occupants, Grace chose to ignore the offer of a swim.

  Relieved to be able to strip off the suit, she showered and washed her hair. Fortunately the potential problem of what to wear for dinner was instantly solved by the fact that, apart from a red swimming costume packed in case there was a chance to swim in the hotel pool, she only had three items at her disposal. The scratchy formal suit, which she’d taken off with a sigh of relief, the combat trousers she’d worn for the long plane journey from London to Rio and a simple linen dress, packed to give her something to wear around the hotel in Rio. Three outfits and three pairs of shoes. Remembering his comments about sex, she immediately dismissed the idea of wearing her heels. Obviously the lightweight hiking boots that she’d worn on the plane were completely unsuitable, which just left the flat ballet pumps.

  Reminding herself that she wasn’t dressing to impress the billionaire Brazilian, she slipped her feet into the pumps and reached for the dress.

  It felt wonderfully comfortable after the heavy suit and by the time she walked through the main glass atrium of Forest Lodge and onto the shaded terrace, her confidence was slightly restored. She’d cooled down and had time to think about the situation.

  Everything would be fine. She simply had to let him see her passion for the business. If he saw just how much she was prepared to give, then he’d extend the loan.

  Her confidence lasted as long as it took her to join him at the table.

  He’d changed into a dark shirt and a pair of lightweight trousers. In the fading evening light he looked masculine, sexy and totally unnerving.

  ‘Sit down. Drink? Caipirinha?’

  She looked at the fresh, exotic-looking cocktail he was drinking. ‘I’d better not.’ She smiled at Maria, who was hovering. ‘Something non-alcoholic? Juice would be lovely.’

  Rafael gave a faint smile. ‘Keeping your wits about you?’

  Grace waited until the drink was in fr
ont of her and they were alone before she replied. ‘You’re very angry with me, aren’t you?’ Hating tense atmospheres, she decided on the direct approach. ‘I know I’ve made mistakes but everyone does when they start in business.’

  ‘Do they?’ He was relaxed and in control, his handsome features displaying not a flicker of emotion, and she watched with a growing feeling of helplessness.

  How did you communicate with someone like him? Someone who lived his life through facts and numbers? Did he really feel nothing? And then she remembered his acrimonious divorce and knew that the man had to have scars. When life attacked you, it left wounds. She knew that. Is that what had happened with him? Had he learned to bear his scars and keep on walking? Had his wife’s abrupt departure stopped him feeling or had that happened long before his marriage had ended?

  ‘You’ve never made a mistake, Mr Cordeiro?’

  His mouth twisted into a cynical smile and everything about his face was suddenly brutally hard—his aggressive jaw, the glint in his eyes and the set of his shoulders. ‘Yes.’

  Grace looked at him closely, wondering.

  He’d spoken just one word and yet why did she have the feeling that the brevity of his response concealed a weight of suffering? Why did she feel that, when there was nothing about this man that suggested weakness or vulnerability? She sensed him wrestling with something deep and dark. Something he refused to surrender to. Because this man would never surrender, she knew that. He was a bare-knuckle fighter.

  ‘Well, I made mistakes, I admit that—’ she broke off and hesitated, finding it difficult to voice the truth ‘—I was foolish. Naïve. Inexperienced. Call it what you like.’

  He studied her for a long moment. ‘Naïve, foolish and inexperienced. Are those words you’re using supposed to describe yourself?’

  ‘If I did that then there’d be no chance that you’d carry on lending me the money,’ she said lightly, her eyes drawn to the strength of his forearms. ‘But they’re a fair description of the way I was five years ago when you first gave me the loan.’

  ‘How old were you?’

  ‘Eighteen. Fresh out of school.’ She said the word lightly, careful to betray nothing of the misery of her school days. ‘Why didn’t you go to university?’

  All sorts of reasons.

  Grace dropped her eyes to her plate, seeing the food for the first time. When had that arrived? It occurred to her with an uncomfortable jolt that when she was with him she didn’t actually notice anything but the man. ‘University wasn’t for me.’ Her heart rate increased as they grazed over a topic that she hated. ‘I wanted to set up the business.’ She’d needed to prove herself.

  His fingers played with the stem of his wine glass. ‘You mean you wanted to start making money.’

  Money? Grace frowned. She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t about the money. Even now, she hardly took much of a salary, choosing instead to plough her share back into the business. For her, it had never been about the money, but that sort of honest admission was unlikely to get her far with a man whose driving force was financial gain. ‘I wanted something that was mine,’ she said finally, allowing him a small slice of the truth.

  He paused as Maria added more bowls of food to the table. ‘But the business was your father’s.’

  She shook her head. ‘Not the cafés. He was importing the coffee and selling it on, but the cafés were my idea. When I left school I worked in a café for a while and I enjoyed it but there were so many things I would have done differently. I had friends at university in London who had nowhere nice to meet up during the day and that’s when I had the idea of setting up on my own. I did some research, found a run-down café that was in receivership and I bought it with a loan from the bank. I spent day and night doing it up myself because I didn’t have enough money to pay anyone else to help.’ She reached forward and helped herself to some food. ‘There were cracks in the walls that paint wouldn’t cover so I decided to cover them with huge photographs of the rainforest. The effect was amazing. Everyone used to come in and ask “where’s that?” I probably could have started up a second business as a travel agent.’ Things had seemed so uncomplicated then. She’d started off with just one objective—to impress her father.

  ‘Brazil is a beautiful country.’

  ‘Yes. And the photos made me think about the whole experience I wanted to offer. It’s quite a crowded market but most of the coffee shops in existence were targeting young mothers with children and businessmen dashing in for a quick shot of caffeine.’ She picked up her fork and frowned. ‘I wanted to create a place where students could meet up with their friends and enjoy conversation and fantastic music in a lively environment. The atmosphere was young and vibrant. We played samba music, sold Brazilian snacks. We had internet points so that the students could work while they drank their coffee.’ ‘And it was a success.’

  ‘Yes. The place was packed and our profit was amazing. It was incredibly exciting.’ ‘Making money always is.’

  Roused out of her memories by his slightly abrasive tone, she glanced at him, wondering if there was something more behind his comment, but his handsome face revealed nothing of his thoughts. Was she being over-sensitive? ‘Yes, well, that’s when I decided that we could do the same thing in other places. The bank wouldn’t lend me any more money because I was so inexperienced and they didn’t want to give too much money to an eighteen-year-old, which was when I approached your company. Because you were offering business loans to initiatives that supported Brazilian enterprise, I thought you might help us.’ And the loan his company had given her had changed her life.

  He reached for his wine glass. ‘Your first café made you a profit, no?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But now you are not in profit.’ His tone was conversational. ‘That must be very—disappointing.’

  ‘We spent too much on the refurbishment.’ Grace watched as he drank, unconsciously following the movement of his throat with her eyes. ‘I paid a building company to do what I did myself in the first café. They cost more than I’d budgeted. It was a mistake but it isn’t one I’ll make again.’

  ‘No.’ His gaze lingered on her face. ‘You won’t.’

  The tension in the atmosphere overwhelmed her and she put her fork down. ‘You’re going to say no, aren’t you? And it’s just because I haven’t increased your investment yet.’ Emotion bubbled up inside her. ‘I haven’t lost your money, either. You haven’t lost anything. You’re a billionaire—this investment is nothing to you. But it’s everything to me and the people who work for me.’ She pushed her plate away, suddenly feeling too sick to even contemplate eating. ‘Why invite me to stay and visit the coffee farm if you’re just going to say no?’

  He didn’t smile. ‘You still have time to change my mind, Miss Thacker. And I know that the family who own the fazenda would like to meet you and hear what you have to say.’

  ‘Hear what I have to say about what?’

  She stared at him, her expression blank and uncomprehending. He made it sound as though she were going to stand up and give evidence.

  ‘Your business, Miss Thacker. As they are your sole supplier, your business is their business. Your fortunes are inextricably linked.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  This man held her future in his hands and at that moment the future looked precarious. She should have been using every last ounce of brainpower to try and understand him so that she could find ways to change his mind.

  And yet she was finding it almost impossible to concentrate. Instead of being crisp and businesslike, all she could do was notice tiny irrelevant details. Like the tangle of dark chest hair just visible at the open neck of his shirt, the movement of his hands—decisive and confident. And then there was his mouth. There was something about the sensual lines of his mouth that constantly drew her attention—something wholly masculine that hinted at an extremely physical nature. Grace suddenly remembered the pilot telling her that women flocked around
him.

  At the time she’d dismissed his assessment as a natural consequence of wealth and power, but now she realised that it was something else entirely, something to do with the very essence of the man.

  Rafael Cordeiro was full-blooded Brazilian male. He throbbed with concentrated, full-on sex appeal and masculine supremacy. If he’d been penniless, women would still have flocked. And sharing the same space as him made her immediately aware of their differences. Aware of her femininity.

  She was so mesmerised by him that it was only when a cup of coffee was put in front of her that she realised that her plate had been discreetly removed.

  Forcing herself to concentrate on something other than him, she lifted the cup to her lips, sniffed and gave an appreciative sigh. No matter what the stresses, coffee always soothed her. ‘That has to be the best smell in the world.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so. That coffee comes from the local fazenda that supplies your business.’

  She sipped. ‘It’s delicious.’ Perhaps the owners of the fazenda would add their plea to hers because if her business closed down then they’d have to find a new buyer for their coffee. ‘I’m really looking forward to my visit.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Well—’ she placed the cup back down on the table ‘—we seem to have spent the entire evening talking about me, which is very boring. What about you? Were you born and bred in Brazil?’

  ‘I don’t understand what possible relevance my heritage can have on the survival of your business,’ he said softly, his accent strangely thickened. ‘Take my advice and concentrate on the things that matter.’

  ‘I just wondered about you, that’s all.’

  ‘I never talk about myself. Remember that.’ He rose to his feet in a lithe movement and she had the distinct impression that her simple question had troubled and unsettled him.

  ‘Why? Because if I find something out you’d have to kill me and then eat me?’ She made the joke in a pathetic attempt to raise a smile from him but there was nothing in his face that wasn’t bleak, dark and cynical and Grace allowed her own smile to die. ‘I’m not a journalist or a gossip, Mr Cordeiro. And I don’t think any of the tabloid newspapers would be interested in my visit to your lodge.’