Back in the Brazilian's Bed

by Susan Stephens

  ‘This is good, Karina.’

  Her glance flashed up to Dante.

  ‘Watch and learn, because this is exactly what I want you to re-create on my ranch.’

  ‘Carnival?’ She stared up at him in surprise.

  She couldn’t help noticing how attractive Dante looked when his lips pressed down in wry agreement. ‘I’m not asking for too much, am I?’ he probed.

  He was asking for the world—and he knew it. Carnival took a year to plan, and she had a matter of weeks.

  ‘After all, I’m paying for the best.’

  He shrugged again as he said this, and his tone of voice had changed from coaxing to rather more calculating as he added, ‘I’m paying for the best, so I expect the best.’

  ‘Of course,’ she agreed, relaxing into this return to business, even as she wondered if it could possibly last. ‘The impossible I can do.’

  ‘Miracles might take a little longer?’ he suggested. ‘You will have to work fast.’

  There was no leeway in that statement, and she prided herself on always doing the best job faster than anyone else. Dante had turned away to throw a roll of banknotes onto a passing float, reminding her that all the performers were collecting money for charity. People who often had very little themselves worked hard all year to raise money during the parade, which was what made carnival so special. Locating all the cash she had, she tossed it onto the float. She would never lose sight of what this city had done for her. Working here had saved her. The vitality and the energy of Rio de Janeiro had lifted her, giving her barely enough time to brood or think back.

  Until now. Dante would never change, she reflected as another group of dancing girls gathered around him. They were all exquisitely dressed and very beautiful, while Dante appeared like a dark pagan god in their midst. She had never felt more like a dowdy grey sparrow as she waited for him outside the circle of girls. If only she’d taken time to change out of her formal business suit, though something told her that more than the suit would have to go if she was going to do business successfully with Dante. She would have to find some of her missing joie de vivre—and stand up to him at every twist and turn.

  She gave a start when he turned to look at her. Angling her chin, she made as if to leave. She couldn’t find it in her heart to blame the girls for loving Dante when his ridiculously handsome image appeared on every Thunderbolt poster in the city, and he looked even better in the flesh, but she was determined to get on with this research project, rather than indulge his slightest whim.

  How was her determination to appear disinterested in Dante as anything other than a client going so far?

  Not so well. Dante Baracca was back in her life, whether she wanted him there or not, and now it was up to her to harness the tornado and make it co-operate with her vision of how carnival could be adapted to suit the confines of a ranch.

  ‘I’ll make sure we enjoy some quality time together so we can have a proper chat about my plans,’ Dante reassured her when he returned to her side.

  ‘My plans will take a little time to formulate,’ she responded mildly. Dante had a samba girl hanging from each arm. She made no comment when he shooed the girls away.

  ‘We will discuss my plans shortly,’ he said.

  ‘I’m prepared to consider your suggestions,’ she said, and emphasised, ‘Unless it’s your way to pay a dog and bark yourself?’

  His mouth curved in a grin. ‘This new business partnership should be interesting.’

  ‘Exactly as my brother predicted,’ she confirmed, turning away.

  ‘Your brother?’

  ‘Shall we get on? Time is short. We should head for the main square,’ she reminded him.

  Dante drew her into a doorway as the previous year’s samba queen danced past. The noise from the accompanying drums was like thunder, and for a few seconds she was glad to lose herself in someone else’s moment, but then the girl stopped to put on a special dance for Dante. A leopard never changed its spots, she mused wryly as Dante tucked a roll of notes into the waistband of the girl’s thong.

  ‘Turning into a prude, Karina?’

  ‘Miss Prim?’ she threw back at him. She shrugged and smiled as the girl with the flawless body danced on her way. ‘You do what you like. It’s nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Such a shame,’ Dante murmured, his dark glittering eyes staring deep into hers. ‘I rather thought you might keep me in line.’

  ‘I think you’d enjoy that too much.’

  His lips pressed down. ‘You never used to be such a killjoy.’

  And he was the reason she’d changed, she thought.

  No sooner had she dispensed with this latest salvo from Dante than a good-looking guy stopped in front of her and started dancing. Her first impulse was to smile and move on, but then it occurred to her that if Dante could flirt and tease without restriction, why couldn’t she?

  She was about to find out, Karina guessed. Judging by the look on Dante’s face, what was good for the goose definitely wasn’t good for the gander. Then another woman—who, having recognised him, began to dance in front of him—distracted Dante, and with a look in her direction he brought the woman into his arms. Retaliation was one thing, but she had no intention of cosying up to her own partner, and had to content herself with covertly watching Dante prove just how good a man could look when he had been born with the rhythm of Brazil in his veins.

  This was carnival where anything was possible. Yes. Dance with the devil and you would get burned, she added silently when Dante brushed against her. She knew he was teasing her deliberately, he always had, but she refused to respond and danced on, though Dante made her partner look like a beardless boy.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT WAS A RELIEF when the band for that particular float moved on and their dance partners drifted away with the rest of the crowd. She had realised by that time that she couldn’t play games with Dante because the stakes were just too high.

  ‘Why so tense?’ he demanded. ‘I brought you here to relax and take everything in. Didn’t you enjoy dancing with that boy?’

  ‘That...boy?’ she queried frowning.

  Dante shrugged. ‘I noticed you kept your distance from him.’

  ‘Are you jealous now?’

  His look made her shiver. She’d kept her distance from the youth for a very good reason. She didn’t want his hands on her. And he had been no threat, but that didn’t matter to Dante. There was still fire between them. Maybe there always would be.

  More floats arrived, swamping them in noise, colour and people, and saving her from a potentially awkward moment. The happy smiles made it impossible to remain immune to the spell woven by carnival.

  Drummers marched in front of each float, and they set up a sound that reverberated through her, making it hard to keep still. In the end she didn’t try, and it was while she was swaying to the rhythm that she carelessly backed into Dante. He grabbed her. His hands closed over her body—over a part of her body she never looked at, never showed to the world, kept hidden from everyone, and especially from him. It didn’t matter that her shame was covered by layers of clothing, that awkward stumble was all it took for her eyes to fill with tears.

  Jostling through a crowd, looking out for each other, was nothing they hadn’t done a dozen times before when they had been younger, but today everything had taken on a deeper significance. It was time to put some distance between them. Baring her soul to Dante was the last thing she wanted to do. She had kept her feelings to herself for too long to break down now.

  ‘Dance?’ he suggested, at the worst possible moment.

  Dance with him?

  Dante’s warm breath caressed her skin as he leaned closer. ‘Dance and forget everything but carnival, just as you used to.’

  Just as she used to? That wasn�
�t possible. Having Dante’s hands on her body wasn’t possible.

  ‘If you’ve forgotten how to dance, maybe you have forgotten how to inject the spirit of carnival into your projects,’ Dante suggested with narrowed eyes.

  Maybe it was the music of her youth and the fact that Dante was offering to dance with her, but more likely it was the challenge in his eyes that pressed her into doing something she had shrunk from for too long. She let herself go. Kicking off her high-heeled shoes, she took one step and then another, and soon she was dancing on the warm, dusty streets of Rio.

  Raising her arms, she swayed in time to the music, allowing the rhythm to dictate her movement. The beat was repetitive and sexy, and her hips seemed to move of their own volition. Closing her eyes, she gave herself up to the music and the sunshine. It was so easy to dance once she’d started, so easy to forget so that all she felt was the urge to live and love and laugh again, and not care about tomorrow...

  Which was exactly what had got her into trouble in the first place, she remembered, sobering up fast. ‘I think we should go now.’ Straightening her suit jacket, she dipped down to pick up her shoes.

  ‘We can’t go. Not yet,’ Dante ruled. ‘This year’s samba queen hasn’t been crowned and it would be rude to leave before that.’

  ‘People will notice if we’re not there?’ She turned to give him a sceptical look and then remembered she was talking to Dante Baracca. Dante had been spotted several times by performers on the floats, and his absence at the crowning would definitely be noted, even in a crowd this size.

  ‘If you’ve got all the information you need for the event, I can call my driver and have him take you home. Or...there is another alternative.’

  Her gaze flashed up. ‘Which is...?’

  ‘You could tell me what’s wrong with you.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’ But her cheeks had gone red, branding her a liar.

  ‘You’re starting to worry me, Karina.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you seem lost in the past.’

  ‘Are you surprised?’ she challenged, as her night with Dante came flooding back to her.

  ‘You’re holding out on me.’ Catching hold of her shoulders, he made her gasp. ‘What aren’t you telling me, Karina?’

  She wielded her willpower like never before. ‘You’re right, you should stay on for the crowning of the samba queen,’ she said calmly. ‘That’s gives me the chance to go back to the hotel so I can start putting my thoughts down on paper.’

  ‘You can stay with me and do that later.’

  He was making it impossible for her to leave without causing a scene. There was a part of her that didn’t want to leave—that wanted to make up for every moment they’d been apart. And she knew how dangerous that was. ‘I need some thinking time alone. I’d like to be organised when we meet to discuss the event.’

  ‘As I would expect,’ Dante agreed. ‘There will be plenty of time for you to do that on my ranch.’

  Her mouth dried at the thought of going to Dante’s ranch. ‘I need to work while my ideas are fresh,’ she argued. ‘You want carnival as your theme, and I’ll give you carnival, but I must make my notes before all the detail of today escapes me.’

  ‘You have all the answers, don’t you?’ Dante stared down at her. ‘Except for the one answer I want.’

  She ignored that, but not before she saw the flash of anger in his eyes. Dante liked to control everything. When she started work on his ranch she would have to make sure that Dante and his people didn’t take over. This was her contract, her reputation at stake. He played on a team. Dante should be able to work with her. But would he work on her team? Her best guess was no. She maintained a diplomatic silence as they walked on side by side to the crowning.

  The piazza where the celebration was to take place was packed. Towering walls kept in the sound and the heat, creating a dizzying counterpoint to her jangling thoughts. She had always known when she had agreed to take on this project that her biggest challenge would be Dante. They were both strong characters with set ideas of their own, but he would have to learn to compromise, just as she would have to learn to keep her thoughts confined to the job.

  ‘I’ll take you back,’ Dante insisted, when he saw her glance at a taxi rank.

  ‘I can walk.’

  ‘I won’t let you. Do you think I’m going to abandon you in the middle of the city?’

  She almost laughed. Feeling abandoned by Dante was hardly a new sensation for her.

  The crowd was thickening as people gathered to watch the ceremony, but Dante guided her safely through with his hand in a safe place in the small of her back. It was incredible that such a light touch could have such a profound effect on her body. Why could she remember his touch so clearly? Why did those hands directing her pleasure have to spring to mind now?

  Dante seemed totally at ease. He bought them both a bottle of water and a pair of flip-flops for her from a market stall so she could take off her high-heeled shoes. She groaned with pleasure as she replaced them with the simple footwear.

  ‘Please, stop,’ she begged, when he added a shawl that was billowing above them like a sail. ‘You don’t have to do this.’

  ‘But I want to,’ he argued, as he draped the soft jade-green fabric around her shoulders. When he drew it tighter over that part of her body and she flinched, he gave her a questioning stare.

  ‘I’ll need this,’ she said, gazing about to distract him. ‘The wind is cool at night.’

  Dante stared at her for a moment, and then relaxed. ‘It just reminded me of that dress you wore on your eighteenth birthday.’

  Why wouldn’t he remember? He had enjoyed sliding it off her.

  ‘Your party was themed. Arabian Nights, wasn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right. And as for that dress,’ she added with relief, glad that he’d turned from suspicion to thinking back, ‘I could hardly expect my guests to turn up in costume while I wore a suit.’

  He huffed a laugh as he scanned her office outfit. ‘I doubt you had one in your wardrobe. You didn’t dress like an undertaker back then.’

  She stroked the shawl as she remembered the soft folds of chiffon of her birthday dress beneath her hands. The outfit she had chosen to wear at her party had been floating and insubstantial...and very easy to remove.

  Time to change the theme of their conversation to a safer track. ‘I love the shawl. Thank you.’ An involuntary quiver crossed her shoulders as his hands brushed the back of her neck. He was only lifting the shawl a little higher to protect her against the wind, but it was close enough to the danger area to make tremors of an unpleasant kind run through her. And then, thankfully, a group of people recognised him and crowded around, letting her off the hook.

  ‘You’re a complex man,’ she said, when he’d signed the last autograph.

  He frowned. ‘I’m complex because I talk to people?’

  ‘You’re so generous with your time, and that’s not the image you give out with the team.’

  ‘Ah, the team.’ His dark eyes turned black with amusement. ‘The brooding and unapproachable barbarians.’ He laughed. ‘Do you think we would attract the same crowds if our publicist worked the image of clean-shaven, pipe-and-slippers men?’

  Against her better judgement, he made her laugh. ‘There’s no danger of that.’

  Their gazes lingered a little longer on each other’s faces than perhaps they should have done, and then Dante turned serious. ‘These people are my audience, Karina. Of course I respect them. I’ll always make time for them. Without them I’m nothing.’

  ‘I think you’re more than you know,’ she murmured to herself.

  She wondered again about the years they’d been apart and Dante’s meteoric rise to fame and fortune after a childhood that had been less
than perfect. His father had squandered the family fortune, by all accounts, and Dante had been proud but poor. Proud, but poor and determined, she amended. There had never been anyone like him, the rumour mill said. Dante was a natural horseman, and with his looks he had soon been inundated with requests from sponsors to become the face of first this big brand and then the next. She doubted he’d had to buy a car or a watch for years, and apart from those smaller perks the money that went with the huge deals had made him an extremely wealthy man. If Dante’s father could see him now...

  Baracca senior had been a cold, self-serving man who could always be depended upon for one thing, and that was to be dismissive and scathing about his son. He had never been interested in what the world had thought of Dante’s emerging talent because all he’d cared about had been recounting the times when he had done so much more.

  ‘Wool-gathering again?’ Dante suggested, staring keenly at her.

  ‘I was thinking about your father.’

  His expression instantly closed off, but then, to her surprise, he admitted, ‘My father was an unhappy man, who was always locked in the past.’

  Always trying to belittle him, she thought as Dante fell silent. She couldn’t bring herself to feel charitable towards a man who had been so relentlessly critical of his own son.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘IS THERE SOMETHING WRONG?’ Dante asked her, when they were sitting in the car.

  ‘I was just thinking about the logistics of accommodating thousands of people on your ranch.’

  ‘No need to worry,’ he said, cutting off her thoughts. ‘My ranch is big enough to accommodate however many people want to come—and I have the funds to support them and give them the time of their lives.’

  She knew a lot of wealthy people, but Dante’s wealth nowadays was on a different scale. Were even those even huge contracts from sponsors enough to supply an apparently bottomless pit of money?