Читать книгу Back In The Brazilian's Bed - Susan Stephens - Страница 12

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.