Page 1 of Brazilian Revenge

Chapter One

“You weren’t kidding when you said this was high profile.” Satyanna stepped into the huge, gorgeous ballroom, her stomach fluttering. The organizers of the Copacabana Palace Gala Ball, which was held before the Brazilian Carnival, had pulled out all the stops. Harry had told her the theme was fairy tales, and he’d been able to buy her a luxurious, if outrageous, costume in time.

“No. Just the way I like it, my dear,” he said with his prim British accent as he winked at her. Well, fake British accent. She had always doubted whether he hailed from across the pond, as his elegant drawl had become less enunciated over the years. Who was able to fake a freaking accent for a whole lifetime? “Let’s mingle.” He led her through the crowd, and her eyes feasted on the extravagant decorations and the sparkling chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Tons of shiny, velvety, citrus-colored fabric adorned the walls, and dim lighting gave the ambience a sensual vibe. Not that it was quiet; the drums from the samba music made the dance floor hum, and the closer she got to the band, the faster her heart raced.

Maybe it was just because of Harry. A new beginning. “Do we have to mingle?” She raised her voice. “I thought we could hang out.” Like you promised, when you invited me on this trip.

Things would be different, wouldn’t they? Even though they hadn’t really talked in the past few years. “That’s what we’re doing, darling.” Her father figure pursed his lips. “Doesn’t mean I can’t network.”

Network? A shiver of fear surged through her. “If you’re doing anything illegal while we’re here, I’m out.” She squared her shoulders, and even though he couldn’t see part of her face because the veil covered her mouth, she frowned. Damn Scheherazade costume. “You promised me—”

“I promised you this trip would mark a new beginning for us, Satyanna. And despite any mistakes I’ve made in the past, I always keep my promises,” he said.

True. He had promised to help her out of the youth house when she’d been a teenager, and he had done it. He had promised to find her birth parents if she helped him on a con artist scheme that still haunted her conscience—and damn it, he’d done that too, even though she dreaded what she found out.

Her heart shrank to the size of a pearl, and it was as if she were a scared child instead of a twenty-five-year-old woman. New beginnings. If Harry was the only family life had given her, she had to give him a second chance. Or a third.

“Good,” she said and smoothed her hand over her sultry, silky costume. She hoped the Swarovski beads on her top would distract people from the fact that it was cropped and exposed her stomach. The flowing pants compensated for this, although the rich material was sexy in its own right. She kept touching it to feel the softness against her palms.

“I’ve followed your advice and stayed away from illicit activities.” He grinned. “Besides, you should take advantage of this opportunity, too. Didn’t you bring that nifty camera along?”

She smiled. “It’s in the hotel safe.” Truth was, she couldn’t wait to go out and explore Rio de Janeiro and its surroundings. Capturing the raw beauty would be a great way to jump-start her professional career in photography.

“But you’re here. Let’s enjoy, Satyanna. You’ve been studying a lot. You deserve it.”

She made a face. “Fine.”

“You also deserve that hunk over there,” Harry said, pointing to a tall, gorgeous man across the room. Even though the sexy stranger had on a flawless black tie, his chestnut hair was ruffled as if he had raked his hands through it one too many times. She watched his face, and even from afar, there was no doubt that a five o’clock shadow covered his square jaw. Interesting. “Actually, I take it back. I deserve him, although I doubt he’ll go for a sixty-year-old gay man.”

“I agree with you there.”

“Oh, well. Let’s learn the samba, shall we?” He extended his hand. She glanced at it before taking it in hers and following him onto the dance floor. Professional dancers mingled amongst the partygoers, and a sea of sequins, feathers, and sparkles overwhelmed her sight. Laughing, she tried to keep up with the rhythm, but there was no way her ass was gyrating like the local women’s. She couldn’t remember the last time her behind had experienced any type of action.

Her gaze strayed across the ballroom, and her heart skipped a beat as she searched for Mr. Hotness. He wasn’t where he had been before. Of course. Some lucky lady had probably snatched him up. She eyed Harry, who was following a male dancer’s every step closely even though he had no hip action. Harry winked at her, and she sighed. Good thing they each had their own hotel room. The only father she’d ever had wasn’t just a recovering con artist, he was also a shameless slut.

She smiled. Well, time to feast on the fabulous buffet.

The food stations were no ordinary affair. Lines of people stood to try the mouthwatering canapés, tender meats, and sugarcoated desserts. She reached to the end of the line and looked around her. At times like this, she wished she could offer more than a mere greeting in Portuguese. Maybe she could make small talk with other tourists.

Peering away from the band, she focused on the folks strolling to the balcony. Hello, Mr. Hotness. A lump formed in her throat the instant her eyes—her body—recognized the man Harry had pointed out minutes ago. She parted her lips and clenched her clutch against her body as if she could use it as a shield against her quickly hardening nipples. Instant attraction. This had to be it. She looked over in Harry’s direction again and found him dipping his head to whisper something into the younger guy’s ear. How the hell did he do it? Shaking her head, she brought her attention back to the man who had unsettled her serenity.

Silly small talk was harmless, right? Maybe the guy didn’t even speak English, which would bring things to a stop quickly and spare her the embarrassment. Before she thought things through, she found herself walking toward him, even though her knees weakened a bit more with each step.

What the hell?She had dated before and even had a boyfriend or two while studying at the New York City Photography Institute. This…by the time she made it to his side, she still had no fucking idea what she was going to say. He held a tumbler that was half filled with ice and some sort of alcoholic drink. Up close, he was bigger and taller, even though she stretched to her full five feet nine inches. His profile was intense, his eyes looking above even though there was nothing but a cloudless sky sprinkled with stars. The music from the dance floor faded into the background, and she inhaled. The man was completely content with being on his own, and this fascinated her, even though she couldn’t quite understand the sentiment—not after a life of being on her own for the most part.

She felt an unfamiliar throbbing sensation in her heart; it surged all the way down between her legs. “What are you supposed to be?” she asked him. He turned to look at her, and she noticed that his eyes were a gorgeous hazel—cinnamon with a hint of gold.

“Excuse me?” he asked without a smile and lifted his glass before taking a swig.

“Your costume,” she said, pointing at him. She lifted her hand to keep him from speaking. “No. Don’t say it. Let me guess. A mysterious guest. Perhaps a party crasher who stole some rich guy’s black tie.”

He chuckled, and the sound was masculine, hearty, and infectious. The planes of his face softened a bit, and she almost reached for his drink to have a shot, because she needed something to settle her nerves. “Go on,” he said, with a heavily accented voice.

“You used someone’s suite, maybe even a deluxe one. But you were afraid they’d return, which is why you didn’t have time to shave.” She pointed at his face. “Your hair is messy. You’re worried about something. Perhaps someone stood you up.”

He offered her a half smile. “Who would that person be?”

She leaned in. “A woman. A woman who likes to keep you on your toes.”

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