Page 2 of Brazilian Revenge

“Maybe she will meet me with our new passports before we fly off somewhere,” he said, his eyes watching her as if she would escape from him otherwise.

“In that case, I better introduce myself before she gets here. Satyanna Darling.” She offered him her hand, but in typical Brazilian style he gave her a kiss on both cheeks. The kiss was nothing more than it should have been, but, oh, it unleashed a part of her that she had no idea had been suppressed until then.

He disengaged and squared his shoulders, and a draft of cold air replaced the heat that swirled around her during their brief touch. “Leonardo Duarte. Who are you supposed to be?”

“Queen Scheherazade,” she said, removing the veil and stuffing it in her clutch.

“Never heard of her,” he said with a shrug.

She leaned back a bit, her hands perched on her waist. Sure, he was a guy, but hadn’t he done his basic fairy tale homework before attending the party? Although, it wasn’t as if her tale was as pure as some other stories. “Seriously? You never heard tales from One Thousand and One Nights?”

He shook his head. “Enlighten me.”

“There was a king who didn’t trust women after his wife cheated on him. Every day he married a different virgin, and after having sex with her, he killed her the next day so she would never be another’s. Then, they ran out of virgins, and a woman named Scheherazade volunteered to be his wife.”

“How did that turn out?”

“At the end of the night, she told him a story but left out the end. He didn’t kill her because he wanted her to finish it. From then on, every night, she would tell him a story and make him wait until the next day to hear the end. After one thousand and one nights, he fell for her and spared her life.”

A seemingly endless silence stretched between them, and he stared deep into her eyes. The air disappeared from her lungs, and she clasped the balcony railing to make sure the experience was really happening. She was super turned on by a virtual stranger, and judging by the darkening of his eyes, he was, too. “Smart woman. And, from the looks of it,” he added, his gaze sliding down her neckline and toward her breasts, “very beautiful.”

Her sex clenched. “Did you come alone?” she asked, angry at the urgency in her own voice. What if a gorgeous woman materialized in front of them, asking for him? Best to know now.

“Sim. My sister made me get out of the house.”

I should send her flowers and a thank-you note.“Why is that?”

“She’s a worrier,” he said and raked his fingers through his hair. A sigh left his lips, and he glanced down. “My…father is sick.”

“Oh. I’m very sorry.”

He cleared his throat and then opened his mouth to say something, but just shook his head. Biting her lower lip, she pondered. She curled her fingers into a ball, trying to stop herself from reaching out to him and offering him a hug or squeezing his shoulder. “I guess cancer kills any flirtatious conversation, doesn’t it? Hence me not going out much these days.”

“Seems like you’re a good son. That’s hardly a deal breaker in my book,” she said.

He raised his brow. “I do what I can. You know how it is.”

“I don’t, actually. I’m an orphan.” The words spilled from her lips before she thought them through. Shit. The last thing she’d wanted was to play the sympathy card. There was something about him, though, that compelled her to talk about herself—and to want to know more about him.

He observed her. “I’m sorry.”

Why was he sorry? Not having a family sucked, but she guessed her life would have turned out worse if the lady—she used the term loosely—who had given birth to her hadn’t lost her parental rights when she was four. Or if she hadn’t been harassed by her stepfather once her adoptive mother, Carol, died. Enough of that. “See? Now that we’ve peppered in some backstory and gotten that out of the way, how about going back to flirting?”

“I like your style, Satyanna Darling.” He touched her pants, his finger rubbing the silky fabric. She was sure Harry had dropped a small fortune on it, because even though it was far too sexy and revealing, the texture of the fabric and the elaborate jewelry on the golden belt left no doubt that it was expensive. The warmth from his hand seeped through the material, and her body signaled more commands than an air-traffic controller: Touch him. Kiss him. Screw him. “And your costume.”

She licked her lips. “What are you drinking?”

He lifted his square glass. “Caipirinha.”

“Caipi what?” she asked, even though she had heard about the lemon-flavored cocktail fueled by a Brazilian liquor.

“Caipirinha,” he repeated, unfazed by her presence. “I’ll give you a taste.”

She couldn’t help but gape at him as he lifted the glass to his sensual, curled lips. There wouldn’t be much left after he took a drink, but she realized that his sharing his caipirinha was a different idea altogether when he pinned her to the spot with his sinful eyes.

As if in a trance, her lips parted, and she took such a deep breath that if her top had busted open, it wouldn’t have been a surprise. He tipped her chin upward with his index finger, and the modest touch sent raging desire through her. There was no escaping. He dipped his head, and as if in slow motion, she began to notice the delightful sensations swirling inside her. Her nipples pebbled, and a heat wave shot through her sex. The anticipation was a turn on, but would he live up to the hype?

His lips covered hers, and she opened her mouth to grant him full access. The feel of his stubbled skin against hers belted an electrifying tingle through her. Her breasts were full and heavy. A passionate, demanding kiss followed, and she wrapped her arms around him for more support. He pulled her closer, eliminating any distance between them. Never in her life had she been the hostage of such an enthralling attraction.

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