Page 22 of Brazilian Revenge

Satyanna blinked a couple of times, as if to make sure she heard him correctly. A lovely flush spread across her cheeks. Did she think he was about to seduce her?

“Don’t worry. There’s no sex,” he said.

Her blush deepened, but at least she had some color on her face. At last she moved and got on the bed, but instead of lying on her back she kept her body sideways as her head fell on the pillow. He pulled the sheet and covered her. They would need that thin layer of fabric to keep their skin from touching.

He molded his body behind hers, and snaked an arm over her side. She was tense; he didn’t need to touch her neck to feel its stiffness. Her shoulders went so rigid they stretched the fabric of the nightgown. He caressed her bare arm, sliding his fingers up and down her prickled flesh. “My mother had lupus when I was a teenager. She was always sick, and we didn’t have much money. In the beginning, I would go to her bed and hug her like this.”

She sagged into him, and he sighed with relief. Finally, she was relaxing, and his plan was working. “I’m sorry. Must have been hard for a teen to deal.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t mind,” he said, and his voice was carried by an emotion so raw he had to swallow hard—twice—to keep from choking. He held her tighter, and he caught himself breathing into her hair. The blend of warm vanilla with some spicy notes played with his nostrils. “I’ll be here until you fall asleep.”

She yawned. “You’re not.”

“Excuse me?”

“You said you were being selfish in the library. You’re not selfish.”

He opened his mouth, but hesitated. This should be when he should say that he, too, hadn’t been sleeping after sex. While she was haunted by old memories and a sad past, the recent events had taken a toll on his conscience. He had been selfish—and he was still being. After all, wasn’t he hugging her to put her to sleep so he could feel better about what had happened? “I’m no saint.”

Another yawn. “I like that about you,” she said, and in a couple minutes, he heard her sound asleep.

…

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” she asked him.

Leonardo clenched his fingers on the steering wheel of the sedan he rented. He could easily have requested a driver, but he was adamant on doing this his way—and involving the least amount of people. What he couldn’t deal with as easily was the woman in the passenger seat, and the bidden memories from the previous night.

Images popped in his mind as they had during their three-hour flight into the private airfield in the state of Maranhão. Ever since the moment they ate a quick breakfast before dashing out of his duplex back in Rio, he’d avoided talking to her at all costs. Nothing more than strictly necessary. Why give her the wrong impression? They had given in to that crazy attraction, then he soothed her in a time of need. That was it.

The sun almost blinded him, and he fixed his black sunglasses.

“I punched the address on the GPS,” she said, waving his iPhone. “Here. Take a left on the next road.”

“I didn’t ask you to do it.”

“You’ve been grumpy since you woke up, and one of us had to make decisions that gets us there faster,” she said matter-of-factly. “I want to see my daughter.”

He peered at the GPS and watched the road again. The streets were narrower, and trees bordered both sides. It’d been a while since he’d visited the Northeast. The beachy metropolitan vibe of Rio was quite different than this. There were enormous palm trees every so often and hard-working folks selling pineapple and other fruits on stands by the road. “Our daughter.”

She shifted on her seat until she could stare at him without restrictions, her arms folded. Something told him she wasn’t about to compliment him. “Have you realized that whenever you talked about Lyanna, you say ‘my daughter,’ but whenever I say ‘my daughter’ you correct me?”

He cleared his throat. Of course he had. If—no, when—they found Lyanna, he would have a lot to make up for. Only a few months had kept him from her. Yet any other father would have been in a clear advantage. One of the things he’d deal with was figuring out exactly how he’d proceed as far as Satyanna was concerned. After the previous night, his mind was playing tricks on him. Was she the damaged orphan who had mixed up with the wrong guy…or the shrewd woman who had gotten pregnant by a millionaire? “Yeah.”

She shrugged. “Interesting. I guess you will be a good father.”

He lowered his glasses so he could look her in the eye. Since they were on the subject, the best thing was to be honest. “I’ll be a great one. But, listen, I don’t want to give you the wrong idea after last night.”

He expected her to give him some smart-ass retort. Her lips would clamp shut maybe. What surprised him was the chuckle that parted from her lips. “No, I think you’ve been going out of your way to prove that point.”

His gut clenched. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry.”

She flashed him an easy smile. “No need. Last night we needed each other. Don’t worry, I won’t write your name on a piece of paper and draw hearts around it. I understand,” she said, as if he had canceled on dinner plans.

“Good.”

“As long as you treat me as an equal,” she said, her voice a tad more commanding. “As someone who is invested in finding our daughter and dealing with the consequences of what happened. Not as if you’re doing me a favor by letting me tag along.”

He drew in a breath. Damn. Didn’t she have a point? If they were going to do this together, he needed her. In the near future, she’d be the bridge to get to Clemonte and his stolen sculpture. And he would do that, even if he spent a lifetime trying. And now he needed her to find his daughter. Run some blood exams to make sure Lyanna was his. Or, like she preferred to say, theirs. He counted her also to find the nurse. Yes. As much as Satyanna was a dangerous liability…for the time being, he needed her. “Okay.”

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