by Rachel Lyndhurst; Carmen Falcone; Ros Clarke; Annie Seaton; Christine Bell
Sitting next to the man whose ambitions could crush her goal, in reality, differed.
Bruno gave her a once-over and leaned closer. She lifted her hand to touch her heated cheeks, but self-awareness prevented her from acting like a teenager on her first date, and she tucked her unruly hair behind her ear. “I wouldn’t peg you for a Cosmopolitan reader.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“A little bit of both.” The bartender brought her drink, and, before she reached for her bag, and with a simple nod, Bruno instructed Roy to add it to his tab.
Mumbling a thanks, she lifted the glass to her lips. The plan to just pretend she was drinking to not let alcohol distract her flew out the window. She savored the exquisite liquid soothing her, the notes of mint and vodka coating her dry throat.
“Can I try it?” he asked.
“I don’t know…” She sat the drink on the counter and twirled a curl around her finger. “Just because you bought me a drink, that doesn’t mean I’ll let you have a sip.”
He gave both sides a glance, then dipped his head lower, and she froze. The man wasn’t just eye candy, he was the whole freaking candy shop. “I’ll let you drink mine if you let me drink yours,” he whispered, and a path of goose bumps rose on her arms.
How bad could a little scotch be? She reached to his drink and, grabbing her straw from hers, stuck it inside the smoky amber liquid, pretty sure he’d be appalled as to why someone would sip whiskey with a straw. A scorching ball of smoke invaded her throat, and she clamped her lips shut and swallowed it hard.
“What does that say about me?”
She angled toward him, propping her elbow on the counter to distract him from what she was about to do. With the other hand, she sneakily snapped open the vial in her purse and held it upright. “You’re stubborn.”
He winked. “Motivated.”
“You have someone stand in line for you every time the latest iPhone comes out.”
She erased the distance between them, crashing into that bubble of charisma and masculinity around him. This is it. Now.
“Wrong. I have it delivered before it hits the stores.” He caught a curl of her hair and gently pulled it, his index finger toying with the tight tip. She smothered a gasp, her head bobbing toward him.
No. Upping her game, she shredded the invisible line she was about to cross and held him captive with her gaze. “You have a personal trainer who has his own reality show.” Her snarky remark somehow turned into the sexy drawl of a woman with much more sexual confidence. Certainly, not her. He licked his lips, and she bit the inside of her cheek. The image of his mouth crushing hers flooded her mind. Then, quickly, she ripped it to a million pieces. Erika Lancaster, bless her, had fallen prey to Bruno’s undeniable charms. She, however, had experienced real love from a caring man, and she knew the difference.
She slipped the liquid into his scotch, the longest second of her life, and tossed the empty vial in her bag. At last, she straightened her shoulders and shuffled an inch or two away from him.
“No personal trainer. I like to take care of my own workout, and I prefer to do things other than just lifting weight. Like swimming, running, and—”
“Boxing?”
“Let’s go with boxing.” A smile capable of making a nun doubt her vows spread across his face. “Let me try yours.” She slid her glass across, and he took a drink.
“Well?”
“Unexpected. Refreshing.”
“You make me sound like the last can of Sprite in a picnic luncheon.”
“Nothing like that.” He leaned over her, his lip brushing her hair. An automatic charge electrified her scalp. “I think Green Temptation suits you. I assumed you had baby blues. I was wrong.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“You’re far from a disappointment.” He stroked her cheeks and lifted her chin. She shuddered. “They sparkle with intensity, like green diamonds.”
She swallowed. “I can’t believe a smooth talker like you hasn’t been snatched up already. Unless, of course, you’re spoken for?”
“I speak for myself. And as of right now, free as a bird.” He gulped down a bit, and she had to fight her shoulders from sagging. Not only was he a man with no concern for people in worse situations than he, Bruno was a liar. A cheater. Did his wife-to-be know he was flirting with a stranger just hours from his marriage? Or was this a one-man’s bachelor’s party?
“Interesting.” She breathed. “I take it, then, this is your usual spot before you, er, go boxing?”
He rubbed his eyes and blinked a couple of times. “I don’t need to come here to find a boxing partner.”
“True.” She touched her neck, her fingers tapping her prickling skin. “You can practice it alone, right?”
“That’s boring. Why would one do it alone, when they can have an invigorating, sweaty match with the likes of a woman like you?”
She shuddered. “Do you usually train with your gloves on?”
“Protection,” he said, then straightened his posture and shook his head. Another yawn. “Protection is a must.”
She slid to the edge of her stool and leaned closer to him, studying his every move; his olive skin turned pale as he rubbed his forehead and yawned. Was the drug working? Oh yeah, it was working… She’d had to ensure the healer of the tribe she needed the natural-based drug for something very important. Thanks to her cred, the old woman hadn’t asked much, only explained that a blend of uncommon herbs had been mixed to ensure safety and maximum strength. She dared to breathe when she finally saw the contours of his body relax.
“Everything okay?” she asked as she curled her hand around his elbow.
He turned to her and murmured something she couldn’t understand. His full eyelashes swept over his eyes. The warmth of his skin seeped through the fabric of his shirt and gave her an unfamiliar tingling. She jerked her hand away from his elbow as if she’d been burned, and he slumped to her side.
Without much warning, his head fell onto her shoulder. She fought the urge to push him away, but linked her arms around him instead. This was her plan, wasn’t it? To be able to have one-on-one time with Bruno Duarte. After listening to her and understanding what was at stake, he would cave. So be it if kidnapping him was the only way to be heard.
She registered Roy asking her something, but his words were muffled by the heat of the six-foot-two man drooping over her five-foot-five frame. A sharp ache pinched her lower back, and she straightened her shoulders to offer him support without getting a herniated disk. He was just too heavy for her. Too…much.
“My friend here has had too much to drink. Can someone help me get him to my car?” She shoved Bruno a bit to her side and spoke over his shoulder.
The bartender nodded. “I’ll call security. Do you need anything else?”
“No. I’ve got everything I need.”
Chapter Two
I did it. I kidnapped him.
Addie’s continuous mantra did nothing to shed the weight from her shoulders. She stood up from the dingy cloth chair she’d been sitting on for the past hour and walked toward the queen bed, and to the man who sat slumped against the headboard. She rubbed her temples and wished the throbbing would go away.
His shoulders drooped on the middle of the bed. Both wrists were handcuffed and linked to old but sturdy metal bedposts by a short chain. The little hairs on the back of her neck stood up. With his eyes closed, he looked almost peaceful, but the ridges of his hard body, and the testosterone pouring from him, told a different tale. He was pure male power, and the way her heartbeat raced told her she was not immune to him. What have I gotten myself into?
The large security guy had helped her get Bruno inside her rental car. Then she used the same excuse to get the clerk from the cheap motel east of New York City to help her carry him into the room.
Addie sucked in her breath when his head bobbed and his large feet moved. After much consideration, she had decided to
take off his shoes but had kept his socks on. Somehow, it seemed he would be more comfortable that way—not like it mattered. She raised the back of her hand to wipe the sweat off her forehead. The AC cranked to the max didn’t help—it only circulated the stuffy, hot air even more, and it made a loud noise that reminded her of the buzz of downtown São Paulo. The sound of millions of people rushing to work and black pigeons fluttering to the ground as shoeless children wandered alone in the streets. Even though she was thousands of miles away, still she could hear them.
A metallic sound pulled her from her reverie. Bruno moved his wrists and jerked his head back, hitting it on the headboard. She stepped closer to him, the stained laminate floor creaking from the pressure. He straightened as much as he could. Oh, crap. How did I switch from helping people to hurting them? Well, just this once, right? And hopefully this one act would help so many. Besides, his pain could be treated with a painkiller or backrub. What about the tragic future of the people he wanted to expel? What about Michael’s death?
Bruno opened his eyes, recovering from the effects of the sedative.
Should I say something or wait until he notices me? She folded her arms and then unfolded them immediately. Insecurities were not allowed anywhere outside her mind.
Her temporary hostage started to bang his handcuffs against the frame. The clanging of metal against metal echoed in her ears and prickled her skin. We’re at the far end of the hall. No one will hear us.
“Hello, Bruno.” She ditched formality.
Her breath caught in her throat when their gazes collided. At first, he seemed surprised. Then, his expression changed. She couldn’t tell if it was fear or hate, or some unknown emotion just below the surface.
He shook his shoulders again, and his enormous frame rammed the bed against the wall. She had requested the quietest room at the end of an empty hallway. Of course, at the time, she had alleged they were a couple on a honeymoon.
Honeymoon? The word held a double dose of irony. The only man she’d ever envisioned honeymooning with no longer lived. The idea of using that as an excuse, even for what she was doing… Well, it wasn’t right. Also, if her plan failed, in a day’s time, he’d be honeymooning with the daughter of the real estate shark who had insisted on buying his land even before the Kwanis moved out—and she’d be sitting in prison. No, that couldn’t happen.
Muffled sounds came from under the duct tape across his mouth.
Pressing her lips together, she moved to his bed. “I will remove the tape, but you must be quiet,” she said in the same tone of voice she used to settle sick indigenous children. “If you scream, it goes back on.”
He glared at her. Did he recognize her from the bar?
“Nod if you understand.”
He looked up at the popcorn ceiling for a moment. Bruno Duarte, the accomplished software developer, wasn’t the kind who did as he was told—hell, she had tried to get in touch with him for an entire month, but telling him anything proved impossible. Until now. Now, he has no way out.
At last, he nodded.
She ripped off the tape; the sound of it peeling off his skin made her arch her back. If it hurt him, he didn’t show it.
“Get these off me,” he demanded. An unreadable emotion overtook his eyes for a moment as his brows lowered.
“I will. But first, you’ll listen to me.”
“The hell I will. Who are you?”
“Addison Reed.” She rubbed her sweaty palms together. “Addie.”
“Addison Reed?” It sounded more like an accusation than recognition. “The crazy tree hugger who has been spamming my inbox?” He shook his head. “You flirted with me at the bar.” The menacing promise in his expression caused sweat to trickle between her breasts. “You’re behind this?”
“We need to talk about Toca do Tigre.”
“How did I get here?”
Addie chewed on her lower lip. “This was the only way for you to listen.”
“You slipped something in my drink, didn’t you?”
“A perfectly safe sleeping aid. So, let’s talk.” She reached inside her messenger bag on the small table and removed the long, thick envelope.
“Addie, why don’t you be a dear and uncuff me?” He winked at her. “I’ll be more inclined to listen without cramped wrists.” She ignored the tingling at the pit of her stomach. Though she hadn’t been with a man in the nearly two years since Michael’s death, she was not an idiot. She would not be won over by false charm.
With a shake of her head, she retrieved the pictures from the envelope she was holding and spread them on the bed linen—all twenty of them—men, women, and children, laughing, crying, and looking away.
“If you don’t change your mind, they’ll be homeless in less than a month,” Addie said, the word “homeless” forcing her throat to thicken. She pushed away the memories threatening to come to the surface. This wasn’t about her. She peeked at one of the pictures, her fingers caressing the glossy paper.
“Release me, and I’ll pretend to pay attention.”
“If you listen to me for thirty minutes and actually pay attention, I’ll uncuff one wrist,” she said, surprised by her own spontaneity. She scanned the area close to him and found no sharp objects. There was nothing he could do. Nowhere to go.
“What about the other one?” he asked, unfazed.
She smiled. “I’ll uncuff the other one when we’ve reached an agreement.”
“What if I have to pee?”
“I’ll bring a bottle.” And look away.
She placed her hands on her waist, hoping her attitude was enough of a threat. It was all she had; a weapon would be too much. If he didn’t agree with her at the end of the night and wanted to press charges—which was a realistic option—not having a weapon would probably lessen her time behind bars.
He sighed. “With such an enticing promise, how can I refuse?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice. “Go ahead.”
“Kicking the Kwanis from their home without careful planning is cruel, unnecessary, and not the right move for a successful businessman like yourself.”
She made her plea for the next several minutes. Each time a bold red number moved on the old-fashioned alarm clock, her heart jumped in her chest. Nevertheless, she pushed through it.
“The government is seeking an alternative for them,” he interrupted. “According to Brazilian laws, there are specific territories legally occupied by Indians. Pieces of land where they can mingle with other tribes. Why can’t they go to one of those?”
“Transitions between different tribes don’t always go smoothly. The government didn’t help the Kwanis a decade ago when they unfairly lost the land they lived on. Then, there were three hundred of them. Today, even with the births, there are only one hundred twenty-four.” She said the numbers staccato. “Also, the Kwanis took care of Toca do Tigre and contributed to it by growing more trees and making the earth productive again.” They loved the land Bruno had chosen to ignore.
“Nice try, but just because they planted a few trees on the land they needed—the land they took without asking—doesn’t mean they deserve a free pass.”
She raised the picture of a skinny Brazilian boy to his eye level. “This is Endi. He’s six. Both of his parents live off that land. If you kick them out, he’ll become one more homeless child wandering the streets of the next big city, experimenting with drugs, stealing, and doing whatever else he needs to do to survive.”
After a shadow of annoyance crossed his face, he glanced at the picture for a nanosecond and rolled his eyes. “The fact that you want to steal my own land from me doesn’t count? Just because you are Caucasian and educated?”
“I don’t want to steal anything. All I ask is that you give them more time, to make the transition easier for them.” She had tried publicity. The media hadn’t cared about such a small minority group. Besides a couple of letters published in environmental magazines, she was pretty much on her own. Even though reelection time neared
in Brazil, candidates only chose causes they believed would bring them attention, causes that affected a larger number of people.
“A month is reasonable if you consider they’ve never paid rent.”
“It’s inhumane.” She sat at the far end of the bed. “You’ve contributed to a lot of other causes, Bruno.” She peered at his large hands, the long fingers moving even though there was no way out of the handcuffs. Long, tanned fingers. With a blink, she composed herself. “I’m curious why you’re acting so differently with this one.”
“We both agree that I’ve done my share.” His lips twitched. “That’s progress.”
“But not for your own country,” she said. “Not in a big way. Why?”
For a moment, he hesitated, his forehead wrinkling in deep thought.
Maybe this was progress. Maybe she was getting his attention.
His gaze darted back at her. “How far are you willing to go? You’re obviously an amateur at this. I presume killing me is not in the cards.” His voice was flat.
She swallowed. “I don’t have anything to lose,” she said, the pain strangling her words. “These people supported me at a tough time. The organization I worked for was trying to find other land to transfer them to.”
“You worked for?”
“Yes. After I emailed you and sent letters, you wrote the organization, Vidas em Perigo, that nasty letter calling me an ‘extremist bully’. They fired me.” And closed the one-woman Indian affairs division.
He shook his cuffed wrists. “As usual, I was on the mark.”
He checked the alarm clock on the bedside table.
“Your thirty minutes are up.” He shook his wrists again.
If he got a bit more comfortable, maybe she’d get through to him. She had seen glimpses on his face that she had his attention. The way he sucked in his breath or shot her a speculative look here and there. He might not know it yet, but, by the end of the night, he’d agree with her. Defeat was not an option.
…
“If you do anything stupid, peeing in a bottle is out the window,” Addie warned him and scooted closer on the bed. If someone had told him the witty exchange at the bar would land him in a bed, tied up, well, fuck, he’d pictured it much differently. She held the stare like nothing could shake her from whatever crazy ideas she harbored. The look of someone who had nothing to lose. But why?
