by Rachel Lyndhurst; Carmen Falcone; Ros Clarke; Annie Seaton; Christine Bell
She stood. “You really think I believe anything that comes out of your mouth? I don’t trust you,” she said, more to herself than him. “If you don’t give me at least one day in Toca do Tigre and hold up the negotiations, I will tell everyone, and to the hell with it,” she managed to say coolly.
“You are bold to blackmail me…again.”
She savored her smile. “I call it the art of negotiation.”
Chapter Eleven
By the time afternoon came, he’d arranged for a private plane to take them to Recife, where they’d rented a pickup truck and were now proceeding to Toca do Tigre. He’d suggested taking a helicopter, but she had vehemently refused, alleging the last thing they needed was a dramatic entrance to alarm the tribe. The Kwanis would know something was wrong if she came for such a short visit inside a sleek bird with her new husband.
What if it didn’t work? What if, despite her efforts, he didn’t change his mind and the hospitality of the tribe failed to warm his heart?
If she closed her eyes, the image of his haunted look earlier that morning appeared vividly before her. She had almost wished she could soothe his pain. Perhaps she wouldn’t be able to. After all, he’d abandoned his mother and his family.
Was Bruno Duarte still selfish and ruthless, like he was fourteen years ago? And why was she even wasting her time wondering?
Pain. She remembered the pain her family had experienced with the loss of her childhood home. Naturally, this would be an even bigger challenge for the tribe. They would have to adjust to another tribe’s rules, which could differ completely and cause altercations, to say the least. They’d lose their jobs, since they survived from fishing and agriculture. How would they support their families? If they arrived at a different tribe, would there be enough fishing and planting to go around? Would the habitants feel threatened by their presence?
Her gaze strayed to his serious profile, then dropped to the large hands clasped on the steering wheel. What could he be thinking?
The view in front of her offered temporary comfort, the hustle and bustle of a capital city along the coast, with high-rise buildings and world-class restaurants. But driving away from Recife toward the primitive areas of the coast, the big highways turned into narrow roads.
Soon, dirt roads took over, and small houses lined each side of the street. Small but not disconnected—a few of them had cable TV dishes on their roof.
The big-city buzz shifted to a plantation of sugar cane that stretched like an endless green carpet, the crops bathing in the sun and swaying lazily with the breeze. Fields of bananas, mangoes, and other fruits and vegetables edged the road. The long, luscious leaves of tall coconut trees moved gently against the blue sky sprinkled with fluffy white clouds. They drove past the no-trespassing sign and went deeper into his land. She spotted the circular group of huts made out of large logs and roofed with thick leaves, just how she remembered. This kind of primitive living was only found in secluded tribes in the Amazon. The fact it still existed among modern-day commodities, and thousands of miles away from the rainforest, was quite something.
Bruno parked the truck under a tree, and they got out. What looked like the whole tribe gathered around them.
“Addie.” The cacique Myro, the tribe’s leader, greeted her with a hug.
The people wore necklaces, straw skirts, and face and body paint. The women had tunic-like clothes made from animal fur and a thin, sheet-like cotton covering their breasts and private parts. The men donned straw skirts with a piece of special fabric to keep their private parts hidden. On their heads, some of them had panaches with colorful feathers. The cacique’s, though, was by far the fullest and most exotic, with long feathers in blue, purple, and green.
“Myro.” She soaked in his hug. It had been a couple months since she’d last been there with all of them. She lost sight of Bruno as a few friends came forward and greeted her with enthusiasm.
It was at the sound of him clearing his throat that she turned. He drummed his fingers on the top of the pickup truck. Well, well… Bruno unsure of what to do. What a nice change of pace.
She guessed no one really knew how to greet him. The cacique was the only one who knew who Bruno really was. When she had called to say they were coming, they had decided it was best not to tell everyone about his identity.
“This is my husband Bruno.” She figured using his first name wouldn’t hurt. Bruno was a common enough name in Brazil that they wouldn’t associate it with the faceless owner of the land. But the title knotted her throat. Husband. How else could she introduce him?
They took in his presence. A couple women, including Juracyr, whom she knew well, exchanged glances. Not in an aggressive way, certainly not how the women in Rio or anywhere else acted when he was around. Kwani women simply flushed a bit, reserved in their shyness, but in their own way acknowledging his handsomeness.
Myro approached Bruno and looked him straight in the eyes. If Bruno had any discomfort, he never showed it. For a moment, the buzz faded, and silence descended. It was a sign of utter respect for the newcomer.
“Welcome to our tribe.” Myro, tall and slim, held out his hand.
Bruno looked at the women and the children, a few of them hiding behind their mother’s legs. “Thank you.” He gave Myro a firm handshake and a half smile.
Soon, the tribe went back to their own business, and Myro walked in front of Addie and Bruno to show them around.
Children played soccer. Their mothers cooked food or busied themselves crafting the rich art they sold in the city. The men fished and farmed the land. Some of them worked as handymen doing menial jobs for the residents of the nearby town located an hour walk away. She often envied the simplicity of their lives.
“You should take your shoes off,” she whispered when she removed her own and slid them inside her tote. “A sign of respect.” For the Kwanis, nature and earth were sacred. To walk barefoot was not only an acknowledgment but a connection to all it provided for them—shelter, food, security.
Little did they know, they were about to lose it all. No. She couldn’t let that happen. They had lost Michael, who had been their voice. Michael had fought for Indian rights and harbored the either ambitious or naïve dream of ending prejudice against them.
“I respect them. But I’ll keep my shoes on.”
Annoyance skated through her bloodstream. Did he always have to be this stubborn?
They reached a larger hut, where women crafted jewelry and cooked corn-based pastries to sell. Though now, instead of a dozen people working swiftly and chatting loudly under the large hut, only a few were there, and they left with a nod when the three of them arrived.
Myro presented Addie and Bruno with a heavy necklace made of thick beads that looked like grains of some sort. “We believe if you put this on your belly at night, you will become pregnant with child.”
A red-hot wave spread across her mortified face. Bruno’s mocking smile told her he had something else he could put inside her that would make her pregnant with child.
He, of course, was completely comfortable with the irony of the situation. Marriage didn’t mean much to him, and kids? She didn’t even know if he wanted kids.
Bruno nodded and once again shook Myro’s hand. When the cacique turned away to address someone from the tribe, Bruno whispered dangerously close to her, “You didn’t tell him.”
She looked around before answering, “I couldn’t tell him I married you to help them. It wasn’t fair.” It’s embarrassing.
Bruno leaned forward. “He thinks you fell madly in love with the opposition.”
Thankfully, Myro had been respectful of her privacy during their awkward phone conversation. He had never asked her to use her position to influence Bruno, although that was probably what Myro imagined she would do. Ah, the irony. “I’m scared to find out what he really thinks. But, yes, I told him we’re married.”
“Well, I’d hate for him to question our commitment to each other.” He clo
sed the distance between them.
She opened her mouth to protest, but he pulled her into a rough, scorching kiss that punished and aroused her. She knew she shouldn’t enjoy his touch on her skin, the notes of his woodsy cologne blending with a purely male scent. His scent.
His tongue was like that gallon of strawberry ice cream she knew she shouldn’t eat. Would just a taste hurt? Before she could rationalize, desire pooled between her thighs.
A desire that obviously didn’t know better and defied self-preservation. She heard a chuckle, followed by a throat clearing, and pushed him away. Myro stood a few feet from them, an amused look in his eyes, having said good-bye to the man he had been talking to. Bruno must have sensed it, because he didn’t question her abrupt end to their kiss.
“Cacique Myro, we appreciate your hospitality. We have a lot to discuss about Toca do Tigre.”
“I will be honored to hear you, Seu Bruno. After tonight, when we’ve properly welcomed you to our tribe. If my people see me talking to a white man without the necessary protocol, they’ll think there is trouble. And I can’t have our children and women worry before tonight’s festivities. We must show you to your hut.”
“Festivities?”
“Yes. One of our women just gave birth a few hours ago. We like to thank the gods and celebrate it the first evening,” Myro explained and turned to take them to their hut.
Bruno made a motion for her to go in front while he followed. She felt self-conscious, and although she couldn’t see him, she could swear his eyes followed the swaying of her hips. How could he think of wanting her, still, when the very reason that brought them to Toca would tear them apart?
She hadn’t thought about sleeping arrangements, since everything had been such a whirlwind. He’d wanted them to come for the day, but she had convinced him they needed at least one night—she knew that, by the time they got to the tribe, it would be sunset. A part of her was eaten by guilt for taking him away from his father. But then she remembered how he avoided his father during the day. Maybe if he sees a different lifestyle, he’ll realize what he is missing in his own life.
Myro came to a halt in front of the little house she’d occupied with Michael, and she felt the blood drain from her face. Surely, the Kwanis imagined it was the most comfortable accommodation they could provide—a small clay house with bright orange paint on the outside. Though Addie doubted they wanted to hurt her, her heart raced.
To step inside with Bruno would no doubt override any of her past experience with Michael. And once Bruno got out of her life, what else would she have left?
She heard voices, like they were talking to her, though it seemed far away.
At last, she shook her head slowly, as if coming out of hypnosis. “No. I can’t stay in there.”
Bruno opened his arms, his eyes assessing the place. “Why not?”
Myro looked down. “I’m sorry,” he said. Damn it, her intention was not to humiliate them. “I’ll make other arrangements.”
“No, I’m sorry,” she intervened. “We can sleep anywhere. Just not…in there.”
Myro nodded. His weathered, coffee-colored face set into a sympathetic expression. He muttered something, and with a whistle and hand gesture sent a child to tell one of the women to find another hut.
Bruno didn’t move an inch. His serious stance made it clear he wasn’t letting it go without an explanation. “Why the hell not?”
“This was where I slept with Michael. I can’t go back in there.” Honesty was the best policy.
“Fine,” he muttered, though she doubted things were fine. What kind of bastard was Bruno not to be considerate of her emotions—and not to offer a simple word of comfort? Hell, even now, when tears welled up, he didn’t even offer a hug. Instead, he stepped back, closing his fists and tensing his shoulders.
Bruno Duarte is not the man for me. And he never will be.
…
“Try some,” said Juracyr, a kind woman in her twenties, eager to serve him.
Bruno glanced at the yellow pudding in front of him. Hell. He’d eaten worse things in his life. “Of course,” he mumbled and raised the wooden bowl to his mouth. It had a thicker consistency than soup, and when it rolled down his throat, the flavors burst. The salty, corn-based cream topped a lot of other foods he’d experienced. An awakening for his palate.
Juracyr nodded, beaming with approval. “More?”
Smiling, he handed her the bowl. The festivities celebrated the birth of a baby. When the baby girl woke up, everyone wanted a peek.
All of the tribe gathered around a few large fires, and among laughter and children’s voices, prayers and conversations, his eyes zoomed in on Addie. She held the baby and whispered sweet nothings to her. His body stilled when he saw a full bright smile from Addie, with all her straight teeth showing. Although he was a tad far away, he could easily see that she glowed with happiness. Damn her.
He snorted. She certainly had a much brighter smile for any Kwani, young or old, than she’d had for him. She seemed miles away. Probably thinking about her precious Michael. Bruno suppressed a low groan. What new low had he sunk to if he were jealous of a dead man? A dead man, who had been quite the hero, quite the stand-up guy? A man who died facing adversities.
Could he be a hero? He removed his flip-flops and sank his feet into the mix of dirt and gravel. He studied the Kwanis. A sense of belonging, of not being that much different from them, assailed him.
Could that be true? I am different. He slipped the flip-flops back on his feet, his toes drumming on the flat sole.
You only agreed to come to prevent Addie from exposing the real reasons behind the marriage. You don’t belong here; don’t fool yourself.
“Mr. Bruno,” said Myro beside him.
He turned and nodded to the cacique who joined him.
It would be wrong to carry on a conversation regarding Toca do Tigre without Addie. He pressed his lips together.
“I’m sorry about earlier. We wanted you to have our best accommodations, and we meant no harm.” Myro gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder.
Bruno’s lips relaxed into a compromising smile. “It’s okay,” he lied. Throwing Myro into the politics of his marriage wasn’t fair, or particularly helpful.
The cacique shifted his head in Addie’s direction. “You must be very special, Mr. Bruno. To sweep her off her feet like that.”
Addie was laughing while she enjoyed a sip of cachaça, a strong hard liquor made from sugarcane. She didn’t seem to notice him watching her.
“I heard Michael was very special.”
Myro’s smile spread across his face. “He did a lot for us. A man without flaws.”
A man without flaws. Bruno immediately cursed himself, once again feeling anger skating inside him. Even my thoughts are flawed.
“Which is why you must be special for her to have chosen you.” Myro tapped his shoulder again, and he wondered if that was a compliment or an insult.
“There’s more to it than that.”
Myro chuckled. “Mr. Bruno, I’ve known our Addie for almost three years. She is fueled by passion. She doesn’t stand for what she doesn’t believe.”
He watched her share some inside joke with the Kwani women, and his breath caught in his throat. He wished he could believe what Myro told him. Even for a short while. Even just until she found out who he really was. What he really was.
But tonight, he wanted Addie to be his.
Chapter Twelve
She had to give it to him, he acted as if he were trying.
The ceremony began. Myro said a prayer and invited them all to dance and thank the gods for the baby girl’s safe delivery. Addie was familiar with the circular dancing around the fire, which symbolized their warrior spirit.
They chanted around a big blaze, the leaders shaking coconut-shell maracas. Everyone joined and did the same movement; circled, front and back, back and front. She tried not to look in Bruno’s direction, but she occasionally cau
ght a glimpse of him. Juracyr sat at his side and said something to him, making him laugh. Of course, no one was immune to Bruno’s charms. She tried to look away, but her eyes locked on his figure. He’d taken his shoes off and finally behaved like he was having a good time. Would that change anything?
His gaze darted to hers. Fire coiled low in her belly, with the threat to venture even lower if she didn’t stop it. A couple men began to play the drums. The circle turned into a crowd of people appreciating the music or heading to get more food from the large hut. With a sigh, she disentangled her hands from the others.
There was nowhere to run. She’d end up spending the night with him, under the same roof. There was always the option of partying into the wee hours of the morning, using her Kwani friends and acquaintances as an excuse to hide from him. She had held the beautiful baby girl in her arms, and emotion had ripped through her. Why would she get so emotional while she held a baby? It wasn’t like she had never held a child before.
Maybe if she went into the hut and pretended to sleep, he wouldn’t bother her. Yes, that was a very wifely thing to do. That was what he deserved.
She yawned, the events of the day having taken a toll on her. She headed to the hut, which was located the farthest away from the others, without looking back. Bruno waited for her in front, with folded arms and the look of a soldier about to trap his opponent.
“Running from me?” he mocked.
“Chasing me?” she retorted.
He cocked his head, pointing his chin toward the crowd. “These people really like you.”
She turned her flashlight on, walked past him, and entered the hut. She held the small device with wobbly fingers, the beam of light skipping through the space. She recognized her oversized sleeping bag, which they’d promised to keep for her. They always waited for her return, even if for a short amount of time. A couple of bottles of water lay on thin, folded sheets that sat on top of her overnight duffel bag.
“I like you.” He followed her inside, his voice smooth and tempting.
