One Night In Collection

by Various Authors

  The Bentley pulled beneath the porte cochere of the Carlton Palace. Ellie looked up at the 1920s white-stucco landmark, a luxury hotel and condominium resort in elegant Louis-XV architecture like a wedding cake.

  “Do you remember this place?”

  Of course she remembered. She’d seen it constantly in her dreams: the place where he’d seduced her. The place where he’d made her drop every shred of decency she’d ever known, along with her clothes…

  She shivered as heat flashed through her body, causing a bead of sweat to form between her breasts. “Yes.”

  Once he took her upstairs, there would be no escape. He could do whatever he wanted to her. Anything. If he wanted to seduce her, she wouldn’t be able to resist. He could just reach out and take her. She wouldn’t be able to stop him.

  If she wanted to stop him…

  Getting out of the car, Diogo came around the Bentley to open her door himself.

  “You said you were taking me home.” She looked up timidly. “This isn’t my home.”

  “I want it to be.” He held out his hand. “But you are wet and tired. We can discuss all that later. For now, you need rest, food, a hot shower.” When she didn’t move, he said, “Please. Give me the chance to treat you with the care you deserve.”

  A shower and breakfast sounded like heaven. But even more captivating was the smile he gave her as he held out his hand. That smile won her over as all the force in the world couldn’t.

  She looked down at his strong, muscular hand. He had thick, masculine forearms, laced with dark hair. The hand of a fighter. He’d already proven that. But it was also a hand that could make her lose her mind with his sensual, masterful caress….

  “All right,” she said with a deep breath. “I’ll give you a chance.”

  His larger hand enfolded hers as he helped her out of the car. She trembled at the touch of the fingers that had once touched her in such unspeakable ways. The last time they’d been in Rio, he’d done such things to her virgin body that even now, her breath constricted just remembering.

  You’re so beautiful, he’d said hoarsely, I will die if I don’t have you. She remembered the swirling pleasure of his tongue, so bewildering and like nothing she’d ever imagined. The sensation as he slowly thrust one finger inside her… then two… then three. The mastery of his kiss. The way he’d teased, demanded, enticed her. His sensual onslaught had made her tremble and explode. She’d whimpered and thrashed and bucked against his mouth. He’d held her down firmly with the weight of his muscled body, so masculine and foreign and strange and… Oh my God, my God, Diogo, I love you, I love you, I do.

  She could hardly believe that three months ago, she’d let him strip her naked and seduce her into ecstasy she’d never known existed. And when he’d realized she was a virgin and tried to pull back, she wouldn’t let him release her. Trembling at her own boldness, she’d held him tight. She’d never wanted to let him go.

  So much had happened since then. He’d gotten her pregnant. Lied to her. Ignored her.

  But something had changed in the favela. What? What had made him suddenly relax back into the charming man she remembered? He’d suddenly started acting almost as if he truly cared about her….

  No! She couldn’t start thinking that way. Who knew where such dangerous thoughts would end?

  He led her inside the hotel, past soaring ceilings, palm trees, gilded furniture and the elegant check-in desk. But Ellie barely noticed. She had eyes only for Diogo. In a small, private elevator, he turned a key to push the button for the top floor. The doors slid open and he led her past two bodyguards lounging in the hallway. They nodded at him respectfully, barely bothering to glance at Ellie.

  But why should they notice her? They probably saw him with a different woman every night. She was just the latest in his long line of lovers. Tomorrow, he’d be with somebody else.

  The thought chilled her like a shadow.

  “You’re shivering,” Diogo said, observing her keenly as he unlocked the door to the penthouse.

  Her teeth chattered. “No. I’m fine, really.”

  “Come inside. I will soon get you warm.”

  Following him in a daze, she kicked off her muddy high heels and stepped on the thick white carpet inside. It felt good to take off the painful shoes, but nothing else in this penthouse was particularly comforting to her. The decor was severe and Spartan—modern, minimalist and cold. Glass and metal sculpture was placed sparingly against the white walls. High floor-to-ceiling windows edged the penthouse, surrounding a freestanding, two-story-high white fireplace.

  It was the most sophisticated home she’d ever seen. Elegant, certainly, and very expensive, but severe and about as friendly and warm as an ice pick.

  As Diogo closed the door behind her, she idly rubbed her bruised wrist. It was still sore, but no longer had the same sharp pain.

  “You are hurt?” he demanded.

  “It’s nothing. I fell on my wrist earlier—”

  “Let me see,” he ordered.

  She reluctantly held out her hand, protesting, “It’s much better now. Really. You don’t need to…”

  Then he touched her, and she sucked in her breath. Fire spread up and down her body as he examined her, gently moving her hand to the right and left.

  “Your wrist isn’t broken,” he said, releasing her. “I spent ten years learning capoeira on the streets. I can recognize a break or sprain. You have neither. But if it hurts, I will call the doctor and she can…”

  “No, really,” she breathed. “I’m fine.” She couldn’t stop looking at his handsome face. At the sharp lines of his jaw, his high cheekbones, the slightly crooked nose that gave him the hard look of a warrior. His sensual mouth. The lips that she longed to feel against her skin…

  He looked up at her, and his dark eyes seared her.

  “What do you want first?”

  First? She licked her lips. She wanted him to make love to her with heat and urgency. To whisper hoarsely against her skin that he wanted her and only her forever. To say he wanted to be a good, loving father to their baby, and that he would always, always…

  “Ellie?”

  “What?” Nervously, she tucked her hair behind her ear. “What do I…?”

  “Breakfast first? Or—no.” Cursing himself under his breath, he shook his head in sudden decision. “I’m being stupid. Of course, we should start by taking off your clothes.”

  It was as if he’d read her mind. “My… clothes?”

  What was she thinking? No, no, no! She couldn’t allow this to happen!

  Clutching the wet wedding dress against her body, she backed away. Every step she took left a wet trail against his floor. “I won’t be your mistress, Diogo,” she said aloud, willing herself to believe it. “I won’t be your latest one-night stand!”

  “Why do you think that’s what I want?” he asked quietly.

  Her heart turned over in her chest. He wanted more? She licked her dry lips. “What else could it be?”

  “You’re pregnant with my child. I want you… to be comfortable and warm. You’re soaking wet, querida, chilled to the bone. You need a hot shower. Breakfast. Dry clothes.”

  Of course. Ellie wanted to kick herself. Of course that was what he’d meant. Did she actually think he was desperate to seduce her? Now there was a laugh! Diogo could have any perfect woman he wanted—and not just the vapid beauties, but smart, gorgeous women who ran their own businesses and had college degrees. Not high school dropouts like Ellie! Her cheeks went hot with humiliation.

  He came toward her, reaching for her dress.

  “No.” She stumbled back from him, suddenly unwilling to let him touch her. “I don’t need your help.”

  He snorted. “That wedding dress weighs more than you do. Come here.”

  With calm arrogance, he reached for her.

  Like a coward, she turned and ran blindly into the next room. She saw a round wall of windows overlooking Copacabana Beach and the Avenida A
tlântica far below. In the center of the room was a bed, large, white and stark.

  His bedroom. She bit a knuckle in consternation. The last place she wanted to be! Whirling around, she tried to escape but he was standing in the door. She started to shut the door in his face, but he easily blocked her.

  “Obrigado, querida,” he said with a sensual smile. “This will be much easier.”

  He came forward and pulled her tightly against his body, then unzipped the back of her gown. Ellie’s damp skin felt suddenly cold against the air. Her body felt light, freed of the heavy weight of her dress as he pulled the thick, wet skirts down to her thighs with a single hard yank. She watched yards of taffeta fall to her feet.

  And she realized she was standing in front of him with nothing but a white silk bra and panties that clung transparently to her skin.

  With a gasp, she tried to cover her breasts with one arm and panties with the other. He gave her a smug, masculine smile.

  “I can see you naked anytime I want, Ellie,” he said, sounding amused. “All I have to do is close my eyes.”

  He was laughing at her modesty! A flash of anger went through her.

  “You have so many women in your bed,” she snapped, “I’m sure it’s someone else you’re picturing. I’m not a bit worried!”

  “I see,” he murmured silkily. “Surely you’re not jealous, querida?”

  “Of course not,” she huffed. Of course she was. She tossed her long, wet hair. “You can sleep with every supermodel in Brazil for all I care! It’s not like I have any reason to…”

  Her strident voice faltered as Diogo turned away from her, pulling off his wet white shirt and dropping it to the floor. Distracted by the vision of Diogo’s hard chest, impossibly covered with muscles and scars of a warrior, she couldn’t finish her sentence. His tanned skin was etched with black hair that descended from his broad shoulders down his flat belly. His rain-dampened gray trousers clung to his hips and fit buttocks as he went into the adjacent bathroom.

  She heard him turn on the shower. Heat flooded her cheeks—and everywhere else in her body. What was wrong with her? How could she still want him so badly when he’d made it clear that, aside from her pregnancy, he didn’t find anything about her particularly interesting or special?

  Folding her bare arms, she shivered in the wet silk bra and panties clinging to her skin. Three months ago, Diogo Serrador had taken everything from her. Her innocence, her faith, her courage in her dreams. Was she really such a desperate fool that she was willing to throw herself under the same train again, the Serrador Express that stopped for no woman?

  And worse, it was no longer just her own heart and soul at risk. Now she had her child to think about. When Diogo left, as he inevitably would, he wouldn’t just abandon Ellie. He would leave behind a heartbroken child who would always wonder why her father hadn’t loved her enough to stay.

  Just like Ellie’s father. He certainly hadn’t loved them enough. He’d been forced into marriage by a baby—Ellie. He’d married her mother, he’d been Ellie’s father. Sort of. He’d mostly spent years on the couch after work, watching mindless television and drinking beer, barking at Ellie or her mother if they ever dared to ask him a question.

  Then when her mother had gotten sick, just when they needed him most, he’d packed up his bag. “Sorry,” he’d muttered to fifteen-year-old Ellie without meeting her eyes. “I’ve just got to take my own happiness while I can.”

  And so Ellie had dropped out of school to take care of her mother, working nights at the Dairy Burger to support them. Her mother had accepted her care bitterly, blaming Ellie as the cause of her miserable marriage and all her own missed chances.

  Ellie’s child wasn’t going to grow up that way.

  “Ellie,” Diogo said. She looked up and saw echoes of her own pain in the dark depths of his gaze. It was so tempting to reach out to him. To try to protect him from whatever had caused that hidden anguish in his eyes.

  But what was she thinking? Diogo need her help? That was a laugh!

  “You’re shivering.”

  She turned away. “I’m just cold.”

  He reached out to stroke her cheek.

  “So let me warm you,” he whispered.

  Pulling off her bra and panties, he lifted her naked body up into his arms. She was too numb to protest as he carried her into the marble-and-steel bathroom. He carried her into a tall, freestanding shower surrounded by a round wall of clear glass and pushed her gently inside.

  She gasped as hot water hit her skin. It caressed her body, running down her hair, her throat, between her breasts. Down her belly to the tuft of hair between her legs. So hot, so sensual, so alive. For so long, she’d felt nothing but heartache. She’d felt so numb when she agreed to marry Timothy. What difference did marrying him make? She almost hadn’t cared if she lived or died.

  Until she found out she was pregnant…

  She heard Diogo enter the shower behind her.

  With a sudden intake of breath, she closed her eyes, realizing he had to be naked. Awareness surged through her body as she leaned her hot forehead against the glass. She knew his hard, muscular body was just inches from her own, his muscles caressed beneath the same streaming hot water. She moved as far away as she dared, pressing her body against the glass.

  “Please don’t touch me,” she whispered, not turning around.

  “You want me to touch you, meu amor.” His accented voice was deep, barely audible above the sound of rushing water. He put his hands on her shoulders, slowly rubbing the knots of tension with his thumbs. “And I want to touch you. I’ve wanted it for months. It has nearly killed me not to touch you.”

  He hadn’t forgotten her? He’d missed her?

  But even as she told herself it couldn’t possibly be true, she leaned back against him. His hands felt so good. Stress and anger and fear melted away beneath his ministrations.

  He slowly rubbed her shoulders.

  Then her back.

  Then…

  Her whole body felt pink and warm and limp as he turned her around in his arms. She closed her eyes, as if she could pretend she weren’t naked in front of him. As if every inch of her skin weren’t crying out for his caress, to feel his body hot and hard against her own.

  She felt his arm around her naked waist. His muscular thigh pressed between her legs. “Open your eyes, querida.”

  She shook her head.

  “Ellie.”

  “No.”

  He ran his hand down her naked back, against her soft skin that was already slick with wet heat. Involuntarily, she shuddered beneath the stroke. She pressed her hands back against the glass, struggling to steady the sway of her knees.

  “What do you want from me?” she whispered. “After all these months of ignoring me?”

  “I stayed away to protect you.” He took a deep breath. “You were a virgin. I feared you would take our affair too seriously, that you would want things from me I could not possibly give.”

  “Like—like a commitment?”

  His voice was low. “Yes.”

  Unthinkingly, Ellie’s eyes flew open. “I know you’d never commit to any woman—”

  Her voice trailed off as she looked at him.

  The glass of the round shower was opaque with steam, leaving them in their own white world, utterly alone and far too close. Broad-shouldered, he towered over her, every inch of him hard with muscle. His masculine brutality frightened her. Her eyes glanced between his heavily-muscled legs and she sucked in her breath.

  He scared her. And yet…

  She wanted him. So badly.

  She licked her lips. “And now?” she managed hoarsely. “What has changed?”

  “You are pregnant with my child. There is no question of me letting you go.” Leaning close, he stroked her wet hair back from her face. “Until the baby is born, you are mine….”

  He ran his hands down her hot skin. Down her arms. Down the valley between her breasts to her belly.
She felt his fingers slowly run along her hips, lightly brushing her waist and pausing to caress the new fullness of her belly.

  He lowered his lips to hers.

  His embrace was as hot and demanding as it had been during Carnaval. He kissed her deeply, roughly, biting her lips until they bruised. Then his embrace became more gentle. His arms wrapped around her body, holding her close. He took her swelling breasts into his hands, cupping their weight, squeezing her sensitive nipples between his fingers.

  A soft cry escaped her lips as he bent his head beneath the hot water. He teased one nipple with his tongue as he crushed the other in his hand. The whole world seemed to swirl around her, around and around with the sweet agonizing pressure of the water—and his tongue.

  With a little cry, she arched her back.

  “I am the only man who’s ever touched you like this,” he whispered in her ear. She felt the dark scruff of his chin against the tender skin of her neck. “Tell me.”

  “Just you.” She sighed.

  “Ellie.” She felt his fingers, soft as a whisper, brush against the hair between her legs. A hard shiver rocked through her body as she gasped for breath. She threw her head back against the glass, trembling to her toes. The warmth and closeness of the shower crowded in upon her, the hot waves of pounding water rushing down the curves of her body.

  He was so close. So close. And she wanted him closer still. Wanted him to pick her up in his arms, press her against the glass and thrust inside her until she forgot her own name. Until she forgot every pain and regret. Until she soared with the explosive joy she hadn’t felt since the day he’d left her….

  He stroked between her legs with deliberate, agonizing slowness.

  “Please,” she whimpered, twisting her head from side to side against the glass. “Please!”

  “Please what?” he said softly. He lowered to kiss her, biting her neck.

  She could feel him leave a mark on her skin. As he’d long ago left a mark on her soul. He’d already marked her in the deepest way possible: he’d filled her with his child.

  “Tell me what you want, Ellie,” he murmured against her skin. “I want to hear you say it.”