by Lori Wilde
Her womb jumped with a swift squeeze of ravenous need, a deep-seated tightening of desire. A sizzling hot wetness slicked her body. She had to calm down, get hold of herself or one of her friends would soon be ringing her cell phone and asking if she was losing her head to temptation. Bianca drew in a slow, deep breath.
“You seem more relaxed already,” he said.
“I’m feeling more relaxed.” The deep breathing worked wonders.
This time his smile was unexpectedly gentle and Bianca felt something unspool inside her.
“Thomaz! I thought that was you.” A man’s voice broke the silence.
Thomaz’s smile changed from intimate to public as he raised his head to greet the round-faced man about his own age walking up to their table.
“Philippe.” He stood and they clasped each other in a hearty embrace.
Philippe cast a glance at Bianca and she saw surprise cross his face. What was that all about?
“I was having dinner with some clients and saw you over here. I had to come by and say thank you, thank you, a million times thank you.” Philippe said in Portuguese and pumped Thomaz’s hand.
He was talking fast but Bianca could understand the gist of the conversation.
“You have brought my wife and I much joy, much happiness.” He turned to Bianca. “You are with a very great man.”
She halfway expected the guy to genuflect.
Thomaz looked embarrassed and Bianca could have sworn he was blushing beneath his deep tan. “It was not me, Philippe—”
“You are too modest.” Philippe’s face was animated and Bianca could tell he meant every word. “Not many rich men give of themselves and their money so generously.”
Thomaz squirmed under Philippe’s praise. “I’m glad I could help your family. Give them my best, would you?”
“I will.” Philippe beamed. “Well, I won’t keep you from your dinner.” He waved and walked back to his table.
Bianca studied Thomaz in the flickering candlelight. “What was that all about?”
“It was nothing.” But his voice went soft, the expression in his eyes even softer.
It was the first time she’d seen him so… She couldn’t find the right word. Peaceful was close, but it was more than that. With a sense of purpose maybe?
Curiosity fluttered inside her. The man was much more complex than she’d guessed. His good deed—whatever it was—and the fact he was uncomfortable acknowledging it, raised her respect and cancelled out some of the wild rumors she’d heard about him. Thomaz Santos grew more intriguing by the minute.
The waiter brought their food. Thomaz had ordered several dishes so they could share. Appetizers of enroladinhos filled with shrimp, crabmeat and a spicy sauce on the side. The entrées included picadinho—a diced beef traditionally served with rice, beans, baby banana and a poached egg—salmão com molho de açaí—wild salmon filet with açai sauce served over yucca puree and julienne vegetables, and espeto de linguiça—lamb-and-spicy-sausage skewers served with roasted potato, onion and sweet peppers.
“So what else is there to know about Thomaz Santos that I might never have guessed?” she asked over the delicious meal.
“I’m a simple man.” He tried to look humble. It had the same effect as an elephant trying to hide behind a sapling.
She laughed. “You are anything but simple, Thomaz Santos.”
He reached across the table and laid his hand over hers. His touch sent her pulse skyrocketing and she had to take in another long, slow, deep breath to get herself under control. Being around this man was as unpredictable as a roller-coaster ride. Full of rising heights and sharp curves and sudden plunges. Part of her couldn’t wait to see what would happen next, another part of her wanted to flee while she could still get out unscathed.
“Let’s not talk about me,” he said. “I am boring as laundry. Tell me about Bianca St. James. How does a woman who speaks such beautiful Portuguese acquire a last name like St. James?”
“My father,” she said. “His family were missionaries to South America when he was young. For a time they worked here in the slums of Rio and an eight-year-old orphan girl touched their hearts and his family adopted her. The girl was my mother. As they grew older, she and my father fell in love. Mom put Brazil behind her, but she did teach me and my brothers and sister how to speak Portuguese.”
His eyes darkened and his face softened. He squeezed her hand, still resting underneath his. “Your mother sounds like a unique woman.”
“She’s strong and dedicated. She and Dad spent their whole lives building their pizza business in Brooklyn. I grew up waiting tables and hand-tossing pizza dough and reading bedtime stories to my siblings.”
“You’re the oldest.”
She nodded.
“That explains the work ethic.”
“What’s wrong with having a strong work ethic?’
“Nothing is wrong with it.”
“But you say it like it’s a bad thing.”
“Not a bad thing, bonita, but it shouldn’t be the only thing. Life is a buffet, but you’re still just eating pizza.”
“Nice analogy.”
“Sarcasm?”
“How could you tell?”
“I know you, it feels as if I’ve always known you,” he said looking deeply into her eyes.
That comment completely took the wind from her sails. Even as she felt the frisson of pleasure swim through her, Bianca knew it was stupid to fall under this playboy’s charming spell. He probably said the same thing to every woman he dated.
“So what made you go into advertising? Why not food service?” he asked.
Bianca shrugged. “When I was a kid my parents really struggled with the restaurant. Then, one of their friends convinced them to advertise. They were nervous about spending the money, but they took the leap and it resulted in a big jump in their business. I saw firsthand how advertising could really make a difference. Especially to small-business owners like my parents. Plus, my brother Joey decided against college to help my folks run the business and Joey and I tend to butt heads. The pizza business just isn’t big enough for the two of us.”
“And yet you are working for a large firm and handling big accounts like mine.”
“As nice as it is to help out the mom-and-pop stores, it’s big business that pays the bills.”
“You say that with sadness.”
“I hate losing touch with my roots,” she said, realizing that her job did at times feel bittersweet. She’d been hoping her promotion would help cure those counterproductive emotions.
Thomaz leaned back against his chair still cradling her hand, cocked his head and assessed her with a long, appraising glance. “You have already lost touch with your Brazilian roots.”
“I know,” she said. “It’s one of the perks of working on this campaign. It’ll give me the chance to learn about my mother’s culture.”
“And yet when I proposed the idea, you fought me on it.”
“It wasn’t learning about my mother’s culture that had me dragging my feet,” she admitted.
“No?”
She shook her head. She glanced down at his hand on hers, noticed his buffed, blunt-trimmed fingernails.
“Then why?”
“You. You’re the reason I didn’t want to agree.”
“I unsettled you?”
Her heart knocked. You have no idea. “I just don’t want to get to know you on a personal level.”
“And why is that?”
“Your reputation.”
“As an esteemed lover?”
“Oh, now you’re just fishing for compliments.”
He grinned. “Perhaps.”
Another silence fell.
“I have dated many women in my life but you are different,” he said pensively, as if she totally perplexed him.
“How am I different?”
“For one thing…” The grin widened. “You are not impressed with me.”
“So you
only like me because I don’t like you?”
“You like me,” he said cockily.
“I don’t like your values.”
“Now how can you judge me when you refuse to get to know me?”
“You do have a point,” she conceded. “I’m going on what I’ve heard.”
“See.” He raised a finger. “That’s why it’s never a good idea to listen to gossip. If you want the truth, come to the horse’s mouth.”
Bianca laughed. “You’re the horse’s mouth? I would have thought another part of the horse’s anatomy might fit.”
He chuckled. “Feisty, too. I like that about you. How the outside doesn’t match the inside. Outside you are buttoned-up, strict, regimented…but inside, there’s a spirited woman just waiting to break out and experience all the things she’s turning her nose up at.”
“I don’t turn my nose up.”
“Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I am just as shallow as you say.”
Bianca let it go and concentrated on her meal, but she couldn’t stop herself from already seeing him differently. Behind that perfect smile and expensive clothes and fancy car was a man who used activity, pleasure and possessions to cover up his pain. She had a mad urge to find out what sorrow he hid from the world. To uncover the real Thomaz buried beneath the pile of money and prestige.
He took her back to the hotel after dinner and to Bianca’s utter surprise he did not try to kiss her. She’d had a plan for thwarting him if he’d gone in for the smooch.
But he did nothing more than take her hand and tickle her palms with his fingers. “Goodnight, bonita, until tomorrow….”
3
FOR THE FIRST TIME in as long as he could remember, Thomaz left a woman’s hotel without at least kissing her. He’d wanted to—more than he’d wanted to breathe—but he hadn’t even tried. Any other time, with any other woman, he would have just gone in for the kiss, consequences be damned.
But Bianca was different, special. He didn’t want to rush her. When she’d told him of her heritage, her family, he’d felt…intimate with her. It shook him to the core and he wasn’t sure he cared for the feeling. It was thrilling, yes, but it was also very scary. For years, he’d managed to keep himself removed from other people.
You told Bianca to step outside her box; maybe you should do the same.
Both disturbed and delighted, Thomaz got into his Ferrari and headed for the highway. He drove swiftly and skillfully. In his mind he was living the James Bond fantasy, daring and suave, but in his heart, he was still the young man who’d lost his beloved parents far too soon.
He shook off the melancholy mood. This was ridiculous. He had to stop feeling sorry for himself. And he had to stop imagining that Bianca St. James was anything more than what she really was. A beautiful woman hired to help him sell lingerie. That’s all she was, nothing more.
If he wasn’t careful, he could fall for her and fall hard. But a man in his position couldn’t afford not to be careful. There were many women out there who would love to latch onto him to get their hands on his money. Yes, she was pushing him away, but maybe she was cagier than the usual gold digger.
Seeing Philippe this evening seemed serendipitous since his old college roommate was a detective in the local police force. Considering the way he was feeling about Bianca, it might not be a bad idea to give him a call and have him do a little digging into her background.
Just to be on the safe side.
AFTER Thomaz left, Bianca tossed her purse on the desk and stripped off her clothes. She still wore the lingerie that he had invented. She stared at herself in the mirror and noticed how wild her hair looked. Strands had fallen from the ponytail, giving her a sexily disheveled appearance. She thought of Thomaz, how he’d stared at her as if she was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen.
Remembering caused her body to heat up. The purple and white lingerie glided silkily over her skin as she ran her arms down her waist, her imagination going berserk.
In her mind’s eye, Thomaz was standing behind her. His dark head dipped as he leaned down to kiss the nape of her neck, his tongue wickedly tasting her skin. Her nipples hardened as she envisioned his fingers pinching the hardening peaks instead of her own. A soft groan slipped from her lips. Her thighs tingled and her stomach tightened.
Bianca swallowed. Erotic sensations shivered through her body. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, nor could she stop touching herself. She desired him in a way she’d never wanted another. She’d heard Izzy talk of such sexual urgency, but she’d never experienced such a hunger.
No matter how hard she tried she could not stop her mind from creating delicious scenarios. Thomaz touching her in places that burned for him. Her hand crept lower from her breasts to her waist, sliding down to the edge of the skimpy little lacy panties. Her fingers were urgent as she slipped them beneath the waistband and stroked her throbbing sex. She could smell Thomaz’s masculine scent. She could taste him even though she’d never kissed him.
Oh, how she’d wanted to kiss him. Her body was slick and ready, eager for entry. She slid an index finger inside her…
And that’s when her cell phone rang.
Dammit.
She straightened up, ended the fantasy, snatched the cell phone from her purse and saw it was Izzy. She wanted to ignore the call and go on with her dream lover, but she knew if she did she would be out of the contest. She’d have to fork out five hundred dollars and admit she was the first one to lose the bet. Not something a driven, goal-oriented person did willingly. Sighing, she flipped open her phone. “Hello.”
“Whoa, B,” Izzy said. “You’ve got some whacked-out vital signs. Are you about to break our bet?”
“I’m all by myself,” Bianca said grumpily. “There’s no guy here.”
“What about in your imagination?” Izzy asked.
“I’m allowed my fantasies.”
“Who is it?” Izzy asked. “Your red-hot Brazilian client?”
“None of your business.”
“Ooh, testy. I must have guessed correctly.” Izzy chuckled.
“Is that all you wanted?”
“Just to remind you that self-pleasure, for the purpose of this bet, is considered sex. So unless you’re prepared to lose, hands off the treasure.”
Bianca rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”
“We all agreed.”
Slowly, she let out her breath.
“So don’t do it, ’kay? Although come to think of it, why am I helping you? I’m the one who badly needs the money.”
“Do you need to borrow some, Izz? I’ve got a little saved up—”
“No way,” Izzy said. “I’m winning this thing fair and square. No one thinks I can do it.”
That was true. Bianca would have bet a thousand dollars that Izzy would be the first one out if she hadn’t met Thomaz and learned how pathetic her self-control was. His crazy lingerie was causing all kinds of problems.
In the background, Bianca heard a man’s voice. “Hey, wait a minute! You’re calling me on the carpet and I hear a guy in your apartment.”
“Oh, that’s just Hunter. My DVR was on the fritz and he came over to tinker with it.”
“That’s not a euphemism for something else, is it?”
“Where do you get these ideas?”
“You.”
Izzy laughed. “You have a point.”
“So is anything going on with Hunter?”
“Of course not.”
“Thanks for calling, Izzy. I’m sorry about being irritable.”
“Hey, I understand completely. Horniness can turn the best of us into grouches.”
Bianca hung up and sighed deeply. This chastity thing was much more difficult than she’d ever imagined—especially with a man like Thomaz Santos around.
Resolutely, she strengthened her resolve. She could resist. She only had nine more days. She’d go into his office tomorrow morning and get right to work.
Except that it wasn’t th
e mornings that worried her.
THOMAZ couldn’t wait to get to the office the following morning to see Bianca again. He’d dreamed of her in the night, a red-hot sex dream that had woken him in a cold sweat with a hard-on that wouldn’t die.
And because of that dream, and his lack of willpower, he’d called Philippe that morning and asked him to investigate Bianca.
She was already sitting in the main lobby when he arrived and sprang to her feet the minute he came through the door. Her high heels clacked against the polished marble as she scurried toward him.
Instantly, his body responded, his temperature on full boil. A prickly roll of tingles started at his toes and tromped right on up to his gut. And the hard-on he’d worked so hard to kill at three in the morning was back, pressing irreverently against his zipper.
It seemed she had grown even more beautiful overnight. Her hair was pulled up in that lovely twist, her delicate features utterly patrician. She wore very little makeup and her clothes were as conservative as the business attire she’d worn the day before, but that only seemed to enhance her sexual allure.
Bianca’s eyes met his. They were the shade of coffee liberally laced with cream—brown and warm and inviting, fringed with a sweep of thick lashes. He wanted to drink from her gaze and never look away.
“It’s ten minutes to ten,” she remarked, “what time do your offices open anyway?”
Thomaz smiled and shook his head. “Ten o’clock, my little overachiever.”
“I’m not yours,” she said crossly, but her eyes softened. She was trying hard to be mad at him and failing.
“You are working for me, are you not?”
She nodded.
“Then you are mine.” Yes, that sounded possessive, but she stirred the primal caveman in him that demanded he claim her as his own. “I work for you. You do not own me, Thomaz Santos.”
“Of course not,” he deferred. “I meant no offense.” He held out his arm. “Please allow me to escort you to the elevator.”
He thought she wasn’t going to accept the gesture, but at last, she wrapped one hand around his arm while she clutched her briefcase in the other. The minute her fingers touched him a jolt of intensity trekked up his shoulder and partied with the electric tingles that had started in his feet. Both sensations conjoined in his heart and produced a heat of pure yearning.
