At the Brazilian's Command

by Susan Stephens

  ‘Don’t look away. I want you to look at me, Danny, and I’ll tell you when—’

  ‘Now!’ she wailed, unable to hold on.

  ‘Greedy.’ He laughed as he held her in his arms and she convulsed with pleasure. ‘We do have all day and all night,’ he reminded her as he kissed her.

  ‘Is that all?’ she complained.

  ‘Believe me—I’m here for as long as you want. And I have no complaints.’ He swallowed the last of her satisfied groans in a kiss. ‘We have a lot of time to make up.’

  ‘For every night apart?’ she suggested.

  ‘And every night going forward,’ Tiago said.

  * * *

  It was a long time later, when they were stretched out dozing, with their limbs entwined, that Tiago murmured something Danny wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.

  ‘Say again?’ she murmured groggily.

  ‘I said I love you, Danny, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you—so will you marry me?’

  ‘No can do,’ she said sleepily.

  ‘Why not?’ Tiago prompted huskily.

  ‘I’m already married...my husband wouldn’t like it.’

  ‘Would he approve of a blessing in the local kirk?’

  She stirred, properly awake now. ‘You’re serious?’

  ‘I’m absolutely serious. I was thinking we could have our blessing at Rottingdean, so everyone can share the day. That is what you wanted, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes... Yes, of course is it. But I do have one condition.’

  ‘Name it,’ Tiago growled.

  ‘We spend our entire honeymoon in bed.’

  ‘I’m sure that can be arranged,’ he agreed as he gathered her into his arms.

  EPILOGUE

  THE TINY CHAPEL in the Highland village of Rottingdean was filled to capacity for the blessing of Danny and Tiago’s marriage vows. Tiago had flown everyone who mattered over from Brazil, and had even persuaded Lizzie’s mother to make an appearance—though she had scooted off to meet up with her toy-boy some time before the end of the ceremony.

  That apart, he was determined nothing would stand in the way of Danny’s happiness. He had left nothing to chance—even buying Danny a more ‘job-appropriate’ ring to jostle alongside the jewels he loved to lavish on her.

  ‘I intend to work you very hard,’ he murmured as he slipped the simple platinum band on to Danny’s wedding ring finger.

  ‘I love it,’ she whispered, glancing at the ring and then meeting and sharing the humour in his eyes. ‘And as for working me hard—both in and out of the bedroom—I wouldn’t have it any other way. Though I may have to take some time off...’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Shh...’ she warned him as the minister began to address the congregation once more.

  ‘Are you going to make me wait before you explain that comment?’ Tiago demanded, with his usual force.

  ‘Tiago, I am going to make you a daddy. Now, please be quiet.’

  * * *

  She had never seen Tiago so happy. He couldn’t wait to tell everyone their news when they arrived at the hotel where they were holding their reception.

  ‘So you tamed the playboy?’ Lizzie commented, giving Danny a hug. ‘And I couldn’t be more thrilled that we’re both expecting our babies in the same month.’

  ‘Hello, you two!’

  ‘Emma?’

  Danny couldn’t have been more surprised to see a chirpy young girl with the same bright red hair as Lizzie wearing a chambermaid’s uniform.

  But why was she surprised, when Lizzie’s cousin Emma had always worked hard and had always loved working with people? Danny only had to think back to the garden parties the three of them had used to organise under Lizzie’s grandmother’s supervision, to raise money for local charities, to remember that. With her bubbly personality, Emma Fane would be an asset wherever she worked.

  ‘No wonder you hardly recognised me,’ Emma exclaimed, giving Danny an enthusiastic hug. ‘It has been almost ten years since I last visited Rottingdean.’

  Emma had been little more than a child then. ‘Of course I recognise you...’ Danny was still computing the information. ‘But I thought you were at college...?’

  ‘I was—hotel management,’ Emma confirmed, ‘but then this—’

  She stroked her stomach lovingly, which caused Danny to exchange a fast concerned glance with Lizzie. Emma was a lot younger than they were, and seemed too young to be having a baby.

  ‘And now I need the money,’ Emma admitted bluntly. ‘But don’t worry about me,’ she added brightly. ‘This job at the hotel is great experience, and I love it here. Lizzie told me about the vacancy for a chambermaid, and here I am.’

  Emma opened her arms wide, as if embracing the world and everything in it, with the infectious joie de vivre Danny had always associated with the young girl.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me crashing your blessing,’ she went on, ‘but I’m just about to finish my shift and I couldn’t resist peeping in.’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind,’ Danny insisted. ‘You’re more than welcome to join us.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Emma protested. ‘I couldn’t do that.’

  ‘Why not?’ Danny frowned. ‘I’ll speak to the manager for you.’

  ‘If you’re sure...?’ Emma’s face lit up.

  ‘I’m certain. It will be good to catch up. I had no idea you were married—’

  Danny stopped—blanched—wanted to cut out her tongue. She knew immediately from the look on Emma’s face and Lizzie’s sudden tension that she’d said the entirely wrong thing.

  ‘Sorry—I didn’t mean to infer anything.’

  ‘It’s an easy mistake to make,’ Emma insisted. ‘But please don’t be embarrassed—I’m not. I couldn’t be happier.’

  ‘That’s obvious,’ Danny said warmly. ‘So the three of us are going to share this exciting trip into motherhood together? You are sticking around?’ she confirmed with Emma.

  Emma was just about to answer when Tiago strolled up to introduce them to a man—presumably another polo player, from the look of him—who might safely be called intimidating if you were of a nervous disposition.

  Thankfully, Danny was not. She was used to daunting men, she thought as she glanced at Tiago, but for some reason she clutched Emma’s hand a little tighter. She felt protective towards the young girl—and not just because Tiago’s timing was so badly off. The little she knew about Emma’s family suggested there would be no support for the young girl there, and Emma must be barely out of college—if she had even finished college at all.

  There was a mystery here, Danny suspected. Emma had been such a promising student, and so serious about her career.

  ‘Don’t look so worried,’ Emma whispered discreetly, before pulling away to leave Danny to mingle with her guests. ‘I’m a lot tougher than I look.’

  She would have to be, Danny concluded with concern as she noticed the daunting polo player staring after Emma. A vivacious, pretty girl like Emma would always attract plenty of male attention.

  She turned back to Tiago, who was waiting to introduce her.

  ‘Danny, this is Lucas Marcelos—another reprobate on the polo circuit.’

  ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Lucas,’ she said politely. ‘Welcome to Scotland.’

  Danny’s heart plummeted when she noticed that Lucas’s attention was still fixed on Emma—though he covered his distraction fast, turning to face Danny with a stare that was piercing in its intensity.

  ‘Tiago warned me you were beautiful,’ he said, ‘but now I see he was understating the case.’

  Lucas’s voice was deep and accented, and for some reason it sent shivers down Danny’s spine. She was glad when Tiago moved to stand between the
m.

  ‘You’re a lucky man,’ Lucas told Tiago. ‘I don’t know what you’ve done to deserve such a woman, but you should give me your secret.’

  ‘I love her. It’s as simple as that and as complicated,’ Tiago admitted as he looped a protective arm around Danny’s shoulders. ‘And she keeps me in line.’

  ‘Which you like?’ Lucas sounded incredulous at this.

  ‘Which I adore,’ Tiago insisted, in a way no man in his right mind would choose to argue with. ‘You should try it some day, Lucas—find out for yourself.’

  ‘That, my friend, is never going to happen.’

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ Tiago murmured, turning back to Danny as Lucas strolled away.

  ‘Wow!’ Danny released her pent-up tension in a gust of relief. ‘Was I just scorched by an overload of testosterone, or was that a hologram of a very angry and frustrated man?’

  ‘That, chica, was a good friend of mine who has taken more hits from life than he should have done. But I don’t want to talk about Lucas now. I want to concentrate on you—if you don’t mind?’

  ‘I don’t mind at all.’

  Danny shook off the feeling of unease Lucas had given her as Tiago drew her into the shadows, where they could be alone for a moment, but she did feel sorry for Lucas. To be alone was not an enviable position to be in. She just hoped Lucas wouldn’t decide to take out his bitter energies on young Emma tonight—because Emma was also alone, and a good deal more defenceless than a successful polo player like Lucas Marcelos.

  ‘Danny?’

  She gazed up at her husband, rejoicing that they were together. No one and nothing would ever part them again, and soon there would be a new addition to the Santos family.

  ‘I love you with all my heart,’ Tiago whispered against her mouth, kissing her tenderly and repeatedly. ‘And I can’t bear to share you with anyone. Is that terrible of me?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him back.

  ‘And now we’re going to be three—’

  ‘Or four—who knows?’ she teased him.

  ‘You’ve made me very happy,’ Tiago growled, staring deep into her eyes. ‘And that was before you gave me the news of our baby.’

  Danny’s gaze dropped to the firm, sexy mouth of the man she loved. ‘Did you say you had taken a suite at the hotel, so we could freshen up after the blessing if we needed to?’

  ‘That’s right. I have,’ Tiago confirmed.

  ‘I need to freshen up.’ She looked at him.

  ‘Strange,’ Tiago murmured, brushing her mouth with his. ‘So do I...’

  * * * * *

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  CHAPTER ONE

  THE DARK-HAIRED TOTS playing on the far side of the sumptuous hotel lounge held Samira’s gaze. They weren’t loud or boisterous, the middle-aged woman with them saw to that. They were just a pair of ordinary toddlers.

  Yet Samira couldn’t drag her eyes away from them. She watched the progress of one little boy as he walked the length of a sofa, his fingers splayed on the silk upholstery for support. He gurgled his delight and grinned at his companion who wobbled along behind him.

  Samira swallowed. That hollow feeling was back, worse now, turning into a twisting stab of hurt that knifed all the way from her womb up high under her ribs.

  She tried to focus on Celeste’s animated chatter about a new restaurant. Apparently it had unrivalled rooftop views of the Eiffel Tower as well as several Michelin stars and was the new place to eat and be seen.

  Samira’s stomach rebelled at the mention of food.

  Or maybe it was something else that made her insides clench so hard.

  The second toddler landed on his bottom, arms waving, and the woman—grandmother? Nanny?—gathered him up. Samira’s arms twitched then fell, lax and empty, into her lap.

  She blinked and turned away.

  Empty. That was exactly how she felt.

  She would never have a child of her own to hold. The doctor had made that clear.

  She’d tried so hard to regroup these past four years, and she’d come so far, but nothing could erase that searing, hollow ache within.

  ‘I’m so pleased you can attend tonight’s charity auction in person.’ Celeste leaned across their porcelain teacups and Samira swung her gaze back to the pretty Parisienne. ‘Bidders will adore the chance to meet the talented princess behind the gorgeous fashions. Your donation to the auction is sure to fetch a huge price.’

  Samira fixed on a practised smile and refused to cringe at yet another reference to her royal status.

  As daughter of, and now sister to, the Sultan of Jazeer, she knew all too well that royal rank didn’t guarantee happiness.

  Her heart lurched but she kept her gaze on her companion, not letting it stray to the other side of the opulent room.

  She reminded herself she was a pragmatist. Her successful design business benefited from the cachet of her aristocratic name. Designs by Samira had taken off these last few years. Her clientele, among the globe’s ultrawealthy, appreciated working with someone who understood their world, who promised absolute exclusivity and confidentiality. She had far more than many women dreamed of: independence, success, wealth.

  What right had she to yearn for more?

  Yet still that bone-deep ache persisted, no matter how often she reminded herself how lucky she was. For what did the trappings of success mean when deep at the heart of you there was...nothing?

  Samira bit her lip. She would conquer this. She would!

  ‘I’m looking forward to it, Celeste.’ Samira wrenched her thoughts back to tonight’s gala. ‘You and your team have done a marvellous job pulling it all together. How, exactly, will the auction work? What do you want me to do?’

  Celeste launched into an explanation of the auction, the exclusive invitation list and the business opportunities tonight’s event would present.

  Yet, businesswoman though she was, Samira couldn’t conjure answering enthusiasm. Perhaps because, having been born to status and privilege, mixing with the stratosphere of European society held no thrill for her.

  Was this all there was? Long days of work followed by an endless round of society events where she’d mix business, pleasure and occasional philanthropy, and leave feeling alone and empty?

  Samira blinked and gave herself a mental shake, refusing to linger on the maudlin thoughts that had edged her consciousness for so long.

  She leaned back in her chair, nodding as Celeste emphasised a point, letting her weary body relax for the first time, it felt, in days.

  That was it. She was exhausted. No wonder her attention strayed. She’d been in consultation with a new first lady in South America yesterday about a gown for an inauguration ball, then had stopped off in New York to see another client, only arriving in Paris an hour ago.

  When she rested she’d be herself, eager to be caught up once more in the challenges of business, and especially the joy of designing.

  Movement caught her eye.
A tall figure in a dark suit moved through the perfectly arranged seating with a long, quick stride that made her think of her dressmaker’s shears cutting through rich velvet.

  She told herself it was a ridiculous comparison but when she turned to focus on him she realised it was apt. Though dressed with the formidable elegance of the best bespoke tailoring, some indefinable air proclaimed he didn’t belong in the luxury of Paris’s finest hotel. He belonged somewhere more vital, where crystal chandeliers and dainty side tables were unnecessary fripperies.

  A good head taller than every other man in the vicinity, his shoulders the broadest Samira had ever seen, he nevertheless moved with a fluid, athletic grace that spoke to her designer’s eye.

  A squeal of excitement froze her in the act of turning back to Celeste. One of the little, chubby-cheeked boys had spotted him and was scrambling across the sofa towards him.

  A low, rumbling chuckle reached her ears as the man bent and scooped up both children, one in each arm, as easily as she’d pick up a couple of cushions. He lifted them high, making them giggle with delight, and held them close as he ducked his head and murmured to each of them in turn. Tiny starfish hands planted on his shoulders and hair in their eagerness to get close and she heard him laugh again, the sound a ribbon of warmth channelling through the chill emptiness inside her.

  Just like that, without any fanfare or warning, Samira’s world contracted to the cold void of her barren body and the devastating vignette of a happy family on the other side of the room.

  The dividing line excluding her from them had never been more real, or more unbreakable.

  Pain juddered through her, making her clench her jaw and grab at the arms of her lounge chair.

  There would be no family for her, no children. As for finding a life partner to love... The air hissed between her teeth at the impossibility of that particular fantasy.

  ‘Samira. Is anything wrong?’

  ‘Nothing at all.’ Samira turned to Celeste with a dazzling smile that only years of practice in the public eye could muster. Surreptitiously she breathed in through her nose, filling lungs that seemed to have cramped shut. ‘It sounds like tonight will be a huge success. With luck you’ll attract far more than your fund-raising target.’