Bad Blood Collection

by Various Authors

  With his mind fixed on doing just that, Rafael turned back to the set where the photographer’s assistants were busy checking the light. Amid the flurry of movement, Leila strode from the wardrobe tent which was cleverly concealed by an antique dressing screen, and his heart nearly stopped beating as he drank in her beauty.

  Two pale gold straps of gathered fabric crossed at the front over her breasts before tying around her slender neck. From her upthrust bosom, the dress fell to midthigh, adding just enough fullness so the fabric moved with her.

  And did she ever know how to move!

  The low chatter among the crew stopped and he was certain all eyes turned to her. But instead of walking onto the set where the crew waited for her, she came right toward him.

  He was certain his heart would pound out of his chest, that his blood would surely burst his veins the way it surged like a swollen river. She smiled as if she hadn’t seen him in months and had grieved every second they were apart. It was a look that said she loved him with all her heart. That she ached to pull him into her bed and her body this very second.

  She’d always been just as demanding in the bedroom as he. But she’d never fixed him with this “take me” look in public.

  Even if he’d been prepared, he doubted he could have stopped his body from responding so quickly. His pulse quickened, his arousal grew swift and painful.

  He ached to rip the filmy gold dress from her and make love to her here, deeply, savagely. To leave no doubt that she was his now and forever.

  “Four minutes, Miss Santiago,” the photographer said, his voice and presence an irritation to Rafael.

  “I’m ready when you are,” Leila said, but her focus was on Rafael as she stopped before him.

  She swept her hands up his chest to his shoulders, sending a tsunami of desire crashing through him. A low growl escaped him, and her eyes gleamed with wicked intent.

  Such a vixen! Still his to have. To hold!

  Slowly, her hands glided back down, the nails surely shooting sparks as she scored his shirt before her palms settled over the taut planes of his pectorals. “I was nervous about you being here, but now I’m glad you are. You’ve always been my rock at shoots.”

  “The only session I’ve attended in years was in March, querida.” And that one had sparked a fierce jealousy in him as well as intense longing.

  She lifted a hand and scraped a blunt fingernail along his jaw, and like a match to flint, hot flames of desire ignited within him, burning his resolve to ash.

  “Yes, but you were always at the other shoots in my mind,” she whispered so softly he wondered if he’d heard her right, her eyes now glowing with affection.

  “Miss Santiago, may I remind you that we’re on a tight schedule here. Time is money,” the irritating client snapped.

  With another toss of her sleek silken hair, she strode back to the set before the massive fireplace. A multitude of candles burned in the firebox and along the hearth, lending a warm glow to the gray marble.

  But it was Leila that he watched. Leila that his blood heated for. Leila that he dreamed of having soon.

  The photographer clapped his hands and his staff scampered to do his bidding. “Miss Santiago, if you’d recline on the fainting couch now,” he said, and she immediately did as asked.

  That was a personal hell for him, for the moment she stretched out on the couch he ached to join her. Her golden dress draped over her demurely, but a fan directed at her kept the hem fluttering like his heart.

  The next hour passed in a blur of pictures of Leila stretching out on the couch. Provocative poses. Innocent ones. Beckoning. Assured.

  They ran the gamut and Rafael was only sure of one thing. He had never lusted for a woman as he had Leila. Never wanted a woman as much as he did her.

  As lovers, there was no comparison. There never would be.

  She looked over at him right then, her eyes beckoning, her head back and turned just so, her slender neck cast in light. And then from the shadows came a masculine hand holding a glass perfume stopper.

  Rafael’s mouth went dry as the tiny glass bulb glided down her throat leaving a thin bead of moisture in its wake. Almost immediately a seductive heady scent filled the air.

  But it was the fluid arch of her back and moan that escaped her lips that nearly undid him. Her eyes were closed now in silent ecstasy. What was she thinking?

  You are always there in my mind.

  Dared he believe her?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “INCREDIBLE session,” Siobhan said at the wardrobe door.

  Leila trotted forth a smile as the assistant helped her out of the gold dress. “I thought so too.”

  Though the overbearing client had insisted on butting in, the photographer hadn’t bowed to the man’s demands and Siobhan had quickly hustled the client off the set. Through it all, Leila had kept her calm just by looking over to see that Rafael was still there.

  He was on the phone, and she imagined he was involved in his own business. But still he’d come to the shoot and she could get very used to being around him this much again.

  “Enjoy your afternoon,” Siobhan said, breaking into her thoughts. “The second session today is at five o’clock on the beach, and the swimsuits are wickedly delicious. Just don’t overindulge at lunch!”

  As if she ever did. “I’ll watch it.”

  Leila left the wardrobe and Rafael stepped forward, his expression pensive. “What would you like to do this afternoon?”

  She glanced through the window at the hordes of paparazzi gathered outside the villa and cringed, for they’d surely follow them. “Anything as long as it’s someplace quiet where they can’t find us.”

  “And here I was thinking you thrived before the camera.”

  “Only when I’m on set working,” she admitted. “You know that I treasure my privacy.”

  “As do I.” He caught her hand in his, and she shivered at that first jolt of energy that passed from him to her. “Come on. I know just the place to relax.”

  In moments he’d pulled her out a side door covered by a portico. A uniformed driver stood beside a sleek red sports car.

  “Merci,” Rafael told the man, who tossed him the key before walking back to a nondescript economy car where another man waited.

  “How did you arrange a car so quickly?” she asked as Rafael opened her door.

  “I have connections.”

  A fact she was well aware of.

  “Were you so sure that I’d go off with you?” she teased.

  His sinfully beautiful mouth pulled into a smile that left her tingling inside. “I can be very persuasive.” As well she knew!

  In moments Rafael had whipped through the congested streets toward the harbor. She leaned back in the seat and savored the vista of clear blue sea crowded with all manner of vessels, of the array of umbrellas strung along the beach like a string of colorful gems.

  Of being alone with her husband. Maybe when they stopped she could find the words to tell him of their loss. Maybe then he’d understand her fears and the risks involved.

  She studied the people crowded on the sandy beach, certain if she looked hard enough she’d catch sight of one of the noted celebrities. But as always Rafael drew her attention back to him, for he was the most fascinating man she’d ever met.

  He handled the powerful car just like he did everything else—with an arrogant ease that she’d always admired. Quiet control. He’d exuded that aura when she had first met him, even though he had acted carefree. Reckless, almost.

  Rafael da Souza had been oh so sure he’d succeed in business. And in love.

  “You are going to marry me,” he’d said that day he’d taken her away from the chaos of her world and off into a whirlwind jaunt into the mountains.

  “Why would I do that?” she’d asked, though the idea of being married to him had thrilled her.

  “Because you love me and I love you,” he’d said with such surety that she’d fallen a bit
deeper in love with him then and there. “We belong together, querida.”

  “Don’t be too sure of that!” she’d quipped, though inside she’d agreed.

  He was her other half. The one person she’d trusted with her life—her future. Her secrets.

  She’d known immediately that Rafael was everything she’d dreamed of having in a husband. Determined. Charming. Fun. And oh so sexy.

  He was everything she could ever want for in a lover. For the first time in her life she’d felt sexy, a major improvement, for when she looked at herself in a mirror, she saw a woman who was neither pretty nor plain. A woman lacking any remarkable feature. A woman who felt as lost as she often looked on film.

  Yet he’d never ordered her about, never forced his will on her. Instead he’d allowed her the right to do what she’d been denied as a child—to play. To make believe.

  Two months after meeting him, they married. A very private ceremony in Rio that her mother had hated, for it had robbed that bitter woman of basking in the limelight of a media wedding.

  Leila smiled at the memory, clearly remembering

  Rafael and herself rushing from the small church in Rio to the waiting car.

  Just like now she’d had no idea where Rafael was taking them. But she hadn’t cared. She was with the man she adored, and together they were embarking on a lifelong journey together. Together they would make beautiful love and babies.

  How naive she’d been not to realize they’d face obstacles along the way. That the damaging effects of the anorexia she’d battled in her youth would threaten to steal her glorious dreams from her.

  “You are awfully quiet,” he said. “I was thinking of our wedding day and honeymoon.”

  He said nothing for the longest time, but she noted his fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Noticed that a muscle along his jaw grew taut.

  “I regret I could only give you a poor man’s tour,” he said, his admission surprising her.

  Was he serious? Did he really think that she wanted or needed to live lavishly?

  “I certainly don’t,” she said, and gained a doubting frown from him before he turned his attention back to the winding road. “I reached superstardom at a young age, Rafael, and was under my controlling mother’s rule for some time, as you know. I’d had my fill of extravagance by the time I’d turned eighteen.”

  “That is good to hear, querida.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  She and Rafael had enjoyed a very simple honeymoon. They’d taken an auto tour of Europe, a leisurely journey where they had shunned tourist traps in favor of exploring each other in sensual detail in a staggering assortment of villas, châteaus, apartments and yachts.

  What sightseeing they’d done had been just as laid-back. It had been the first time in her life that she’d totally relaxed. That she’d been someone beside the sought-after model.

  Yet when their honeymoon was over, the real world had intruded. Her and Rafael’s careers had become more demanding as time wore on.

  Now here they were after a horrid year apart, her burdened with guilt and he expecting her to embrace the one thing that terrified her.

  He parked in the harbor lot and pulled a small hamper she hadn’t seen from behind his seat.

  “Ready?”

  “For a picnic? Of course.”

  “Good. If we hurry, we can catch the ferry to Île Sainte-Marguerite.”

  She blinked, her gaze traveling across the sea to the small archipelago. “Isn’t that one of the places we stayed on our honeymoon?”

  “It is. You asked for peace and quiet, and this was the first place that I thought of.”

  What a wonderfully romantic surprise! She pressed a hand to her pounding heart, so touched that tears sprang to her eyes.

  “It’s perfect.”

  “I am pleased that you like it,” he said, and hurried her down the wharf to the waiting ferry.

  Fifteen minutes later they set foot on the jeweled island. “Are you up for a hike?”

  It was as if history were repeating itself. “Of course.”

  She slipped her hand in his and let him lead her down to the coastal pathway lined with botanicals. For over an hour they walked quietly along the pathway, admiring the gorgeous scenery and laughing at the songs from the migratory birds clustered in the trees. The aroma of lavender, eucalyptus and an array of exotic flowers perfumed the air, while the peaceful quiet of the island soothed her soul.

  Through the occasional breaks in the forest she could glimpse Fort Royal, but though the scenery was spectacular, she had difficulty taking her eyes off Rafael for long. This closeness between them was what she’d so desperately missed. Telling him now would be the right thing to do, the perfect timing, yet she knew that the truth would shatter this wonderful moment.

  Right now she simply wanted to enjoy the day with Rafael. To remember the good times they had once shared and not be plagued by the guilt that rested heavy on her. So once again she tucked those errant thoughts away.

  They prowled the old jail, and she laughed as he threatened to lock her up and have his way with her.

  They walked hand in hand in companionable silence and at that moment she’d never felt closer to him. It was so easy to pretend all was perfect in their lives.

  The trail opened onto a secluded cove where the glimmering turquoise sea lapped gently against the shore. “How beautiful.”

  “Indeed so. This would be the perfect place for our picnic,” he said.

  When was the last time he’d taken her on a picnic? Years ago, she was sure, for recently they had never had time for each other.

  He spread a blanket while she kicked off her slings, the sand warm under her feet. “I wasn’t sure what you’d be hungry for so I asked the hotel to arrange a sampling of light fare. They suggested rosé wine, but I remembered you had liked the sparkling French lemonade when we were here.”

  “It was wonderful,” she said, touched at his thoughtfulness.

  Not that her memory was less dim. She could clearly remember him on their honeymoon picnic here as well, how his ravenous appetite had made her giggle, how the wind had tossed his thick curly hair until it was an unruly mop.

  How they’d lain on the beach and kissed passionately, working themselves into a fever that had sent them rushing back to their hotel.

  “It appears we have cold roast chicken and Provençal salad,” he proclaimed as he removed the items from the hamper. “And for dessert, fresh fruit tarts and grapes.”

  To her surprise her stomach actually growled. Her appetite had been nil of late, but today she was ravenous. For food. For Rafael.

  “Me thinks the lady is in dire need of sustenance,” he joked, and held a piece of savory roasted chicken to her lips.

  “Mmm,” she said as she ate from his hand, and then curled her tongue around his finger and drew it into her mouth, drawing deeply before nipping the flesh.

  His dark eyes smoldered with sensual energy and an erotic growl rumbled from him. “Leila …”

  “You taught me everything I know about seduction, Rafael.”

  One dark eyebrow winged up in sharp rebuke, but the twitch of his lips proved the chastisement was all for show. “Everything, querida?”

  She laughed, breaking the seductive spell, as she poured lemonade for them into tall glasses while he sprawled on his back, his devastating smile fixed on her. “I might have thought up a few things on my own.”

  “Experimenting, eh?”

  She tried to mimic one of his careless shrugs. “Want to play guinea pig?”

  He levered himself up, his lips mere inches from hers. “With you, I am game for anything.”

  Before she could guess if he was joking or serious, he pressed his lips to hers. Once. Twice. Nothing more than teasing kisses that heated her blood and had her straining toward him for more.

  “I’m starving,” he said, pulling away from her when she would have preferred kissing him to eating.

  But tha
t too soon became an erotic treat for her senses. They sat facing each other and savored their lunch, each pausing from time to time to feed the other.

  “I regret that we haven’t done this more often over the years,” he said as he glided a finger over her brows, along the shell of her ear and down her neck. “Though I don’t think I could be the observer at another shoot like this last one.”

  Her skin pebbled even as her blood heated. “Was it that boring for you?”

  He released a rough laugh. “It was agony watching you stretch and reach for your imaginary lover on that couch,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky timbre that stroked over her flesh like an erotic caress.

  How could he say such a thing when his hand was causing her undue agony? When she’d focused so intently on only him during that shoot that her own body had nearly betrayed her desire?

  “I’m sorry you disliked it.”

  “On the contrary, querida. I ached to go to you, to cover you.” He pressed a kiss on the side of her neck, then took a teasing nibble, and she couldn’t contain her moan of pleasure. “To strip you of that scrap of gold cloth and make love with you.”

  A mewling sound escaped her lips, eliciting another sultry growl from him. She’d worked hard to emulate that beckoning look. But she hadn’t been able to master it until a wise photographer had told her to envision her lover standing in the wings, watching.

  When you see him in your mind’s eye, make love to the camera.

  And so she had.

  But that feeling of satisfaction was nothing compared to truly being in Rafael’s arms right now.

  His eyes had turned a glittering black, searching, questioning. His beautiful mouth was just inches from hers. So close she could almost taste him.

  “Meu amor,” he said, before his mouth swooped down on hers, hungry, demanding.

  She let out a welcoming cry and threaded her arms around his strong neck, powerless to resist him, to deny them both what they so desperately wanted.

  He fell back onto the blanket, drawing her down on top of him. He whispered erotic words of love against her lips, her neck, across the heaving swells of her bosom. She gasped, her back bowing into him, her lips straining toward his.