But then her demanding schedule exhausted her. He’d seen it in her eyes, in the weary steps she took once they were in their room alone.
He knew she needed to get away from the hustle of endless shoots, interviews and the constant expectation of the perfumery to tout their fragrance along with the film. He knew, too, that she wouldn’t rest on her own.
So he began stealing time from his schedule so he could whisk her away from the crowds. Time hadn’t allowed them to do more than slip away for a few hours. Shopping. Sightseeing. And occasionally indulging in a tempting dessert at one of the many cafés which he considered a personal boon.
Because today was the last of her shoots, he’d driven them to Nice where they’d dined on a Provençal dinner of salt-crusted sea bass served with a violet artichoke salad.
For dessert, he ordered a tiramisu that he and Leila were sharing, just as they’d done when they were young lovers. When sharing was all he could afford and only then just barely.
“You are a very bad influence on me,” she said as she took another taste of the feather-light dessert, her lips closing around the silver spoon while her eyes closed in what was clearly gastronomic ecstasy.
“I am a good influence on you, because I let you be yourself, querida,” he said, and they both knew it was the truth whether she would admit it or not.
She smiled and looked away, but not before he caught the glimpse of sadness in her hazel eyes. He knew before she spoke that their lighthearted jaunt was ending.
“My agent told me during the last wardrobe change that I have been offered a contract with a top designer to be their model for their spring selection,” she said. “It’s a fabulous opportunity that I was afraid I wouldn’t land.”
He waited for her to expound, to say how much she regretted having to turn them down, before he realized the obvious. “You’ve accepted the offer.”
“Yes. My agent and I will have to go over details point by point before I sign,” she said, excitement ringing in her voice, “but we’re tentatively scheduled to begin shooting in a little over a month.”
Damn! He’d been afraid something like this would happen, that a designer or company would dangle the right carrot in front of her to tempt her from him again.
But he’d also thought she was already contracted for a shoot after the film festival and asked her just that.
“I was, but it was with a local designer and would only have lasted a couple of days,” she said, carefully folding her linen and laying it beside her place. “This offer exceeds anything that has been sent my way in far too long. The profits from it alone will establish a trust that will keep the free clinic afloat in lean times.”
The clinic! That was clearly where her heart rested.
It was quite obvious to him that she’d jumped at this chance, not for the small fortune she’d make but for the escape it offered her.
The hazy picture of family that had begun to form in his mind blurred to gray. The pinch of profound loneliness that had tormented him since childhood grew into a hollow ache. Would he forever be without family? A real home? Love?
Rafael shrugged into his jacket, his anger and hurt banked under a careful mask. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
His hungry gaze swept over his breathtakingly gorgeous wife, and his blood heated. He had waited long enough. They might not be starting a family now, but he wanted her in his bed. And he’d have her there tonight.
The premiere of an animated feature must have been charming, for the majority of the audience laughed uproariously. But Rafael found it difficult to concentrate on anything but the woman beside him.
When he’d gone to Aruba to join her in March, he’d hoped they could start their family then. Of course he’d had no idea she’d suffered a miscarriage six months earlier, that she was nowhere physically or mentally near ready to begin a family.
“Is that all you think of anymore?” she’d asked as they lay together replete after their lovemaking.
It had been his main train of thought for far longer than he cared to admit, and for the life of him, he hadn’t been able to explain the restlessness in him. He just ached to have that close connection, which he’d been denied as a child, with someone.
The past year had been a chaotic yet lonely grind. He’d realized then just how much he missed and loved Leila. How much he wanted to move their marriage to the next level. Family.
“I am tired of living like we do, Leila,” he’d said at last. “We didn’t even spend Christmas together this year.”
“I was on a shoot,” she’d said. “You could have joined me.”
And he might have, but he hadn’t known anything about it until the last minute. By then he’d already promised his mother he’d help her deliver much-needed supplies to the São Paulo poor marooned in the mountains. He’d not disappoint her or the children, for the memory of being on the receiving end of charity was never far from his mind.
“Your schedule is always so full, as is mine. There is hardly time for us anymore,” he’d said, annoyed that his own career kept him from his beloved wife.
He’d reached across and took her hand, entwining his fingers with hers, savoring the jolt of awareness that always ripped through him with they touched.
“We’ll have a week together in France, and though the days will be hectic, the nights will be ours.”
“Yes,” she said, speaking to his throat instead of meeting his eyes. “We can talk about it then.”
He’d wanted to argue the point, to get her to commit. But the fact remained he’d gone eight long months without seeing his wife. Without holding her. Kissing her. Making love to her until they both fell into an exhausted sleep.
But the elation that had surged through him after adoring her with his hands, mouth and body had been shattered when he’d asked her to accompany him to his brother’s wedding the following week. She’d refused, claiming she couldn’t postpone an upcoming shoot. Perhaps that was true, but she’d made no attempt to even try.
She had chosen her career over him and his family.
Rafael blinked as the score blared in the theater and the final credits began rolling on the film. He couldn’t believe it was over. Just like he didn’t want to believe this week with Leila was nearly at an end.
“Which party do you wish to attend first?” he asked as they left the cinema, their movement slowed by the crush of celebrities and the inevitable waiting as pictures were taken on the red carpet.
“Actually, I’d prefer to return to the suite. It’s been a long day.”
“Then that is what we will do.”
“You don’t have to leave the parties just because I am,” she said.
He took her hand, struck with a sense of bittersweet failure. Yet another need pulsed hot and heavy in him too.
“I’ve grown bored with the parties, querida. I’d rather spend this night with you.”
She pressed a hand to his chest and her wide eyes met his. He read uncertainty, fatigue and something he couldn’t place in those most celebrated hazel orbs.
“You’re sure you won’t regret leaving the gaiety?”
“Positive.”
There would always be parties. But his week with Leila would be over soon. Too soon.
He fully intended to make the most of their remaining time together. Wanted this night with her without further arguing. A night filled with nothing but lovemaking so he could brand each second on his memory.
“I want you, Leila.”
“Then let’s get out of here.”
CHAPTER SIX
RAFAEL’S blood was on fire as he skirted the crowd as quickly as possible, his fingers entwined with Leila’s. They reached their suite in less than ten minutes, though it felt as if hours had crawled by.
He swept them into the room and locked the door, heart thundering in his chest. Her fragrance was totally erotic, mingling with her own musk to drive him wild with desire.
His mouth
came down on hers. Hard. Demanding. Savage in intensity, in raw primal need.
She slid her arms around his neck and strained against him, her kiss ripe with promise and passion. She tasted of honey and lemon.
A deep growl of satisfaction ripped from him. His mouth left hers to trail kisses down her slender neck, laving, nipping, reveling in the sultry mewls she made, the desperate way she clutched at him.
He stepped back just enough so he could cup her breasts, lifting them until they nearly spilled over the top of her low strapless dress. They seemed fuller, tighter, and he was suddenly thankful for those five kilograms she’d grudgingly gained.
His head bent to taste one silken globe, nuzzling her dress down to bare her to the waist. He swirled his tongue around one taut nipple before he sucked hard on it.
“Yes,” she moaned, her fingernails raking his back, her spine bowed to press her breasts closer to his mouth.
Heart hammering in his chest, he suckled her hard, nipping at her, then laving. It seemed an eternity had passed since they’d made love in March.
A lifetime of wanting her. Dreaming of her. Now she was in his arms. Now he’d take his time with her, he thought, drawing deeply on one breast and then the other until they gleamed with moisture, until the nipples were hard and rosy.
Until she quivered in his arms and his arousal had grown painful.
“I can’t take it.” She grasped both ends of his tie and pulled him into the bedroom, back to the enormous bed.
A tremor rocketed through him, far stronger than he’d ever felt before. He was nearly blind with lust now as he pushed her red dress to the floor and stared at her, clad only in a sheer crimson thong. Perfection. Her breasts were high and firm, her waist slender, her hips rounded just enough to be feminine.
“Please,” she said, rubbing against him, her fingers desperately trying to loosen the studs on his shirt.
“With pleasure.”
He picked her up and tossed her on the bed, then hooked his thumbs under her thong and yanked it off, eliciting a startled squeak from her. “You are exquisite.”
“And you are overdressed,” she said, her smile a beckoning taunt of tease and passion.
“Vixen.”
He tore off his clothes and fell on her, pressing them both into the sumptuous mattress. Their lips met in a maelstrom of passion, tongues dueling in slick, strong thrusts that left him hard and aching, teeth nipping with erotic intent to make her gasp and purr in turn.
His hands were all over her, memorizing the thrusts of her breasts, the tautness of her nipples that he tasted and tormented until she cried out again.
She glided her hands down his back, her fingers digging into his buttocks to hold him close even as she arched against him, grinding her pelvis against his length. Was she as desperate as he to be inside her?
He slipped a hand between them to find her slick folds were plump with desire, wet from wanting him. His body hardened more, jolting now with the need to drive himself into her. To take her now and be done with it, then take her again and again until they were both too tired to move.
Lust pounded through his veins in hot surges as he pressed his mouth to her flat belly, sliding lower to the caramel curls damp with desire. God, how he’d missed this with her.
“Rafael,” she whispered, her voice low and throaty, her hands clutching his head.
He slid his palms up her inner thighs and pushed her legs apart, baring her to him. In March, the sex between them had been fast. Fierce. The second time had been just as urgent.
This time he would savor her, give them both what they craved. He settled between her creamy thighs, his palms cupping her tight buttocks as he bent to press one hot kiss on her tender flesh.
She cried out, her back bowing, her fingers holding his head at the apex of her quivering thighs. He emitted a low growl and speared into her with his tongue, tasting her, seeking the sweet spot that would drive her wild for him.
There was no finesse now, just primal instinct as his mouth tasted and tormented her hot swollen nub again and again.
His heart hammered as his tongue mimicked what the hard length of his sex ached to do. He felt the tension coiling in her, felt her tremble beneath him, felt himself growing hard as a rock.
He groaned as his body did the same, as if there were an invisible thread between them that pulled them both taut. That bound them together forever.
Ruthlessly shoving that fact to the back of his mind, he channeled his thoughts on pleasuring Leila. He wanted her to remember every erotic stroke, every ravenous kiss, every thrust of his tongue and fingers and sex, when this week ended.
He wanted her to wake in the night and ache to be with him instead of on a shoot at some barren location. He wanted her to think of him and the family they should be starting instead of her career.
His fingers slipped inside her silken core, thrusting harder, giving him that opportunity to watch passion sweep over her in a rosy flush, see her open just for him. Her inner muscles clamped down hard on his fingers even as tremors shot through her.
Her head thrashed on the pillow, eyes pinched shut, incoherent sounds bubbling from her. Sweat beaded his forehead and slicked his back.
He hurt from holding his own need back. But in this, he refused to be selfish, for her pleasure made his all the more intense.
When her climax finally came, it swept over her in one long shuttering cry that sang through his blood. She pressed her head into the mattress and went stiff, his name bursting from her in a reedy litany.
Nothing could be more beautiful than watching her now. No woman was as giving of herself. No woman could ever be this trusting in his arms.
If she could only extend that to him outside the bedroom …
With a savage growl, he surged into her with one long powerful thrust, her spasms pulling him in deeper. So deep he felt the burn of her flesh against his own, felt her passion sear him from the inside out.
They reached their climax together in a glittering burst of color that rivaled the display of fireworks on the beach.
His name burst from her lips. This was perfect. Nirvana.
In the aftermath of such an explosive joining, they sprawled on the bed, spent. Sated.
They dozed. Then they woke to explore each other at leisure in the dark of the night.
They made love again, slowly, drawing it out until they couldn’t stand the wait another moment.
And somewhere in the wee hours of the morning they finally fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Leila came awake slowly, caught somewhere between lusty dreams of Rafael and that state of confusion of not quite remembering the day, the time. His spicy scent clung to her skin, to the bed coverings, proving their sex had been real.
She stretched in the bed and turned to Rafael, her body protesting the workout. Her welcoming smile vanished as she stared at the empty bed.
Memories of March rushed back to her, of him leaving their bed without a goodbye. Without even a damned note.
Her hand swept over the pillow and over the place he would have slept. It was cool. The suite was quiet and dark.
He wouldn’t leave. Wouldn’t leave her like this again. Would he?
And then she heard it. The creak of a chair in the salon.
She scrambled from the bed, gathering the bedsheet as she did. Her heart felt as if a vise were squeezing it. She had to remind herself to breathe.
Leila stepped from the bedroom and scanned the salon. She sagged against the doorjamb, nearly weak with relief.
Rafael sat at the desk, his fingers flying over the silent touch pad on his innovative laptop. He wore khaki shorts and nothing else. His hair was mussed. The broad bronzed width of his shoulders racked tight as he concentrated.
“What time did you get up?” she asked.
He whipped around, seeming startled that she was there. “An hour or so ago. I received an urgent text regarding the integrated graphics on the new phone.”
&nbs
p; She knew from the early days of their marriage that he’d spend long hours poring over such problems. She knew, too, that he would not rest until he’d found a solution.
“You’ll be busy working all day, then,” she said, disappointed to have their last day in France disrupted.
“No. I have isolated the problem and sent details back to my manager already.”
“Wonderful.”
His response was a clipped nod.
The awkward moment stretched out when she wondered at his thoughts, when concern skipped along her nerves. “Is something wrong?”
He frowned, his gaze sweeping down her body. But when his eyes met hers again, she couldn’t read anything in their glittering black depths.
“Would you like me to order room service?”
“Please, I’m hungry.”
He pushed to his feet and padded toward her, his stride long and graceful. This time a slow smile curved the beautifully chiseled contour of his mouth. “Do you have anything scheduled this afternoon?”
She shook her head as a different hunger swelled within her. “Nothing. Do you have something in mind?”
He leaned over her and trailed one finger along her cheek, across her lips. She tipped her head back as that same finger glided down her throat.
“I want to make love with you,” he said, tugging the sheet free.
Before it hit the ground, she was in his arms.
That’s where she stayed for the rest of the afternoon. In bed. On the sofa. In the shower.
They ate a light breakfast, feeding each other. They played, they laughed and they loved. And when the afternoon bled into night, Leila mourned that this week with Rafael was now over.
And she dreaded what tomorrow’s parting would bring.
Leila walked down the hall toward their room on a wave of giddy excitement. The festival ended tonight with the awards ceremony, and she knew that Rafael was exceptionally proud of Nathaniel for winning the prized trophy for his directing of Carnival.
It was a total departure from the films Nathaniel had starred in thus far. The indie film was also the first one made by Nathaniel’s and Rafael’s fledgling production company formed in order to make this movie, a gritty urban thriller set in Rio.
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