The rags-to-riches flick had left Leila shaken and stunned, for the film spoke to her deeply as she, too, had started with nothing, escaping poverty in the favelas.
It also confirmed that she and Rafael had something profoundly in common, for only someone who understood the plight of the desperately poor Brazilians trapped in the violent slums could depict the raw emotion and angst on film with such heart-wrenching detail. It made her love Rafael even more.
She’d longed to quiz him on the details but she held back when he waved aside any accolades as they had left the theater. If he didn’t wish to talk about how he knew exactly how life in the slums were, she would not press him.
“I just contributed money,” Rafael said when congratulated for the award. “Nathaniel did all the work.”
An exaggeration she was sure. But since he declined attending the many parties that would reign on the yachts and in the clubs up and down La Croisette until the wee hours of the morning, all touting the brilliance of the film, she kept her questions to herself.
As Nathaniel and his wife did the same, even bowing gracefully out of having dinner with them tonight, she was even more sure that this movie had a far deeper and personal meaning for the half brothers. That alone troubled her, for it made her wonder what their childhood had really been like.
Rafael had never divulged much, even when she’d asked. She certainly wasn’t about to pry now, for he’d been in an odd mood since the film ended.
And in truth, she was relieved that Rafael hadn’t made other arrangements for them tonight. She longed to return to their room, to spend this final night with him alone like they had last night. But she dreaded that he would press her for her decision on a family again, and that this might be the end of their marriage. She simply couldn’t deal with that now.
She chanced a peek at him and her breath caught. The chiseled lines of his face seemed more intense, his eyes darker and more troubled. Was he thinking that their idyll was drawing to an end too?
God knew the precious moments in Rafael’s arms were without compare for her. There just hadn’t been enough of them at this festival. Now it was nearly over, and she couldn’t ignore that niggling of doubt that he was already pulling away from her.
“So what are your plans after the festival?” she asked, sliding her long silk scarf from around her neck and letting it trail behind her.
“There are things I need to attend to in Brazil,” he said, closing the door behind him, shutting out the world again, shutting them in for one last night.
She faced him then, noting the tension that had gripped him during the film was still in force, still creating an invisible wall between then. “More trouble with your business?”
“No, that’s under control now.” He shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and flung it on a chair, his expression as taut as the tension now humming in the room. “I’ve neglected the fazenda of late.”
He owned a farm? In the early days of their marriage that was all he’d talked about—building a home for them away from the city. A place where they could escape the rigors of their careers. Where they could raise a family in peace.
It had been the dream she’d held as well, until she’d lost their child. Until she’d realized that the hope of having a real family might be far beyond her reach.
“You’ve bought a house, then?” she asked, trying to sound conversational and light when she was hurt that he’d never told her he’d moved forward with their dream home. “Tell me about it.”
He crossed to the balcony and threw open the door to admit the welcoming salt-tinged breeze. “The land is rich and producing fine crops, and the staff is smaller but above par. I trust you will approve.”
“I’m sure I will,” she said, then wondered when she’d get the chance to go. Certainly not in the next month or so.
He glanced back at her, his smile relaxed, though there was a pensive set to his mouth that kept her from feeling at ease. “It is a typical farm casa with large airy rooms. There is space for you to have an office if you wish. I had one built for my needs.”
“Ultrahigh-tech?”
“It is what I do,” he said with pride.
And her own pride stung, for while he would never give up his career or even partial control of it, he expected her to embrace full-time motherhood.
She waited for him to go on, to tell her more about the house he’d dreamed of building one day for them. Of the bedroom they’d share, and the nursery he was intent on filling.
But he simply resumed his study of the sea, both hands braced on the jamb, his white shirt stretching tight over his muscular back. And maybe that was for the best, for the last thing she wanted to do now was engage in another discussion about starting their family.
Leila pulled her scarf through her hand again and again as unease crackled along her nerves. “What time is your flight tomorrow?”
“Seven in the morning.”
Her plane didn’t depart until eleven. Though she’d hoped they could travel to the airport together, she didn’t wish to spend hours there waiting for her flight.
“I suppose you should get some rest now,” she said, feeling awkward when she longed to blurt out her needs.
“I can sleep on the plane, querida.” He turned to face her this time, and the need in his gaze reached out to her, stroked her desire and sent a hum of want crashing through her.
She shook her head, afraid this easy mood would be broken. “Good, because I need you tonight.”
“And I need you, Leila,” he said, his smile sad. “I hope one day you’ll realize just how much.”
Leila walked up to him, noting the catch in his breath, the flaring of his nostrils, the darkening tinge on his cheeks. She looped her scarf around his neck and gave it a tug, and passion exploded in his dark eyes.
“Show me how much,” she said, giving the scarf a hard tug.
CHAPTER SEVEN
RAFAEL set his teeth. It was damned near impossible to resist her when her eyes were blazing with desire. And why should he when this was their last night together?
With an erotic growl, his mouth swooped down on hers. The kiss was a consuming fire, but Leila welcomed the heat, for she could taste his passion, feel his need pulse in his muscles and vibrate into her on a dulcet sigh.
She raked her fingernails down his back and held on tight as he backed her up against the wall. He let out a primal hiss, his pelvis grinding against hers. His tongue plundered, retreated and staked claim to her mouth again.
“I don’t want this week to end,” she said, her fingers making short work of freeing his gorgeous length from his trousers, wanting him in her, desperate to hold on to him any way she could, for something had shifted in their relationship yet again, something that threatened to pull him from her.
“It doesn’t have to,” he said, his voice gruff with hope.
Had he finally succeeded in reaching her?
The thought of returning to the empty penthouse or the casa sickened him. He was so damned tired of living alone. He selfishly yearned for his wife in his arms and his life.
She claimed she felt the same, yet for all her protestations she was still placing her career first.
The thought went up in flames as she scraped her hands over his chest, and he marveled that he didn’t see sparks crackling in the dim light of the room. He was on fire for her, consumed with need.
He shoved her gown to her waist with one hand and snapped the thin strap of her thong with the other, the near-violent action more titillating than she could have imagined.
She kicked what remained of her panties free in a desperate rush to get rid of the encumbrance.
He growled his approval and lifted her by her waist, holding her against the wall for a heartbeat before he brought her down on his thick hot length. Sparks of passion rocketed through her.
She cried out and wrapped her legs around his lean hips, clutching him tightly to her, her face buried against his neck as that first wa
ve of sensations tore through her. Her head spun from the sheer power of him inside her, making them one again.
Her heart thudded strong and she wished this would go on forever.
He hissed out a breath and shuttered, going still as if he, too, had nearly passed out from this explosive joining, as if savoring every quiver of flesh against flesh, every slick sweet glide within. As if he were afraid to move for fear it would shatter to pieces.
She clung to him, focused on his pulse pounding through her in an erotic beat that made her heart sing. Her muscles stretched to accommodate his length before instinctively tightening around him to milk him—draw out all he could give her. Hold him tight, as if by doing so she’d never lose this moment. Never lose him.
“Meu amor,” he said, pulling nearly out of her before slamming back in where he belonged. His mouth came down on hers, the kiss as greedy as the need gnawing away inside her.
She threaded her fingers through his thick hair and ground her mouth against his even as her pelvis moved against him, matching his thrusts, his passion. She kissed him deeply, determined to leave no doubt in his mind that he was her only lover. That he was her love.
They broke apart on a gasp, desperate to draw air into lungs that burned. Her skin was on fire now, the blaze within her so hot and fierce that she was certain this time the heat would consume them.
He tossed his head back, his features cast in bold relief, an erotic deity come to life, the emotions stark and clear. Passion. Pain. Possession.
He controlled the moment. Controlled her with an iron will that left her panting for more, that left her at his mercy.
She couldn’t have continued her sensual assault a moment longer. Raw passion crashed through her with the force of a tidal wave, sweeping her away on a wave of bliss.
Every inch of her was ultrasensitized, from the aching tips of her breasts that drilled into his chest to her heart that pounded in time to his—hard, fast. Wanting more. Wanting all he could give her. Wanting to hold this moment forever.
She lifted her head and stared into eyes that smoldered with black flames of passion, so intense she trembled as the carnal fire licked through her veins. She burned deep inside, forever branded by his passion, her skin so sensitized that the slight abrasion of his fingers stroking her quivering body was sweet torture.
They had made love every way imaginable, but never with this explosive passion. Never this intense and consuming. Never so powerful that she actually thought if she died now, she would die blissfully happy.
Her trembling hands stroked down his powerful back that quivered at her touch. She pinched her eyes shut, imbedding this joining on her memory, for surely she wanted this moment to last forever, to hold him in her arms, in her body, until the end of time.
For when they were locked in love, the world faded into oblivion. She focused on him moving on her, in her. They were one, their breaths mingling, their hearts pounding in tandem to a sensual melody only they could hear.
The pressure inside her was cataclysmic, propelling her into the stratosphere. She gasped and reached toward that crystalline brilliance of completion just out of her reach. A place where she could only feel and not think. A nirvana where she simply lay sated in exquisite splendor.
With Rafael.
If he wasn’t with her, she couldn’t go.
She held him tighter, determined to take him with her into her glorious climax. But that was ripped from her as her body splintered with sensation, trembling, tossing her up among the stars.
She screamed his name and reached for him, their entwined fingers her lifeline that surged with a maelstrom of passion. But that, too, grew dim, a ghost image that was beautiful to see, a memory that was seared on her soul.
She was dimly aware of his body straining against her own, her body pressed against the cool wall. Of his final thrust as he reached his climax with a hoarse shout that made her smile, for she’d given him all she had to offer.
It was much later that her brain began to function, when the ruckus from the beach and the clubs became an intrusion on this special moment. She rested lax in the cradle of his embrace, the wall cold and unyielding against her spine, his body hot and hard against her own.
Her arms hung at her sides, her hands free. Her only remaining connection to him now was that he was still buried deeply inside her. But that, too, ended as he slowly eased out of her.
“That was incredible,” she said, pressing a kiss against his damp chest and smiling as his skin puckered against her lips.
“You are incredible,” he said, his hands curling over her bare bottom and simply holding her close.
She glided her palms up his arms to his damp shoulders, lifting her head from where she’d pillowed it on his chest to look at his face. “If I am, it is only because of you, my love.”
“Everything ends eventually,” he said, the note of finality in his tone threatening to dim her joy. “Then new memories can be made.”
She took a relieved breath and pressed her mouth to his, grazing his lips once, twice. “Then let’s make new memories tonight.”
His big body tensed a fraction, and for a heartbeat she feared he’d refuse. What would she do then?
“You know what I want, Leila,” he said.
She took a breath. Then another. But in the end she couldn’t lie.
“I know, but I fear I might never be able to give you that, Rafael.”
Rafael swore under his breath. There was no joy in knowing nothing had changed. In knowing that Leila did not trust him enough to help her overcome her fears. He was torturing himself by making love with her, knowing she’d go her way in the morning, in control of her life, but alone.
His mouth closed over hers, not with brutal passion or driving lust but a gentle kiss that made his soul sing even as his heart clenched over at his failure to make his marriage work. At his failure to make his beautiful wife see the future they could have together, if only she would trust him.
He selfishly wanted more memories of her to hold long afterward even though that would be a torment to his soul as well. He wanted this night. Wanted all she could give him, as little as that was.
Regrets and guilt could torment him tomorrow. Tonight was theirs.
He tore his mouth from hers and she mewled a protest, pressing her mouth to his throat instead, nipping, laving, moving down his chest to suckle his skin.
Desire bolted through him like lightning. His sex jolted and snapped taut.
“You are insatiable,” he said thickly, giving her bare bottom a squeeze that brought her body pressing tightly against him again.
Such exquisite torment!
“But you like me that way,” she said, her voice a throaty purr again.
It was true. He liked that she wasn’t shy in bed with him. That she knew what pleased him, what made their pleasure all the more memorable.
If only he could calm her fears about motherhood now. How ironic that in the early days of their marriage, he’d been afraid that he’d not be a fit father, just like his own. His greatest fear was that his father’s evil would eventually come out in him, that he’d somehow turn into the monster who could turn his back on his own flesh and blood. Who could inflict pain with a cruel smile. That his life was too busy to be burdened with children yet.
It had been his suggestion to put off having a family in the early days, sure that he lacked the patience to deal with the bonds of parenthood when his marriage was so new. When he was still at the beginnings of launching his career.
Yet just two years into marriage and the lonely ache in him had expanded. He’d realized that he needed Leila to make him whole. To ground him. To complete him. His desire to be with her and start a family with her had overwhelmed him.
He and his siblings had little contact. His mother was deeply involved helping the indigenous people, a cause he supported.
But he had vowed to keep his yearnings to himself until their third anniversary. His and Leila’s careers we
re at crucial stages and he understood and respected that. But each day he had poured his heart into his work, and each night he had come home to a cold empty house.
He was miserable. He missed Leila terribly and he dreamed of her having his babies. Ached to spend every day and night with her, and the ache to have his own family had nearly consumed him.
But Leila wasn’t ready. She may never be. He had to give her space, maybe let her go forever.
“Join me in Malibu,” she said, tracing his jaw with a fingernail.
“I’m tied up in Brazil for the next month.”
“Rio after that, then?”
“Yes, we’ll spend the next months back home.”
“That sounds good.”
Rafael tightened his hold on her and strode into the bedroom, his mind too fogged with passion to think logically now.
He longed to lie beside her, cover her, have her straddle him. He’d adore her with his hands and lips and tongue until they could no longer move. Until they were sated in body and spirit.
“You will be exhausted in the morning,” he promised as he stretched out beside her on the bed. “As will you.”
He smiled at that, for she was right. But he craved that sweet exhaustion. He wanted to leave knowing he’d given her all the pleasure that he could. He wanted her to wake in the night and miss him being beside her.
“I will hold you to that promise, querida.”
“As long as you hold me.”
He would do that and more. Much, much more.
He splayed a hand on her flat belly and smiled as her silken skin quivered beneath his palm, the flesh warm. Smooth. Perfection.
“Make love with me,” she said, reaching for him.
“With pleasure.”
His fingers brushed through the carefully trimmed hair at the apex of her thighs and she shifted, lifting her hips in silent invitation. His lips captured hers in a kiss that commanded and teased in turn. He bit her full lower lip, then laved the swollen flesh even as his fingers toyed with the plump folds between her thighs.
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