Leila shook her arms, stretched, then struck a pose that was pure seduction. His entire body hummed with want of her.
“That’s it,” the photographer said, rapidly snapping shots and shifting his position to capture her in a variety of angles. “Now go for the kill.”
Rafael made to step back. But her gaze swung to his and locked. Hot. Glittering with challenge and sensual promise.
His mouth went dry as blood surged through him in hot urgent pulses. His sex grew heavy and stiff. Just like at the shoots in the south of France.
But unlike then, he quickly got caught up in this new dangerous game. An alarmingly public game.
It was the first time he’d let down the walls of his own control where anyone but Leila could see him. But nobody was watching him. Just her.
And right now her smoldering eyes were blazing into his.
He paced, stoking the fires of her passion with his eyes, tossing more kindling on his own. I want you naked and under me, querida!
She lifted her chin, quick to join him in this visual foreplay, tracking him with her eyes. As if challenging him to take her now!
There was something deeply erotic in standing in the shadows with her under the spotlight making love to him with her eyes. Of knowing everyone in the room was watching her. Aroused by her expressions, her seductive poses.
“That’s it,” the photographer said, rapidly snapping pictures. “Move with it, Leila. Come on, sweetheart, pour it on.”
And she did just that, her hot gaze stroking every inch of Rafael until he thought he’d go up in flames. Surely his eyes smoldered with passion as they caressed the full swell of her upthrust breasts and the nipples that had hardened in want of his fingers and lips.
He ached to move with the provocative sway of her hips. To feel the press of her tight round bottom against his erection and stroke the sweet silken flesh between her thighs that would be wet and ready for him now.
By the time the photographer gave a satisfied nod and ended the session, Rafael was in agony with his unquenched desire. Leila looked ready to rip off her clothes and seduce him then and there.
But when he escorted her to the passenger door of her car, he heard her wince. “What’s wrong?” She eased onto the seat, her eyes seeming too huge, her face too flushed. But it was the hand pressed to her stomach that sent a chill streaking down his spine.
“I had a sharp pain in my side just then,” she said. “I must have stayed in one position too long on the set.”
Though it was possible she was right, his concern that this could be the start of a more dangerous issue stormed through his mind. But saying that would alarm her, and that was exactly what he wanted to avoid.
He slammed behind the wheel and took off down the highway toward L.A. as fast as he dared. “Call your doctor and see if he wants you to come to his office, or go to the hospital.”
“I’m sure you are overreacting,” she said, but she was making the call while she spoke.
Impatience crashed through him in cold icy waves as he listened to her explain her pain to whoever answered the phone. “I don’t think so. No, just the one time. Okay, we are on our way.”
“Where?” he asked, forcing his voice to remain calm when he was far from calm.
“The doctor’s office,” she said, and gave him directions.
Due to a traffic snarl, the hour and a half drive took close to two hours. Rafael’s nerves stretched to the breaking point and snapped. He careered into a parking slot and slammed on the brakes, his blood as hot as the powerful engine. “It takes far too long to get from one point to another in this city.”
“The traffic can be unpredictable,” she said, her features tight, not with pain but concern.
He took her hand, entwining his fingers with hers, his heart skipping a beat as her tremors passed through him. “I know you trust your doctor, but I will rest easier when you are back in our home in São Paulo.”
Again she nodded, and he sensed before she spoke that she wouldn’t balk, that today’s snarl on the freeway had proved his point. “Yes, so will I.”
He finally drew a decent breath, then lifted their joined hands to place a warm kiss on the back of her smooth flawless skin. “Good. Let’s see this doctor now.”
After the doctor examined Leila, he ordered an abdominal ultrasound. Hearing his babies’ hearts beat, seeing them move inside Leila, was a joy that was beyond anything Rafael had experienced. His emotions were so overwhelming that he was glad the room was dark and nobody asked him to speak.
“You suffered mild heat cramps caused by too much sun and a strenuous workday,” the doctor said later. “I’d recommend you cut back on your work, Leila.”
“I am,” she said, and Rafael heaved another sigh of relief.
He thanked the doctor and took Leila’s hand, loving her more than words could say. “Let’s go home, querida.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IN THEIR five years of marriage they’d called only two places home. The first apartment they’d shared in Rio, and later the penthouse.
They’d always lived in the midst of excitement. The bustling life of Rio or the exciting nightlife along the coast.
But as Rafael’s private jet landed some hours later in Ribeirão Preto, she admitted she looked forward to the change of pace. A limo was waiting to take them from the airport.
Though she was tired, her gaze devoured the beauty of the farmland. Many of the red fields lay bare, or riddled with stubble. But the fields of sugarcane teemed with workers harvesting the crop.
This life was vastly different than what either of them had known. Though he’d always talked of buying land one day, she’d never wondered why until now.
“What made you want to live out here?” she asked.
He took a deep breath and smiled. “I can breathe out here. Relax.”
She nodded, finding it refreshing that they shared this. “I felt the same way about Malibu.”
“You’ll like it here.”
And she did.
The casa was fabulous, though not nearly as large as she’d expected a billionaire would own. Another surprise was the house staff, which was small, almost invisible.
He gave her a brief tour of the casa, pride ringing in his voice. Though she could see the historical dignity of the old coffee plantation had been kept intact, his office was as he’d told her—the ultimate in high-tech.
As for the bedroom they would share, it was simply sumptuous. But it was obvious he hadn’t spent much time here. The closets and dresser were nearly empty!
Just staring at that void was a shock, for no matter where she’d lived, she was surrounded by a vast array of clothes, most supplied by the various companies she’d worked for. Always more than she’d ever need, which was why she auctioned the majority of them to help her clinic in São Paulo.
And secretly, there was another reason she felt at ease when faced with the latest wardrobe she was to model. They were all the same size—the size she was to maintain. How would she cope with a closet full of maternity clothes, all designed to accommodate her increasing abdomen? Who’d know if she gained extra pounds, or lost them? Don’t think that way/
She wouldn’t let the past ruin her future. The doctor had given her a chart that listed what weight she should safely gain during her pregnancy. As long as she stayed within those parameters, she’d be okay. She had to be okay!
But there was still the worry over how to spend her days. Though Rafael had promised to spend the bulk of his time here, she knew that he’d still have to put in long hours working.
She’d be alone in an area where she knew nobody. Where she had nothing to do but think. For someone with her past history, that could be a dangerous thing. More dangerous than if she worked.
So what was she going to do for the next six months? How could she keep from going stircrazy?
She crossed to the window and took in the old plantation from a new angle. She had expected a highly efficien
t compound, and Rafael’s fazenda was that and more, right down to the small army of men in the fields.
“Do the workers live here or in town?”
“Most live in the dormitory I built for them.”
He pointed to a fairly large building off to the right.
She frowned, for it didn’t look near large enough to house the workers plus their families. Surely Rafael wasn’t exploiting the poor, not after producing a film that cut right to the heart of Rio’s poverty issues.
“Isn’t that terribly crowded for families?” she asked.
“The few families that I employ have their own cottages,” he said. “The field laborers that you see are young men from the Rio slums.”
She blinked, not expecting that. She looked from them to him. “All of them?”
He nodded. “I met most of these boys over a year ago when I visited the favelas, gathering research for our film. Some came from fractured homes, with a parent either disabled or dead from the gang wars. Most were homeless.”
How well she knew that life! How desperately she’d wanted to escape it after her father’s and brother’s deaths.
“All of these boys were extremely eager to work for us then.” Rafael frowned, as if troubled by a memory. “When the project was over, I couldn’t just walk away from them.”
The apprehension that had seized her lost its grip in one long exhalation. “So you gave them jobs.”
“Yes, but I also gave them the chance to better their lives if they wished. Each boy is given the opportunity to take classes,” he said simply. “If they have an education or steady job, they are less likely to return to the gangs.”
She stared at the young men again until tears stung her eyes. They all looked healthy. Happy.
At that moment, she loved Rafael more than she thought possible. Though he was austere and often demanding on the surface, deep inside beat the heart of a very compassionate man.
Though she was proud of the clinic she’d established to help the poor girls of São Paulo afflicted with the same disease she’d battled, his work far outshined her efforts. For he was not only saving lives, he was saving the future of Brazil.
If only an opportunity like this had been offered her father and brother …
To her surprise sudden tears filled her eyes. She blinked, trying to hold them back. But the effort was futile.
“Querida, what’s wrong?” he asked, pulling her against his chest.
She shook her head, hating to tell him a lie. Yet how could she open the door on the past she had locked away? How could she expect him to understand why she’d never been able to tell him about the horrible event that changed her life forever?
He gripped her arms and held her from him, his gaze boring into her, his features taut with worry. “Leila, you are scaring me. What is it that’s troubling you?”
She bit back a watery laugh born of nerves, her hands finally finding purchase on his incredibly broad chest. She splayed them over hard muscle and warm flesh, letting his heat seep into her and thaw her choking fears.
“Everything that you depicted in the film Carnival, I lived through to one degree or another. Everything,” she emphasized, hoping he’d understand that she had seen every vile thing one person could do to another at a young age, that she, too, had lived in that poverty-ridden war zone.
Rafael cared for the desperately poor. The way he managed his farm and provided for the boys he’d rescued from the slums proved that to her.
“There were no saviors like you in the favelas when I was a child. If there had been, perhaps my father would still be alive. Perhaps my brother would too, and have his own family and home because of the largess of someone like y—”
He pressed a finger over her lips, silencing her. “There is still much to do. You and I have the chance to make a difference for our people. That is a good thing, querida.”
The tears she’d thought were spent stung her eyes. “We could work together on this?”
“If you wish, though I understand how much you need to control your clinic.”
Fire streaked across her cheeks. How stupid she’d been to think her efforts would have gotten lost under his corporate umbrella. But then she hadn’t realized his own work among the desperately poor was this extensive.
“I love you,” she said.
“And you are my heart as well.” He bent and kissed her tear-streaked eyes, her nose that was surely red, her lips that were raw from her nervously biting them. “Rest. I’ll call you when dinner is served.”
She nodded again and reluctantly pulled from his arms. The bed was monstrous. Yet she crawled on it and curled on her side, intending to rest a few minutes. The worst was over.
Or was it? she wondered, her hands sliding protectively to her stomach.
Leila woke an hour later, much rested. And ravenous! The enticing aroma drifting down the hallway only increased her appetite. When had she eaten last?
Perhaps she could beg a snack from the cook.
The thought fizzled like cola on her tongue as she stepped into the bright airy kitchen and her gaze lit on the handsome man standing at the stove. He wore snug jeans that hugged his lean hips and long legs, and a white T-shirt that emphasized his broad muscular back and golden skin.
A skillet sizzled before him and a spicy aroma escaped a pot of beans and rice, the enticing smells drifting on the warm air.
“I’m impressed,” she said, coming closer. “And very grateful you’re fixing what I hope is our dinner.”
“Feijoada. My mother used to cook it when I was a boy. Coming home always makes me hunger for it.” His dark eyes flicked over her. “Much like I hunger for you, querida.”
“It’s safe to say you have an unquenchable appetite,” she said in a teasing tone, hiding the worry that clung deep inside her. Would his hunger for her still be as consuming once she began to grow? Would he still be as attentive?
Stop thinking that your worth is equated with your weight! But right now the old fears were playing hell with her hormones, a thing her doctor had warned her about.
“I hope you have fresh vegetables too,” she said, breaking the intense gaze of his by moving to the refrigerator.
“Always,” he said. “I suspected you would turn up your nose at Brazilian comfort foods in favor of a salad.”
She hadn’t used to, but it seemed a lifetime ago when she had been a child as thin as a string bean and able to eat anything without putting on a gram. But once she’d turned that corner into adulthood and had begun to gain weight, she had learned to acquire a taste for fresh vegetables seasoned with the lightest dash of olive oil and enhanced with herbs.
“How is your mother?” she asked as she placed an array of vegetables on the island counter and began making a salad, smoothly switching the subject, and her thoughts, from her eating habits.
“She is well. Busy,” he added with a frown. “She manages a day care center in her village which commands all her time.”
Did she hear a note of resentment in his tone?
“That’s admirable.”
He gave a halfhearted shrug. “It’s unnecessary! I have provided well for her. She doesn’t need to hold a job.”
She wasn’t sure whether to pity him for feeling abandoned by his mother or angry with him for being so dictatorial. “Have you ever thought that she takes pleasure working with children? That she feels good about herself when she stays busy?”
“Exactly what she claims,” he said with no small degree of annoyance. “Tell me, Rafael. Are you opposed to the majority of women working or just your mother and wife?”
He cut her a sharp look, then turned his attention back to monitoring his meal which was far more tempting than her fresh vegetables. Like the man?
“My mother is of an age where she should be enjoying her life. Traveling. Taking it easy,” he said with an arrogant lift of his chin. “As for you, you know how I feel about you working once the babies are here.”
“Act
ually, I think something else troubles you deeply than the mere thought of me working. What it is I can’t imagine.”
He crossed to her in three angry steps and cupped her chin, forcing her to look into his dark eyes that snapped with annoyance and a deep and troubled glint that made her heart ache, made her breath catch and a shiver pass over her.
“You want to know what concerns me about you returning to your career after the babies are born?” he bit out, heat blazing in his voice. “Fine! I’ll tell you. I know you, querida. You are obsessed with every aspect of your career.”
“I am a perfectionist,” she clarified, jerking free of his grasp and the accusation she didn’t want to face.
That earned her a derisive snort. “You won’t be able to simply work an occasional session. One shoot will turn into three. Before long, you will be jaunting around the world again on campaigns.” His eyes blazed into hers. “Who will care for our children then?”
She hiked up her chin, but her bravado just as quickly fizzled. “I will, with the help of a nurse or nanny.”
He flung a hand upward and cursed. “You would leave our children in the care of a stranger so you could return to your career?”
“No! I’d take them and the nanny with me—”
“Like hell!”
There was anger and something else she could not identify in his expression. But its raw intensity startled her. Touched something in her that defused the last of her anger.
He raked a hand through his hair. “The children will live in their home. I won’t have you drag them around the world.”
She wasn’t about to argue, for he was right. She did have control issues to deal with. And though she flung out that scenario, she wouldn’t want to tear her children away from their home. To leave them subjected to the paparazzi while a session wore on and on.
“Okay. Point made,” she said, conceding that easily.
He gave a clipped nod, still oddly tense. Had she touched on something else that troubled him? Something that he didn’t want to face?
“I’m glad we are in agreement,” he said.
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