Possessive Brazilian: An Older Man Younger Woman Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 75)

by Flora Ferrari

CHAPTER 5

  Vera

  As we walk down the winding alleyways we suddenly exit the streets and walk along the beach before cutting back along some dirt track towards a large patch of trees.

  The speed he walks with requires me to move my feet fast to stay in rhythm, but I like the energy. I feel more alive and alert walking at a pace that’s much quicker than my usual.

  And then I hear it.

  The high-pitched squeaky timbre of the cuíca, a Brazilian friction drum used in samba music. But where is it coming from?

  As we approach the line of trees the sound intensifies and I can hear the sound of feet moving on the ground and people clapping.

  Vitor pushes back a few of the smaller trees so I can pass when suddenly there’s a wooden fence of about eight feet in height.

  Just as we arrive a door springs open and a man extends his arm.

  “Vitor!” he says and the two men embrace.

  “This is the Jaguar,” Vitor says to his friend. “And this is Fábio,” he says.

  Fábio’s hand shoots out and he offers me a shake, never taking his eyes from mine as he shakes my hand in more of a professional manner and not quite as warm as he was with Vitor, although Fábio seems very smiley and happy.

  “Hurry guys. Inside,” he says as we step in and I’m immediately blown away by what I see.

  To my left there is an explosion of colors, drawings, and photographs at a simple outdoor bar with square wooden tables and chairs.

  But no one is at the tables. Everyone is in front of me and to my right dancing like it’s Friday night and they just got paid…or more accurately won the lottery.

  Suddenly I feel a hand on mine as I stand around looking at everything so dumbfounded with a huge smile on my face.

  “This way,” the gorgeous olive skinned woman says as she pulls me into a group of women dancing like they were born on a dance floor.

  The music overtakes me and my feet just move. I’m probably making a complete fool of myself but I don’t even care. This is so much fun!

  “I’m Victória, Vitor’s sister,” the woman says as she moves in ways I didn’t think were possible for the human body.

  “Vera,” I say extending my hand to her which she takes and spins me around so quickly I almost lose my balance, but when I catch myself and look back at her she simply says, “You got it, Vera! You just have to let yourself go and trust the music and yourself,” as she continues moving and twisting her body in ways I didn’t think were humanly possible. It’s almost like she’s that little green Gumby character after downing about fifty energy drinks, but she does it all so elegantly, expressively, and with so much style.

  “It’s been five minutes,” I hear and turn quickly only to bump into Vitor’s big chest. My hands instinctively come up to brace myself and maybe they stay there an extra second or two just to make sure I’m not going to fall…for him fast.

  He takes my hands and starts dancing with me. The big man’s got moves.

  “Now’s your chance to go if you want,” he says as we move in and out together. “I can call you a—”

  “Waiter,” I say. “So we can have a few drinks maybe?”

  “I’ll be right back,” he says as my eyes linger on his thick back and super cute butt as the crowd parts as he slides to the bar.

  I make a mental note to remember that I’m having way too much fun and already feeling kind of crazy, and I haven’t even had a sip of alcohol.

  One and only one drink, I think to myself and the practical, logical, be safe side of me kicks in and I quickly jump into Vitor’s wake and follow him to the bar.

  I hate that I can be a real worrywart sometimes but I’ve heard too many stories of people getting drugged before and I don’t want to be the next victim.

  I trust Vitor, but I have to remember I’m still here to do two jobs…a review of the hotel and find my dad.

  And proceed to drop a bombshell on him.

  But the only bombs being dropped right now are these stunning women when they drop down to the music in a low squat with their big sexy booties seemingly bouncing off the floor.

  I make a mental note to myself that it’s okay to eat as much as I want from now on, as long as I start sambaing. Is that even a word?

  Vitor says a few words in Portuguese to the bartender and two drinks are quickly served along with what appears to be a healthy serving of jokes between the two.

  So apparently Vitor’s a regular here, which could be good or bad.

  I’ll just have to see as the night goes by.

  But so far I haven’t noticed any jealous looks or anything from other girls. And that makes me feel much more comfortable than the alternative.

  “Saúde,” Vitor says as he raises his glass after handing me mine.

  “Saúde!” I say, probably butchering the word, but he doesn’t try and correct me at all. He just clinks glasses with me and I take my first sip of a real caipirinha.

  “Oh! It’s sweet and refreshing,” I say.

  “Just like you, Jaguar,” he says as he takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor.

  Time flies by as I dance with Vitor off and on and the rest of the time I try, very unsuccessfully, to keep up with Victória and her friends.

  They all just encourage me and give me compliments when I seem to do something right, but the music moves so fast when I do make a mistake it’s already in the past and forgotten.

  And while I’m at this amazing place I’m able to forget my past for a while. My mother’s death. My father’s non-existence in my life, not his doing though. My low paying job, which has suddenly provided a huge dividend with this trip and this adventure Vitor is giving me. And my non-existent sex, relationship, and personal life.

  The music and the people really make me think of one thing and one thing only.

  The future.

  And as crazy as it sounds I feel like maybe, just maybe, my future could be here.

  I mean my dad’s already here somewhere, right?

  I don’t exactly have some awesome job that’s tying me down back home.

  And supposedly I’m already the possession of one huge hunk named Vitor, a fun social guy that everyone seems to admire, respect, and maybe even fear just a bit.

  It definitely makes dancing in a group of girls way easier when not a single guy comes up to your group.

  And I’m not blind to the reason why.

  Him.

  My possessive protector…and maybe at some point more.

  CHAPTER 6

  Vitor

  I gave her the option to leave after five minutes.

  That was more than five hours ago.

  Closer to ten, but who’s counting?

  After the samba spot I took her to some of the other private places I go where I have friends and can slide in and out undetected. But I’m not moving undetected because I don’t want the world to know about her.

  Quite the opposite.

  I want everyone to know, but I have to be responsible and tell her what she’s getting herself into first by being seen with me.

  The press. The public. All that goes with it.

  And going is what I want the night to do…as in continue, but I know she’s a respectable young woman and will one day be mine officially, and I will afford her all the respects that come with that no matter how much internal fortitude that requires.

  Because damn do I ever want to invite her to my room right now and do all the things I’ve been thinking about doing to her since the moment I laid eyes on her.

  Tasting her. Touching her. Smelling her. Feeling her.

  Hearing her call out my name when I satisfy her like no man ever has.

  And something inside me tells me that she’s never even allowed another man the opportunity. She has an introverted, thoughtful way about her that tells me she doesn’t do things on spur of the moment impulses.

  If she’s in it, she’s in it for real…because she’s moved not only physically, but e
motionally and mentally as well.

  In other words…she’s in love.

  And that’s exactly the kind of woman she is which is just another reason why she’s perfect for me.

  As we approach the front gate to the resort her sandal catches in one of the cobblestones and just as she begins to lose her balance and tumble forward my hands dart to her waist, grabbing her…steadying her…pulling her in close.

  So close I can feel the heat of her breath on my chest, and the warmth of her fingers on my arms.

  “You saved me…again,” she says.

  “And you saved me.”

  “From what? Your life seems perfect. I mean I don’t know everything about you or anything like that but you seem like you have a great group of friends, you live or vacation in a beautiful place, and your sister was so kind and generous.”

  “She likes you.”

  “I’m grateful for that, and that you introduced me to her.”

  “And she trusts you, which is most important.”

  She looks up at me and I know now is the time. I can’t resist this any longer.

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Well, you didn’t get me drunk, or drug me, and you did walk me back to my hotel so I’d have to go with a big fat yes.”

  “How about a big fat kiss on those subtle lips of yours,” I say.

  I watch as her face softens and her lips begin to part and my head moves forward stopping just short of her mouth, knowing there’s only one first kiss…ever.

  And I want ours to be perfect.

  And a postcard perfect cobblestone street with a single lamp post shining down from above on my angel in one of the most beautiful beach towns in the world definitely qualifies as perfect to me.

  And from the heaviness of her breath and the sexual tension between us that we’re so close to breaking I’d say it qualifies as perfect to her too.

  I move the last couple of inches and taste the sweetness of those plump lips as her body melts into mine as electricity shoots through me and confirms what I already knew.

  She’s. The. One.

  CHAPTER 7

  Vera

  I spent the entire night floating on cloud nine, in the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if it cost more than I make in a month.

  But what you can’t put a price tag on is the incredible, intimate, authentic “experience” Vitor gave me yesterday.

  And by experience I mean the kind of toe curling chills up your spine that every girl dreams of.

  And from the way he kissed me, he dreams of too.

  I feel so much more alive down here already. It’s crazy. There is no political correctness, which is a bit odd at times, but the definite differences and dynamics between men and women are celebrated here. And I’ve never felt more feminine, small, and beautiful as a result.

  I’m not sure it would work that way back home, but here it just does. And it’s more than just people with class and cash living the kind of carefree lifestyle I’ve always dreamed of.

  I feel like some soulless travel writer when I say that there’s just something in the air down her in Búzios, but darn it if it’s not true.

  And after having a night to reflect and think on it I know my feelings for Vitor are just as true.

  And what’s scary and gets my blood pumping at the same time is that his feelings for me are equally as honest.

  There’s something to be said about holiday romances. Heck there’s even an entire category of romance novels dedicated to the subject, and in those the heroine always gets her happily ever after.

  But this is real life and the odds of something permanent happening between Vitor and me are about as likely as me mastering the samba like Victória and her friends.

  Give me a year and maybe I could be ten percent as good as they are.

  But I’ve only got a total of four days in the country. That’s the average length of a stay in Búzios, plus it ties in nicely for a long weekend from North America, if you can stomach the long flight, so that’s how long I’m here.

  I’m trying to replicate the experience for work, while trying to find my father for personal reasons.

  And the clock is ticking.

  **********

  I spend the morning scouring the Internet, yellow pages, and any other kind of classifies I can to track down surf schools hoping I might find my biological father.

  No luck. And when the guy at the front desk seems a bit anxious and nervous when I ask if he can help me make some calls when he gets off if I promise to give him a nice tip or buy him a lunch or something, I start wondering what’s going on.

  Until he finally mentions something about not wanting to upset the boss.

  The boss?

  Why wouldn’t the boss want the guys at the reception to help the guests? That doesn’t make sense.

  But when I bump into Vitor in the lobby I start to wonder if he’s somehow connected to this hotel.

  Maybe when he pulled that guy off me he was just doing his job.

  Maybe when he took me out and showed me a good time he somehow could tell I was a travel writer and he was trying to get a good review.

  And maybe I’m overthinking this way too much and I just need to relax and realize it’s okay for someone as desirable as Vitor to be attracted to me. I’m no pushover, but I’ve never been treated like this before so it does make me wonder a bit what the end game is here.

  Why me? Why now?

  “How was your morning?” Vitor says as he leans in and kisses each of my cheeks. The light touch of his thick fingers on my upper back reminding me of his manliness and reminding me to either put my panties into the laundry bag in my room for a good cleaning or to pick up some fresh pairs. They seem to be in a constant state of dampness since yesterday and it has nothing to do with the humidity.

  “Good. Thank you.”

  After a couple minutes of small talk, or more accurately Vitor making strong, direct, unflinching eye contact while I talked non-stop he patiently listened then invited me for a boat trip.

  “There are over twenty beaches here on Búzios. With an escuna we can see some of the most beautiful ones.”

  “What’s an escuna?”

  “It’s our word for a schooner. My friend has one in the port. We can be out on the water as soon as you’re ready.”

  I pause to think it over. Vitor did show me the time of my life yesterday and spending another afternoon with him sounds like a blast and would be good for my article.

  But I’ve seen and experienced enough already to write a good piece about the city and the resort.

  What I’d really like to do is track down my dad.

  “Where are the best beaches for surfing?” I ask.

  “There are a few known places. I can show you.”

  “Do you know the owners?”

  “Owners?”

  “Of the surf schools?”

  “We don’t need a surf school. I can show you how. I know how to surf.”

  Of course. Another reason he’s perfect.

  “But I was just thinking a lesson could be fun,” I say, trying not to reveal too much. I don’t want to leave him in the dark, but I don’t exactly want to talk about some deep family issue right now and potentially dampen his day.

  “No problem. We can do whatever you like. And if you want to take a surf lesson I have a full body wetsuit you can borrow,” he says.

  “But isn’t the water warm enough?”

  “It is, but I don’t want other men looking at you.”

  Here we go again.

  I’m torn. If the guy at the front desk would help me I could just make some calls. It might take me an hour, with him translating.

  But apparently Vitor’s put out the word that I’m his, or maybe people are starting to notice, and now it’s like I have to run everything through him.

  It’s like I’m in The Godfather and he’s Don Corleone.

  This is his country and
apparently his city, at least in some respects.

  If there are two words I’ve learned when it comes to traveling abroad they’re “local knowledge.” I write about it all the time, from my cramped cubicle.