Honeymooning with Her Brazilian Boss

by Jessica Gilmore

  He looked up, expression confused, and she sighed. ‘Do you even know where you are?’

  ‘If you were wearing that bikini back in the office I think HR would have something to say.’

  ‘You could have been anywhere. You were completely absorbed. And that’s fine, but we are in near paradise and it seems a shame for you to sit there and stare at spreadsheets. You worked all day yesterday; you should actually spend some time on holiday being on holiday.’

  ‘You didn’t mind when you were reading your book.’

  ‘That is called relaxing. You should try it some time.’

  Laughing, he pushed his laptop away. ‘So what do you want to do?’ His gaze slid to the bedroom, visible through the open doors. ‘Take a siesta?’

  ‘At some point, definitely, but what I’d really like to do is take a picnic and go to that little beach those Americans told us about. The one you have to sail to. It sounds idyllic.’

  Deangelo didn’t move for one moment, his narrowed gaze still focused on his laptop, but then he nodded. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Okay? Really?’

  ‘As long as you wear that bikini.’

  ‘It’s a deal. Yay! I’ll order the picnic and arrange the boat and crew. The Americans said they saw turtles and dolphins. Can you imagine?’

  ‘No crew needed. I’ll captain and you can be my crew.’

  ‘It’s been a long time since I sailed,’ she said doubtfully. The ocean looked pretty flat and peaceful, but it was vaster than she could imagine.

  ‘That’s why I’m the captain. Give me an hour and I’ll be ready.’

  ‘Perfect!’

  As she turned to leave, Harriet put her hand on Deangelo’s shoulder and absentmindedly he reached up to cover it with his own. She paused, looking down at their entwined hands, relishing the feel of his muscle under her palm, of his strong fingers interlaced with hers. It wasn’t just that she couldn’t have imagined being this free and easy with Deangelo, she couldn’t have imagined it with anyone. The longer between dates, the more terrifying the thought of putting herself out there was. Her last relationship had petered out when her boyfriend had told her that she was always tired, that her lack of willingness to do anything was boring, and she couldn’t help but agree with him. She had felt dull and boring. If she was him, she would have broken up with her, too. But now she felt full of possibilities. Her life opening up before her. She would always thank Deangelo for that.

  * * *

  The little motorboat was so easy to steer that Harriet had no qualms about taking the helm, enjoying the wind whipping her hair and the spray misting over her bare arms. Once they were a reasonable way out to sea she killed the engine and allowed the boat to bob around for a little, enjoying the sensation of just being on the ocean.

  ‘You know...’ Harriet said a little wistfully as she trailed her hand in the cool water. ‘When I was little we would always go on holiday to Cornwall. Just the three of us. My sisters didn’t come, obviously, they deigned to spend time with us when we went skiing or the year we rented a villa in Tuscany, but Cornwall just wasn’t glamorous enough, not the part we went to, anyway. But my mum loved it; she’d holidayed there every year of her life. She’d get more and more excited the nearer we got, as if she were the child. We’d always have a competition over who could see the sea first when we drove there and once there we would spend the whole time kayaking and swimming and surfing. But after she died we couldn’t bear to go back. We’d holiday in cities instead, gorge on culture and local food. I didn’t know just how much I missed the sea until now.’ She inhaled. ‘The smell just makes everything seem all right.’

  Deangelo reached out to touch her cheek. ‘We share that, you and I. We both had that before and after. The old and then the new normal, only the new normal would never measure up.’

  ‘Yes. I suppose we did. It’s not just losing a parent, is it? It’s the loss of everything else. For me a new home, a new school, a father who seemed to have lost part of him—and then he really did lose part of him. For you...’ She paused. For him poverty and loss and a physical reminder of the family who had chosen to cast him out. How could she blame him for the anger that palpably drove him? ‘For you, everything. But here we are. We survived, moved on.’

  ‘Yes.’ But he didn’t sound convinced. Was that because he hadn’t actually moved on at all? That part of him was still the bereaved boy wondering what he could have done differently to save his mother?

  Maybe she could show him another way. She heard her mother as she ploughed on, telling her she couldn’t save everyone, but Harriet ignored the remembered warning, as she had done so many times before. ‘Yes, and you know, this trip has shown me that I can’t keep putting off working out who I am and what I want to be. Who I want to be. The agency is a start, and it’s exciting. But we’re all frozen in time somehow, me, Alex, Emilia and Amber. That’s partly what drew us together, but I wonder if it gives us permission not to try and move on. Well, no more. I’m going to live and love and dance, even if it hurts me. These last few days, life has been in Technicolor. I want it to stay that way.’

  Had she said too much? But wasn’t that the point, that she was no longer going to be afraid? It wasn’t as if she’d made a big declaration of love, begged him to stay with her. She’d just shown him that she had changed. The question was, had he?

  She grinned as he shifted closer. Yes, he had changed—he was wearing shorts for a start, and a T-shirt. A comfortable cotton T-shirt with a windsurfer emblazoned on the front. His hair was a tiny bit longer, and a lot more dishevelled than his usual neat crop, and stubble darkened his cheeks and jaw. But most telling of all were the laughter lines creasing his eyes and cheeks. She’d barely seen him crack a smile before. Now he seemed to smile all the time.

  Was that because being here was cathartic—or did it possibly have something to do with her?

  Placing her hand on his, she leaned closer, inwardly thrilling at her daring, at the way she was emboldened to take the lead, the way he let her, amusement warring with desire in his dark gaze. Her mouth touched his in a kiss, soft and sweet, for a moment, then harder and decadently rich as she relinquished the brief control willingly as his hand slid down her bare back and over her hip. She gasped against his mouth, willing him on, her eyes fluttering shut, only to open again as something behind him snagged her attention. ‘Deangelo...’ she murmured. ‘Look!’

  Pulling back just a little, he half turned, only to freeze in place as he saw the same dorsal fin she had seen. ‘Golfinho...’ he breathed.

  Not daring to move, barely to breathe, Harriet just sat, spellbound, as the dolphin swam lazily past them, submerging momentarily, only to leap in the air, twisting as the sun glinted off its sleek purple-black body. ‘It’s doing tricks!’

  It was almost—almost—close enough to touch, plainly curious about the small bobbing boat and its two inhabitants, swimming away, only to shoot out of the water and twist before swimming back again, treating the pair to an unrivalled display of water gymnastics, clearly enjoying the interaction as much as they were. Harriet was barely aware of Deangelo taking her hand in his, of the way he pulled her close so she sat against him as the dolphin played, the two relaxing enough to laugh out loud at the jumps and games. ‘I wish I could swim with him,’ Harriet said longingly.

  ‘It’s a wild animal, for all it seems so real.’

  ‘I know. And I hate the thought of it being in captivity or tamed in any way. It’s perfect wild and free. I feel so privileged it wants to share this time with us.’ And as Deangelo dropped a kiss on her head she couldn’t help thinking that, although he was the opposite of the dolphin in many ways, constricted by the rules he set himself, imprisoned by the life he chose, she was equally as privileged to share these rare intimate moments with him. Moments to savour, and never to take for granted.

  * * *

  ‘You know
,’ Harriet said dreamily, eyes half-closed, ‘I take it back. This place is paradise. And today was pretty near perfect.’

  Deangelo grinned as he ran his hand down her side and felt her gasp. ‘Just pretty near?’

  ‘The dolphin was perfect,’ she allowed.

  ‘What about what came after the dolphin?’ He ran his hand back up, nudging the full underside of her breast, reining in the urge to deepen the touch as she arched ever so slightly.

  ‘You mean the gorgeous beach? And the swimming?’

  ‘The nude swimming...’ he reminded her, his hand skimming up to her throat and along her jaw. He adored how responsive she was, how uninhibited, how she made him want to worship her completely and unselfishly.

  ‘And the moment we saw the turtle. The dolphin still wins because of the tricks but the turtle comes a really close second in the most-awesome-moment-ever competition.’

  ‘The turtle was amazing,’ Deangelo allowed. ‘What about after the turtle?’

  ‘The picnic? Yes. That was excellent.’

  ‘Harriet,’ he said slowly, drawing one finger down her bare arm, watching the way she shivered under his touch. ‘After the picnic...’

  ‘That was excellent, too,’ she conceded, rolling over to meet him. ‘Almost perfect, in fact.’

  ‘Only almost?’ He retraced the path his finger had taken and her chest rose and fell.

  ‘I’m just saying, practice makes perfect...’

  ‘Is that a challenge, Harriet Fairchild?’

  ‘Are you up to it if it is?’

  ‘Always.’ As he said the word the reality of it struck home. That this woman, lying languorously next to him, wanted to be there was nothing short of a miracle. Oh, Deangelo attracted women, most drawn to his money, some by success. A few were intrigued by his brawn and scar, suspecting the rough edges under the tailored suit, but none of them knew him. Harriet did, better than anyone. She knew the ugly truth and she still chose to be here.

  Even more miraculously, he wanted her here. He never allowed himself to want anything good or warm or real. Just the coldness of success and revenge. And yet here he was. She made him want to be better, do better. She almost made him forgive himself. ‘Always,’ he said again, tasting the word as he said it.

  He saw Harriet swallow, the flicker of her eyes. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t hold you to that when we’re back.’

  ‘We agreed just one night and yet here we still are,’ he reminded her, unsure why he pressed the point. Of course they would go their separate ways when they returned to London. Harriet had a life to lead, a new business and a world to explore. And he? He had no idea what he would do once his revenge had finally been exacted, but one thing hadn’t changed—in the end, people always let you down. If he and Harriet tried to extend this understanding, he’d mess it up. That was what he did. Better to not think past today.

  ‘We agreed no strings. So don’t think you have to say nice things to make me feel better, because that really isn’t necessary.’

  ‘When have you ever known me to do or say anything nice for the sake of it?’ Why was he arguing the point when they both knew it would be over? Was it because he wanted to at least pretend that there might be more—or was it because he wanted Harriet to believe it? To know that if he were a different man he would never let her go. That all the clichés were true. She was a for ever kind of woman for one lucky man. And for the first time in for ever he wished that man could be him.

  ‘You do nice things. You always send your girlfriends an expensive necklace when you break up with them.’

  ‘Dates,’ he corrected her. ‘They are only ever dates. And I have an account at the jewellers and you order and send the necklaces.’

  ‘True. When you put it that way it isn’t quite so nice.’

  ‘Soulless even.’ He wasn’t sure he wanted her to answer that.

  ‘A little,’ she conceded. ‘But not always. You paid for Beryl’s hip replacement.’

  ‘It was interfering with her work and she cleans the office just the way I like it.’

  ‘With a top surgeon and an all-inclusive holiday to recuperate as soon as she could travel.’

  ‘I wanted her back fit and well.’

  ‘You paid for that guy from Accounts to take his kids to Disneyland.’

  ‘Yes.’ He could hear the bleakness in his voice. ‘They had lost their mum the year before.’

  ‘It was a nice thing to do.’

  ‘Or a way of salving my own guilty conscience? Buying people things doesn’t make me nice, Harriet. It’s the easiest thing in the world.’

  ‘Choosing the right thing isn’t,’ she argued. ‘That’s far trickier. Dad loved Mum and obviously, compared to you, he might not have been rich, but by normal standards he was really well off. But he never quite got her presents right. A flashy convertible when actually she’d have preferred a vintage vehicle. A diamond necklace when she liked Art Deco beads. He never quite got it. But you get it without being told. Look at that library membership you gave me. That was perfect.’

  With a sigh Deangelo pulled himself up to sit next to her. ‘You always had your nose in a book when you weren’t working and the shared house you were living in was tiny. You always said you had no space of your own. I thought you’d like to be able to hide out there at weekends.’

  ‘I did, I do.’

  ‘So there you go. No miracle. Just observation. That’s what I do in business. See what needs fixing and find a solution. It’s not as complicated as you make it sound.’ Deangelo didn’t know why he was trying to downplay the gift, nor the time he had spent trying to find her something really special. He just knew he didn’t want her to realise just how much pleasure he had received from giving her something that he knew would make her really happy.

  ‘But that’s just it.’ Harriet clearly wasn’t done, her forehead furrowed as she puzzled out her thoughts. ‘I had no idea that was the perfect gift, but somehow you did. It’s like the coat. How on earth did you find one to fit me so perfectly?’

  ‘That old coat of yours was no good at all. The colour washed you out; you were always cold in it.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because I know you, Harriet Fairchild. I notice you.’

  As soon as he had said the words Deangelo wanted to recall them. Harriet stilled next to him, her eyes the only colour in her suddenly pale face. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I just told you, I fix problems...’

  ‘No. What do you mean when you say you notice me?’

  ‘You’ve worked for me for three years. Of course I notice you. If your hip needed replacing then I would have organised that for you too.’

  ‘That’s good to know,’ she said drily. ‘But Deangelo. Those gifts. The membership, the coat. Those ballet tickets—how did you know my mother took me to see The Nutcracker every Christmas?’

  ‘Doesn’t everyone’s mother take them to see The Nutcracker every Christmas?’

  ‘No. They don’t. They’re the most perfect things I ever received. And they’re not practical. They don’t solve any problems...’

  ‘Nonsense. That old coat could have made you ill.’

  ‘The library?’

  ‘Everyone needs space of their own, Harriet. I spent my teenage years sharing a small house with ten relatives. I know this.’

  ‘The tickets?’

  ‘You deserve to be happy.’ Once again words he had no idea he was going to say echoed around the room as once again Harriet froze, as if processing them.

  ‘You were an excellent PA; you made my life run smoothly. You deserved a reward.’ He could hear the chilling tone in his voice, feel the walls closing back in as he said the cold words.

  ‘That’s all it was?’

  ‘That’s all it was. I told you I’m not nice.’

  Her
next words were so soft he could barely hear them. ‘I know that makes sense. That’s what I believed. I mean, nothing else makes any sense. But you know what else makes no sense? Insisting I accompany you on this trip. You need barely any support. Any decent temp could have done it. Any reasonable actress could have pretended to be your wife.’

  ‘I needed someone I could trust.’

  ‘And another thing. Why are you working so hard to push me away? Trying to prove how not nice you are when every gesture tells me something different—when you notice me? When you tell me always?’

  It was his turn to freeze. For he had said that word not once but twice. He’d told her he’d noticed her. Let his guard down. Why? Because he wanted her to look in the mirror and see what he saw in her. To stop putting herself down and behind, to believe.

  He was a man who had everything and possessed nothing. Who made billions from the intangible, using algorithms to profit from other people’s work and ingenuity. A man who lived alone, who let no one close. A man frightened of letting anyone in, who deserved nothing. Who didn’t trust himself not to let people down. Even now, he was proving himself no better than his father, the man who’d seduced his housekeeper and left her with nothing. He had sworn never to be like the Caetanos and yet here he was, with his PA in his bed.

  He knew it was wrong—and yet it felt so right. He also knew he couldn’t dent her newfound self-confidence, that to do so would be a crime greater than any his father had committed.

  He knew he had to be honest. And that was the most terrifying thing of all.

  ‘I needed you with me on this trip because I couldn’t imagine anyone else by my side when I returned to Rio.’ He couldn’t look at her as he spoke. ‘I needed you to play my bride because I couldn’t imagine making it seem genuine with anyone else.’ She gave a sharp intake of breath but said nothing. ‘I bought you the coat because I saw it and knew you would look beautiful in it. I bought you the ballet tickets because I hear you when you talk to me, even when I don’t acknowledge it, and one day you mentioned it was opening night and it always made you think of your mother.’