Honeymooning with Her Brazilian Boss

by Jessica Gilmore

  Still she said nothing but she crept a little closer, closing the gap that had opened up between them, and laid her head on his shoulder, her hand finding his and clutching it.

  Now he had started he wasn’t sure he could stop. ‘I liked the way you smiled and said good morning as if you meant it, not because it was a courtesy. I saw you counsel your friends, and heard you speak to your father on the phone three times a day, always patient, even when I could see frustrated tears in your eyes. I saw how you would get lost in a book, even the longest flight an opportunity to read, not a chore, but you always put work first. I saw the way you asked nothing from anyone but gave—and I thought it was time you got put first. I wanted to see you smile. You have a beautiful smile.’

  He stopped. There were more words, more feelings, locked up inside but he had no idea how to reach them, if he even dared to try. Harriet lifted her head from his shoulder and turned to him, her eyes damp with tears. ‘Thank you. Thank you for saying that.’

  ‘It’s true, Harriet. Like I told you, I’m not nice.’

  He tilted her chin so that he could look straight into her eyes, imprint his words on her. ‘I didn’t want you to leave. But it’s right you start to live. That you build your family and figure out who you are and where you want to be. I admire that. Respect it.’

  ‘I wish you the same,’ she whispered, covering his hand with hers, tilting her chin higher so her mouth brushed his once and then again. ‘You need to learn to live as well. To build. Life’s far too short to spend it locked away, Deangelo.’

  He deepened the kiss, laying her back on the bed, covering her body with his. Deangelo wished that he could believe her words. But some people were safer locked away and times like this nothing but a brief parole. But as her hands travelled down his back, pulling him closer, he allowed himself the indulgence of one wish. That he could be different, that his scars could be external only, that he could be allowed happiness with a woman like this.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  HARRIET STRETCHED SLEEPILY, not wanting to open her eyes quite yet, wanting to stay in this quiet, contented moment for ever. Last night’s lovemaking had been like nothing she had ever experienced. Tender, sweet. Loving.

  She stilled. Loving?

  That wasn’t in their agreement, not the formal or the informal.

  And yet...

  Somehow, over the last week, she had told Deangelo more about herself than any other person, including her friends and her father. And she suspected the same was equally true of him. Was it because they trusted each other, because they had worked together for so long, so intensely, that there were few barriers? She had seen Deangelo tired and frustrated, elated, working tirelessly to solve puzzles. And he? He had noticed her—all those days and weeks and months when she’d thought he saw her as nothing but some kind of competent office robot he had seen straight into the soul of her.

  They trusted each other. And this was the last time they would work together. He would return to his South Bank tower and she to her Chelsea townhouse and it was unlikely their paths would ever cross again. This trip would be a cherished memory for her to examine on those long, dark nights of the soul that seemed to occur far too often. Or better, she could use it as a catalyst to move her life forward in a direction she chose.

  She’d been bold and playful and seductive. She’d been open to new experiences. She’d seen this trip as an adventure and grabbed it with both hands. Surely she could repeat that once back in London?

  Rolling over, she opened her eyes and allowed herself the luxury of watching Deangelo with no barriers between them. It was rare for him to sleep and her to be awake and she luxuriated in it, starting at the top of the dark head, her gaze moving slowly down the unusually peaceful face, his mouth relaxed in sleep giving him a relaxed air seldom seen in waking hours. She paused as she reached the scar, the visible reminder of his banishment from the family who spurned him, the never-fading reminder of the day he had swallowed his pride to help his mother and failed. That day had changed him, hardened him, driven him. Was he capable of letting go and moving on? She hoped so. Further down, the sensuous mouth and firm chin, broad shoulders and chest, ridged with muscle and yet capable of utter gentleness. Dark silky hair running down to the kind of abs not usually found on deskbound businessmen, then down again...

  ‘Like what you see?’

  Damn. How did he do that? Wake so instantly and alertly. Embarrassed heat flushed through her, although she tried to hide it, meeting his amused gaze full-on. ‘It’s not bad.’

  How she had the sangfroid to tease him like that, to lie here, only half-covered by her sheet, utterly comfortable in such intimacy she didn’t know. But she had no fear, no worries about her inadequacies, no desire to cover her stretch marks or overly ample curves. From being a skinny child, her hips and breasts had grown in adolescence, giving her an hourglass figure she had no idea how to live in, her height another torment for a girl who just wanted to hide in a reading nook somewhere. With no mother to reassure her, a father who thought of her as a little girl and slender toned half-sisters who looked her up and down—and side to side—with barely hidden scorn, Harriet had spent half her life dressing to hide and shroud. But no more. Deangelo had made her body feel like something that deserved worshipping—and worship it he had. The heat intensified and this time she made no move to hide it, smiling across at him instead.

  ‘That’s not what you said last night,’ he said, returning her smile with an intimate one of his own, part wolf but with a hint of sweetness that made her chest ache and stomach twist. With lust, yes, with need and want, but with something more.

  And she wasn’t sure she wanted to face that something more.

  ‘So, what do you want to do today?’ she asked, aware she was retreating but unable to do anything about it. ‘I thought we might walk into the village and take a look. If you did decide to turn this place from an all-inclusive fortress where guests live in a protected bubble to somewhere that feeds into and helps the local economy it would be a good idea to see what the village actually offers.’

  Deangelo’s smile disappeared, his expression guarded once more, as if the sweet intimacy had never been. ‘You’re probably right. But I haven’t decided what to do yet.’

  ‘To do about what?’

  ‘About this place, about any of them. This isn’t just about gaining control of my father’s business, Harriet. It’s about justice. I could turn the hotels around, sure, invest in them. But how does that help achieve justice? The Caetanos will reap the rewards without lifting a finger. I want them to lose everything. To know what it is like to see everything they think they are stripped away from them.’

  Harriet sat up, chilled despite the heat of the day. ‘But how on earth will you do that?’

  He shrugged. ‘Maybe sell the hotels for nothing. Or let them continue to run them into the ground. I haven’t decided yet.’

  ‘Or you could put every penny of profit back into the hotels and make a success of them, despite their mismanagement. Thousands of people work for these hotels; you can’t endanger their jobs because of a personal vendetta.’ She couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. How could the man who put so much effort into transforming lives be so casual about the people who worked for the Caetanos? ‘If not then yes, sell them to someone who will invest and build; don’t allow them to wither just to prove a point.’

  His expression hardened. ‘I would make sure the employees were compensated.’

  ‘Even so...’ She lay back down, unease still twisting through her. This wasn’t right. ‘Compensation doesn’t make up for the lack of a livelihood, or purpose.’

  ‘You said yourself this place does nothing for the local economy. No one who comes here enhances the local area at all.’

  ‘No, but they could. And you could drive that.’

  ‘I’m not a hotelier.’

&
nbsp; ‘You own a hotel in Rio, run it as a social enterprise. You could do exactly the same here. Rename them, invest every penny of profit in them and don’t hand anything to the Caetanos. You’ll achieve the same end but do a lot of good along the way. But, better still, pay them off. Buy the rest of the chain and then walk away, severing all links. Act fair. Show them they are nothing. That’s got to be the better win.’

  But he had completely shut down. ‘I’ve worked for this for over ten years, Harriet. Everything I have done has been to this end. And you want me to pay them off for their trouble and let them walk away scot-free?’

  ‘I want you to move on.’ Suddenly uncomfortable with her state of undress, Harriet slid out of the bed and grabbed the light silk robe she’d bought last week. To play a part, true, but it shocked her how quickly she had slid into accepting the situation, wearing the expensive clothes and accessories as easily as if she had paid for them herself. How quickly her fourth finger had grown used to the rings and how she looked for the flash of blue when the sapphire caught the light. ‘You are letting what happened define you.’

  ‘It shaped me,’ he said tightly, following her out of the bed and disappearing into the en suite bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him. Harriet’s stomach dropped, the feeling of ease and rightness she’d woken up with dropping with it. She should have kept quiet. This was none of her business.

  But how could she? Deangelo had always encouraged her to state her opinion, always listened courteously. But that was when their relationship was professional, not personal. When her opinion was purely business-related, not the very heart of him.

  Besides, it wasn’t as if she didn’t know he was ruthless; no one could be as successful as he was without a streak of coldness.

  Harriet made sure the robe was firmly tied, slipped on a pair of flip-flops and headed out to the terrace, where she knew their breakfast had been left. Sure enough, a steaming coffee pot sat on the wide wooden table, along with a jug of covered fruit juice and lidded platters which, she knew from experience, contained tiny tasty pastries, slices of fresh fruit and yogurt. But she wasn’t at all hungry, unable to stomach anything else but the bitter Brazilian coffee. Pouring a cup, she wandered along the terrace to where her hammock lay, swaying ever so slightly in the faint breeze. Yesterday she had been so happy.

  Today reality was beginning to reassert itself and it wasn’t a comfortable process. No matter how tender Deangelo might be, no matter how much they might play the honeymooning couple, nothing had actually changed. Their worlds were miles and miles apart. Not just because of money or position, but because of what they wanted. Harriet wanted a family, not just the friends she had made over the last few years, but a husband and children. She’d just been too scared to articulate that need to herself. To dare to think beyond the next day. She knew all too well what it felt like to lose everything, both instantly and also so slowly that the unthinkable began to be normal.

  This last week had shown her just what loving and being loved could be like. Not that Deangelo loved her, she knew that, nor she him...

  She placed her coffee cup down, hands shaking, spilling the dark, thick liquid onto the table. Love? Where had thought come from? So she had admitted that she found Deangelo sexy. That she desired him. That maybe, if she was really honest with herself, she had secretly felt that way for a long time. Had been proud of the close relationship they’d shared, that she so often received one of his rare smiles, that he liked her to accompany him wherever he went, whether business trips abroad or the rare occasion he accepted a corporate invitation. That she liked entering rooms by his side, even if her demure shapeless dresses and the tablet she carried rather than a bag made it clear her position. She liked it when he asked her opinion, when he listened.

  People thought of him as a soulless, joyless automaton and she would agree. But she’d always known he was more. She’d just been scared to admit it. To admit how much she noticed him.

  As he had noticed her. Maybe that was it. Just occasionally he made her feel special and that was so rare in her life she absorbed those moments, holding them close, needing them. But was that love? How could it be? It was all about her, about how she felt. Love wasn’t selfish. It shouldn’t be.

  How could she love the man who tried to change the system that had nearly broken him? The man who quietly made things better, never asking for praise or recognition? The man who danced like the devil and made love like an angel?

  How could she not? Because it was hopeless? Because he was so broken there was no way of fixing him? Because he didn’t love her, didn’t love anyone? If only love worked that way.

  Oh, God. She had fallen in love with him. What an utter idiot she was.

  Mechanically, she grasped for her bag, realising it was still in the room. She needed her phone, to read HEAA emails and absorb herself in something she had some control over. Rising to her feet, she walked the few yards slowly, still unable to process what had just happened, what she had admitted to herself and what it meant.

  The shutter doors were pulled to and she pushed them open, halting at the sight of Deangelo standing in the middle of the large room, a towel looped round his hips, hair wet and slicked back. It was a sumptuous space, a one-room villa dominated by the wooden four-poster, decked in gauzy white curtains. A white sofa and matching chairs were placed on the opposite side of the room, a dining table and chairs behind them. At the back, doors led to his and hers bathrooms. Huge shuttered windows could be un-shuttered to let the outside in, with beach and sea views on three of the four sides. It was the most glorious place Harriet had ever seen.

  But, next to him, it was nothing. He dominated the space, not just with his physical size, but with his aura. How could she not love him? But saving him was a whole different matter and one that might just be beyond her.

  * * *

  Harriet didn’t speak, just stood by the door staring at him, the morning sunshine framing her, highlighting her strawberry-blonde hair to a golden glow, shining off her lightly tanned skin. She looked like an angel. An angel come to deliver him or to deliver judgement on him. Deangelo wasn’t sure which he wanted; he knew which one he deserved.

  But hadn’t she already begun the process? Taken his certainty and shaken it. He’d come here for revenge, but now he no longer knew if that was the right path.

  And after so many years pursuing that path, uncertainty was as unwelcome as it was disconcerting. He had vowed to avenge his mother. How could he turn away now when he was so close?

  But Harriet’s words rung true, chiming in with the conscience he had been doing his best to ignore. His actions didn’t just affect himself. If he was too ruthless, then he was no better than the family who had disowned him, not caring who he trampled in the process, how many lives he destroyed.

  ‘I just wanted to get my bag,’ she said, stepping tentatively into the room as if she were afraid of him, afraid of who he really was deep down. As if she could see the unworthiness deep in his soul, even after all they had shared, and at that moment Deangelo knew with cool clarity that the honeymoon was over.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I was thinking...’

  But he cut in first. She didn’t need to say anything.

  ‘I need to get back to the city.’

  ‘Right. Okay. That’s...’

  ‘It’s time to end this.’

  Disappointment clouded her expression for a moment before the polite, bland expression of old reappeared. ‘You’re the boss.’

  Deangelo curled his hands into fists, holding back the words trying to burst out of him. Try to understand—this is all I have, all I am. Can’t you love me anyway? Find me worthy, despite my monstrousness.

  Love? Where had that come from? Love was weakness. If you didn’t love then you couldn’t lose. If you weren’t loved then you couldn’t fail someone. He’d spent his whole adult life making
sure he never got close enough to anyone for any kind of love, keeping even his mother’s family at arm’s length, even the aunt who had given him a home, the aunt who had fought tirelessly to get him a scholarship to a good school, to get the education which had led to Cambridge and a new life. Materially she wanted for nothing, although she had elected to stay and work in the favela, throwing that same spirit which had propelled Deangelo to school into community projects. But this trip was the first time he had visited her since he had left. She deserved better, but he didn’t know how to give her more.

  Harriet deserved better. He suspected she knew that. Because she might be able to save him but he was much more likely to drag her down.

  ‘Pack your things. I’ll get Reception to order a car...’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ she said quickly. ‘My job, remember? Do you want to head back to Rio? Not the same hotel?’

  ‘Good God, no.’ But his reaction wasn’t because of the faded glory or the location; it was because he didn’t want to return to the suite where he had first made love to Harriet, where they had shared a hot, sweet, fevered night, one that was supposed to be a one and only. If it had been, would the inevitable parting be easier?

  ‘No, I thought not. I’ll find us somewhere more suitable. How long do you want to stay in Rio? Or would you like to stay somewhere else until the shareholders’ meeting? One of the other hotels maybe, to get a different perspective?’

  Deangelo had been born in Rio and stayed there until the day he had flown to England. He’d been born in a vast country full of natural wonders, full of incredible wildlife, and he had never seen more than a few square miles. But what was the point of visiting hotels he had no interest in running, in places he would never return to? His life was over the ocean now.

  ‘We’ll stay in Rio for the rest of the allotted time. It’ll take time to put the right compensation packages for workers together, to decide what to do with the hotels.’