An Heir for the World's Richest Man

‘A dark...angel?’ she translated hesitantly.

Joao smiled, a curious pulse of satisfaction hitting him in the chest. ‘Your Portuguese is improving, querida.’

She gave a shy smile. ‘Who was he?’

‘I discovered later that he was a doctor attached to an international charity, which was fortunate because after he saved me, I ran away without thanking him. But when I developed an infection, I went to find him. He made a deal with me. I would clean his house and tend his garden and in return he would give me an education, free of charge.’

‘And that’s how...?’

Joao nodded. ‘He started me off with the basics and when he saw how quickly I picked up the subjects, he hired a tutor for me. I was able to take the requisite exams to get myself into university in record time. When I graduated he gave me the capital I needed to invest in my first business.’

Her eyes widened. ‘My God, Joao, that’s amazing.’

He wanted to bask in her joy. God, he wanted to do more than that, and that forceful swell of need was what froze everything inside him.

He couldn’t need like that again.

It came too close to the fervent prayers of a lost little boy who’d sent up hundreds of pleas to the cosmos only to be answered with stony silence. He’d learned to rely on no one but himself. And he’d succeeded.

There could be no turning back, no opening himself up to vulnerabilities. So he crafted a passable smile and shrugged. ‘Like with everything else, I paid the price by earning my keep and turning failure into success. The

good doctor has been repaid a hundred times over for his generosity. That’s all there really is to it.’

The light in her eyes dimmed. ‘Surely you don’t really believe that?’

‘What else is there?’

‘That he saw something special in you, that you were more than just a simple project to him? Maybe he was trying to give you what your own father didn’t?’

Ernesto Blanco had been a slave-driver, true. But there’d also been times when he’d just wanted to...talk. Find out Joao’s hopes and dreams. Joao had ensured he’d curtailed those occurrences.

Because...where was the sense in opening himself up only to be disappointed? To be discarded and made to feel worthless and inconsequential?

Now an arrow of guilt lanced him, unfreezing him enough to make him glance down at Saffie.

‘That was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter now.’ Just as he hadn’t done with Ernesto, he saw no point in delving into his feelings with Saffie.

This way would ensure they didn’t stray from their synergy.

But as she slowly laid her head on his chest, her fist curled in a ball against his skin, Joao wondered why that reaction didn’t please him.

Why there was suddenly a hollow space where supreme satisfaction had reigned so majestically before.

The only answer that came to him, he totally rejected.

Because Joao Oliviera didn’t need anyone. And he most certainly didn’t yearn for feelings that were as ephemeral as snow in summer.

* * *

Saffron awoke with the sinking feeling that deepened in the minutes she wasted staring up at the high, crown-moulded ceilings in Joao’s master suite.

She’d felt him leave the bed an hour ago and had pretended to be asleep. The predominantly cowardly part of her hadn’t wanted to face him, see the regret she’d heard in his voice at the tail end of their conversation last night, transmitted to what had happened in bed. She already knew he regretted opening up his past to her. She’d seen it in his eyes before sleep had pulled her under.

The irony wasn’t lost on her that she’d told herself this was a one-night-only thing, only to find she didn’t want it to be for Joao.

She’d intended to indulge in the physical, only to end up feeling closer to the man he’d unveiled last night, the strength of character needed to overcome his adversities striking at her emotions, forcing her to admit what her heart already knew. He was special. And she wanted more from him.

Her hand cradled her belly, her heart tumbling over as she accepted the truth.