Back in the Brazilian's Bed

She’d gone too far to get out of it, she decided, and her back was a safe zone. Unbelting her robe and slipping it down her shoulders she climbed up on the table and made sure she was lying on her stomach. Nervously, she waited—and tensed when Dante moved the robe down further but still covering her buttocks.

She relaxed as much as she could—which wasn’t much at all—and remained on full alert when he moved away. She couldn’t see what he was doing and the anticipation was killing her. The first touch of his hands nearly sent her into orbit. It delivered shockwaves to every part of her body. Her nipples pebbled, her breath quickened, and her body moistened, though she had contracted like a sea urchin flinching from a touch.

Sensing she was super-wired, he soothed her with long, firm strokes. Dante had always been the master of pleasure, and he knew just which muscles to work. He began at her shoulders and worked his way down her body with wicked skill. She was annoyed with herself for responding so eagerly, but all it took was a few short minutes and it was as if his hands had lifted the tension out of her, allowing her body to respond and soften, allowing her troubled mind to forget. Turning her face into the sun-bleached sheet, she inhaled deeply as she allowed herself to enjoy the experience of having Dante work her body. It was impossible not to progress her thoughts to that other night, and that deeper pleasure when she’d been in heaven, or somewhere very close.

When he stopped she almost cried out with disappointment, and only relaxed when he drizzled more oil on her back. The oil was warm and Dante’s touch was soothing, and very soon the last of her tension had seeped away. Turning her head, she risked a glance at him, and saw the warmth and humour in his eyes.

Humour had always been her undoing where Dante was concerned. It was his most lethal weapon. She turned her face back into the sheet again, smiling. Humour was personal between them. It brought them close, and had done since they’d been young. She thought again about the night of the party, when Dante and her brother’s friends had teased her as a matter of course. She’d given back as good as she’d got, accusing them of being more use to a horse than a woman and then not much use at all. They had laughed and drifted away...all except Dante.

‘Don’t you trust me, Karina?’

‘Sorry?’ She was confused for a moment as the past and the present clashed.

‘I asked you to turn over,’ he repeated.

‘Onto my back?’ The consequences of doing so destroyed her relaxation at a stroke.

‘Unless there’s another side of you I don’t know about?’ Dante murmured to himself.

Grabbing for the towel he presented her with, she covered herself and sat up. ‘That was great. Thanks. But I’m done.’ She was already swinging off the table. ‘I need another shower,’ she explained. ‘I’m covered in oil—’

Breath rushed out of her as Dante scooped her off the couch.

‘Where are you taking me?’

‘Where I should have taken you from the start.’

He was striding down the gym. Panic overwhelmed her and she stiffened like a board. A surprised breath shot out of her when he set her down outside the door. Balling his hands into fists, he slammed them into the wall on either side of her face.

‘What’s wrong with you, Karina?’ he gritted out.

Apart from her longing for shadows to hide in, or a door to slip through, did he mean? All out of options, she turned her face away from his.

‘Don’t hide from me,’ Dante ground out, and cupping her chin he forced her to look at him.

‘What’s wrong with you, Dante? Do you find it so hard to believe that there’s a woman in this world who can resist you?’

‘You know that this has nothing to do with sex.’

‘Do I?’

‘And if it were, is that so terrible? I’ve seen the way you look at me. Either you’re lying to yourself or you have a problem, Karina. Which is it?’

Firming her lips, she refused to speak.

Letting her go with a frustrated sigh, he stood back. ‘I give up. Get dressed.’

Pulling away from him, she stalked angrily back to the changing room, where she found her clothes and tugged them on. She didn’t care about her appearance or her hair. She just wanted to get away—away from Dante and his scrutiny, and his questions.

But he was waiting for her on the other side of the door. Slouched on one hip with his hands dug into his pockets, he leaned back against the wall. ‘Before this project forced you out of the shadows, you were hiding away in your brother’s hotel.’