Returning to Claim His Heir

When she saw a private SUV awaiting them on the Tarmac, she inwardly groaned with relief. She had never been more grateful for Duarte’s ridiculous wealth, even if every other passenger on their flight did gawk at them as they were guided off the aircraft first.

When their driver finally came to a stop at the marina, she stepped out into the warm, humid air with shaky legs. Fort Lauderdale was very different from Brazil. The air was almost as heavy as the Amazonian climate in Manaus, but without the sounds of nature, and there were people everywhere. Well-dressed, wealthy people, who drove expensive cars and dripped with luxury brands.

She fought the urge to look down at her own three-year-old sandals and well-worn blue jeans.

Duarte pushed the pram across the wooden promenade, oblivious to the hordes of women who followed him with their eyes. He looked effortlessly gorgeous, in simple charcoal-coloured chinos and a silver-grey polo shirt. Even without the expensive watch on his wrist and the designer labels of his clothes, his entire being just screamed wealth.

Now he was turning that devastating smile on a well-dressed woman who introduced herself as one of his employees, and instructing a young man to bring the rest of their things as he confidently strode ahead towards the gigantic ship at the end of the pier.

Onboard the Sirinetta II superyacht, the staff jumped to attention around him, greeting Nora with wide smiles and curiosity. She knew that the Avelar family were practically royalty in Brazil, because of all their charity work, but clearly he was adored among his staff here too.

She avoided their gazes, wondering what they thought of the shabbily dressed woman walking onboard with a man like him.

Duarte took the lead, placing Liam down in a crib that had been set up in one of the cabins and ordering dinner to be served in the spacious dining area. He told her he would go for a swim first—the daily physiotherapy that he needed to keep his injuries at bay.

Nora debated going to lie down in bed herself, exhaustion warring with her need to speak with him alone. But in the end, she poured herself a glass of wine and waited.

He walked into the dining room still wet from his shower, his chest bare and wearing only a low-slung pair of jeans. Nora groaned under her breath.

Over dinner she made an effort to ask him about his company’s expansion and how it had come to pass, but his answers were short and clipped, and eventually she let the silence sit between them, the food having lost its flavour.

‘Are we done?’ he asked roughly, once he’d finished his meal and excused the staff for the night.

‘I thought we might talk,’ she said.

‘I have no interest in talking with you tonight.’ He rubbed a hand over the growth on his face, and there was a coldness in his eyes that made her cringe inwardly.

‘Duarte, I know I have made mistakes...’ She steeled herself against the flash of anger on his face. ‘But I won’t be kept on this yacht alone and punished with your silence. I came with you to see if we could try to find common ground.’

‘There is only one piece of common ground between us that we’ve shared without dishonesty.’ He sat back in his seat, a cruel twist to his lips as he surveyed her with obvious interest. ‘If you’re interested in communicating again in that way, I won’t protest.’

/> ‘Is this your plan?’ Nora stood up from the table. ‘You’re going to toy with me and keep me on edge with every conversation?’

‘Only if you beg me to, querida.’

Duarte felt himself reacting to the fire in her more than he’d have liked. She was furious, her cheeks turning pink once she’d gathered his meaning.

He could have groaned as she braced her hands on the table and glared down at him.

‘Hell would freeze over before I beg you for anything.’ She spoke with deliberate sweetness. ‘But, please, feel free to continue using my mistakes to avoid admitting your own part in this.’

‘What part is that, exactly.’

‘You told me you had never felt anything like what we shared in Rio. I was a virgin, and you didn’t treat it like something to shy away from. You made me feel like I owned my body and my choices for the first time in my life. And yet when you discovered the truth you discarded me like old trash and discussed my worth over cachaça at Lionel Cabo’s dining table.’

‘You might have been inexperienced, but you were not innocent,’ he drawled, leaning back in his chair. ‘You are just as wicked as I am—in every way.’

She licked her lower lip, her eyes darkening. He waited for her response, knowing it was cruel to spar with her this way, but helpless to stop.

But she only frowned, turning away from him with a sigh. ‘Stop trying to punish me, Duarte.’

He was behind her in a moment, gripping her wrist and pulling her towards him. He waited for her to move, to bridge the gap between them. Sure enough, her lips sought his without hesitation, giving him permission. He growled low in his throat at the heat of her mouth on his, as if he’d been starving for it. As if it had been months rather than a mere day since he’d last held her.

They both felt it—the current between them that pulsed and demanded attention. He’d hardly been able to concentrate during his swim, with images of the night they’d spent together playing in his mind, torturing him. It infuriated him how much he thought of her, of how she’d felt in his arms. Despite the revelations of the past twenty-four hours, he could concentrate on little else.

He turned her around, pushing her against the wall of the dining room and removing her worn jeans with one ferocious swipe of his hands. He hiked one of her thighs up over his hip, so he could angle himself against her through her underwear. She shivered, her hand reaching up to cup his jaw, a sudden tenderness in her eyes.

He pushed her hand away, grasping her wrist as he deepened the kiss for a long moment and then pulled back. ‘If I wanted to punish you I know exactly where I’d start.’ He moved his mouth to her neck, nipping softly as his hand moved down to pull the hem of her T-shirt up with a sharp tug. ‘And believe me, Nora, you’d beg.’