He led her inside the hotel, past soaring ceilings, palm trees, gilded furniture and the elegant check-in desk. But Ellie barely noticed. She had eyes only for Diogo. In a small, private elevator, he turned a key to push the button for the top floor. The doors slid open and he led her past two bodyguards lounging in the hallway. They nodded at him respectfully, barely bothering to glance at Ellie.
But why should they notice her? They probably saw him with a different woman every night. She was just the latest in his long line of lovers. Tomorrow, he'd be with somebody else.
The thought chilled her like a shadow.
“You're shivering,” Diogo said, observing her keenly as he unlocked the door to the penthouse.
Her teeth chattered. “No. I'm fine, really.”
“Come inside. I will soon get you warm.”
Following him in a daze, she kicked off her muddy high heels and stepped on the thick white carpet inside. It felt good to take off the painful shoes, but nothing else in this penthouse was particularly comforting to her. The decor was severe and Spartan—modern, minimalist and cold. Glass and metal sculpture was placed sparingly against the white walls. High floor-to-ceiling windows edged the penthouse, surrounding a freestanding, two-story-high white fireplace.
It was the most sophisticated home she'd ever seen. Elegant, certainly, and very expensive, but severe and about as friendly and warm as an ice pick.
As Diogo closed the door behind her, she idly rubbed her bruised wrist. It was still sore, but no longer had the same sharp pain.
“You are hurt?” he demanded.
“It's nothing. I fell on my wrist earlier—”
“Let me see,” he ordered.
She reluctantly held out her hand, protesting, “It's much better now. Really. You don't need to…”
Then he touched her, and she sucked in her breath. Fire spread up and down her body as he examined her, gently moving her hand to the right and left.
“Your wrist isn't broken,” he said, releasing her. “I spent ten years learning capoeira on the streets. I can recognize a break or sprain. You have neither. But if it hurts, I will call the doctor and she can…”
“No, really,” she breathed. “I'm fine.” She couldn't stop looking at his handsome face. At the sharp lines of his jaw, his high cheekbones, the slightly crooked nose that gave him the hard look of a warrior. His sensual mouth. The lips that she longed to feel against her skin…
He looked up at her, and his dark eyes seared her.
“What do you want first?”
First? She licked her lips. She wanted him to make love to her with heat and urgency. To whisper hoarsely against her skin that he wanted her and only her forever. To say he wanted to be a good, loving father to their baby, and that he would always, always…
“Ellie?”
“What?” Nervously, she tucked her hair behind her ear. “What do I…?”
“Breakfast first? Or—no.” Cursing himself under his breath, he shook his head in sudden decision. “I'm being stupid. Of course, we should start by taking off your clothes.”
It was as if he'd read her mind. “My…clothes?”
What was she thinking? No, no, no! She couldn't allow this to happen!
Clutching the wet wedding dress against her body, she backed away. Every step she took left a wet trail against his floor. “I won't be your mistress, Diogo,” she said aloud, willing herself to believe it. “I won't be your latest one-night stand!”
“Why do you think that's what I want?” he asked quietly.
Her heart turned over in her chest. He wanted more? She licked her dry lips. “What else could it be?”
“You're pregnant with my child. I want you…to be comfortable and warm. You're soaking wet, querida, chilled to the bone. You need a hot shower. Breakfast. Dry clothes.”
Of course. Ellie wanted to kick herself. Of course that was what he'd meant. Did she actually think he was desperate to seduce her? Now there was a laugh! Diogo could have any perfect woman he wanted—and not just the vapid beauties, but smart, gorgeous women who ran their own businesses and had college degrees. Not high school dropouts like Ellie! Her cheeks went hot with humiliation.
He came toward her, reaching for her dress.
“No.” She stumbled back from him, suddenly unwilling to let him touch her. “I don't need your help.”
He snorted. “That wedding dress weighs more than you do. Come here.”
With calm arrogance, he reached for her.
Like a coward, she turned and ran blindly into the next room. She saw a round wall of windows overlooking Copacabana Beach and the Avenida Atlântica far below. In the center of the room was a bed, large, white and stark.