Kidnapping the Brazilian Tycoon (4 page)

A sturdy man dressed in an expensive suit approached them with a nod.

She mumbled a thank-you and followed Gwen. Understated elegance showed on the minimalist accent pieces spread throughout the décor of the airy store. Besides the mannequins in the window, there were just a few racks occupying either side of the showroom. Rather than stacked to the max, each rack showcased only a handful of glamorous dresses, carefully placed to lure customers into trying them on.

A couple of salesclerks smiled at her as Gwen led her up a short flight of stairs to an upper level, where the walls narrowed a bit. Addie’s toes curled inside her Ecco shoes. With the help of two salesgirls, Gwen showed her outfits brought from the backroom. It started with a few casual pieces, such as overpriced jeans, light and casual cashmere sweaters, and colorful daytime dresses. They also brought belts, shoes, and all kinds of jewelry and hair accessories. As the minutes stretched into a full hour, the selection shifted into high-end cocktail dresses, glamorous long gowns, and sparkling clutches.

These ladies knew how to sell. They’d stripped her of not only her tank top and jeans but also offered her the kind of escapism she often criticized. She wasn’t supposed to enjoy this, was she?
Maybe just for a little while.
She slid her fingers down the soft fabrics and twirled around whenever she tried on a dress and there was no one in sight. Flowing dresses had never been her cup of tea, before or after living in Toca do Tigre. In fact, she wondered if Bruno had told Gwen she wasn’t the regular Fifth Avenue shopper and that’s how Gwen had recognized her.

Addie glanced at her reflection in the full-length mirror.
Well, he certainly told them I need a bridal gown.

A long ivory dress made of the richest, finest silk clung to her body just as Gwen had said it would—elegantly. Swarovski crystal beads on the bodice made an abstract pattern that added harmony and flair.

This was not something she’d ever wear. Especially because of the army of tiny buttons in the back. They added to the vintage charm, she conceded. But in real life, who would wear this dress? Who could get into it—or out of it—without help?

“Gwen?”

Addie waited a bit and called for Gwen again. Nothing.

The other salesgirls… What were their names?

She cleared her throat. “Gwen?”

A small knock on the dressing room door prompted her to open it immediately with a sigh of relief. But the relief was short lived.

“Need a hand?” Bruno asked, dressed like a sexy devil fresh from a G8 conference meeting. Dark gray suit, red tie, and a white shirt highlighting his glowing skin.

“I thought you were coming by later.”
Much later.

He peered at her with amusement.

“Can you please call someone?” Addie raised her chin. “I need help.”

“They got called away. I told them I’d be happy to assist you.”

How could the attentive, ever-present sales team just vanish like this? Especially when she needed as many hands on her as possible to get out of this dress. Preferably, not his hands. Not his…strong hands. “Fine. I need you to open these buttons. I can’t reach them.”

Addie motioned to step out of her dressing room for some neutral ground when, in a blink, he slipped inside, closing the door behind him.

Her body automatically stiffened as he approached. The space that had seemed oversized a while ago now was too narrow and small. Standing in front of a full-length mirror, she preferred to stare at the floor and avoid him altogether. Bruno dropped the newspaper he was holding on the white tufted fabric chair and opened the first button at the top. The moment his fingers whispered over her skin, the little hairs on her neck stood on end.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” He undid the second button. “I’m nowhere near finished.” His voice dropped an octave, which she decided to ignore. But her body didn’t. Her nipples hardened when he opened the third ridiculously small button.

Nowhere near…
She sucked in her breath, and his finger made an invisible circle on whatever little bare skin she showed on her back. She fixed her stare at the hem of her dress reflected in the mirror. That was the safe thing to do. Once she didn’t react to him, he would leave her alone. He wasn’t doing anything inappropriate, right?

“These buttons…are tiny.” She gave small talk another go. No answer. “Annoying, like a parent-teacher conference.” Of course, no school conference ever made her feel this suffocated.

Silence.

Driven by an inconvenient impulse, she risked a glance at their reflection. He continued to unbutton her. While her outside was covered by beautiful embroidery, her inside seared with senseless longing. Heat spread across her cheeks when she saw her breasts, heavy with wanting, the tightened small buds straining against the fabric.

With all buttons opened, a cold draft replaced the warmth of his touch. She held the dress on both sides, clasping the soft fabric between her fingers. The last thing she needed was for the dress to slip off. Why didn’t he move?

In the mirror, she saw him behind her. Though he towered over her, the raw need in his eyes started a teasing hum between her thighs. She instinctively turned around to usher him out of the dressing room. Bruno outmaneuvered her and pulled her hands into his and leaned down. Before she could think, his lips covered hers, and, oh, what a delicious promise they carried. For a moment, they didn’t move. He let her hands go and put his own around her waist. Blood throbbed in her veins. She parted her trembling lips, and their mouths melded together. Oh, yes… The gentleness of his touch disappeared like sand against the wind, and she wasn’t complaining. All her nerve endings responded with maximum sensitivity to the delicious, commanding strokes of his tongue. He groaned, and the primitive sound caused her to lean into him for support.

She matched his urgency, delving her fingers into his hair and pulling him closer.

Closer.

Closer… His hands hovered over her naked back, his fingers sizzling their way south till he pushed past the dress bunched on her waist and fondled her butt.

His touch plastered her to him, and she moaned. The pressure of his hands cupping her bottom and tugging at her beige G-string sent her hormones into hardcore overdrive. She moaned and squirmed against him. He didn’t let go of her mouth for a second, and, when he nipped her upper lip, a rush of blood raced in her veins, empowering her. Every time his fingers kneaded her ass, the imaginary mine exploded, with no warning.

His arousal poked against her belly. God. He wanted her. And she…wanted him? She
couldn’t
want him!

No good would come out of it. Of course she knew one day she’d sleep with, maybe even make love to a man who wasn’t Michael. But he had to be special. Not someone who, until this evening, was engaged to someone else. Commitment obviously meant nothing to Bruno Duarte.

She shoved him away before she changed her mind. “No.”

“No?” He arched an eyebrow. He smiled as if she had said “yes.”

Irked by her reaction to him, she stepped back until the cool wall of the dressing room pressed against her heated back. “Why did you kiss me?”

“It’s not like you complained.”

She lifted her hands to ensure her dress wouldn’t slide down. “I was caught off-guard.”

“Again? What kind of game are you playing?” He sobered.

“No games. I don’t even want to get them started.” She was bad at mind games, always lost.

“But you want me.”

She forced laughter. “I want you? Just because I almost went with the flow doesn’t mean I want you. I’m not part of the package. I don’t come as a bonus for our deal.”

“I was thinking we could make it…interesting, since we are to be married for the next month or so.” He gave her a sensual smile.

“I’ll be clear. There will be no sex while we’re married.” She clasped her fingers around her silver heart pendant.

He ran his fingers through his hair. “It feels like a real marriage already,” he said dryly.

“I mean it. I need your word that you won’t kiss me again.”

“Not unless you ask.” His lips curled. “Or beg.”

“I won’t ask.”
Or beg.

He opened the door and, before closing it behind him, said, “I look forward to you not asking. Or begging,” he added in a low, husky voice.

…

The jet finally touched the ground, the wheels screeching loudly on the tarmac. Bruno drummed his fingers on his safety belt. Ready to unbuckle. After he’d convinced Addie she needed more than two outfits and practical shoes, his driver picked them up. All the way to the private airfield and during the flight, they hadn’t exchanged many words.

Did they have to speak? He tried to stop staring at the sweep of her inner thighs as she shifted restlessly in her seat.

Her threat not to sleep with him rang in his ears. It challenged and scared him in equal measure. After tasting the softness of her lips in the dressing room, every fiber of his being ached for more.
Merda.
Why was something so organic and simple so complicated?

Maybe she didn’t want him. His stomach tightened. Or maybe she wasn’t ready to admit that she did, in which case he had to give her time. If he rushed things, she would blame him afterward.

And to accept the blame for someone else’s sexual activities was something he no longer did.

He ran his fingers through his hair. Best not think about those days.

Thank God, a lot had changed since then. Fourteen years ago, he’d arrived in New York and altered his fate. For the first two years, he’d dedicated his time religiously to making money any way he could. He learned English in the streets, and every sorry job he had helped him to recognize his talent. His shifts as a janitor at a community college made him curious about computers and numbers. When students had gone home and the building was empty, he started playing around with the keyboard, such a foreign object for him until then. His next job, a salesman at an electronics store, warranted him his first laptop. The old refurbished machine offered a great challenge. In one month, he knew it inside out, assembling and disassembling it various times.

He still owned that laptop somewhere—it was no longer functional, but he kept it as evidence of his humble beginning.

When he took a couple of classes at the very same community college he had worked for, his mind flooded with ideas. He never graduated from the course, because he went on to develop software that he sold to big companies. Before his thirtieth birthday, his company had made a global imprint on the market.

“What are you thinking about?” Her soft voice interrupted his musings, and he realized the jet was rolling smoothly to a stop. Addie placed the Bose headset on the console and touched the small window in front of her, attentively staring at the mix of concrete ground, other jets, and the airport in the background.

He rose to his feet. “An old laptop I have that has lost its use.”

“Why would a gadget king like you hold on to an old laptop?” She frowned and stood as the flight attendant greeted them.

“For clutter purposes.”

“You must like clutter, then. You had a big grin on your face.”

If you only knew…

The left part of his brain had quickly justified his outrageous idea of blackmailing her to be his wife. With her fluency in Portuguese and eagerness to help the Kwanis, she’d be the best non-professional actress he could get on such short notice.

He hoped it was a good idea to go straight home to Brazil. Vegas had been Erika’s idea. He’d texted his sister and asked her to gather some family members and put together an impromptu wedding celebration for the next day. That had to be better than eloping.

Rationally, everything would work.

Irrationally… The right side of his brain, the one he couldn’t trust, had stored the sweetness of Addie’s lips, the fullness of her hair in his fingers. That woman belonged locked between his legs, not behind the bars of a prison cell. He’d given her a couple contracts to sign. The prenup, which stated she would have no right to his fortune acquired before or after the wedding. And the confidentiality agreement, which forbade her from talking about their arrangement to anyone. If they remained married until the death of his father, she’d get her million.

He stepped down on the ladder, clasping his hand on the rail, still moist from morning dew. He inhaled a gulp of sweet, humid air. The same scent he’d tried so hard to forget.

“Where is the hotel?” she asked.

“We’re staying at my father’s house.”

It was kismet. Addie had fallen into his lap, and, now that she was here, he could see the benefit of it all. Her presence would be a good buffer against awkward silences with his family.

He greeted the driver and opened the door for her. She slid inside the car gracefully, and he opted not to focus on her shapely legs. His jaw clenched. Getting involved with her was too much of a risk. If she found out anything about his life before he went to the US, would she use it against him? Or would she just be appalled? Didn’t matter. Because she wouldn’t. He’d dated lots of women, and only one knew. Only one found out what he tried so hard to hide—and she had left him immediately.

The driver stepped on the accelerator.

“Is it a large house?” Addie asked.

He nodded.

“Big enough that we will share a—”

“Room?” he interrupted.

“I was going for wing. I’ve heard the filthy rich have different wings, sometimes, and houses as big as castles. This way, we won’t have to share the same room,” she said in a rush of words. A slight blush spread across her face, and he soaked in the uncertainty in her expression. Scattered freckles made her look younger, innocent even.

“Why are you scared to share a room with me?”

“I’m not.” Her strangled laugh said otherwise. “I just enjoy having my own space.”

He edged closer on the seat. Her nearness sent a flood of desire rushing through his veins. “We did okay sharing a space in the dressing room.” He said in a low, husky voice.