Part 9 (1/2)

See what happens-if anything can happen between us.”

Randy was shaken by the way her blood was rus.h.i.+ng and her mind was racing. She didn't want to hear what he was saying to her, and yet she didn't want him to stop. Give this thing a chance? G.o.d, how that idea frightened her. It was impossible.

”No, I can't take chances, Geoff,” she told him. ”I need something solid. I have something solid.”

He tipped up her chin and stared at her hard. ”Right, you've got a solid guy who hangs out at places called The Smell of Love?”

”Oh-and you don't hang out at places like that?”

”Sure I do, but I admit to it, Randy. I'm not pretending to be Mr. Clean. I'm not lying to you.”

”What's that supposed to mean?” she asked him. ”That Hugh is lying to me? About what?” She could hardly believe it. Geoff Dias was setting himself up as morally superior to her fiance? The man who rode bikes like a banshee and carried a flask in his hip pocket? Hugh was a fine man, a conscientious man who'd worked his whole life to get where he was.

”There are plenty of things your fiance could be lying about,” Geoff pointed out. ”Like what he was doing at that nightclub, why he met with Santeras.”

She met his emerald gaze head on. ”Are you asking me to believe that Hugh was doing something wrong, something illegal?”

”I'm not asking you to believe anything about Hugh. I'm telling you something about me. I've never lied to you, and I never will. Maybe you're not used to that in a man.”

Randy had a moment of true confusion. His thumb was still stroking her face lightly, and the conviction in his voice pulled at her. It reached into her mind and made her want to question the things she'd taken for granted as true. He seemed to be saying he wanted a relations.h.i.+p with her. But maybe he was just playing with her head, her hopes, trying to convince her that he was a man who didn't lie, a man who would hold her simply because she needed holding. But why would he do all that? What was his motive? Surely he had one. All men did.

He bent to kiss her and she whispered something as his mouth neared hers. ”Is the deal off, then? The night of s.e.x?”

”No, sweetness,” he said, tasting her lips, sipping, sampling, tantalizing, ”the deal isn't off. You're not going to leave Hugh for me. You're too frightened. And if I can't have anything else, then I want that night. I mean to have that night.”

His lips continued to touch hers, light, s.e.xy, wickedly sweet. His hand went to the breast he'd covered, and she felt a shock wave of desire as his skin touched her bare flesh. He was right. Everything he said was true. She wasn't going to leave Hugh, she couldn't. It would kill her to give up her dreams.

But there was one thing Geoff Dias didn't know, must never know. She wanted that night of s.e.x with him. She wanted it badly.

Nine.

GEOFF, WEARING ONLY his tuxedo pants, stood alone in the darkness of his bedroom gazing out the open terrace doors. The low vibrant music of the grandfather clock echoed from the foyer, followed by four lonely chimes. The sound was haunting. Even the chaos of Carnaval, roiling up on sultry waves of heat, couldn't offset the sad beauty of the chimes.

They reminded him of her.

He'd been sketching her in his mind again, the gypsy bride in her lacy white wedding gown and her shattered dreams. It was the same image, always the same, her eyelashes quivering with tears, her features suffused with a young girl's pain, a young woman's stung pride.

Why did he always think of her that way? There were a million other images that could have obsessed him-their white-hot coupling on the bike, their abandoned s.e.x in the roadside motel he'd found. She'd been crazy enough to try everything that night, perhaps a little too desperate. At one point she'd thrown herself against the wall, facing away from him, begging him to take her that way. And then in the heat of it, before either of them were finished, she'd freed herself and knelt before him, bringing him to the most explosive climax he'd ever had.

His gut knotted up violently with the memory. Aware of the heat pooling in his groin, he went to the dresser and poured himself a splash of brandy from a crystal decanter. That session had sure as h.e.l.l left an impression on him. Why couldn't he draw it? Why did he keep re-creating a sad and beautiful child-woman, full of melancholy, shadowed with yearnings?

Why couldn't he get her out of his system?

He walked out onto the terrace, drink in hand, barely aware of the sweltering heat. There was an aching sensation between his ribs that intensified whenever he took a breath. It was a.s.sociated with her, he knew, and it would only get worse. She was slowly but surely driving him nuts. She could have been crushed in that mob scene, and the thought of losing her that way had churned up feelings. It had made him realize that he cared about her, maybe even enough to think about the consequences of hurting her.

He took a quick slug of the brandy and grimaced as it set fire to the roof of his mouth. If he were a better man, he'd find her Prince Charming for her and get out of her life. There was no way to get the satisfaction he wanted from her short of destroying her dream. If she wanted a loveless marriage to a b.u.t.toned-down desk jockey-permanence over pa.s.sion-that was her choice.

He glanced down at her balcony and saw that the doors to her room were open. Something tugged deep inside him, tempting him to think of it as an invitation. h.e.l.l, she'd invited him in the club, surrendering her mouth to him, her breast, then pulling back abruptly when they were interrupted. He wanted to believe that if they'd been somewhere else, with nothing to stop them, she would have surrendered it all.

He drained the rest of the brandy in his gla.s.s, fighting fire with fire, trying to put out the blaze in his gut. If he were a better man, he wouldn't even be thinking about such things. If he were a better man ...

Where had he gone? Randy crumpled the note she'd found on her pillow that morning and tossed it into the basin of a green marble birdbath that stood in the midst of the terrace garden. With a sigh of frustration, she picked up her dripping gla.s.s of iced tea and took a drink, ignoring the fruit salad that sat on the table next to her.

Geoff had already gone out when she'd awakened at eight A.M., and his terse message said he'd left to investigate a new lead. It gave no specifics, not even an estimate of the time he'd be back. She glanced at her watch, then chided herself because she'd checked it just moments before.

It was well past noon now, and she was becoming increasingly uneasy-not only about what he was doing, but about what they'd done the night before. She'd had wild dreams the entire night, all of them dominated by an emerald-eyed devil in a black mask. She'd awakened in turmoil, determined to talk to him about their ”problem”-and found him gone.

Aware of the dull throb above her eye, which always signaled the beginning of a headache, she rose and walked to the railing. She'd called room service twice for aspirin, but no one had ever shown up. It seemed a miracle they'd brought lunch, considering the chaos that had taken hold of the city.

A cl.u.s.ter of vermilion b.u.t.terflies swooped overhead and doubled back, alighting on the crimson bougainvillea that grew along the railing. Randy was struck by the natural beauty of Rio as she gazed out at the seascape, at Sugarloaf Mountain and the white puff clouds drifting above. On impulse she decided to take a walk. The exercise would relax her. and she might find a pharmacy in one of the shops nearby where she could get some aspirin.

A short time later she was traversing a shady side street, picking her way through streamers, confetti, and the other paraphernalia of last night's celebration. In the near distance she could hear the roar of the official parades, where samba schools from all over Brazil were competing for the enormous prestige of taking first place in the dance compet.i.tion.

Making a mental note of her surroundings so she could find her way back, she took a street heading in the opposite direction from the parades. She wanted to avoid the crowds.

Most of the shops were closed, but she was hoping to come across a grocery or drugstore. She covered a few blocks, took another corner and heard the soft purr of a car engine. Glancing behind her, she noticed a sleek black limo as it gingerly negotiated the turn and crept into a parking spot.

The luxury car looked out of place among the modest shops and businesses. Randy glanced back again curiously, but she was unable to see anything through the tinted windows.

As she continued on down the street, a crazy quilt of multicolored shacks in the distance caught her eye. Cl.u.s.tered precariously on a hillside, they spilled down to the very edge of the business district. Her guidebook had warned that the shanty towns of Rio, called favelas, were dangerous. They were the poverty pockets of the city, where criminals and drug pushers hung out. They were also home to the poor and underprivileged.

Randy continued walking, drawn by a group of children who were sitting on a sidewalk in front of a shop window. They were watching a television set through the gla.s.s, and Randy's heart went out to them as she neared. Thin and ragged, they sat clutching their knees, completely absorbed by the old western movie.

Down the street on the opposite corner was an open-air stand of fruits and vegetables. Randy's first thought was to buy the children some food, but as she stepped into the street she became aware of a man loitering near a streetlamp by the stand. He leaned against the post, watching her and looking vaguely sinister, not unlike the dancer who'd performed at the club the night before.

Randy told herself to keep going. It was daylight and there were people around. She'd be safe enough. Her attention divided between the man and the produce, she approached the stand and picked out a variety of fresh fruits, avoiding the milk chocolate candy the owner was pointing out to her. She didn't want the children to gorge on sweets and become ill.

The shopkeeper's thick accent made his words unintelligible, but he seemed more than happy to take Randy's American money, and she was sure that she must have overpaid by the delighted smile on his face. She returned his smile as she took the bag. It pleased her to think that she was helping in some way.

But as she turned to leave, she immediately sensed the danger. Three men were now congregated at the streetlamp, and two more were crossing the street from the direction she'd come. Not only were they blocking her path, they were heading straight for her.

One of them called out something in Portuguese and the others laughed and jeered. Randy hesitated as all five began to move toward her, closing in. She knew it wouldn't do any good to scream. The streets were suddenly deserted. Even the old man who'd waited on her had disappeared.

Adrenaline burned through her hesitation. Raised in the streets herself, she'd learned some lessons in survival. She pulled an orange from the sack she carried and held it out as if offering it to the men blocking her path. ”Catch!” she cried, tossing it to the nearest one.

She flung the bag of fruit at the other man and made a run for it.

The bluff gave her a few seconds' head start, and Randy dug in as she never had before. Raw fear propelled her forward. She heard the roar of a car's engine as she sprinted toward the end of the block. Suddenly the black limo peeled out of its parking s.p.a.ce, drowning Randy's screams in the screech of its tires. It came right at her, forcing her to leap out of the way as it careened past. Astonished, she watched the big car swerve to a shuddering stop, blocking the path of her pursuers.

The limo door flew open. ”Get in!” someone shouted.

It was a man's voice, but Randy couldn't see him. Torn, she looked up and spotted her pursuers climbing over the hood of the car after her.

”Get in!” the voice commanded.

Randy scrambled into the car. Blinded by the dark interior, she felt someone lean over her and pull the door shut. She shuddered and fell against the seat as the limo wheeled around. The car jumped over the curb and shot down the road, scattering the men who'd chased her.