Postcards From Rio: Master of Her Innocence / To Play with Fire / A Taste of Desire

‘Wouldn’t you like to get married like your friend?’

‘Nope.’

‘Why not?’

Diego gave a contemplative sigh. ‘I had a girlfriend once who liked me to buy her boxes of chocolates, but because she was watching her weight she only ate the strawberry creams and left the other flavours. To me, marriage is like only enjoying your favourite chocolate in a selection box and ignoring all the other flavours, which to my way of thinking is a waste,’ he explained laconically.

Clare made a choked sound. ‘That is the most chauvinistic statement I have ever heard. You are...’ she struggled to find an adjective that conveyed her disgust ‘...astonishing.’

‘You’re not the first woman to think so.’

Clare could not see his expression in the dark Jeep but she pictured his sexy grin. ‘I didn’t mean it in a good way,’ she muttered.

‘I still think that how I choose to live my life is more understandable than your decision to deny yourself the pleasures of physical intimacy,’ he drawled. ‘How can you be certain you won’t want to marry in the future if you have never had a relationship with a man? Wouldn’t it be a good idea to at least date a few guys before you make your final vows?’

‘As a matter of fact I did have a relationship, with a two-timing compulsive liar and cheater.’ She could not disguise the bitterness in her voice when she thought of Mark.

‘Ah.’ Diego’s response was laden with meaning.

Clare frowned. ‘What do you mean, “Ah”?’

‘My theory is that it is possible, likely even, that your decision to become a nun was the result of having your heart broken by the guy who cheated on you.’ Diego sounded satisfied that he had resolved a question that had been niggling him. ‘You were hurt once and you have decided to hide away from life so that you don’t risk getting hurt again.’

Clare was tempted to tell Mr Know-It-All what he could do with his theory but, although she hated to admit it to herself, there was a grain of truth in Diego’s words. Her break-up with Mark had not made her turn to a religious life, but she had become a bit of a hermit for the past year.

‘What was your ex-boyfriend, apart from a jerk? I mean, what job does he do?’ Diego reworded his question.

‘His name is Mark Penry, which I expect means nothing to you as you spend most of your time living away from civilisation, but he is a very successful male model. He recently appeared in an advertising campaign for the famous Lux brand of underwear. Pictures of Mark wearing just a pair of designer boxer shorts featured on billboards in just about every major city around the world.’

‘You mean you broke your heart over a pretty boy who advertises pants?’ Diego said sardonically.

‘He’s not a pretty boy... Well, actually he is,’ Clare conceded, remembering how she’d found it irritating when Mark had checked his appearance in every mirror he passed. ‘The point is that he let me believe we had a future together. I felt such a fool when I discovered that he was sleeping with another model, especially as many of the other staff at A-Star PR knew, but they didn’t tell me because they didn’t want to hurt my feelings.’

It was odd that in all other aspects of her life she was sensible to the point of boring, Clare mused, but her good sense seemed to desert her when it came to picking men. She remembered when she was seventeen she’d fallen for a boy at college and had believed Tony returned her feelings. But she’d been devastated when she discovered that he had only asked her out because he’d made a bet with his mates that he could get her into bed. Clare recalled the advice Aunt Edith had given her.

‘Don’t be in a rush to have sex. One day you will meet the right man, who you will love with all your heart and soul and who will love you.’

Aunt Edith’s rather brusque manner had hidden a kind heart. She had understood that Clare had felt second-best when she was a child because her parents had lavished most of their attention on Becky. Clare had taken her aunt’s words to heart, and all through university she had dated guys but had never been tempted to take the relationships further. When she’d met Mark she had thought that he was ‘the one.’ But finding out that he was a liar and cheater had shattered her illusions, especially when Mark had said he’d been forced to get sex elsewhere because of Clare’s insistence on waiting until she felt ready to give her virginity to him.

But Mark was a saint compared to Diego Cazorra! She would never be able to look at a box of chocolates again without being reminded of his outrageous attitude towards women. She wished she was brave enough to go and sleep in the hut. It seemed impossible that she would be able to fall asleep when she was supremely conscious of Diego’s half-naked body squashed up against her with only her sleeping bag to separate them.

It was her last conscious thought. When she opened her eyes again she saw through the window that the sky had lightened to pearly grey tinged with the palest pink as the sun rose above the tree tops.

Something had disturbed her. She vaguely remembered hearing a harsh voice and realised that Diego was speaking in what she assumed was Portuguese. She unzipped the sleeping bag so that she could sit up, and turned to find him muttering in his sleep. Heaven knew what he was dreaming about. His features were drawn into an expression of terrible anguish and he was tossing his head restlessly from side to side.

‘Assassino!’ He shouted the word and then covered his face with his forearm and gave a groan that sounded as if it had been ripped from his soul.

‘Diego!’ She called his name several times but could not wake him. He groaned again as if he was in agony. Was he ill? In desperation, Clare shook his shoulder. ‘Diego. Diego. Mr Cazorra, wake up.’

He moved so quickly that she was taken off guard when he slid his hand behind her neck and threaded his fingers into her hair.

‘Do you remember what I said I would do if you called me Mr Cazorra?’ he drawled.

CHAPTER FOUR (#u1b601c10-3384-59a0-b683-cc59244c9b7a)

DIEGO’S SILVER WOLF’S eyes gleamed with a feral hunger as he drew Clare’s face down to his and angled his mouth over her lips. His kiss was like no other she had ever experienced—deeply sensual and so utterly irresistible that she did not stand a chance against his skilful seduction.

Still half-dazed with sleep, but more dazzled by him, her lips parted of their own volition when his mouth exerted subtle pressure. Like a connoisseur of fine wine, he tasted her slowly and unhurriedly, yet with such bone-shaking eroticism that she melted against him.

The sense of unreality she had felt since she’d arrived in Brazil increased, and she sank into a dreamlike state where she was only conscious of the strength of Diego’s arms around her, the divine smell of him, and the taste of him when she dipped her tongue into his mouth. He overwhelmed her and the feel of his hand smoothing up and down her spine evoked a languorous warmth in her veins.

It seemed perfectly natural when he rolled her on to her back so that she was lying beneath him. His weight crushed her and she felt the slight abrasion of his chest hairs brush against the upper swell of her breasts above the neckline of her chemise.

He deepened the kiss, and the languorous feeling was replaced with a fierce pull of desire in the pit of her stomach so that she lifted her hips, unconsciously seeking to assuage the ache inside her. She sensed a new urgency in Diego, a barely controlled savagery as he ravished her mouth with his intoxicating mastery, taking everything she offered him and demanding more.

Molten heat pooled between Clare’s legs when she felt the hard ridge of Diego’s arousal straining beneath his jeans and pushing insistently into the cradle of her hips. She heard him mutter something indistinct and the sexy huskiness in his voice scraped her sensitive nerve endings. He was so male, hard against her softness, his passion without frills, without subtlety, a primal hunger that threatened to consume her in its fiery flame.

She lifted her hand and touched the blond stubble on his jaw. It was not rough as she had expected, but felt silky beneath her fingertips. Utterly engrossed, she moved her hand higher to stroke his hair back from his cheek—and froze.

The top of his right ear was missing.

In an instant she was hurtled back to reality as she thought of Becky and the ghastly contents of the box the kidnappers had sent her. Shame engulfed her as she realised that while Diego had been kissing her she had forgotten about her sister’s plight.

Diego’s jaw hardened when he saw her shocked expression and he flicked his head so that his hair fell forwards to cover his mutilated ear. What did it mean? Clare wondered numbly. Why did he have the same injury that the kidnappers might have inflicted on her sister?

She pushed against his chest and when he rolled off her she snatched a breath and groped for her sanity in a world that had gone mad.

‘You were having a nightmare and I was trying to wake you.’ She bit her lip as she remembered the indescribable horror in his voice when he’d shouted out. ‘What was your dream about? You sounded like you were being tortured.’ Her own voice shook and she was incapable of making light of what had happened.

‘I don’t remember dreaming about anything.’ Diego swore silently. He knew what his dream had been about because it was always the same dream. The other inmates had called it the initiation, when new prisoners were beaten until they were a bloodied pulp and the prison guards looked the other way, or sometimes joined in. His horrific nightmares were a legacy of when he had been in prison and, although it was many years since he had been released from what had been a living hell, time had not erased the memories.

‘You spoke in your sleep but I couldn’t understand you.’ Sister Clare’s lovely face looked troubled. ‘I wonder if something traumatic happened in your past that you relive in your dreams.’

She was too close to the truth for Diego’s comfort. He shrugged. ‘You may be right,’ he drawled. ‘I was deeply traumatised when Brazil lost the football World Cup.’

‘I was being serious.’ She firmed her lips that moments ago had softened when Diego had kissed her. He dragged his eyes from the temptation of her lush mouth and opened the door of the Jeep, pausing to grab his rucksack containing his wash kit before he jumped down and walked away.

His nightmares were the reason why he had never spent an entire night with a woman before, Diego brooded as he strode through the tribal village. When he visited his mistresses in Rio he always left them after sex and went home to sleep alone. During daytime hours he could control his mind and suppress his memories, but while he slept the demons inside him tortured his subconscious so that sometimes he woke up believing he was back in the prison cell he had shared with ten or more other men. The cell had been so small that the inmates had been forced to take it in turns to lie down on the floor to snatch an hour of sleep if they were lucky.

The experience had left him with an irrational fear of confined spaces which made him come out in a cold sweat whenever he rode in an elevator. Even being in the Jeep sometimes made him feel claustrophobic, and he kept the windows open so that he could feel fresh air on his face. He was sweating now, partly from his nightmare and partly because, as the sun burned through the mist, the humidity in the air rose rapidly. He walked through the trees to where a tributary of the river made a natural pool, which was safe to swim in.

Why the hell had he kissed Sister Clare like that? He had only intended to tease her and brush his lips lightly over hers, but when she had opened her mouth for him and he’d felt her ardent response, he had been powerless to resist her. It had never happened to him before. He was always in control.

Diego’s jaw clenched. He had just proved that his self-discipline was not infallible and the discovery that he could be tempted to act without restraint shook him badly. If he could succumb to passion, he might just as easily succumb to anger and violence, like he had done when he was seventeen.

He stripped and dived into the pool, relishing the cool water washing over his heated skin. He felt more at home in the rainforest than he did in a city. Here, he was free to live his life on his terms without the need to bow to social conventions. Compared to the favela where he had spent his childhood, and prison where he had lost his soul, the tropical wilderness, although dangerous in its own way, provided him with a sense of peace. He would not allow a novice nun with the face of an angel and the body of Aphrodite to disturb his sanctuary, he assured himself.

He looked up at the sky and watched a bank of clouds roll in above the tree tops. Experience told him that another day of heavy rain lay ahead, and flooding would make the road from Inua village up to the border virtually impassable. He shrugged. His task was to escort Sister Clare to Torrente so that she could teach at the Sunday school and prepare to make her final vows and, although he felt she was making a mistake by committing her life to the church, it was her choice and none of his business.