One Night in... Rio: The Brazilian Millionaire's Love-Child / Virgin Mistress, Scandalous Love-Child / The Surgeon's Runaway Bride. Anne MatherЧитать онлайн книгу.
only since Isobel had moved back to London that they’d renewed their friendship.
‘Sim—you,’ he agreed, with a smile that gave his words a disarming intimacy. ‘I think, like me, you are—como se diz?—bored with these people, nao?’
Isobel frowned. So he was Portuguese, she thought, recognising the odd word in his language. But Julia wouldn’t be pleased if she could hear what he was saying. She’d spent the whole evening hanging on his every word.
‘I was just—tidying up,’ she said at last, unable to believe he had come out here especially to see her. For heaven’s sake, he didn’t look the kind of man who’d be interested in someone so ordinary. She was attractive enough for a young woman who’d been married and separated all in the space of a couple of years, but she was certainly not a leggy blonde like Julia or Sonia.
‘Que?’ The man frowned. ‘I do not believe you are just the—um—domestico.’
‘Oh, no.’ Isobel had to smile at that. ‘This is my apartment, actually. Julia—your girlfriend …’ It was hard to describe their relationship in those terms, she found, and why was that? ‘She’s a friend.’
‘Ah.’ He rested his head against the frame of the door for a moment, studying her with eyes that she now saw were an odd shade of amber. Framed by thick, black lashes, they caused a shivery feeling inside her, and she chided herself impatiently at the realisation that it was the first time she’d been attracted to a man since David had walked out on her.
He straightened and moved further into the room, and her eyes widened, half in apprehension, half with a sense of anticipation she’d never felt before. Pull yourself together, Belle, she instructed, deciding she must have sampled too much of the punch. But all he did was set the beer bottle he’d been carrying on the drainer, his lips quirking in amusement as if he noticed her not-so-subtle reaction.
Without going back to his original position, he paused and then said, ‘So, you must be Isobel, nao?’
‘Yes!’ Isobel inclined her head a little breathlessly. ‘Isobel Jameson.’ She hesitated. ‘And you are …?’
‘My name is Alejandro. Alejandro Cabral,’ he said, with a slight bow of his head. ‘Muito prazer.’
‘Oh, um, how do you do?’ Isobel was taken aback when he held out his hand towards her. She wasn’t used to such a formal introduction, though she guessed where he came from the old courtesies still survived.
‘I am very well, obrigado, Ms Jameson,’ he responded softly, taking the hand she offered in return and raising it to his lips.
But, although Isobel half-expected him to touch his lips to her knuckles, Alejandro turned her hand over and bestowed a warm kiss to her palm. And briefly she was almost sure she felt his tongue brush against her skin, although she was so bemused by the whole incident she might well have imagined it.
She would have withdrawn her hand immediately, and scrubbed her palm over the seam of her cream cotton trousers and pretended the kiss had never happened, but he didn’t let her go. Instead, he continued to hold her hand, gazing intently into her eyes. And she knew he knew he was disconcerting her, as much by his audacity as by her unwilling response.
‘Mr Cabral …’
‘You may call me Alejandro,’ he interrupted huskily, and her mouth was suddenly dry. ‘So long as you permit me to call you Isobel. That is such a beautiful name. My grandmother’s name is Isobella. It is a very popular name in my country.’
Isobel ran her tongue over her dry lips, shaking her head half in bemusement, half in frustration. She didn’t know where he’d learned his skills in seduction, but she doubted it was here. She guessed he was—what?—twenty-five or twenty-six. And she was almost thirty. Yet he had a way of making her feel inexperienced and out of her depth.
‘You can call me what you like, er, Alejandro,’ she said. ‘As long as you let go of my hand.’ She managed to pull her fingers free and forced a smile. ‘I gather you’re not enjoying the party?’
He shrugged, broad shoulders moving sinuously beneath the expensive cloth of his shirt. ‘Are you?’ he countered, making no attempt to give her some space. He gestured about him. ‘Is that why you are hiding in here?’
Isobel arched brows that were several shades darker than her honey-streaked hair. ‘I’m not hiding,’ she assured him firmly. ‘If I were, I’m not making a very good job of it, am I?’
Alejandro regarded her between narrowed lids. ‘We could hide together,’ he suggested, putting out a hand and allowing a finger to trace the curve of her face from lip to jaw. ‘Would you like that?’
Isobel took an involuntary step backwards. ‘No. I wouldn’t like that!’ she exclaimed, impatient with herself now for allowing this to happen. Whatever impression she’d given, she wasn’t interested in a one-night stand. Let Julia satisfy his libido. She had no wish to get involved with anyone else.
But unfortunately there was an empty crate positioned right behind her. Almost losing her balance, Isobel grabbed the counter for support, her fingertips accidently brushing against the taut muscles of his midriff. Immediately, she felt the rush of heat she’d known when he’d touched her a few moments earlier but, when he would have reached to steady her, she hastily put some distance between them.
‘I think you ought to go back to the party, Mr Cabral,’ she said, despite the fact that she’d called him Alejandro already. ‘I’m sure Julia must be wondering where you are.’
‘And that is of importance why?’ he queried, his tone deepening intimately.
‘Well, because it’s probably very important to Julia,’ said Isobel tersely. Then, in an effort to lighten the conversation, ‘I expect you have lots of parties in Portugal.’
He shrugged, moving back to spread his arms along the counter behind him. ‘I do not have parties in Portugal,’ he remarked drily. ‘I am not Portuguese. I am Brazilian.’
Isobel’s lips parted, and for a moment she forgot her ankle, stinging courtesy of the beer crate, and the fact that she’d been trying to send him away. Her eyes widening, she said, ‘How fascinating! I’ve always wanted to visit South America.’
‘De verdade?’
She didn’t know what that meant, but she hurried on regardless. ‘So, are you working in London? Are you in advertising too?’
‘Ah, nao.’ His lips twisted mockingly. ‘Advertising myself is not my thing.’
‘I see,’ said Isobel, though secretly she thought it was a pity. She could quite see him walking naked out of a foaming ocean, promoting some sexy fragrance for men. ‘Um … so, what do you do?’ she hurried on, afraid the direction her thoughts were taking might show in her eyes. ‘Are you on holiday?’
‘De ferias?’ He sounded amused. And then, seeing her look of incomprehension, he explained, ‘On holiday? In England—in November? Acho que nao. I do not think so.’
‘Oh, well …’ Isobel told herself she wasn’t that interested, and reached for the bottle he’d discarded earlier. But it wasn’t until after she’d snatched it up that she realised it was still half full. Beer splashed stickily onto her shirt and she was obliged to stifle an oath. ‘Damn it,’ she said, unable to resist the expletive. ‘You should have warned me you hadn’t finished.’
‘Muita pena!’ Alejandro pushed himself away from the unit and took the offending bottle from her unresisting grasp. ‘I am so sorry,’ he said, tossing it into the sink behind her. He gazed down at the damp fabric clinging to and outlining the lacy cup of her half-bra. ‘What can I do to help?’ His fingers moved to the buttons on her shirt. ‘Por favor, let me take this off.’
Isobel gasped in disbelief, smacking