Jostling through a crowd, looking out for each other, was nothing they hadn’t done a dozen times before when they had been younger, but today everything had taken on a deeper significance. It was time to put some distance between them. Baring her soul to Dante was the last thing she wanted to do. She had kept her feelings to herself for too long to break down now.
‘Dance?’ he suggested, at the worst possible moment.
Dance with him?
Dante’s warm breath caressed her skin as he leaned closer. ‘Dance and forget everything but carnival, just as you used to.’
Just as she used to? That wasn’t possible. Having Dante’s hands on her body wasn’t possible.
‘If you’ve forgotten how to dance, maybe you have forgotten how to inject the spirit of carnival into your projects,’ Dante suggested with narrowed eyes.
Maybe it was the music of her youth and the fact that Dante was offering to dance with her, but more likely it was the challenge in his eyes that pressed her into doing something she had shrunk from for too long. She let herself go. Kicking off her high-heeled shoes, she took one step and then another, and soon she was dancing on the warm, dusty streets of Rio.
Raising her arms, she swayed in time to the music, allowing the rhythm to dictate her movement. The beat was repetitive and sexy, and her hips seemed to move of their own volition. Closing her eyes, she gave herself up to the music and the sunshine. It was so easy to dance once she’d started, so easy to forget so that all she felt was the urge to live and love and laugh again, and not care about tomorrow...
Which was exactly what had got her into trouble in the first place, she remembered, sobering up fast. ‘I think we should go now.’ Straightening her suit jacket, she dipped down to pick up her shoes.
‘We can’t go. Not yet,’ Dante ruled. ‘This year’s samba queen hasn’t been crowned and it would be rude to leave before that.’
‘People will notice if we’re not there?’ She turned to give him a sceptical look and then remembered she was talking to Dante Baracca. Dante had been spotted several times by performers on the floats, and his absence at the crowning would definitely be noted, even in a crowd this size.
‘If you’ve got all the information you need for the event, I can call my driver and have him take you home. Or...there is another alternative.’
Her gaze flashed up. ‘Which is...?’
‘You could tell me what’s wrong with you.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’ But her cheeks had gone red, branding her a liar.
‘You’re starting to worry me, Karina.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you seem lost in the past.’
‘Are you surprised?’ she challenged, as her night with Dante came flooding back to her.
‘You’re holding out on me.’ Catching hold of her shoulders, he made her gasp. ‘What aren’t you telling me, Karina?’
She wielded her willpower like never before. ‘You’re right, you should stay on for the crowning of the samba queen,’ she said calmly. ‘That’s gives me the chance to go back to the hotel so I can start putting my thoughts down on paper.’
‘You can stay with me and do that later.’
He was making it impossible for her to leave without causing a scene. There was a part of her that didn’t want to leave—that wanted to make up for every moment they’d been apart. And she knew how dangerous that was. ‘I need some thinking time alone. I’d like to be organised when we meet to discuss the event.’
‘As I would expect,’ Dante agreed. ‘There will be plenty of time for you to do that on my ranch.’
Her mouth dried at the thought of going to Dante’s ranch. ‘I need to work while my ideas are fresh,’ she argued. ‘You want carnival as your theme, and I’ll give you carnival, but I must make my notes before all the detail of today escapes me.’
‘You have all the answers, don’t you?’ Dante stared down at her. ‘Except for the one answer I want.’
She ignored that, but not before she saw the flash of anger in his eyes. Dante liked to control everything. When she started work on his ranch she would have to make sure that Dante and his people didn’t take over. This was her contract, her reputation at stake. He played on a team. Dante should be able to work with her. But would he work on her team? Her best guess was no. She maintained a diplomatic silence as they walked on side by side to the crowning.
The piazza where the celebration was to take place was packed. Towering walls kept in the sound and the heat, creating a dizzying counterpoint to her jangling thoughts. She had always known when she had agreed to take on this project that her biggest challenge would be Dante. They were both strong characters with set ideas of their own, but he would have to learn to compromise, just as she would have to learn to keep her thoughts confined to the job.
‘I’ll take you back,’ Dante insisted, when he saw her glance at a taxi rank.
‘I can walk.’
‘I won’t let you. Do you think I’m going to abandon you in the middle of the city?’
She almost laughed. Feeling abandoned by Dante was hardly a new sensation for her.
The crowd was thickening as people gathered to watch the ceremony, but Dante guided her safely through with his hand in a safe place in the small of her back. It was incredible that such a light touch could have such a profound effect on her body. Why could she remember his touch so clearly? Why did those hands directing her pleasure have to spring to mind now?
Dante seemed totally at ease. He bought them both a bottle of water and a pair of flip-flops for her from a market stall so she could take off her high-heeled shoes. She groaned with pleasure as she replaced them with the simple footwear.
‘Please, stop,’ she begged, when he added a shawl that was billowing above them like a sail. ‘You don’t have to do this.’
‘But I want to,’ he argued, as he draped the soft jade-green fabric around her shoulders. When he drew it tighter over that part of her body and she flinched, he gave her a questioning stare.
‘I’ll need this,’ she said, gazing about to distract him. ‘The wind is cool at night.’
Dante stared at her for a moment, and then relaxed. ‘It just reminded me of that dress you wore on your eighteenth birthday.’
Why wouldn’t he remember? He had enjoyed sliding it off her.
‘Your party was themed. Arabian Nights, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s right. And as for that dress,’ she added with relief, glad that he’d turned from suspicion to thinking back, ‘I could hardly expect my guests to turn up in costume while I wore a suit.’
He huffed a laugh as he scanned her office outfit. ‘I doubt you had one in your wardrobe. You didn’t dress like an undertaker back then.’
She stroked the shawl as she remembered the soft folds of chiffon of her birthday dress beneath her hands. The outfit she had chosen to wear at her party had been floating and insubstantial...and very easy to remove.
Time to change the theme of their conversation to a safer track. ‘I love the shawl. Thank you.’ An involuntary