“They do not grow on trees. It is just not that easy for me.”
“It should be. You’re rich, you run a huge company, and you’re beautiful. What wouldn’t a man like?”
Exactly. It was all about money, prestige and looks, never about Nina as a person. She objected to that, and had learned to be alone instead.
She’d even learned to like it.
Mostly.
“Anyway, listen.” Maria lowered her voice. “There’s been a gorgeous guy here two days in a row, looking at you through the window of the shop.”
“Be serious.”
“I am.” Maria dropped her feet and leaned in close. “I’ll even point him out to you. He’s a few tables over as we speak, watching you very carefully.”
“Maria—”
“Shhh. He’s tall, dark and dangerous. Got a brooding edge to him, that one does. No, don’t look! Not yet. Meu Deus, he’s got a body, too, all muscle and hunger.”
Nina found herself reeled in. “What does he look like?”
“He’s wearing dark, unassuming clothes and looks like a man who knows what he wants and how to get it. Ah, and those eyes! Did I tell you about his eyes? They’re spitfire green and full of heat. Now slowly crane your neck and look off to your right. See? Look at him look at you. Magnifíco!” Maria fanned herself wildly. “Isn’t he wicked?”
Wicked didn’t begin to describe him. He was indeed all muscle and hunger and fire and heat, one-hundred percent of it directed right at Nina, who could suddenly scarcely breathe.
He was the man who’d held her gaze prisoner the day before when she’d innocently looked up and caught him watching her through the window. Her heart had thrown itself against her rib cage.
She hadn’t liked it then. She didn’t like it now either, though he had managed the one thing no one else had in days...he’d taken her mind off Terry.
“A man like that...” Maria spoke in a hushed, reverent whisper. “He knows how to satisfy a lover, no?”
Nina tried to tear her gaze away, tried to pull back, but there was something in his startling eyes that once again held her utterly captive. He didn’t blink or look away, and she found she couldn’t, either.
“Americano?” Maria wondered.
If he was indeed American, it was impossible to tell. Not all drop-dead gorgeous men were American. His sun-bleached brown hair and brilliant green eyes could have come from anywhere. His clothes were nondescript, yet emphasized his long, sculpted frame. His face, tanned and rugged and sporting at least a day’s growth of beard, couldn’t be pinpointed to any one nationality.
One thing was certain, she had definitely drawn his interest. Those searing eyes looked right at her. Through her. And though he certainly couldn’t see inside—no one could—she felt as if he could read her thoughts.
They hadn’t met, so he wasn’t interested in her intellect, wit or personality. It couldn’t be her exciting reputation either, since, unlike her sister, she didn’t have one.
But men—specifically fortune hunters—didn’t much care about Nina’s looks or personality, and if this man was indeed a fortune hunter, he wouldn’t be the first. She’d deal with him. She was in just the mood to do it. “I need to go.”
“But your lunch.”
“Bag it for me?”
“Nina—”
“Please?”
Maria tilted her head in the man’s direction. “I think he wants to talk to you.”
“I am not interested.” To prove it, she wrenched her gaze from his, grabbed her purse and started across the street.
Not interested.
A lie, of course. She was interested, desperately so. Interested in learning what she’d missed in life by hiding away, by letting work take over, by letting family loyalty keep her silent.
The familiar spurt of bitterness went through her. After an overprotective childhood, not to mention growing up in the shadow of her sister’s outrageous stunts, she’d purposely interacted with very few people, and certainly few strangers.
Much as she’d like to change things and start...well, living, she wasn’t sure how to do that. And anyway, it didn’t matter. Certainly the stranger, gorgeous as sin and likely double the trouble, had forgotten her already. She was positive of it.
So positive she didn’t look back.
Though she wanted to.
* * *
THE REST OF the day flew by as she plowed through her business chores so she could get to her own private pride and joy—creating jewelry from her own designs.
It was her life, her heart, and once at her worktable, away from all the dreaded paperwork, she let her mind flow and empty, and she did what she did best—design original jewelry to go with the gems All That Glitters mined, purchased and traded all over the globe.
It was a quiet job, and one she did alone, which only perpetuated her reserved image. But she loved it more than anything, and wished she had more time for it these days.
Terry, I miss you, so much.
But what was done was done, and Nina had dealt with her grief. She’d dealt with the business. She’d truly moved on.
It just seemed her heart hadn’t quite gotten the message yet. Determined to lighten her mood, if only for a little while, she adjusted her light and reached for her latest drawing, a bracelet of inlaid gold with emeralds. It would match the Coração de Amante she’d made for Terry several years ago. Already Nina knew she couldn’t let this new piece go to sale. She’d dip into her own savings to buy it for herself.
She began by making a bezel, a gold sheet to hold the gems. For the next few hours she worked annealed gold around the stones, measuring, cutting and soldering with gold hard solder. By the time she stood up and stretched, it was long after dark, and the building was empty except for security.
She’d forgotten, if only for a while, her unbearable sadness.
Yes, tonight she’d sleep dream-free.
She was halfway across the back parking lot, heading toward her car, planning which book she’d take to bed with her to read until sleepiness over-came her, when she heard a footstep. A shadow fell over her.
Heart leaping, she whirled around.
And faced him. Her perfect stranger.
For one moment she had the ridiculous thought that he’d sought her out to ask her for a date.
How absurd. No one wanted her simply for herself. No one even knew the real her.
As she debated whether to stop or run, he pulled a photo from his pocket and held it up. Comparing her to it, he glanced back and forth for a moment, then frowned before taking a step closer.
“Who are you?” he asked.
It should have been her question to him.
“Como você se chama? What’s your name?” he tried in both Portuguese and English, still frowning.
If he’d been huge and menacing rather than lean and rangy as he was, he couldn’t have been more intimidating. He stood over her, all lithe, tense muscle.
Maria was right, he was magnificent, one of the most magnificent men she’d ever seen, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous.
Saying