‘What happened to your friend who was dating the Earl’s daughter?’ Clare asked curiously.
‘He married her, eventually, and now they have twin boys.’
‘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.
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