Page 2 of Brazilian Fantasy
We’ve been expecting you.
Dammit, the “we” part of that sentence must mean he’s married. And why wouldn’t he be? He’s every girl’s tall, dark, and handsome fantasy come to life. When we made the pact ages ago, we all agreed not to come back from our epic journey until we had back-bending sex. Even though I’d be more than happy to let this guy twist me like a balloon artist, if he’s hitched, it’s time for me to nix my dirty thoughts.
“I’m Lucas Santos,” he says, then grins sheepishly. “But of course, you already know that.”
Um, nope. Didn’t already know that.
“Piper,” I say and extend my arm. “But of course, you already know that.” He smiles at my teasing and takes my hand in his. His big, warm fingers close around mine, swallowing my entire hand and wrist. Heat floods me, and I take a moment to consider how those strong hands of his would feel on my body, caressing my nipples, which are currently stirring to life and hell-bent on saying hello.
Uh, what did you just say about nixing your dirty thoughts?
Move on, Piper. Move on…
He lets my hand go, and I take a moment to pull myself together as he waves toward the rooms off the grand entranceway. “How about a quick tour?”
I stare down the wide hallway. “Either that or you’ll have to give me a compass. I could get lost in here for days.”
He laughs—a rich, decadent sound—and my traitorous nipples harden just a little more.
Damn you, hormones.
“The floor plan is pretty straightforward. Right down the hall, at the back of the house, you’ll find the kitchen. Help yourself to anything.” The place is massive, with a curving staircase leading to the upstairs. As I look around the house, I see the ocean through the bay windows. Gorgeous. “My home office is this way. It’s where I spend most of my days.” He points to the left, and as I walk with him, he showcases all the big rooms. “Right off the living room is my bedroom. You’ll be upstairs
, and for the next few weeks, I want you to treat our home as your home.”
Did that invitation extend to the bedroom as well?
Shit, get it together Piper. The man might be married.
“If there is anything at all you need, all you have to do is ask.”
Oh, if he only knew.
Seriously, though, what’s really going on here? I want to straight up ask, but he seems so happy to see me, so sure I know why I’m here, that I close my mouth and wait for some sort of clue as to why sexy Lucas Santo is telling me that, for the next three weeks, his home is my home.
From my peripheral vision, I catch a movement, a quick flash of pink, and Lucas follows my gaze. “Is that you, kiddo?” A little girl, no more than four, lingers at the doorway, eyeing me suspiciously. “Why don’t you come on over here and meet Piper?”
The girl’s lashes flash rapidly, and the uncertainty, the small flickers of fear in the depths of her big almond eyes, give me a funny little lump in my throat.
“She’s nervous around strangers,” he tells me quietly.
I might not want kids anymore, but I do know how to talk to them and ease their worries. Not just because of my job, but because of my own experiences with strangers.
“Hey there,” I say and go down on one knee, my heart squeezing when I think back to the day those strangers entered my home and took me away. I, too, was around four years old at the time and frightened half to death, not knowing where I was going or what would happen to me. A few months before, my mother had just upped and left us, and when my father started drinking heavily, the neighbors called social services. “I’m Piper. What’s your name?”
When she continues to stare at me, plucking at the ratty teddy bear she’s strangling in the crook of her elbow, Lucas shifts restlessly.
“I thought you knew,” he whispers.
I stand back up and lift my chin to focus on Lucas. When I do, I notice that he’s stepped closer, crowding me. I catch a whiff of his scent: sun, sand, one hundred percent hot man designed for sex. A fine quiver moves through me—a normal female reaction to his closeness—but I shouldn’t be thinking about a married man that way, or any way at all. That sort of makes me a sick human being.
“Her name?” I ask. Why on earth would I know her name?
“No, I mean. Didn’t Alyssa explain…?”
As his voice falls off, an uneasy knot tightens my gut. “Alyssa?” I ask, fishing for information. I’m not sure what he knows, or what he thinks I know, so I hold my response and wait for the pieces of the puzzle to fall in to place.
He frowns. “Alyssa, your friend. My distant cousin.”
