Page 11 of Their One-Night Rio Reunion
She’d been growing more adventurous with her dresses of late, in a shameful and fruitless attempt on her part to see if she had any effect on him at all. She’d worn a red dress to a recent event. Very simple, with spaghetti straps, a chiffon overlay had hugged her torso tight and criss-crossed over her chest with the beaded material exposed over one breast as a contrast, drawing the eye. It had had a thigh-high slit.
She’d drawn lots of eyes that night, but every time she’d sneaked a glance at Caio his jaw had been like granite and his face expressionless. His lack of reaction had made her feel reckless. Volatile. But when they’d returned to the apartment that night he’d said something about working and disappeared into his study to make calls—presumably to the other side of the world, where they were just waking up.
Her volatility had drained away. How could she have forgotten that her primary role in his life was to enhance his career?
Not that she could blame him—it wasn’t as if she’d ever been under any illusions in that regard. In their world, a strategic marriage was part of the natural order.
But that reckless feeling was back now, rising inside her. Dangerous. Maybe it was the knowledge that they were divorced. And on a desert island. In the middle of the sea. Nowhere to go and nothing to lose.
Except your dignity.
Ana ignored the voice, even though she knew in her heart of hearts that, as volatile as she felt, she didn’t really have the nerve to put herself out there. To really test the waters. As much as she’d love to unsettle him as he unsettled her. As much as she wanted him to look at her with the same hunger she felt.
But then he hadn’t even looked at her differently after her transformation at the hands of London’s finest stylists and beauty technicians.
As if she neededthathumiliating reminder...
CHAPTER SIX
AFTERBANGKOKTHEY’Dgone to London. The first event they’d attended there had been in the glittering ballroom of one of London’s most iconic and luxurious hotels. By then Ana had been feeling more comfortable with Caio in social surroundings, while also becoming more and more aware that she was drawing looks not because she was stylish, but because she didn’t fit in with all the other sleek and fashionable women.
When she’d overheard a woman say, not so discreetly, ‘That’shis wife? I thought Brazilian women were meant to be sexy and beautiful? She looks like she’s just been released from a convent...’ Ana had made an appointment the following day for a makeover in the hotel salon, knowing full well that her motivation stemmed more from a desire to please Caio than any bitchy gossips.
After a day of being primped, plucked and styled to within an inch of her life, Ana had waited nervously for Caio that evening to meet her in the reception room of the suite before going to a charity gala dinner. She’d been wearing a strapless black cocktail dress so form-fitting that she’d constantly felt like tugging it up over her chest, or down over her knee. Heels so high they’d made her eyes water.
But that dress hadn’t been the thing making her feel naked. It had been her hair. Or the lack of it. It was the first time she’d had it cut substantially in her life. Because from the day her mother had left she’d used it as a shield to hide behind. To hide her grief. Her anger. Her burgeoning sexuality. Her vulnerabilities.
But now it was gone. Now it feathered lightly over her shoulders where only hours before it had fallen down to the middle of her back. And at any minute Caio was going to appear...
And then he had. Looking at his cufflinks. Not at Ana, where she’d stood trembling.
Finally, he’d looked up, saying, ‘Ready?’
His dark eyes had narrowed on her and Ana’s pulse-rate had sky-rocketed.
After a long moment he’d said, ‘You look different.’
Ana had thought of how she’d reacted when she’d seen herself in the mirror a short time before. She hadn’t looked like herself at all. Or she had. But a much sleeker version. Her eyes had looked huge. Her lips red.
The hair stylist had said, mock severely, ‘It’s criminal you’ve hidden this face for so long. You are stunning.’
Ana had smiled weakly, feeling exposed, but also a fluttering sense of hope that maybe now Caio would look at her with interest. Sexual interest.
Except he hadn’t looked at her with sexual interest. He’d looked at her with an expression she couldn’t read. He’d looked tense. A muscle had pulsed in his jaw.
Ana had swallowed her disappointment and said, ‘I got my hair cut...consulted with a stylist about some new clothes.’
Sounding almost accusing, Caio had said, ‘You’re wearing make-up.’
Ana had said defensively, ‘Not a lot, actually.’
The make-up artist had said to her, ‘You really don’t need much at all...just enough to emphasise those big eyes and your mouth. You know, women spend a fortune to get lips like yours...’
Feeling hurt at the thought that Caio had somehow preferred her when she’d been hiding behind her hair and wearing unflattering clothes, Ana had said testily, ‘If you don’t think I look okay—’
But he’d cut her off, saying stiffly, ‘You look...fine. We need to leave or we’ll be late.’
And that had been that.
