Page 3 of Their One-Night Rio Reunion
His wife no longer had unfashionably long hair. Now it was cut much shorter, into a bob that brushed her shoulders and framed her face. A face that he hadn’t fully appreciated when they’d first met. A face that had revealed its beauty in such a way as to mock Caio daily for having first assumed she was average.
She wore a little make-up now, expertly applied, highlighting dark, long-lashed brown eyes framed by naturally arching brows. Her light olive skin was flawless. Her nose had a slightly patrician bump. But it was her mouth that he’d grown more and more fixated by: soft and naturally pouting, it sometimes gave her an air of intense vulnerability and sometimes, more recently and disturbingly, an air of something much closer to sultry, almost provocative.
The shapeless clothes she’d favoured when they’d first met were long gone. Today she wore a designer slim-fitting black trouser suit paired with a grey silk shirt and black high heels, drawing attention to her slender ankles. Discreet jewellery. Even in heels, she was still a full head shorter than him.
A low cough alerted him to the fact that his solicitor was still waiting for him to sign the papers.
What the hell was wrong with him?
This marriage had always been destined to end today, and Caio had achieved exactly what he’d set out to achieve a year ago. Ignoring the knot of resistance in his gut, Caio signed the papers and handed the pen back to his solicitor.
Ana Diaz Salazar heard the sound of a pen moving over paper behind her. Her husband...signing their divorce papers. Next, it would be her turn. So why wasn’t she more impatient to get this divorce signed, sealed and delivered?
She’d stood in this very same spot just over a year ago, when she’d come here to sign the prenuptial agreement. Then, as now, she fancied that she could almost see all the way to where the early-morning surf would be foaming up onto the famous Copacabana beach.
She longed to be there now. It was her favourite time to be on the beach—early, before it became packed with fellow Cariocas. Or, better yet, to be there with her beloved younger brother Francisco. Except he was many thousands of miles away, in Europe. Where she’d be heading too, this afternoon, on a one-way plane ticket, as a newly divorced millionairess—thanks to the very generous settlement from her husband. A settlement that would have been even larger if she hadn’t insisted that she didn’t feel entitled to the money.
She waited for a feeling of excitement to grip her at the thought of flying to Europe with enough funds to start a new life but, much to her irritation, any sense of excitement was tempered with frustration. Regret. Unfinished business.Unrequited desire, whispered a sly voice in her ear.
She slammed a lid on that incendiary notion. She’d come far too close to humiliating herself, trying to get her husband to notice her in recent weeks, as if in desperation as their divorce date had come closer. The inconvenient desire she’d felt for him at the start of their marriage had only grown stronger, as if to mock her daily. Like a thorn under her skin. A constant reminder that she was weak.
Thank God they were divorcing today and she would be able to put some distance between them with her dignity more or less intact. He would never know how much she wanted him. Because he’d never really noticed her.
‘Mrs Salazar? We’re ready for you to sign.’
Ana tensed.Mrs Salazar. Not for much longer. She would be Ana Diaz again after this. She could feel her husband’s eyes on her back. But was he even really her husband if they hadn’t consummated their marriage? They’d lived together, yes, and they’d travelled—a lot—and had attended events as husband and wife, but apart from that contact had been minimal.
Business associates probably spent more time together. Knew each other more intimately. Except...she did feel as if she knew her husband intimately. On a level that was very secret, where she’d watched him avidly, discovering that he was a man far different from the one she’d first judged him to be.
Caio had become too intriguing for Ana’s liking and when intrigue was packaged with physical attraction... Her feelings for him now added up to something she didn’t even want to articulate.
‘Ana?’
His deep voice cut through the chatter in her head and made the tangle in her gut knot even tighter. She took a deep breath and turned around, steeling herself for her husband’s effect on her.
But even steeling herself didn’t work. Her blood leapt and her pulse-rate tripled. She worried that his image would be permanently etched onto her brain. And his dark eyes that weren’t completely dark. They had golden flecks up close that made them look molten. She knew because she’d seen them turn molten one night...
They’d moved around so much in the past year that it had become normal for her to feel a little disorientated when she woke at night in a new place—a hotel suite or one of Caio’s residences. That particular night she’d been walking sleepily back into her bedroom after getting a glass of water and a sound had made her look up. She’d registered too late that she hadn’t returned to her room. It was Caio’s, and he’d been emerging from a cloud of steam, obviously having just taken a shower in the bathroom.
The incendiary sight before her had glued her feet to the spot. He had been entirely naked. Drying his hair roughly with a small towel. Dark olive skin still damp. Gleaming.
In that moment Ana had understood why sculptors created works of art dedicated to the male form. His chest was a hard and broad expanse, covered in a light smattering of dark hair, muscles bunching and moving as he’d dried his hair. A dark line of hair dissected the well-defined six-pack of his abdomen before disappearing into the thicket of hair that cradled the very essence of his masculinity. Lean hips and powerful thighs. Long legs.
But she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off that most potent part of him. Even at rest it had been impressive.
A heavy, tugging ache between her legs had made her press her thighs together, as if she could contain the longing. And then the hand holding the small towel had dropped, obscuring her vision. Only then had she been able to break out of her trance and her stricken gaze had met his. And that was when she’d noticed for the first time how his eyes could look...molten. Not just dark and frustratingly unreadable, as she’d often told herself, but actually...hot. Hotter than the sun.
She’d fled.
‘Ana?’
His voice jerked her out of the past and back into the present. Those dark brows were drawn together now. That sensual mouth was tight. She would have expected him to be more relaxed. He was getting rid of the wife he’d married only to further his business interests. He could go out now and take any number of beautiful women to bed and slake his lust—because she knew he hadn’t taken any lovers during their marriage. He’d respected their sham marriage vows. And that had only confused her even more.
She blinked. ‘Yes, I’m ready.’
She dragged her gaze away from his and looked down at the table, where her solicitor was pointing to the dotted line and handing her a pen, saying, ‘The last signature, Mrs Salazar. This will complete the paperwork.’
Ana took the pen. It felt unbearably heavy. She bent down and noticed that her hand was trembling. Angry with herself for reacting like this to an event that she’d anticipated since the day she’d agreed to marry this man, she scrawled her name and the pen dropped out of her nerveless fingers.
