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So here she was, standing in the foyer of one of Rio’s top hotels, dressed to kill in sparkling black silk. Her hair was up in an elegant twist and her late mother’s diamonds sparkled at her ears and throat.
She would have sold the diamonds if they’d been worth anything, but she’d found out the hard way that they were not. They were fakes—very good fakes, but fakes all the same. She did not know when her father had cashed in the genuine articles and replaced them with paste, but she had little doubt that he had done so. In fact, she’d discovered over the months since he died that there was very little left in Santa Rosa that was not a copy of its original. She now lived with the hope that when Lorenco Marques met his art-collecting ancestors on his way up to heaven they’d give him a swift push in the other direction.
And, yes, she told that shocked part of her that did not like what she was thinking, she felt that bitter and that bad.
Gabriel was guiding her towards a pair of doors beyond which the charity gala they were about to attend should be in full flow. Two smiling lackeys jumped to open the doors for them. The smooth background sound of a bossa nova song drifted out towards them as the foyer gave way to a vast reception room set against a backcloth of wall-to-wall glass, offering breathtaking views towards a night-lit Sugarloaf.
People glittered and sparkled beneath overhead lighting, the warm tones of their conversations floating towards her on richly perfumed waves. Cristina’s stomach lurched, then rolled, and for a moment her courage completely failed her, pulling her to a trembling halt.
From the other side of the room Anton watched as she entered on the arm of just about the most attractive man here. She was still unutterably beautiful, he noted, allowing himself a small grimace at his unanswered hound dog prayer. The hair was too neat for his liking, and the dress might be glamorous, and sexy enough to knock most men’s eyes out, but he’d never liked to see her wearing black. She suited bright colours, colours that flagged her hot-blooded temperament. But the face, the wide-spaced almond-shaped eyes, the mouth…
Ah, the mouth, he observed darkly. It was still as lush and red and kissable as he remembered it. A mouth that instinctively knew how to—
Her escort murmured something to her. As she looked up to smile at him sudden tension was bathing Anton’s body in a fine layer of sensual heat. It was the smile of a born seductress. A smile she had once used to keep exclusively for him. It was the deceit in that smile that had ruined all other smiles every woman had offered him since.
Did she sleep with Gabriel Valentim? Had the handsome lawyer got to share a steamy hot interlude in a bath with the widow of Vaasco Ordoniz before they’d set out here?
‘Anton, your glass is empty…’
Looking down, he saw it was, frowning slightly because he didn’t remember drinking the champagne. He must have been sipping it while observing Cristina with her latest lover. Now he became aware of the tension in the fingers that held the glass and the angry fizz of champagne in his mouth.
‘Here, let me replace it…’
Reaching out, Kinsella took the empty glass from him. As she did so her body brushed against his. She was wearing no bra beneath the slip dress she was wearing. He’d felt the button-tight brush of her nipple against the back of his hand.
Yet another sexual message from his secretary? Irritation hit, then was instantly lost when he caught sight of Cristina’s escort lowering his handsome head to brush a kiss to her cheek.
‘Stop worrying,’ Gabriel softly chided her, feeling the tension in the stiff set of her spine beneath the resting palm of his hand. ‘No one is going to eat you.’
No? Cristina would question that. Six years ago she had scandalised these people by marrying a man old enough to be her father. She had become a gold-digging freak worthy of derision and scorn from that moment on. Discovering that Vaasco Ordoniz had left her virtually penniless would not have altered their opinion of his widow.
A waiter appeared, carrying a silver tray of drinks.
‘Here.’ Hooking up two fluted glasses frothing with champagne Gabriel slotted one into her hand. ‘Remember why you are here,’ he said firmly. ‘Get some of this fortifying champagne inside you and stop looking so tragic.’
‘I am not in any way tragic,’ Cristina denied, trying hard to ignore the hectic thrum of her pulse. ‘I just dislike the prospect of having to be pleasant to people I no longer like.’
‘Does that include me?’
Glancing up into the lean golden face of the man she had known since childhood, Cristina saw the wry glint of amusement in his soft amber eyes and couldn’t help but smile.
‘Thank you for doing this for me,’ she said softly. ‘I know that your father had to push you into it.’
‘I don’t need pushing to be with a beautiful woman, querida.’ Reaching out, he covered her fingers and lifted the glass to her lips, then held it there until she took the first sip. ‘And you should know better than to think that I am one of those who believed the gold-digging rumours about you.’
Her smile faded. ‘Would it make a difference if I told you that those rumours were true?’
‘To my escorting you?’ Gabriel’s mouth assumed a small grimace. ‘Look at these people, Cristina,’ he prompted. ‘Do you think none of them have skeletons to hide? I am a lawyer, like my father. Such a profession allows access to privileged information that would make the hair on the head of the good father in the confessional box stand on end. Take my advice and look upon them all as crooks and you will begin to feel much better about yourself.’
Her eyes widened in fascination. ‘Are they all crooks?’
‘No.’ Gabriel laughed. ‘But it helps a great deal to see them like that.’
Someone came up to greet Gabriel then, a perfect stranger to Cristina, so she was able to relax a little as Gabriel made the introductions and even managed to smile as she sipped at her glass of champagne and listened to the two men converse. A few minutes later the stranger had moved off again, and they began to circulate.
Gabriel’s hand was always light on her waistline. He was well known and well liked, his good looks and his naturally friendly manner drew people to him, and she wanted to kiss him for the way he was carefully manoeuvring them around the room so that she was not forced to come face to face with any of the old crowd—though she had glimpsed many of them here.
It was then that it happened. Just as she was beginning to relax in the company she picked up the sound of a dark-timbred very English voice, speaking in such beautifully fluent Portuguese that she had twisted around without giving herself a chance to think.
