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‘That...boy?’ she queried frowning.
Dante shrugged. ‘I noticed you kept your distance from him.’
‘Are you jealous now?’
His look made her shiver. She’d kept her distance from the youth for a very good reason. She didn’t want his hands on her. And he had been no threat, but that didn’t matter to Dante. There was still fire between them. Maybe there always would be.
More floats arrived, swamping them in noise, colour and people, and saving her from a potentially awkward moment. The happy smiles made it impossible to remain immune to the spell woven by carnival.
Drummers marched in front of each float, and they set up a sound that reverberated through her, making it hard to keep still. In the end she didn’t try, and it was while she was swaying to the rhythm that she carelessly backed into Dante. He grabbed her. His hands closed over her body—over a part of her body she never looked at, never showed to the world, kept hidden from everyone, and especially from him. It didn’t matter that her shame was covered by layers of clothing, that awkward stumble was all it took for her eyes to fill with tears.
Jostling through a crowd, looking out for each other, was nothing they hadn’t done a dozen times before when they had been younger, but today everything had taken on a deeper significance. It was time to put some distance between them. Baring her soul to Dante was the last thing she wanted to do. She had kept her feelings to herself for too long to break down now.
‘Dance?’ he suggested, at the worst possible moment.
Dance with him?
Dante’s warm breath caressed her skin as he leaned closer. ‘Dance and forget everything but carnival, just as you used to.’
Just as she used to? That wasn’t possible. Having Dante’s hands on her body wasn’t possible.
‘If you’ve forgotten how to dance, maybe you have forgotten how to inject the spirit of carnival into your projects,’ Dante suggested with narrowed eyes.
Maybe it was the music of her youth and the fact that Dante was offering to dance with her, but more likely it was the challenge in his eyes that pressed her into doing something she had shrunk from for too long. She let herself go. Kicking off her high-heeled shoes, she took one step and then another, and soon she was dancing on the warm, dusty streets of Rio.
Raising her arms, she swayed in time to the music, allowing the rhythm to dictate her movement. The beat was repetitive and sexy, and her hips seemed to move of their own volition. Closing her eyes, she gave herself up to the music and the sunshine. It was so easy to dance once she’d started, so easy to forget so that all she felt was the urge to live and love and laugh again, and not care about tomorrow...
Which was exactly what had got her into trouble in the first place, she remembered, sobering up fast. ‘I think we should go now.’ Straightening her suit jacket, she dipped down to pick up her shoes.
‘We can’t go. Not yet,’ Dante ruled. ‘This year’s samba queen hasn’t been crowned and it would be rude to leave before that.’
‘People will notice if we’re not there?’ She turned to give him a sceptical look and then remembered she was talking to Dante Baracca. Dante had been spotted several times by performers on the floats, and his absence at the crowning would definitely be noted, even in a crowd this size.
‘If you’ve got all the information you need for the event, I can call my driver and have him take you home. Or...there is another alternative.’
Her gaze flashed up. ‘Which is...?’
‘You could tell me what’s wrong with you.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’ But her cheeks had gone red, branding her a liar.
‘You’re starting to worry me, Karina.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you seem lost in the past.’
‘Are you surprised?’ she challenged, as her night with Dante came flooding back to her.
‘You’re holding out on me.’ Catching hold of her shoulders, he made her gasp. ‘What aren’t you telling me, Karina?’
She wielded her willpower like never before. ‘You’re right, you should stay on for the crowning of the samba queen,’ she said calmly. ‘That’s gives me the chance to go back to the hotel so I can start putting my thoughts down on paper.’
‘You can stay with me and do that later.’
He was making it impossible for her to leave without causing a scene. There was a part of her that didn’t want to leave—that wanted to make up for every moment they’d been apart. And she knew how dangerous that was. ‘I need some thinking time alone. I’d like to be organised when we meet to discuss the event.’
