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Things like the two men who were now constantly taking up her thoughts.
The host and owner of the ridiculously elaborate mansion she was currently exploring was none other than Frederique Olivero Santos. Frederique owned several well-known wineries up north.
Blythe thought the drive to the party would help cool her down, but in reality, it made everything worse. Being confined in the limo with Dietrich and Stellan had been torture. She had sat on one side while they sat on the other, side-by-side. Both men watched her intently, but it became stifling in the small confines when Stellan started murmuring to Dietrich in Portuguese yet again.
Neither man took their gazes off her as they had this seemingly intimate conversation in another language right in front of her. She may have felt anger at the rudeness of that if not for the fact she was so wet and turned on beyond anything conceivably coherent. She had no idea what they said, but she knew they were talking about her.
She had been able to pick up a few words, ones that seemed familiar to her from her days in high school when she took Brazilian Portuguese.
Her limited and brief encounter with Portuguese had been one of the reasons they offered her this position in the first place. Apparently, the fact she hadn’t spoken the language in far too many years wasn’t a concern.
Now, here she was, wandering aimlessly around this huge house trying to stay away from Stellan and Dietrich because she was starting not to trust herself around them. Her body now had a mind of its own, and her arousal was a constant, living entity trying to claim her.
She took another sip from her wine glass and turned down the fifth hallway. Her heels made a clicking noise against the hard, smooth ground. But the sound was drowned out by the music that seemed to be filtered out from speakers throughout the entire mansion.
At the end of the hall, a door was open with soft lighting spilling into the hallway. She stepped into the room and realized the light came from outside. She was so turned around that she didn’t know if she was in the front or back of the house.
Stepping farther into the room, she noticed the double doors directly in front of her were open and led out to a veranda. The view was spectacular, and she knew enough about her surroundings that what she was looking at was the center of town in Sintra, with the palace visible.
It was all lit up like a glorious and scenic postcard. The Sintra Mountains sat in the backdrop and added a hint of romanticism. She finished off her glass of Riesling and set it aside. For several long moments, she did nothing but stare at the town below that seemed so tiny from her vantage point.
She didn’t know how long she stood there, just absorbing the view and the soft breeze that brushed over her, but for the first time since coming to Portugal, she felt at ease. Her arousal was still a slow burn inside of her, and drinking the wine hadn’t really helped matters.
Blythe had hoped the glass of alcohol would calm her nerves, and it had, to a point, but it also seemed to keep the burn going inside of her.
She was so lost in the surroundings and her thoughts that she didn’t realize someone had come up behind her until she felt a gentle hand land on her lower back. Straightening, Blythe spun around a little too fast.
Her arm swung out to brace against the stone banister which caused her wine glass to fall to the ground and shatter. Stellan gripped her wrist, and before she could even blink had her moved away from the broken glass.
For a moment, all she could do was look up at him. He still held her, and his touch was like a hot brand on her upper arm.
“Careful,querida.” His voice was low, soft, and intimate. She could picture it in the bedroom, with nothing between them, and the shroud of darkness adding a hint of sensuality.
Yeah, the glass of wine had definitely been a bad idea.
“Thank you.” Those two words came out all breathy and needy, and she cursed herself for how ridiculous she probably sounded. It took him a moment, but he released her arm. She rubbed the spot, as if she could ease the heat he had left behind.
His gaze went to the spot where she ran her hand up and down, and a frown marred his face. He turned and rested his forearms on the banister, staring out at Sintra.
After several long minutes of silence, he finally spoke. “Did you know Christopher Columbus sailed from Sintra to the port of Lisbon?”
Stellan turned his head and looked at her. The light from the city cast a gentle, yellowish glow around him. Shaking her head, she moved closer to him but made sure to keep a safe distance. The last thing she needed was to make a fool of herself again.
“In the late fourteen hundreds, it is said he sailed for the Spanish crown but was blown off course by winds. Of course, he worried for his ship, and when he saw Sintra, he had no choice but to seek safety in the small town.” Stellan continued to tell her the history, and she found herself enamored by his storytelling and captivating voice.
Blythe grew more at ease in his presence and even found the nerve to ask some personal questions.
“Did you miss Portugal when you lived in New York? I know your father’s family lives here.” He was quiet for several long moments, and she watched as a muscle in his jaw ticked. Had she said something wrong? “I’m sorry. That is so not my business. I apologize.”
The awkwardness and the tension started to surround her. She needed to get out of here and grab another glass of wine. Pushing off the banister, Blythe turned to leave.
“I better get back to Mr. Moore and see if he needs anything.” Before she made it three steps, Stellan reached out and snagged her hand. Blythe looked at where he touched her then at his face.
“You didn’t ask anything wrong,querida. I just didn’t have the best relationship with my father, and thinking about him makes me remember what an asshole he was.” His thumb brushed over the back of her hand.
He pulled her closer, inch by slow inch until their chests almost touched. She could see in her peripheral vision as he lifted his hand toward her face.
“He was just an absent father who cared more for his company than he did for his own child.” The pain was laced within his words, and she felt something inside of her chest break for him. She knew all too well about absent fathers.
