‘None.’
Ah. Maybe that explained his reaction.
‘Let me propose an interim arrangement.’ He sat back on his haunches, giving her space.
It was a clever move, she realised, as her racing pulse slowed.
‘Yes?’
‘You want a second pregnancy test. Let me take you to the city and arrange a medical examination. Then, if the results are positive, we talk about the future.’ He spread his hands in a gesture of openness.
Yet the glint in his dark eyes hinted things weren’t so simple.
But what did she have to lose? He only proposed what she’d already decided. And, as owner of the lodge, he could get her out of here quickly, without waiting for a scheduled flight.
‘No strings?’
‘No strings.’
Doubt warred with caution and a craven desire to let someone else worry about the details for once. If he tried to trample her, he’d learn he was messing with the wrong woman.
‘Agreed.’ She put out her hand, using the business gesture to reinforce that this was a deal, not a favour. A tiny bubble of triumph rose at his surprised look.
But, when his hand encompassed hers, engulfing her in its hard warmth, her smile faded.
* * *
Marisa twisted in her seat as the helicopter’s rotors slowed. Damaso saw anger shimmer in her eyes as she glared at him. ‘You said we’d go to the city.’
‘S?o Paolo is inland, not too far away.’
‘You lied to me.’ Her mouth set in a mutinous pout that made him want to pull her close and kiss those soft, pink lips till all she could do was sigh his name.
Damaso stared, grappling with both his urgent response and surprise at her vehemence.
‘I said I’d take you to have your pregnancy confirmed.’ Even now, after a day to absorb the news, he felt a pooling of emotion at the thought of the baby they’d created.
‘In a city. That’s what we agreed. That’s why I agreed to come to Brazil with you. I thought when we transferred from the plane we were going into S?o Paolo.’
‘I’ve organised for a doctor to visit you here, in my private residence.’
Marisa’s gaze roved the view beyond his shoulder, past the ultra-modern mansion looking over a pristine beach and aquamarine water to the tangle of lush forest rising up the slope beyond. ‘It’s secluded,’ he murmured. ‘I own the whole island.’
‘You think that’s a recommendation? I have no interest in your private estate.’ Her jaw clenched, as if she read what he’d tried to suppress—the physical hunger that still plagued him.
From the moment he’d seen Marisa, he’d wanted her. One night in her bed had only sharpened his appetite, and not just for her lithe body. He wanted to possess all of her: her quicksilver energy; her laughter; her earthy, generous sexuality and that feeling she shared some rare, exquisite gift with him. Even arguing with her was more stimulating than sealing a multi-billion-dollar deal.
This craving disturbed him. Usually he found it easy to move on from a woman. But then, he’d never had one carry his child before. That must be why he couldn’t get her out of his head.
‘Lots of women would give their eye teeth to be here.’
She looked at him with a supercilious coolness that made him feel, for the first time in years, inferior. ‘Not me.’
The smack to his lungs, the hot blast of blood to his face, shocked him to the core.
He was Damaso Pires, self-made, successful, sought after. He bowed to no one, gave way to no one. He’d banished the scars of childhood with the most convincing cure of all: success. Inferiority was a word he’d excised from his personal lexicon years before.
‘You’re not impressed, princesa?’
Her eyes widened a fraction. Because he’d called her ‘princess’, or because he’d growled the words between gritted teeth?
‘It’s not about being impressed.’ She spoke coolly. ‘I simply don’t like being lied to.’
Damaso drew a slow breath and unclicked his seat belt. ‘It wasn’t a lie. I often commute to the city from here.’ He put up his hand before she could interrupt. ‘Besides, I thought you’d appreciate the privacy of my estate, rather than go to a clinic or have an obstetrician visit you in a city hotel.’ He stared into her sparking blue eyes. ‘Less chance of the paparazzi getting hold of the story, since my staff are completely discreet.’
He watched her absorb that: the quick swallow, the rushed breath through pinched nostrils.
Ah, not so superior now. Obviously she didn’t want news of her condition made public.
‘Thank you.’ Her quick change of tone surprised him. ‘That’s thoughtful of you. I hadn’t considered that.’ She fumbled at her seatbelt so long, he looked down and saw her hands were unsteady. He wanted to reach out and do it for her but her closed expression warned him off.
At last the seatbelt clicked open and she pushed it away. ‘But don’t ever lie to me again. I don’t appreciate being lured here under false pretences.’
It was on the tip of Damaso’s tongue to say he wasn’t interested in luring her anywhere. But that was exactly what he’d done, because it suited his purposes. Much as it went against the grain to admit it, she had a point.
‘Very well. In future you will be consulted.’
Her perfect dark-gold eyebrows arched. ‘In future,’ she corrected in a voice of silk-covered steel, ‘I decide.’
In one easy movement she swung her legs out of the door, held open by one of his staff, and strode away from the tarmac of the landing pad without waiting to see if he followed.
She walked like a princess, head up, shoulders straight, with a firm gait that wasn’t a stride but somehow conveyed her absolute confidence that the world would rearrange itself to fit her expectations.
He told himself she was spoiled and wilful. Instead, he found himself admiring her. He wasn’t used to having his arrangements questioned.
Her thanks for his thoughtfulness had surprised him. Her firm insistence on making her own decisions was something he understood.
He watched the cream linen of her trousers tighten around her shapely backside with each step, watched the way her hair, a thick curtain of gold, swung between her narrow shoulder-blades.
In future he’d remember to take the time to convince Princess Marisa to agree to his decisions before he put them into action.
Damaso’s mouth curved in a rare smile as he got down from the chopper and followed her. Persuading Marisa presented all sorts of interesting possibilities.
* * *
Marisa strode from the house mere moments after the doctor had left her. Not just any doctor, but the region’s best obstetrician, apparently, and a woman to boot. Damaso had thought of everything.
No doubt he was closeted with the doctor, receiving confirmation of the pregnancy.
Marisa’s step quickened till she reached the soft, white sand of the beach where she tugged off her sandals.
She wanted to sprint down the beach till her lungs burned, swim out into the impossibly clear depths of the bay till she was totally isolated from the luxury mansion full of staff. Climb the rocky headland that jutted at the far end of the beach.
Anything to feel free again, if only briefly.
Marisa sighed. She needed to be more cautious now she was pregnant. She could sprint, of course, but the security guard trailing her would think she was under threat. If she explained, he’d feel obliged to race up the beach beside her, destroying her enjoyment.