Janette Kenny - Out of Hours...Boardroom Seductions

“You said we weren’t going to lie!”

“It’s not a lie.”

“What? It’s a prop?”

He shrugged. “If you will, yes.” He looked exasperated. “Look. Just wear it, will you? Consider it part of the uniform.”

He held it out to put on her finger, and she scowled, but finally stuck her hand out. “It probably won’t fit anyway,” she muttered. She had big hands, not the delicate ones men always seemed to expect.

“It will,” Christo said confidently.

And damn it, he was right. It slid on and fit perfectly. Natalie stared at the ring glittering on her finger and felt a sinking desperation somewhere deep inside. She started to tremble.

“How did you—?” she began, but couldn’t even finish.

“I asked your mother your ring size.”

Her gaze jerked up and she stared at him, horrified. “You asked my mother? What size ring I wear? Are you crazy? What on earth will she think?” Oh, God. It didn’t even bear thinking about!

“What will she think? The truth. She asked, and I told her the truth.”

“That you were hiring me to be your…fiancée?”

He shrugged. “She knows about my grandmother. She’s met her. She understood.”

She did? And what had she thought about Natalie being his choice for fake fiancée? Had she wondered why? If so, she hadn’t asked.

She hadn’t called her daughter, either, though Natalie couldn’t quite imagine her mother being as sanguine as Christo thought she was. But then, she had to have known since at least yesterday for him to have bought a ring. And Laura hadn’t called and tried to talk her out of it.

Was her mother expecting something to come of it? Dear God, what a mess.

“This is going to be a disaster,” Natalie said with quiet certainty.

“No, it won’t,” Christo said. “It will be fine. It has to be fine,” he added fiercely.

The line was moving now. They were edging toward the plane, and as they moved, Natalie twisted the ring on her finger and was excruciatingly aware of Christo’s hand lightly touching her back.

It was easy to spot Lucia Azevedo when they’d reached the baggage-claim area. She was the small, birdlike woman whose pale face simply lit up at the sight of Christo. She crossed the space that separated them in seconds and wrapped Christo in a fierce hug, then stepped back to regard Natalie with an intent gaze.

“So you are my Christo’s lady?” Her voice was a bit reserved as she offered her hand, which Natalie took. Her fingers were thin and bony, but warm, and Natalie felt determined strength in them as they pressed hers.

“I’m so happy to meet you, Senhora Azevedo,” Natalie said, and though she felt a twinge of guilt at the way she was doing it, she meant every word. Ever since she’d heard the stories Christo had told Jamii, she had wanted to meet this woman who meant so much to him.

“Call me Lucia,” his grandmother said.

“Lucia,” Natalie repeated dutifully. “Thank you for inviting me. And thank you, Senhor Azevedo,” she said to the man who stood fidgeting in the background.

He had stayed back until his mother had finished greeting Christo and Natalie, as if he knew who really mattered to Christo. But now he embraced his son and clapped him on the back, then kissed Natalie on both cheeks.

“Xanti,” he corrected her. “Senhor Azevedo makes me sound like my father. Dead.”

“Beloved,” his mother corrected firmly, slapping his arm lightly. “And deeply missed.”

“Sim. And not replaceable. So I am Xanti,” her son said just as firmly, taking her hand in his.

Xantiago Azevedo was in his mid fifties now, but unlike many men his age he had retained the lithe, lean, soccer player’s build he must have had in his prime. He wasn’t as broad-shouldered as Christo, nor as handsome in Natalie’s estimation, but she could see instantly that Xanti’s quicksilver grin would always have appealed to the ladies. And there was a twinkle in his green eyes, which were much more devilish than his serious son’s.

“Where’s Katia?” Christo asked his father now.

Katia was the bride. But more than that Natalie hadn’t discovered.

“I’ve met her once or twice,” Christo had said. “She’s young. Beautiful. The sort Xanti always goes for. Not much older than me.” There was a mixture of doubt and censure in his tone. He looked around now, but apparently didn’t see her. He looked quizzically at his father.

Xanti laughed and shrugged. “Running around like a chicken,” he said, shaking his head as he hoisted one of the suitcases Christo had taken off the luggage turntable and led the way out the door. “She has so much to do before the wedding. Me, I don’t know what is so important.”

“I know,” his mother said imperiously. “The wedding is important. She wants it to be perfect.”

Christo rolled his eyes at that comment, but fortunately his grandmother didn’t see him. She was focused on walking as they went out of the terminal. Her gait was slow and not terribly steady. Natalie slowed her pace to match and offered Christo’s grandmother her arm for support.

“Maybe your father could bring the car and meet your grandmother and me here?” she called to Christo who, laden with two more suitcases, had been going after his father.

He glanced back, realized at once what she meant, and called something to his father in Portuguese. Then he immediately turned back and helped Natalie usher his grandmother to a bench.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he scolded her. “You should have stayed home to rest.”

She looked indignant as she sank onto the seat. “For what do I rest? For you. You are here at last. Who knows how many days I have to see you?”

“Don’t say things like that,” Christo chastised her roughly.

His grandmother shrugged. “It is true.” And she looked up at him with such love that it was almost painful to watch—especially since Natalie had a very good idea how she felt.

It took over an hour to get to the house that Xanti had built for his mother after he’d become an international soccer star. It was in the same rural area he had grown up in, with a mixture of working farms and large estates. And when they arrived, Natalie realized that it wasn’t simply a house, but a small compound of two good-sized houses and several smaller cottages.

“Because Xanti wanted home-cooked meals, but he didn’t want Avó telling him not to bring his women home,” Christo explained wryly after they’d taken his grandmother to her house and she’d been persuaded to take a short rest. “She has her place here and he has his over there—” a wave of the hand toward a sprawling modern place near a free-form landscaped swimming pool. “And there are others for family and visitors,” he added as he walked her through the beautiful grounds along a winding flagstone path that ended at the door of a small cottage. “This one is for you.”

The one he’d brought her to was older than the others, a rough ivory-colored stucco house with deep-set windows and a broad flagstone veranda all across the front. It was quite the most lovely welcoming little house Natalie had ever seen.

On a trellis on one side of the porch a deep burgundy bougainvillea grew all the way up to the roof and draped along it, providing privacy and welcome shade from the sun.

Though it was winter in Brazil, the day was still warm, and Natalie was glad to step into the shade while Christo took out a key and opened the door, then held it for her to precede him.

The inside of the house was cool and as welcoming at the exterior. A rattan sofa and chairs with colorful jungle print cushions were grouped at one end of the main room, and there was a small kitchen and dining area at the other. French doors opened onto another veranda beyond the dining table.