Janette Kenny - Out of Hours...Boardroom Seductions

There was a small hallway with a bath and a bedroom where Christo carried her suitcase. Natalie followed him in and stopped as she stared at the one wide bed.

Instantly her gaze flew to Christo at the same moment he turned and looked at her.

“I’m staying at Avó’s,” he said. “Don’t worry. You can, too, of course. I just thought, under the circumstances, you might prefer it here where you could have a little privacy and some space. Where you won’t be under the microscope all the time.”

“I would,” Natalie said quickly. “Thank you.”

She smiled at him then, and for the first time since she’d agreed to come, it felt almost right. Almost as if she might not have made the biggest mistake of her life.

Walking back out into the main room, she turned in a circle, trying to absorb the peace and the beauty of the place. “It’s gorgeous here, all of it,” she told Christo. “Your dad’s place looks amazing and your grandmother’s is really lovely. But I really like it here best. It’s homey.”

She wondered, when she said it, if it sounded rude. But for the first time Christo actually smiled, too.

“It was Avó’s,” he told her. “This is her old house. Renovated a bit now—” he nodded toward the updated kitchen “—but it was where she and my grandfather lived, where Xanti was raised. It was where she was still living when I first came here as a boy. Xanti was living in Europe then. Making lots of money, but he hadn’t come back yet to build his palace.” He dipped his head in the direction of Xanti’s house, then looked around here and ran his hand down the doorjamb proprietarily. “I like it here, too.”

It was one of those moments of perfect communion that they shared. One that made Natalie ache with longing for what could be but never would. What it made Christo feel, she didn’t know.

Abruptly he said, “I should go back and see Avó. Do you want to come or will you rest a while?”

“I’ll rest,” Natalie said.

He opened his mouth, started to say something, then shut it again. Another long look arced between them, and Natalie found herself almost leaning into it before she recollected herself and straightened up.

Christo ran his tongue over his lips, then cleared his throat. “Come up to Avó’s when you feel like it,” he said, businesslike again, already stepping toward the door. “Tchau.”

“Tchau,” Natalie whispered and felt her throat close on the word.

But Christo didn’t hear. He was already striding toward his grandmother’s house, not even glancing back.

It had been the right thing to bring Natalie.

It was important for his grandmother not to worry about him. And she would have worried, even though she would have smiled and teased and made a joke of throwing women in his way.

Christo had been shocked at the change in her. He’d seen her four months ago when he’d come to visit over Easter. And she was a shadow now of the woman she’d been then.

He hadn’t believed his father when he’d called. Had it been only five days ago? Yes. It didn’t seem possible for the world to have changed that fast. Maybe the whole world hadn’t, but his had.

His grandmother had been the single constant dependable anchor in his life since he’d been barely six years old. She was the one who’d had time for him, who’d listened to him, who’d both trusted him and demanded more of him. The man he’d become owed more to her than to anyone.

He hadn’t believed it when Xanti had said she was dying.

“I just talked to her a couple of weeks ago!” Christo had protested. “She never said a word.”

“Would she?”

The question had stopped Christo’s protest like a blow to the heart.

Would she tell him? He knew the answer even as his father’s question echoed in his head.

No, she wouldn’t. Not while he was so far away. Not while he had his own life. She wouldn’t want to take him away from it, wouldn’t want him to worry, to fret about what he couldn’t change.

But now that he thought about it, he remembered again the talk about finding him a wife. There had been gentle teasing in her words as there always was. But last time there had been something urgent. Something more.

“She is dying,” Xanti repeated. “So I’m getting married.”

“To whom?” Christo had demanded, stunned.

“To Katia! Who else?” Xanti had sounded affronted at the question. Katia Ferreira did public relations for the sporting-goods company his father worked with. She was in her mid-thirties, pretty enough, very blonde, a quickwitted, savvy businesswoman. Unlike the other women who had come and gone in his father’s life, Katia had never seemed enthralled by Xanti’s boyish antics and mercurial behavior—or by Xanti himself for that matter.

“And she’ll have you?” Christo had asked.

“She loves me. It will be good,” Xanti retorted. “It will make your grandmother happy. She can stop worrying about me.”

Ergo, Christo knew, she would be worrying about him. About finding a wife for him. And that had led him instinctively to the notion of bringing Natalie with him to Brazil.

But the moment he’d thought it, he knew he couldn’t. Then he knew he had to. He didn’t want to. Oh, yes, he did.

His mind, usually incisive, his decisions, clear-cut, were anything but for the next twenty-four hours. It was madness, foolishness. It was a bad idea all around.

But it wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t ask just any woman, he knew that. Avó wasn’t stupid. She would see through such a ruse in a minute.

But she would believe Natalie.

She would love Natalie.

She wouldn’t just see the outer beauty of Natalie Ross. She would appreciate her gentleness, her compassion, her innate toughness, her sincerity, her sense of humor. They were both strong people, caring people.

He suspected Natalie would like his grandmother, too.

But it hadn’t been easy to ask her. He still thought about her far too often. He still woke up reaching for her.

Besides, he knew she’d object. He knew she’d say it was wrong.

It wasn’t, damn it. Not to make the most beloved person in his life happy. Not to keep her from worrying about something she had no control over.

But if he thought the asking had been hard, having Natalie here with him now in the bosom of his family was worse—because almost instantly she seemed to belong.

The days were busy with wedding preparations. He didn’t have a lot of time to spend with her because Xanti was always thinking of things to have him do.

“Don’t worry. I’m fine,” she said when he apologized. “I can help, too.”

She did—running errands for Katia, making place cards for the tables at the reception, even helping with some minor alterations to the wedding dress. And if she spent a fair amount of time helping Katia, she spent even more time with his grandmother.

Despite her discomfort with their charade, she played it well. She didn’t keep a low profile. And she didn’t shy away from his family.

On the contrary, she sought them out.

“You don’t have to spend every minute with them,” he told her.

She looked at him, her eyes wide and hurt. “Would you rather I didn’t?”

“Of course not. It’s fine,” he said gruffly, scowling, out of sorts and not quite sure why. “I just don’t want you to feel—put upon.”

“I’m not. I’m enjoying myself. I like your grandmother.”

“She likes you, too.”

So did everyone else.

Xanti, of course, thought she was delightful. But Xanti thought that about most females. There was more to his approval of Natalie, though.

Thursday night, two days after they’d arrived, he and his father were sharing a beer on the veranda and staying out of the way of even more wedding preparations going on in Avó’s house. They stood there in the twilight and watched through the windows as the women bustled back and forth.