Chantelle Shaw - Postcards From Rio - Master of Her Innocence / To Play with Fire / A Taste of Desire

They danced the night away, and by the time the party ended and Diego helped Clare into the back of the limousine before sliding in next to her, every nerve ending in her body felt ultra-sensitive. The brush of his hand on her bare arm seemed to scorch her skin, and the feel of his hard thigh pressed up against hers made her recall how thick and hard his erection had been when he had slowly entered her.

Her awareness of him intensified as they stepped into the lift, which would take them to the top floor of the Cazorra skyscraper. The doors closed, and as the lift began its smooth ascent her eyes were drawn to him. He had unfastened his bow tie and his streaked blond hair fell across his brow, adding to his rakish charm. She wondered why he suddenly looked tense. Maybe he was irritated because she was staring at him like countless women at the party had done, she thought uncomfortably.

The lift suddenly juddered to a standstill and the lights went out.

‘What the hell?’ Diego said tersely. The lights flickered and came on again, but the lift did not move.

‘Do you think it has broken down?’

‘No, I think we’re stuck between floors for fun.’

Clare frowned. ‘There’s no need to be sarcastic.’ She studied the control panel. ‘There’s an emergency button. Should I press it?’

‘Deus!’ Diego exploded. ‘Press the damn thing and tell the maintenance staff to get us out of here right now.’

‘Diego...are you okay?’ Clare stared at him. His jaw was clenched and he was oddly pale beneath his tan. When he pushed his hair out of his eyes she saw beads of sweat on his brow.

‘I dislike lifts.’ He caught her questioning look and muttered, ‘I have an irrational fear of confined spaces.’ Sweat ran down his face. He swore and wrenched off his jacket. A voice speaking in Portuguese sounded over the intercom and Diego answered with a few curt words, and Clare guessed it was lucky she did not understand.

‘The concierge says he has called the engineer and the lift will be repaired as soon as possible,’ he relayed to her.

She couldn’t disguise her shock that he had been fearless in the rainforest, and had even wrestled with a python, but he suffered from claustrophobia. ‘How did you spend years working underground in mines if you hate confined spaces?’

He shrugged. ‘It was the only way I could earn a living, so I had to do it or starve. Getting into a lift cage packed with men to be taken underground was hell—it still is—but fortunately the mine shafts in the Old Betsy mine are a reasonable size to work in.’ He wiped a hand over his sweat-damp face and said with an attempt at humour, ‘Anyway, your heart only feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest for the first few hours of a shift and, however bad you feel, you just have to get on with the job.’

The discovery that Diego had a vulnerable side to him evoked a curious tug on Clare’s heart. ‘Do you feel this bad every time you step into a lift? That must be difficult considering you live and work in the Cazorra skyscraper.’

‘I don’t usually take the lift; I use the stairs.’

‘But you live on the thirtieth floor.’

‘It keeps me fit,’ he muttered.

‘So did you only take the lift tonight because of me?’

‘I couldn’t expect you to climb thirty flights of stairs.’

Clare bit her lip. ‘You should have told me. I feel terrible. But probably not as bad as you’re feeling,’ she conceded, seeing the sheen of sweat on his face. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘Not...unless you can come up with a distraction technique to take my mind from the thought that we are trapped in a metal box,’ he said through gritted teeth.

An idea came to her, and she acted without pausing to question whether it was wise or not as she stepped closer to him and cupped his face in her hands. ‘Perhaps this will distract you,’ she murmured before she covered his mouth with hers and kissed him.

She felt the jolt of surprise that ran through him, but he responded instantly and opened his mouth to welcome the gentle probing of her tongue. He was content to follow her lead, and as she continued kissing him she felt the terrible tension that gripped his muscles gradually lessen.

‘Is it working?’ She finally had to stop and allow them both to breathe.

‘I’m not sure,’ he said thickly. ‘You’d better try again.’

He did not look quite so pale, she thought as she stood on tiptoe so that she could reach his mouth. This time he took control and deepened the kiss until Clare’s senses were swamped by the taste of him, the scent of his aftershave, the feel of his strong arms sliding around her waist to pull her even closer to him—so close that she could not mistake the hard ridge of his arousal.

‘Something’s definitely working,’ he drawled, sounding more like the laid-back Diego she knew—and did not love. Of course not. It was just a silly saying that had slipped into her mind.

The lift suddenly lurched and then continued its ascent. Clare sprang away from him, hot-faced with embarrassment that in trying to distract him from his phobia she had aroused him, and herself, she acknowledged ruefully as she glanced down at the outline of her nipples jutting beneath her dress.

Moments later the doors opened directly into the penthouse and she heard Diego exhale heavily as he followed her out of the lift. As they walked in silence along the hallway leading to their respective bedrooms she did not know what to think, or what was going to happen next. But she knew with sudden clarity what she wanted to happen. Becky had warned her that Diego was a heartbreaker, but Clare had no intention of letting him anywhere near her heart.

Disappointment swooped in her stomach when he walked straight past the door to his suite without trying to persuade her to sleep with him. Maybe he did not desire her as much as she’d thought.

Her room was next to his. He halted outside the door and casually swung the jacket that he was carrying over his shoulder. But there was nothing casual about the smouldering intensity in his eyes, and his voice was a rough growl that grazed her skin and sent a quiver of excitement down her spine. ‘Are you going to invite me in?’

‘Yes.’ Simple, direct. She was tired of playing games. ‘But there is a condition.’

His brows rose in silent query.

‘I won’t pay off my debt with sex and after tonight I will still owe you a million dollars. I’m inviting you into my bed because I want you. But I won’t be your mistress. You will be my...’ she had been going to say lover, but reminded herself that love was not involved ‘...stud.’

He gave a husky laugh that evoked a coiling sensation low in her pelvis. ‘You are something else, Clare.’ There was a curious note that she almost thought was admiration in his voice. He opened her bedroom door, placed his hand at the small of her back and pushed her into the room. ‘Be careful what you wish for, querida.’ He slid his hand down and caressed her bottom, his touch burning her through her dress. ‘You want a stud and, as you can feel—’ he pressed up against her so that his erection nudged the cleft between her buttocks and their clothes were a frustrating barrier ‘—I am very willing to oblige.’

* * *

Diego knew he was going to have to cool things down. He was fiercely tempted to drag Clare’s dress up to her waist, pull her knickers down and bend her over the end of the bed so that he could take her hard and fast, the way his body was aching to do. Adrenaline was still pumping through his veins from when they had been trapped in the lift, but his urgent need to make love to her was more than a primal urge to have sex.

Deus, she had been so sweet when she had kissed him to distract him from his stupid, irrational fear. If she knew the truth of why he hated confined spaces, maybe she would understand that his gut-churning terror of being confined was not irrational. But he had never told any of his mistresses that he had been to prison, so why would he tell Clare?