Postcards From Rio. Tina Beckett

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СКАЧАТЬ that is forecast arrives. When do you estimate you will arrive in Torrente?’

      Diego did not want to be responsible for taking the young nun to a town where her safety was by no means guaranteed and he quickly made a decision. ‘It’s not going to be possible to make the journey, I’m afraid. As you know, the wet season has started early this year and heavy rain is due in the next few days, which will make the roads impassable.’

      ‘But we have to go.’ Sister Clare stepped forward and stood directly in front of him. Her petite stature meant that she was forced to tilt her head to look up at him, and Diego was startled by the fierce expression in her blue eyes. ‘You agreed to take me.’ Her voice was no longer soft and soothing but shrilly demanding. ‘I must reach Torrente by Sunday.’

      He frowned. ‘With respect, Sister, you’re going there to teach at a Sunday school. It’s hardly a matter of life and death and I don’t fancy being trapped in Torrente for weeks, possibly months. The road up by the border is a dirt track that turns into a quagmire when it rains.’ He jammed his hat on to his head and walked back to his truck. ‘I’m sorry. You’ll have to start your teaching post next spring when the wet season ends.’

      He put his boot on the footplate of the Jeep, but as he was about to swing himself up into the driving seat, he felt a surprisingly firm grip on his arm.

      ‘You’re not listening to me, Mr Cazorra. I need to get to Torrente by Sunday and apparently you are the best person to take me. But if you are worried about some wet weather, can you lend me your vehicle so that I can drive myself?’

      Diego was riled by Sister Clare’s snippy tone. ‘Have you seen rain in the Amazon? It’s not a light shower like you get in England; it’s a deluge that frequently causes flooding and mudslides. I don’t allow anyone to drive my truck, Sister. And even if I did, how would you return it back to me as you’ll be living in Torrente?’

      Clare bit her lip as she realised her mistake. She could not admit that she intended to catch the first available flight out of Brazil as soon as she had paid the ransom money and rescued Becky. ‘I’m sure I could find someone who would drive your Jeep back to Manaus.’ Her heart sank as the gold prospector shook his head. She knew of no other way of reaching Becky and this man was her only hope of saving her sister. ‘Please, Mr Cazorra. I must get to Torrente.’

      Diego cursed beneath his breath when he saw the shimmer of tears in the nun’s eyes. He could never resist a pretty face, although his usual response when he was attracted to a woman was to take her to bed until he had sated his desire for her. ‘Is teaching at a Sunday school so important to you?’

      Sister Clare’s sapphire-blue eyes seemed to grow even darker in intensity. ‘I...have been called to Torrente,’ she said in an emotionally charged voice.

      Diego appealed to Sister Ann for support. ‘Torrente is a dangerous place, especially for a young woman.’

      ‘Sometimes we are asked to show courage, as the priest who once helped you did,’ the Mother Superior reminded him.

      ‘Damn it,’ Diego growled. It was true that if Father Vincenzi had not been brave enough to accept the role of chaplain at the violent prison where Diego had been an inmate he might still be rotting in a cell, or dead. Who was he to argue with what the English nun clearly believed was her religious duty?

      ‘All right. I’ll take you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you that Torrente is no place for innocents. We’ll leave straight away and if we’re lucky we might beat the bad weather.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Her smile was angelic and Diego felt a strange sensation in his chest as if a hand was squeezing his heart. His gaze dropped once more to the outline of her pert breasts and he felt as though another part of his anatomy was being squeezed! He’d obviously gone too long without sex, he thought derisively. When he went back to Rio he would remedy the situation and visit one of his casual mistresses, many of whom were dancers who worked at his nightclub.

      His life as a wealthy entrepreneur was very different from the poverty and deprivation he had endured as a child, Diego mused. His mother had been a drug addict, and most of the time she’d been incapable of taking care of her son. From a young age, Diego had been left to roam the dark alleyways of the favela. He had witnessed things that no child should see, and sometimes when he’d felt really scared he’d taken shelter at his friend Cruz Delgado’s home. By the time he was a teenager he had become hardened to the grim realities of life in a slum, but one night he had found his mother being beaten by her drug dealer because she did not have enough money to pay him, and Diego had lost his temper—with catastrophic results.

      Deus, don’t go there! He jerked his mind away from the dark pit of his past and glanced towards the Mother Superior, who had gone back inside the convent and now returned carrying a crate filled with bottles of drinking water. ‘You’ll need to take plenty of fluids with you for the trip,’ she said.

      Diego preferred a stronger kind of liquid refreshment, but he shrugged. ‘Pack the water in the back of the Jeep,’ he told Sister Clare, ‘while I check over the engine.’

      * * *

      Clare’s hands were shaking as she gripped the crate of water bottles, and her legs felt so wobbly that when she climbed into the back of the Jeep she sank on to her knees, overcome with relief that she had persuaded the prospector to drive her to Torrente. She was a vital step closer to rescuing Becky. Her heart was beating painfully hard in her chest, but not only from fear of what lay ahead when she met the kidnappers.

      When the Mother Superior had said the gold prospector was a womaniser, Clare had visualised the slimeball taxi driver who had flirted with her when he had driven her to the convent. She could not have been more wrong! Diego Cazorra was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. Working for her parents’ modelling agency meant that she had met hundreds of good-looking guys, but none, including Mark, came close to the smoulderingly sexy Brazilian.

      She studied him through the window of the Jeep. The first thing that had struck her about him was his height. He was several inches over six feet tall, lean-hipped, his long legs encased in faded denim jeans, which he wore with calf-length leather boots. His broad shoulders and powerful pectoral muscles were clearly defined beneath his tight-fitting black T-shirt.

      The biggest surprise was when he had removed his hat and revealed an unruly mass of streaked dark blond hair that reached to below his collar. His European appearance was further enhanced by his silvery-grey eyes and sculpted features: razor-edged cheekbones and a square jaw covered by several days’ growth of blond stubble. Add to that a blatantly sensual mouth and a wicked glint in his eyes when his gaze had lingered on her breasts that had made Clare feel flustered.

      He was a fallen angel and he oozed sex appeal from every pore, but she was horrified by her reaction to the prospector when her thoughts should be totally focused on Becky. Even if Sister Ann hadn’t warned her that he was a womaniser, she would have guessed as much from the way he had eyed her up as if he was imagining her without any clothes on. She could still feel a tingling sensation in her breasts and was thankful that the stiff serge fabric of her nun’s habit disguised the hard points of her nipples. Suddenly the Mother Superior’s advice to travel to Torrente in the guise of a nun seemed a good idea. She could not afford any distractions.

      The slam of the Jeep’s bonnet made Clare jump and she looked around for somewhere to store the bottles of water. There were no seats in the back of the Jeep, just a bench running down one side, a camping stove and cooking equipment and a couple of rolled-up sleeping bags. The Jeep was basic, but as long as it got her to Torrente she didn’t care that it promised to be an uncomfortable ride.

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