Brazilian Nights. Sandra Marton

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      “So, senhor, now I owe you a favor.” Ferrantes made a show of looking around, then lowered his voice. “Before you get in too deep, ask the lady a question.”

      “Listen, pal, when I need advice from you—”

      “Or ask the advogado. Perhaps he will tell you what you need to know about his charming client.”

      A coldness danced along Dante’s spine. Don’t fall for it, he told himself, but it was impossible to ignore the bait.

      “What in hell are you talking about?”

      All pretence at camaraderie vanished from Andre Ferrantes’s ugly face.

      “Ask de Souza whose bed your Gabriella has been sleeping in,” he said coldly, “until you showed up and she decided it might be more profitable to sleep in yours.”

      He’d wanted to go for Ferrantes’s throat, but pride held him back.

      Why give the man even a small victory? Dante thought hours later, as he sped along a narrow road that led deeper and deeper into a verdant wilderness.

      Bad enough she’d played him for a fool in front of everybody, including the lawyer, who’d known her game all along, and the auctioneer, who was probably still celebrating the haul he’d made. Bad enough, too, that every man in that room knew she’d slept with Ferrantes.

      Not that he gave a damn that she’d been with someone else—he had no claims on her anymore—but Ferrantes? She’d wanted the ranch badly enough to lie beneath a pig like that? Open herself to him, take him deep inside her, beg him to touch her, taste her, take her…

      Dante’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.

      She’d done all the things with Ferrantes she had once done with him—and then he’d come along and she’d seen an easy way to put the bastard out of her life.

      His mouth twisted.

      What a piece of work she was! The earrings he’d bought her had been worth a small fortune but she’d made it seem as if she were too good to accept such an expensive gift from a lover. A former lover, okay, but that wasn’t the point.

      Apparently, accepting a ranch was different.

      The car hit a pothole and swerved to the right. Dante cursed and fought the wheel, brought the car back on the road.

      No wonder Ferrantes had stood there with that slab of beef he called an arm wrapped around Gabriella’s waist. No wonder he’d objected when Dante kissed her. Gone crazy when she’d kissed him back.

      Except, she hadn’t.

      He knew that now. It had all been a carefully calculated performance. The lady had seen her chance to get possession of those useless acres without continuing to spread her legs for Ferrantes.

      An image, so hot and erotic it all but obliterated his vision, filled Dante’s mind.

      “Dammit,” he snarled, and pushed the gas pedal the last inch to the floor.

      The car rocketed ahead.

      What an idiot he’d been! Falling for her act. Behaving precisely as she’d intended so that now he owned a useless piece of dirt in the middle of nowhere, every stinking weed, every collapsing outbuilding all his. He’d written a check for the auctioneer, ignored the man’s outstretched hand, brushed past the lawyer without a word because they’d both known what was happening. They could have told him. Warned him.

      Warned him?

      The auctioneer’s job was to sell the ranch. The lawyer’s was to protect his client. Besides, de Souza had tried. There is more to this than you know,Senhor, he’d said. Something like that and Dante had chosen to ignore—

      Something raced across the road, came to a dead stop, glared at him through eyes that were a shocking red against the dark onset of night. Dante stood on the brakes, fought to control the steering. The car swerved, spun; the tires squealed as if in pain. A wall of thick trees reared up ahead and he cursed, hung on to the steering wheel…

      The car came to a shuddering halt.

      The sound of the engine died. Silence and the night closed in as he sat behind the wheel breathing hard, hands shaking.

      The car had done a one-eighty, ending up pointing in the direction from which he’d come.

      He looked in the rearview mirror. The road behind him, what had moments ago been the road ahead of him, was empty. The animal—a big cat, he was almost certain—was gone.

      His heart was still pounding. He took half a dozen breaths, sat back until his hands were steady again.

      All this crap, reliving the stupid things he’d done almost as soon as he’d stepped off the plane at Campo Grande, was not getting him anywhere. What was done, was done. It was something he had learned to live by, how he had gone from almost flunking out of high school to doing okay in college and then putting in those years in Alaska before finally admitting that success in life wasn’t such a bad thing, after all.

      Besides, he was the one who’d get the last laugh.

      Sure, he’d been conned into dropping a big chunk of change buying property he didn’t want for a woman who meant nothing to him, but this wasn’t over. As he’d walked past de Souza, the lawyer had put out his hand.

      “Senhor Orsini?” he’d said politely. “I will expect your phone call.”

      Dante had looked at him blankly. De Souza had cleared his throat.

      “To make an appointment to come to my office, yes? To transfer ownership of Viera y Filho to Senhorita Reyes.”

      “Yeah,” he’d said brusquely, as he’d brushed by the man.

      Now, Dante smiled.

      Why would he transfer the deed to Gabriella?

      She’d wasted her time. No way would he give her the ranch. He’d sell it to the first buyer that wanted it. Or let it go on rotting until every last sign of it had been swallowed up by the surrounding scrub. He would do whatever it took to keep her from profiting from what she’d done to him.

      Still smiling, he turned the key. The engine coughed, then caught, and he headed for Bonito.

      The drive, even the near accident, had done him some good. Cleared his head. He felt a thousand times better, calm and in control, and that was important.

      He was a man who prided himself on being in control.

      Goodbye and good riddance to this place, this cast of characters. He was going home.

      By the time he reached the main road, he was whistling. He felt good. He’d get to the hotel, shower, change, phone down for room service—or no, why do that? The travel agent had faxed him a list of restaurants and bars. This was Brazil and even in a town that specialized in eco-friendly tours, there was sure to be a hot night scene, and Brazilian women were spectacularly СКАЧАТЬ