The Brazilian Millionaire's Love-Child. Anne Mather

she felt the rush of heat she’d known when he’d touched her a few moments earlier but, when he would have reached to steady her, she hastily put some distance between them.

      ‘I think you ought to go back to the party, Mr Cabral,’ she said, despite the fact that she’d called him Alejandro already. ‘I’m sure Julia must be wondering where you are.’

      ‘And that is of importance why?’ he queried, his tone deepening intimately.

      ‘Well, because it’s probably very important to Julia,’ said Isobel tersely. Then, in an effort to lighten the conversation, ‘I expect you have lots of parties in Portugal.’

      He shrugged, moving back to spread his arms along the counter behind him. ‘I do not have parties in Portugal,’ he remarked drily. ‘I am not Portuguese. I am Brazilian.’

      Isobel’s lips parted, and for a moment she forgot her ankle, stinging courtesy of the beer crate, and the fact that she’d been trying to send him away. Her eyes widening, she said, ‘How fascinating! I’ve always wanted to visit South America.’

      ‘De verdade?’

      She didn’t know what that meant, but she hurried on regardless. ‘So, are you working in London? Are you in advertising too?’

      ‘Ah, nao.’ His lips twisted mockingly. ‘Advertising myself is not my thing.’

      ‘I see,’ said Isobel, though secretly she thought it was a pity. She could quite see him walking naked out of a foaming ocean, promoting some sexy fragrance for men. ‘Um…so, what do you do?’ she hurried on, afraid the direction her thoughts were taking might show in her eyes. ‘Are you on holiday?’

      ‘De ferias?’ He sounded amused. And then, seeing her look of incomprehension, he explained, ‘On holiday? In England—in November? Acho que nao. I do not think so.’

      ‘Oh, well…’ Isobel told herself she wasn’t that interested, and reached for the bottle he’d discarded earlier. But it wasn’t until after she’d snatched it up that she realised it was still half full. Beer splashed stickily onto her shirt and she was obliged to stifle an oath. ‘Damn it,’ she said, unable to resist the expletive. ‘You should have warned me you hadn’t finished.’

      ‘Muita pena!’ Alejandro pushed himself away from the unit and took the offending bottle from her unresisting grasp. ‘I am so sorry,’ he said, tossing it into the sink behind her. He gazed down at the damp fabric clinging to and outlining the lacy cup of her half-bra. ‘What can I do to help?’ His fingers moved to the buttons on her shirt. ‘Por favor, let me take this off.’

      Isobel gasped in disbelief, smacking his hand away. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she protested. His fingers looked so alien against the white linen. ‘Don’t do that! What if someone came in?’

      Alejandro’s mouth took on a decidedly sensual curve, but he obediently shifted his hands to the narrow bones of her shoulders. ‘And that is the only reason you want me to stop?’ he queried, those curious amber eyes burning with a golden fire. ‘Muito bem.’

      Isobel found she was actually trembling, and it infuriated her. For heaven’s sake, what was wrong with her? Even when she and David had first got together she’d never felt quite so vulnerable. Or so exhilarated, she admitted painfully.

      ‘I think you should let go of me, Mr Cabral,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong impression.’

      ‘And if I don’t want to?’ he murmured, his thumbs probing inside the neckline of her shirt.

      ‘I don’t think that matters,’ she retorted, refusing to let him see how he was disturbing her. ‘I don’t know what Julia’s told you about me, but I’m not interested in casual sex.’

      That shocked him. She saw the sudden darkening of his eyes, the way the amber gave way to a much more sombre colour. But he still didn’t release her. ‘Nor am I,’ he informed her flatly. ‘And Julia has told me nothing about you. As surprising as that might seem.’

      Isobel coloured. ‘I just meant…’

      ‘I know what you meant, querida.’ His eyes impaled her. ‘But somehow I do not think you are a virgin, nao?’

      His fingers tightened a little and Isobel caught her breath. ‘I’m divorced,’ she told him shortly. ‘Now, please—I’d like you to let me go.’

      ‘Because I have offended you?’ His scowl was absurdly attractive. ‘That was not my intention.’

      ‘No?’ Isobel thought she knew exactly what he had intended. But right now she was more concerned with putting some breathing space between them. With his warm breath against her temple, and his fingers digging into her flesh, she was far too vulnerable. ‘Well, whatever you meant, I’m not interested in massaging your ego.’

      ‘My ego?’ he sounded amused. ‘So you think you know what kind of man I am?’

      Isobel shifted in his grasp. ‘I think you’re too sure of yourself,’ she declared stiffly. ‘And, whatever you say, I doubt if you’re a virgin either.’

      He grinned then, white teeth showing between the sensual contours of his lips. ‘Esta certo,’ he said. ‘You are so right, cara. I have slept with women, sim. Would you like to know how many?’

      ‘No.’ She looked horrified now, and he gave a low laugh.

      ‘I did not think so,’ he said smugly, and, before she had an inkling of what he intended to do, he bent his head and caught the corner of her lower lip between his teeth.

      He bit into the soft flesh, but the experience was more of a pleasure than a pain. His tongue stroked across her mouth, a sensuous exploration, and then his mouth covered hers and his tongue surged between her teeth.

      One hand circled her neck, and she felt his fingers loosening the knot that bound her hair. She’d swept it up earlier, but she now realised how precarious it had become. Silky strands tumbled down about her ears and his knuckles, and his groan of satisfaction said it all.

      Her muffled protest was only a half-hearted thing, the complete unexpectedness of what he was doing leaving her with an odd feeling of unreality. This couldn’t be happening, she thought. Not to someone like her. David had always said she was frigid, but in Alejandro’s arms the hot blood was fairly burning through her veins.

      He moved so that she was pressed back against the counter, the hard strength of his body virtually moulded to hers. The kiss deepened and lengthened, and his hands sought her hips, bringing her fully against him, so that all thought of denying his love-making faded rapidly away…

      ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

      Isobel heard the angry exclamation as if from a distance. But its significance didn’t register until sharp nails dug into her arm and she was wrenched away from Alejandro.

      Then she saw Julia, and the look on her friend’s face brought a damning feeling of shame. It took the place of what she described to herself later as utter euphoria; she was certain she must have been out of her mind.

      ‘Julia,’ she said, turning towards her. ‘I—it’s not what you think.’

      ‘Isn’t it?’ Julia wasn’t convinced. ‘My God, is that blood on your shirt?’

      Isobel half-wished it was, then she could claim that Alejandro had only been comforting her. But she doubted Julia would believe that either. ‘It’s beer,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘I spilled it all over me.’

      ‘That’s not all that’s been all over you.’ Julia was bitter. ‘I thought we were friends, Issy.’

      ‘We are—’

      ‘So are you drunk or what? God, aren’t there enough men here for you to choose from without hitting on my date?’

      ‘Julia—’

      ‘Se