Brazilian Escape. Sandra Marton

He was speaking in Portuguese. He had briefly halted his conversation to inform Meg that whatever had happened in Los Angeles had been a false alarm and then carried on talking into his phone.

      ‘Aguarde, por favour!’ he said, and then turned again to Meg. ‘I am speaking with my PA, Carla. I can ask her to reschedule your flight also. She will get it done quickly, I think.’

      And make sure he’d sit next to her too, Niklas decided.

      ‘So?’ he asked. ‘When do you want to get there?’

      Of course the normal response would be as soon as possible, but there was nothing normal about her response to him. Niklas was looking right at her, and there was undoubtedly an invitation in his eyes, but there was something he needed to know—somehow she had to tell him that what had happened between them wasn’t usual for her.

      To put it mildly.

      Except Niklas made her stomach fold into herself, and his eyes were waiting, and his mouth was so beautiful, and she did not want this to end with a kiss at an airport gate. She did not want to spend the rest of her life regretting what would surely be a far more exciting choice than the one she should be making.

      He made it for her.

      ‘It sounds as if there is a lot of backlog. The airport will be hell with so many people having to re-route. I could tell her to book our flights for tomorrow.’ Niklas had already made the decision. He had not had twenty-four hours to himself in months, had not stopped working in weeks, and right now he could think of no one nicer to escape the world with.

      ‘I’m supposed to be …’ She thought of her parents, waiting for her at the conference, waiting for her to arrive, to perform, to work twelve-hour days and accept weekends constantly on call. Hers was a family that had every minute, every week, every year of her life accounted for, and for just for a little while Meg wanted to be able to breathe.

      Or rather to struggle to breathe under him as he kissed her and took her breath.

      He looked at her mouth as he awaited her answer, watched the finger that twirled in her hair finally pause as she reached her decision, saw her tongue moisten her lips just before she delivered her answer.

      ‘Tomorrow,’ Meg said. ‘Tell her tomorrow.’

      He spoke with Carla for a couple more moments, checked he had the right spelling of her surname and date of birth and passport number, and then clicked off his phone.

      ‘Done.’

      She didn’t know what his life was like—didn’t really understand what the word done meant in Niklas Dos Santos’s world …

      Yet.

      They waited for their baggage and she got to kiss him for the first time standing up, got to feel his tall length pressed against her. He loaded their bags onto one trolley and then he did a nice thing, a very unexpected thing: he stopped at one of the shops and bought her flowers.

      She smiled as he handed them to her.

      ‘Dinner, breakfast, champagne, kisses, foreplay …’ God, he didn’t even lower his voice as he handed her the flowers. ‘Have I covered everything?’

      ‘You haven’t taken me to the movies,’ Meg said.

      ‘No …’ He shook his head. ‘There was a movie on. You chose not to watch it. I cannot be held responsible for that …’

      Oh, but he had been. She felt the thorns of the roses press in as he moved closer again and crushed the flowers.

      ‘Consider yourself dated.’

      There was no waiting in long queues for Niklas. Customs was a very different thing in his world, and as his hand was holding hers, she too was processed quickly. Suddenly they had cleared Customs and were walking out—and it was then she got her first glimpse of what done meant in a world like Niklas’s.

      Carla must have been busy, for there was already a driver waiting, holding a sign with ‘Niklas Dos Santos’ written on it. He relieved them of their bags and they followed him to a blacked-out limousine. She never got a glimpse of Vegas as they drove to the hotel, just felt the brief hit of hot desert sun.

      No, she never saw Vegas at all.

      She was sitting on his lap.

      ‘I’m going to be the most terrible let-down …’ She peeled her face from his.

      ‘You’re not,’ he groaned.

      ‘I am …’ God, her head was splitting just at the attempt to be rational. ‘Because I have to ring my mum …’

      Her hands were shaking as she dialled the number, her mind reeling, because she had to tell him she was a virgin. Oh, God, she really was going to be a let-down! His fingers were working the buttons on her trousers now, his hand slipping in and cupping her bum. His mouth was sucking her breast through her blouse as she was connected to her mother, and she heard only smatters of her conversation.

      ‘Yes, I know it was a false alarm …’ She tried to sound normal as she spoke with a less than impressed Ruth. ‘But all the flights are in chaos and tomorrow was the earliest I could get.’ No, she insisted for a third time, there was simply nothing she could do that would get her there sooner. ‘I’ll call you when I’ve sorted out a hotel and things. I have to go, Mum, my battery’s about to go flat.’

      She clicked off the phone and he turned her so that she was sitting astride him. Holding her hips, he pushed her down, so she could feel what would soon be inside her, and for the first time she was just a little bit scared.

      ‘Niklas …’

      ‘Come on …’ He did her blouse up. ‘We are nearly there.’

      She made herself decent, slipped her cardigan over her blouse to hide the wet patch his mouth had made, and found out once again what it was like in his world.

      They breezed through check-in, and even their luggage beat them to their huge suite—not that she paid any attention to it, for finally they were alone. As soon as the door shut he kissed her, pushing her onto the bed. He removed his jacket and pulled condoms from his pocket, placing them within reach on the bedside table, and then he removed her trousers, taking her panties with them at the same time.

      God, he was animal, and he moaned as he buried his face in her most private of places. Meg felt the purr of his moan, and this new experience coupled with her own arousal terrified her.

      ‘Niklas …’ she pleaded as his tongue started to probe. ‘When I said my relationship wasn’t passionate …’

      ‘We’ve already proved it had nothing to do with you.’ His words were muffled, but he felt her tense and as he looked up he met anxious eyes.

      ‘I haven’t done this before.’ She saw him frown. ‘I haven’t done anything.’

      There was a rather long pause. ‘Good. I will look after you …’

      ‘I know that.’

      ‘I will.’

      And then his mouth resumed, and she felt his breath in places she had never felt someone breathe before, but still the tension and fear remained. Niklas must have sensed it too, as he raised himself up on his elbows and looked down at her beneath him, her face flushed.

      Niklas was a very uninhibited lover; it was the only piece of himself that he readily gave. Sex was both his rest and recreation, and with his usual lovers there was no need for long conversation and coaxing, no need for reticence or taking his time. But as he looked down at her flushed cheeks he recalled their long conversations on the plane, and the enjoyment of spending proper time with another person. He thought of all the things he had told her that he never usually shared with anyone, and he realised he liked not just the woman who lay beneath him but the words that had come from her mouth.

      He kissed it now, as if doing so for the first time.