Bought by the Rich Man: Taken by the Highest Bidder / Bought by Her Latin Lover / Bought by the Billionaire. Jane Porter
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When you race, you travel at speeds beyond belief. Speed that’s like flying.
There’s no time to do anything. You can’t prepare. Not even react.
It just happens before your eyes.
Slow, slow, a movie one never forgets.
Cristiano’s teammate slams into the wall after being hit by the careening car and Cristiano, trapped by flying debris, can only go forward into his teammate’s car. Into the car he’d been trying to protect, a car already in pieces.
It was his teammate—his father—one and the same.
And that’s where it all ends and all begins.
The fire everywhere. Cristiano couldn’t see—guided only by the smell of burning petrol and exploding flames. The only reason he survived was because God, or an angel somewhere, plucked him from the fiery inferno and willed him to live.
The first thing Cristiano knew on awakening at the hospital forty-eight hours later was that his father was dead.
The second was that his legs had been crushed and burned so badly he’d never walk again.
The third was Mercedes at the hospital weeping and screaming, How in God’s name can I have this baby now?
Cristiano learned to walk again because a baby waited, needing a father.
He even learned to drive again because somewhere there was a baby Bartolo who’d need a strong man in his or her life, a man who wouldn’t quit and wouldn’t complain and would always believe that good prevailed.
Cristiano breathed deep, held the air in his chest and silently mocked himself. Don’t cry, you bastard. You’re a man, you can’t cry.
But God, the pain. The memories. The regrets.
And to think that Gabby, who was the good, should suffer again was the worst injustice of it all. For God’s sake, she’d already lost her mother, had an ass of a stepfather. How could he not do everything in his power to make Gabriela happy?
To make her life complete?
Santo Cielo, he’d do anything, absolutely anything for her.
The cottage door opened and Sam stepped out. She’d bundled up in one of the wool coats from the cottage closet. “Hey.”
He nodded, features hardening, hiding all that he felt. He was so good at disguising what he felt.
“Do you mind company?” she asked, clapping her hands together and blowing on her fingers.
“You’ll freeze.”
“You haven’t.” Her blue eyes flashed up at him. “And you’re not even wearing a coat.”
“I’m a man.”
She laughed, bless her, and he almost smiled. “That’s funny?” he asked.
“Just when you say it.” She glanced up, looked at the icicles above their heads, and reached up to try to break one off but couldn’t. “So when are you going to tell her?” Sam asked, and her wide blue eyes, cornflower-blue, stunning blue, pierced him. “About Johann, and you and school…”
Something in her gaze set fire to his heart. And he knew about fire. He knew what it was to be burned. “That’s a lot to tell a little girl,” he said.
She nodded, no longer smiling, and her sober expression reminded him of the night just days ago when she’d arrived at the casino to try to convince Johann to go home.
A woman on a mission. A golden haired Joan of Arc.
“Soon,” he said, shifting his weight, easing the pressure off his left leg, which had been the more severely damaged of the two. The cold weather was making all the scar tissue tight and itchy and he couldn’t seem to get comfortable. “As soon as the time seems right.”
“Tell me before you talk to her. Just let me know, okay?”
But he didn’t say yes, and he didn’t say no, he just looked at her. And as he stared into her blue eyes, his lashes drifted lower, and his gaze settled on her mouth, on the softness and fullness he’d finally kissed after waiting so long to touch, and taste. And the wait had been worth it. Her mouth was perfect. She tasted and felt divine.
Reaching out, he pushed back one of her long blond curls. “You don’t hate me as much as you used to.”
Even in the moonlight he could see her blush. “I never hated you,” she answered, but her cheeks were crimson and she wouldn’t look him in the eye.
“You didn’t like me.”
Fresh color swept her cheeks, and she laughed softly, and it was a surprisingly deep husky laugh for someone so slight. “I questioned your morals and values.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it.”
“You did encourage Johann to gamble.”
“Of course I did.” He couldn’t resist touching her flushed face, couldn’t help touching what he’d craved for so long. “If it meant I could get what I wanted…”
“That’s what made me uncomfortable. You have to have ethics, Cristiano. You can’t just do whatever you want because you want something.”
Now it was his turn to laugh. “Oh, yes, you can,” he said, pushing the door open and steering her back in.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AFTER the kiss, Sam was sure that something would happen, but after returning to the fire, Cristiano lost himself in some reading he’d brought with him and Sam sat in her chair, feeling nervous and excited, rather like a girl going to her first dance.
But nothing else happened. It was as if the kiss had never occurred.
Cristiano focused on his reading and Sam sat feeling like a wallflower.
He must regret kissing me, she thought, chewing on her thumb. Or he kisses so many women it’s really nothing.
She had a sneaking suspicion it was the latter.
Finally it was time for bed, and Cristiano slept in one of the bedrooms while Sam carried blankets to the couch in the sitting room.
It took her forever to fall asleep and when she woke up stiff and cold in the morning, her mood was not much better.
Her mood didn’t improve later, either, when during breakfast she felt him watching her.
Sam did her best to ignore him, just like she struggled to ignore the buzzy butterflies in her middle. He doesn’t even remember the kiss, she told herself sternly. You can’t dwell on it, either.
But