loyalty keep her silent.
The familiar spurt of bitterness went through her. After an overprotective childhood, not to mention growing up in the shadow of her sister’s outrageous stunts, she’d purposely interacted with very few people, and certainly few strangers.
Much as she’d like to change things and start...well, living, she wasn’t sure how to do that. And anyway, it didn’t matter. Certainly the stranger, gorgeous as sin and likely double the trouble, had forgotten her already. She was positive of it.
So positive she didn’t look back.
Though she wanted to.
* * *
THE REST OF the day flew by as she plowed through her business chores so she could get to her own private pride and joy—creating jewelry from her own designs.
It was her life, her heart, and once at her worktable, away from all the dreaded paperwork, she let her mind flow and empty, and she did what she did best—design original jewelry to go with the gems All That Glitters mined, purchased and traded all over the globe.
It was a quiet job, and one she did alone, which only perpetuated her reserved image. But she loved it more than anything, and wished she had more time for it these days.
Terry, I miss you, so much.
But what was done was done, and Nina had dealt with her grief. She’d dealt with the business. She’d truly moved on.
It just seemed her heart hadn’t quite gotten the message yet. Determined to lighten her mood, if only for a little while, she adjusted her light and reached for her latest drawing, a bracelet of inlaid gold with emeralds. It would match the Coração de Amante she’d made for Terry several years ago. Already Nina knew she couldn’t let this new piece go to sale. She’d dip into her own savings to buy it for herself.
She began by making a bezel, a gold sheet to hold the gems. For the next few hours she worked annealed gold around the stones, measuring, cutting and soldering with gold hard solder. By the time she stood up and stretched, it was long after dark, and the building was empty except for security.
She’d forgotten, if only for a while, her unbearable sadness.
Yes, tonight she’d sleep dream-free.
She was halfway across the back parking lot, heading toward her car, planning which book she’d take to bed with her to read until sleepiness over-came her, when she heard a footstep. A shadow fell over her.
Heart leaping, she whirled around.
And faced him. Her perfect stranger.
For one moment she had the ridiculous thought that he’d sought her out to ask her for a date.
How absurd. No one wanted her simply for herself. No one even knew the real her.
As she debated whether to stop or run, he pulled a photo from his pocket and held it up. Comparing her to it, he glanced back and forth for a moment, then frowned before taking a step closer.
“Who are you?” he asked.
It should have been her question to him.
“Como você se chama? What’s your name?” he tried in both Portuguese and English, still frowning.
If he’d been huge and menacing rather than lean and rangy as he was, he couldn’t have been more intimidating. He stood over her, all lithe, tense muscle.
Maria was right, he was magnificent, one of the most magnificent men she’d ever seen, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous.
Saying nothing, she backed up, wondering if she could make it to the building, where she could get help from the security guards within.
“Hey.” He looked annoyed. “You speak Portuguese? English? What?”
“Both,” she said, taking another step back.
“Don’t run from me. I just want to talk to you.”
Uh-huh. Right.
Another step, though now she became uncertain about turning her back on him, because he looked athletic and fast as lightning, and she doubted her ability to outdistance him.
But if she screamed, would the security guards hear her from here?
“Stop,” he demanded, yet he didn’t reach for her, which she took as a good sign. “Just hold on a second, would ya?”
Nope. If he was going to rape, maim or murder her, he’d have to catch her first, and she didn’t plan on being caught.
“I just want to know who you are,” he said.
She hadn’t lived in Rio all her life, but had been sent to private boarding schools in the United States, England and Switzerland. This man was indeed American, and southern American at that, given his slight drawl.
“Don’t run.” His voice was cool and quiet, but there was definite danger there. “And don’t scream,” he added. “I hate it when people scream. I just want to ask you some questions.”
One more step, she thought, slowly lifting her foot, just...one...more.
“This picture.” He thrust it beneath her nose. “What do you know about this picture?”
Foot in the air, poised for flight, Nina went utterly still. Her breath clogged in her throat. Her heart stopped.
It was her sister.
Meu Deus, he held a picture of Terry in the embrace of some man, and she looked so beautiful, so stunningly alive and happy, Nina’s eyes filled. “Terry,” she whispered.
The man stared at her. “My God, it’s not you.” His gaze was measuring. “It’s close....” Once again he studied the picture, then carefully searched her face. “Really close.” Before she could guess his intention, he reached up and unclipped her hair, tugging it free, ignoring her startled gasp. “But no cigar.” His eyes, those all-seeing eyes, chilled. “What do you know about this woman? What did you call her...Terry? Where can I find her?”
Nina nearly let out a laugh, but it would have been half hysterical, so she put her hand to her mouth and shook her head.
“I need to talk to her.”
For once, the streets were relatively free of the wandering tourists and loud boisterous locals. There was no one to rescue her from this bad dream. “You...cannot,” she said.
“Why?”
“She died a year ago last September.”
His frown deepened, his jaw tight as a drum. “Try again, lady.”
Nina shook off the fear and found her temper. “I do not know who you are, but I want you to leave these premises immediately. There is a guard right inside, and—”
“Don’t
