Marchant?’ She turned towards the voice and saw an elegant-looking woman with dark hair and an exotic olive complexion. ‘My name is Juliana Alvez, Mr Cazorra’s personal assistant. If you would like to come with me, Diego has scheduled a meeting with you at twelve o’clock to discuss your new role.’
Clare was conscious that her shorts were creased after she had slept in them and her hair was a wild tangle of untidy curls, in contrast to Juliana’s sleek chignon and sophisticated cream skirt and jacket.
How personal was Diego’s personal assistant? she wondered, hating herself for the hot surge of jealousy that swept through her. Once again she had a sense that her life was spinning out of her control.
‘That’s good, because I have many questions for Diego,’ she told Juliana with an air of calm composure that disguised her anger at the way she had been outmanoeuvred.
* * *
A helicopter flight over the city gave Clare spectacular views of the iconic landmarks of Rio de Janeiro, where the coastline was met by steeply sloping hills. Sugarloaf Mountain and the towering peak of Mount Corcovado with its famous statue of Christ the Redeemer dominated the skyline. The chopper swooped over beautiful Copacabana beach before it landed on the helipad at the top of a skyscraper building that looked over the bay.
‘Where are we?’ Clare asked Diego’s PA as she followed her inside what appeared to be a luxurious boutique hotel. The whole beach-facing side of the building was glass so that even the corridors offered views of the sea.
‘The helipad has direct access to Diego’s private penthouse apartment,’ Juliana said. ‘He owns the whole skyscraper and the Cazorra Corporation’s offices are on the lower floors.’ She opened a door and ushered Clare into an enormous suite. ‘This is where you will be staying. You have a personal maid, Vitoria, who will look after you, and I will return just before twelve to take you to Diego.’
Clare felt decidedly out of place in her crumpled clothes as she explored the elegant sitting room, huge bedroom and en suite bathroom with a sunken bath the size of a small swimming pool. The decor of muted shades of blue and cream, and dove-grey velvet carpets, was sophisticated but impersonal. She found it hard to imagine Diego living in the penthouse when he had admitted that he loved the wildness of the rainforest.
From the bathroom she heard the sound of the bath filling and headed towards it. The maid, Vitoria, was readying an enticing bubble bath.
‘Mr Cazorra said you would like to take a bath,’ Vitoria explained as she added fragrant oil to the water and the room became infused with the scent of an English rose garden. The thought of sinking into the fragrant foaming water was too irresistible for Clare to argue and, after she had bathed, she made use of the luxurious body lotion provided and used a hairdryer to tame her auburn curls into glossy waves.
Returning to the bedroom, she found that the maid had laid out a peacock-blue silk dress by a famous European designer. There were shoes to match the dress and exquisite underwear, all in Clare’s size, but when she searched the room she could not find her rucksack containing the few items of clothing she had brought to Brazil.
The maid’s excellent grasp of English suddenly seemed to desert her when she was asked about the rucksack. ‘I do not know where is your bag, but you no need it, because Mr Cazorra has supplied clothes for you to wear during your visit.’ Vitoria opened the wardrobe to reveal dozens of outfits, mostly in bright colours that Clare would not have had the confidence to choose for herself, preferring to stick to a safe palette of navy and taupe.
Unless she was prepared to meet Diego wearing a towel, she had no choice but to put on the dress, Clare realised. When she looked in the mirror she was forced to concede that the designer was a genius who had turned a piece of fabric into a garment that was both elegant and sexy in the way it flattered her hourglass figure. The three-inch stiletto-heeled shoes made her appear taller and slimmer, but she firmly reminded herself that she was only borrowing the clothes until she saw Diego and she would insist that her rucksack was returned to her.
He had gone to great lengths to arrange for her to remain in Brazil rather than fly back to England with Becky. The question uppermost in her mind was why. He had been angry that she’d fooled him into believing she was a nun, and understandably furious that she had told the pilot to take off from Torrente without him.
She felt guilty about her behaviour and uncomfortable at the prospect of seeing him again, especially when she remembered them making love in the cave. Colour flooded her cheeks as she recalled her wanton response to him. The time they had spent together in the rainforest seemed like a dream and she had discarded her inhibitions along with her virginity. But now she was back to reality, back to being ordinary Clare Marchant, and she wondered what Diego wanted from her.
His PA could not hide her surprise when she saw Clare’s transformed appearance. As she followed Juliana along a corridor to Diego’s office, Clare was conscious of the sensual slide of the silk underwear and dress against her skin. Was it because she was no longer a virgin that her senses seemed heightened and she was intensely aware of her femininity?
Juliana opened a door and ushered her into a large modern office. Clare had a vague impression of chrome and black glass furnishings and a stunning view of the ocean, but her attention was riveted by the man standing next to the window, who was familiar and yet almost unrecognisable.
From across the room Clare saw the predatory gleam in Diego’s silver-grey eyes that reminded her of the unnerving stare of a wolf stalking its prey. But every other aspect of his appearance was different from the rough, tough gold prospector she’d met in the rainforest.
His jeans and T-shirt had been replaced with a superbly tailored charcoal-grey suit teamed with a crisp white shirt and grey tie. Although his hair was still below collar length and covered his ears, it had been tamed into a sleeker style, and the blond stubble on his jaw was now trimmed close to his skin so that he looked groomed but dangerously sexy.
He waited until his PA had closed the door and watched Clare take a deep breath and walk across the room towards him before he spoke.
‘The first time I saw you at the convent I knew there was something not quite right about innocent Sister Clare. I’ve got it now. It’s the sexy wiggle of your hips when you walk.’ His voice hardened. ‘I should have listened to my instincts that said you were not a nun. But you are a liar, like most women.’
She flushed but refused to drop her gaze. ‘That’s a very sweeping generalisation, and in my case it’s not true. I am usually honest, but I was persuaded by the Mother Superior to dress like a nun because I hoped the kidnappers would be more willing to release my sister. I didn’t expect a...situation to develop between us.’
Clare ignored Diego’s snort of derision and sat down on the chair he indicated. She felt as if she was being interviewed when he settled himself in his executive leather chair and surveyed her across his desk.
‘I have explained why I couldn’t be honest about my identity, but you lied too. You let me think you were a gold prospector.’
‘It wasn’t a lie. I am a gold prospector and I search for gold deposits in the Amazon basin. When I get the opportunity, I still join a team of miners and go into the Old Betsy mine to look for diamonds. For the rest of the time I am here running the Cazorra Corporation. But I get restless after I’ve been in the city for too long.’
Beneath his designer suit and his veneer of wealth and sophistication was the Diego she had first met, who felt more at home in the rainforest, and who had made love
