Free Brazilian Revenge (The Brazilians) by Carmen Falcone Page B

because he’d ruled her a difficult, incorrigible child. What kind of man would simply give up on a kid like that?
    A tear rolled down her cheek. “He wanted to do things to me, and because I didn’t let him, he beat me.”
    Anger pumped thick into his bloodstream, and he cursed under his breath. She was telling the truth, and he knew it in his gut. She was also breathing normally, even though tears bordered her eyes. “What happened to him?”
    “Last I heard, he died of an overdose. I just wanted out of there.”
    “I can’t express the kind of monster this excuse for a man was, Satyanna. If I could erase it, I would.” He wiped the tears from her face with his index finger.
    She drew a breath. “Thanks. I tried to sleep, but then all these racing thoughts kept me going. It’s too much. I can handle whatever the world throws at me, I always have. But if something happened to her and we can’t find her…” Her voice trailed off, her lips trembling.
    He cupped her face. “We will find her,” he said in the same determined tone he used in courtrooms and interviews. “You need to get some rest. Lie down.”
    She let out an exasperated sigh. “I tried, trust me.”
    He ran his fingers through his hair. Before barging in her room, it’d already been difficult to fall asleep. How could he do it now after discovering her painful past? And that she still hurt from it? A lump of frustration clogged his throat. “This will be different. We’ll do it together. C’mon. I want you sprawled on the mattress.”
    Satyanna blinked a couple of times, as if to make sure she heard him correctly. A lovely flush spread across her cheeks. Did she think he was about to seduce her?
    “Don’t worry. There’s no sex,” he said.
    Her blush deepened, but at least she had some color on her face. At last she moved and got on the bed, but instead of lying on her back she kept her body sideways as her head fell on the pillow. He pulled the sheet and covered her. They would need that thin layer of fabric to keep their skin from touching.
    He molded his body behind hers, and snaked an arm over her side. She was tense; he didn’t need to touch her neck to feel its stiffness. Her shoulders went so rigid they stretched the fabric of the nightgown. He caressed her bare arm, sliding his fingers up and down her prickled flesh. “My mother had lupus when I was a teenager. She was always sick, and we didn’t have much money. In the beginning, I would go to her bed and hug her like this.”
    She sagged into him, and he sighed with relief. Finally, she was relaxing, and his plan was working. “I’m sorry. Must have been hard for a teen to deal.”
    “It’s okay. I didn’t mind,” he said, and his voice was carried by an emotion so raw he had to swallow hard—twice—to keep from choking. He held her tighter, and he caught himself breathing into her hair. The blend of warm vanilla with some spicy notes played with his nostrils. “I’ll be here until you fall asleep.”
    She yawned. “You’re not.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “You said you were being selfish in the library. You’re not selfish.”
    He opened his mouth, but hesitated. This should be when he should say that he, too, hadn’t been sleeping after sex. While she was haunted by old memories and a sad past, the recent events had taken a toll on his conscience. He had been selfish—and he was still being. After all, wasn’t he hugging her to put her to sleep so he could feel better about what had happened? “I’m no saint.”
    Another yawn. “I like that about you,” she said, and in a couple minutes, he heard her sound asleep.
    …
    “Are you sure we’re going the right way?” she asked him.
    Leonardo clenched his fingers on the steering wheel of the sedan he rented. He could easily have requested a driver, but he was adamant on doing this his way—and involving the least amount of people. What he couldn’t deal with as easily was the woman in the passenger seat, and