Passion was never in the bargain
Addison Reed lost her fiancé, but she’ll do whatever it takes to protect his legacy. When the gorgeous and arrogant landowner, Brazilian billionaire Bruno Duarte, who is thwarting her at every turn, refuses to meet with her, she puts her plan into action.
He will listen to her
Bruno’s plan was simple: return to Brazil and marry to fulfill his father’s dying wish. But when his engagement crumbles, and he’s then stranded with an idealistic woman hell-bent on saving a tribe of people on his land, he sees the perfect solution. If his feisty and passionate abductor agrees to a bogus marriage, he’ll relocate the tribe.
With the Brazilian heat rivaling the growing heat of their desire, will Bruno and Addison abandon their respective plans and give in to each other, or will their differences tear them apart?
He watched his homeland through the tinted windows. The dull drive from the airport, which started with cars flying by on the highway lined with run-down businesses, shifted to hectic traffic as they drove into the bustling beach neighborhoods of Copacabana and Ipanema. The driver took the long way, and a slow, nostalgic smile spread across Bruno’s face.
Rio de Janeiro. The stretch of concrete slated between green mountains and the dark blue ocean. Modernity, nature, and beauty all in one place. It was early morning, and as they drove past the beaches, women dressed in small bikinis had already laid their towels and chairs on the white sand. Street vendors sold souvenir knickknacks and colorful embroidered sarongs to the tourists. But the organized chaos vanished from view when he contemplated the sun-dappled, inviting sea.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Addie said, looking over his shoulder.
“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” He turned to her and witnessed a sense of wonder in her eyes.
When she noticed his attention, she quickly shifted in her seat and shook her head. “I was actually talking about the amount of men wearing Speedos.”
He couldn’t avoid a hearty laugh. “It’s best to leave some mystery for the imagination.”
She stared at him. “Or in your case, a lot.”
He broadened his smile. “That’s quite bold for someone who claimed sex is out of the picture. But I’m flattered you’ve noticed.”
She cleared her throat. “I meant your…” She sighed. “I was talking about how mysterious you are.”
He forced his lips down in feigned disappointment, enjoying her uneasiness. “And here I thought you had a change of heart.”
She inhaled and shot him an unforgiving glance, then continued her annoying interview. “Do you come to Rio often?”
“I only came here once.”
“Really? That’s odd. Doesn’t your family live here?”
He squared his shoulders. “They do. But we used to live somewhere else.”
“That doesn’t concern you.” Talking to her was like opening a highly infected virus file and hoping not to lose data.
She shook her head. “So you say. If we are married, aren’t we supposed to know everything about each other?”
“What is it with women and this obsession for knowing everything?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Thirst for knowledge?”
“Then I’ll have to leave you dry.”
“You’re no fun.” She stuck out her tongue.
Oh, the better ways he could use her tongue. “I could show you how much fun I am.”
“Trying to trick me with sex? This does feel like a real marriage.”
So did her habit of disarming him with her sense of humor.
It was his turn to smile. This woman was dangerous.
And he liked it.
Oh, he liked it.
About the Author
Carmen Falcone learned at an early age that fantasizing about fictional characters beats doing math homework any day. Brazilian by birth and traveler by nature, she moved to Central Texas after college and met her broody Swiss husband—living proof that opposites attract. She found in writing her deepest passion and the best excuse to avoid the healthy lifestyle everyone keeps talking about. When she’s not lost in the world of romance, she enjoys spending time with her two kids, being walked by her three crazy pugs, reading, catching up with friends, and chatting with random people in the checkout line.
She loves to procrastinate, so please indulge her and drop her a line at firstname.lastname@example.org.