Master of Her Innocence (Bought by the Brazilian) Read Free Page B

of poetry by John Keats before replacing it where she had found it.
    The prospector called her, sounding impatient. ‘Are you holding a prayer meeting back there? Let’s go, Sister.’
    Clare hurried round to the front of the Jeep and her heart gave a painful lurch when she realised that the briefcase containing the ransom money was no longer where she had left it on the floor of the courtyard.
    ‘Where is my case?’ she demanded in a panic-stricken voice.
    ‘I put it on the front seat.’ The prospector gave her a curious look. ‘Take it easy. What are you carrying in that case that is so valuable—the Crown Jewels?’ he asked in a teasing voice.
    Five hundred thousand pounds to save her sister’s life . Clare swallowed. ‘Books for the Sunday school.’ Technically, it wasn’t a lie. Sister Ann had given her a few prayer books to take to Father Roberto, the priest in Torrente.
    She was relieved to see the briefcase in the front of the Jeep. There was no elegant way of climbing up into the cab. She hitched her nun’s habit up to her knees so that she could put her foot on to the step, and gave a startled gasp when two hands gripped her waist and the prospector lifted her off the ground.
    For a few breathless seconds she was aware of the strength of his arms around her and the imprint of his fingers burned through the stiff fabric of her clothes and set her skin on fire. The scent of sandalwood cologne mixed with his musky maleness stirred her senses, and she felt an inexplicable urge to turn her head and press her lips against the blond stubble on his jaw.
    ‘Thank you, Mr Cazorra,’ she mumbled as he plonked her on to the passenger seat. Her face felt hot with embarrassment that he might have guessed her thoughts.
    ‘Any time,’ he said laconically. ‘My name’s Diego. We’re going to be spending the next forty-eight hours together so let’s drop the formality.’
    ‘Forty-eight hours! Do you mean we won’t reach Torrente today?’ Clare stared at him and her stomach swooped as her eyes were drawn to the lazy curl of his smile. ‘Where will we spend tonight?’
    ‘I usually sleep in the back of the Jeep. Admittedly, it’s not very comfortable for someone of my height, but it does for a night or two.’
    Clare pictured herself and the prospector squashed into the small space and her heart gave a painful jolt. ‘I can’t sleep in the Jeep with you.’
    Diego silently acknowledged the truth of her statement. There was only one reason he would spend a night with a woman and it certainly wasn’t to sleep. Various inappropriate thoughts had run through his mind when he had lifted Sister Clare into the Jeep. His hands had almost spanned her tiny waist and he had been aware of the gentle flare of her hips and the swell of her breasts. He guessed that beneath the voluminous folds of her nun’s habit she had the curvaceous figure of a Pocket Venus, but he would have to curb his imagination or spend the five-hundred-mile journey to Torrente in his current uncomfortable state of arousal.
    ‘There is a settlement on the way to Torrente where we’ll stop tonight. The villagers offer basic accommodation for tourists who want to explore the rainforest.’
    He started the engine and Sister Ann spoke to Clare. ‘Good luck, my dear. I will pray for your safekeeping and for your soul.’
    As the Jeep turned out of the convent grounds Clare was gripped with apprehension that soon she would meet the kidnappers. She felt sad to be leaving the Sisters of the Sacred Heart, knowing she was unlikely to meet them again.
    ‘Good luck?’ Diego questioned. ‘Torrente must be an even worse place than it was the last time I visited the town if the Mother Superior needs to pray for you while you teach at the Sunday school.’
    He glanced at his passenger and wondered why she blushed. The soft stain of colour on her face emphasised the delicate lines of her cheekbones and made her look even lovelier. But something about the