Pictures of You by Barbara Delinsky Page A

to excuse Pierre. He doesn’t say much to beautiful young ladies.”
    As though in answer to the challenge, a deep, harsh voice broke into the discussion. “And where is the beautiful young lady’s husband?” he taunted, his heavy accent barely disguising the undertone.
    Eva knew that she would have to learn to cope with this inevitable question. “My husband is dead,” she stated simply, defiance in her eyes as she met Pierre’s. They definitely rubbed each other the wrong way, Eva knew—a sad way to start an expedition such as this.
    A heavy silence besieged the conversation. At that moment all eyes riveted to the front door as Roberto de Carvalho strode boldly into the house. His mere physical presence dominated all others—a born leader, begrudged Eva, even as he broke the aura of tension which had formed.
    The wide-brimmed hat was gone, laying open his
features for Eva’s inspection. As from the first time she had set eyes on him, she was stunned by his good looks and oozing masculinity. He had not changed his clothes since their encounter upstairs; here, the bright lights emphasized the broad lines of his chest, the leanness of his torso, the power of his denim-clad legs.
    Roberto’s eye caught and held hers for a brief moment, their dark expression an enigma to Eva. Fearing the rebirth of the stirrings within her, she tore her gaze from him, diverting it to Paul in subtle suggestion. But it was Roberto who spoke first, taking the lead as she knew he would, in his smoothly commanding tone.
    â€œI assume that everyone has met. I’ve just made a final check on our supplies; everything seems to be in order. We’ll have dinner now. While we eat I can fill you in on the details of our expedition and answer any questions you may have.” Having thus said his piece, he added, “Please follow me,” and headed through the doorway.
    The group filed one by one down the long, narrow hall toward the furthermost area of the house, the customary placement of the kitchen in the tropics to isolate the heat of cooking as much as possible from the other rooms. Roberto had gone first; Eva managed, in spite of gentlemanly gestures by the others, to maneuver the two Frenchmen ahead of her, putting a much-needed buffer between Roberto and herself.
    The kitchen was a spacious room, dominated by open windows, wide countertops, and a large rectangular table set in the middle. Eva was immediately enchanted by it, admiring the feeling of ease, openness, and relaxation which it urged. And adding to her pleasure was the sight of the lovely little woman, her own guardian angel, she mused, who had been so kind to her earlier. From her position before the cast-iron stove, this plump figure threw Eva a friendly smile and
secretive wink before turning her attention back to the food she was busily spooning into serving dishes. Without a moment’s hesitation, Eva moved forward to lend a hand with the transfer of the food to the table, when she was abruptly caught by the elbow and firmly escorted to a place at the table. Silent but questioning eyes traced the arm from her elbow up past a sinewy shoulder into the face of Roberto, whose oddly fierce expression bade her sit before he forced her down himself. Annoyed by his interference—but in truth more puzzled by his apparent impatience with her—she sat, thereby permitting the others, with what she thought was inappropriate formality, to do the same.
    The tempting aroma wafting from the freshly prepared food startled Eva with the realization of how hungry she was. The last food she had eaten had been the early lunch airborne between Rio and Belo. How much had happened between then and now! But Eva was determined not to let her thoughts get bogged down again, so she turned her concentration to the food and the company.
    Throughout the meal Roberto graciously played the host, explaining the nature and origin of each local dish,