Chapter One

Adam and I were still blissfully happy twenty-four hours after our wedding. Everything had been absolutely perfect. Well, the Elvis impersonator who married us was a bit odd, but hey, he was a last-minute substitute for our own rabbi who had food poisoning. It was Las Vegas after all. And, of course, the wedding night wasn’t what we had planned. The reception had been exhausting, so exhausting, in fact, that rather than fulfill our naughty fantasy of playing harem girl and desert sheik in our Moroccan-themed hotel room, we had, instead, fallen fast asleep without even a quickie.

It’s not like we hadn’t been getting freaky on a regular basis before we were married, but it was our wedding night, in a room that looked like a harem tent. I had even taken belly dancing lessons. We had also taken a week off from our regular amorous adventures, so that by our wedding night, we would be very much “in the mood.” What’s that old Yiddish saying, “Man plans and God laughs?” Oh well, at least the wedding and reception had been wonderful, and we were finally married and on our way to our dream honeymoon in Rio de Janeiro.

We had slept late, very late, and by the time we had gotten up, we needed to pack, check out, and say goodbye to friends and family before heading to the airport. We hadn’t even had time to eat breakfast. And so, here were, at McCarran International, newlyweds Adam and Lily Roth, two twenty-something, attractive, if rumpled, lawyers from Philly, waiting to board our fifteen hour flight to paradise. We were slumped down in uncomfortable vinyl chairs, watching out a window as airline personnel abused people’s luggage, when my stomach started to rumble. Adam glanced over at me and smiled.

“There are dubious noises emitting from your stomach, Mrs. Roth.”

“I guess the saltine I had for breakfast wasn’t quite enough to tide me over. I suppose I should grab something,” I replied, turning and craning my neck to see past the man in the seat behind me. “There’s probably a fast-food joint close-by.”

“Burger Hut,” the stranger answered, looking up from his copy of Jugs and pointing off in the distance.  He sniffed his armpit. What a catch. I tried not to cringe as I thanked our eavesdropper. Even though I had just lost most of my appetite, I knew I had to eat something. Adam and I got up and quickly found the Burger Hut in question.

“I know it’s not your first choice, but it’ll do, and least there’s no line,” he said as we walked up to the sole cashier on duty. His nametag said “Skippy,” but he looked more like a “Vlad” or an “Igor.”

“Um, I’ll have the grilled chicken sandwich,” I said, figuring that looked sort of healthy, or at least not too toxic.

“Grilllllled Chicken,” Skippy repeated, leaning in and speaking into a microphone.  I glanced up at the kitchen area, which was in plain view. Nobody was there.

“And a diet coke please.” I furrowed my brows.

“Diet Coke. And you, sir?”

“I’ll have the double cheeseburger meal with Coke,” Adam answered.

“Nnndouble,” Skippy repeated into the microphone. Again, I scanned the kitchen for signs of life and found none. Who in the hell was he talking to?

“Fries with that, sir?”

“Uh, onion rings,” Adam answered, raising an eyebrow. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who found it odd.

“Onion rrrings,” our helpful Burger Hut employee said in the microphone.

“Who are you talking to?” Adam asked, sounding as puzzled as I was.

“Huh?” Skippy turned around and looked into the kitchen himself. “Oh crud,” he mumbled and stormed over to pound on a steel door. “Dwayne! What are you, living in that bathroom?”

AND there went the rest of my appetite. I knew I had to eat something, though. Five minutes later, the mysterious Dwayne had still not reappeared, but we were the proud owners of an order of onion rings MacGyvered by Skippy. Grilled chicken and double cheeseburgers, however, were apparently beyond his expertise. We went and found a place to sit, and I picked at my lunch, suspiciously.

“Are onion rings supposed to be charbroiled?” I realized Adam was just sitting there and I glanced up at him. He was staring at me and smiling. “What?” I asked.

“We’re married. You’re my wife. I have a wife.” He sounded amazed.

“You’re just realizing that now?” I teased, looking up at my handsome husband. His dark hair was kind of messy; his deep brown eyes looked tired, and he needed a shave, but the sight of him still made me tingle.

“It’s just sinking in.  We haven’t consummated our marriage yet, though,” he said in a husky voice, and the tingling grew stronger.

“What, are you thinking about getting an annulment?”

“No! I’m thinking about consummating our marriage.” His look intensified and I shivered. I wanted him so badly.

“At a Burger Hut at the airport?” I asked coyly.

“In Rio. Our hotel room has a balcony overlooking the beach. I’m thinking balcony sex.”

“It’s only a little Juliet balcony, not big enough for balcony sex. Sorry.”

“I don’t care where at this point. I just really need to get laid.”

“Me too. And we’ve got fifteen hours on the plane to think about it.” I stared at his sexy mouth and tried not to think of what superpowers it possessed when placed between my thighs.

“Maybe we should join the Mile High Club,” he said, biting into a blackened onion ring and wincing a little.

“No way am I consummating our marriage in a public restroom.” Yes, I wanted him, but I really didn’t want to associate port-a-potty smells with sexual arousal.

“Just a thought.”

“Rio,” I replied, filling the word with sensual promises.

              Forty-five minutes, and a case of indigestion later, we finally boarded our plane. When arrived at our row of seats, though, we were in for a surprise. There were three seats in our row and Mr. Jugs was settled in the middle one. For the first time, Adam and I took a close look at our tickets and realized that he was A aisle and I was C window.

              “Uh, pardon me.” I gave Jugs what I hoped was a friendly smile. “We’re on our honeymoon.”

              “Congratulations.”

              “Thanks. Um, we would really love to sit together. Would you mind trading?”

              “You’re not supposed to do that,” Jugs answered without looking up from the copy of the inflight magazine that he seemed fascinated by.

              “Okay, but what difference would it make?”

              “I don’t like the window. It makes me airsick.” He tore his attention away from the map of the airport in Buenos Aires and gave me a petulant look.

              “Well, then take the aisle,” I said, smiling through clenched teeth, as the line of people behind me began to grumble.

              “People walking past brush against you. It skeeves me out.” He had to be kidding.

              “You read Jugs magazine and sniff your pits and people brushing against you skeeves you out?” I growled.  Adam finally intervened, taking my arm and gently pushing me aside before I lunged for Mr. Seat B’s jugular.

              “Dude, either move into that aisle seat, or I’m going brush against you for fifteen hours nonstop.” Jugs gave us a hostile look and stood up. Adam slid into the window seat and I took the middle. We situated ourselves and as we prepared for takeoff our flight attendant, Melody, gave us our instructions, assisted by her colleague, Agnes.

              “Okay now everyone, may I have your attention please,” Melody said in a chipper voice. “Your seat cushions can be used as floatation devices in the event of a water landing, and you can even keep them, at no extra charge.” She gave us a sunny smile.

              Agnes, who looked rather like Mr. Burns from the Simpsons, was less sunny. “All right, people, listen up, to operate your seat belt, insert the metal tab into the buckle, and pull tight. If you can’t handle that, you probably shouldn't be out in public unsupervised.”

“Smoking on this flight is prohibited,” Melody warned, shaking her finger like Glenda, The Good Witch of the North. “Anyone caught smoking in the lavatory will be asked to leave the plane.”

“At thirty thousand feet?” Adam whispered in my ear. “That’s pretty harsh.” I snorted loudly, earning myself a reproving look from Melody and a sneer from Agnes, who went on, once again, exuding warmth and charm.

“In the event of a sudden loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks will drop from the ceiling. Stop screaming, grab the mask, and pull it over your face before helping children … or adults acting like children. If you are traveling with two small children, decide now which one you love more. Now, there may be 50 ways to leave your lover, honey, but there are only 4 ways off this plane, so pay attention for real…”

When the Melody and Agnes show was over, our captain’s voice came over the intercom giving us the details of the trip. I loved his big finish. “And, in conclusion, we would like to let you know that this airline employs some of the best flight attendants in the industry, although none of them are actually on this flight.”

It was probably the longest fifteen hours of our lives.  The inflight movie had “Part Twelve” after the title, which should tell you something. Mr. Jugs snored like a banshee, and our “dinner” was so meager it wouldn’t have satisfied Adam’s four year-old nephew. Even worse, the tiny bit there was of it tasted like cardboard, and I nearly chipped a tooth on something brown. It might have been gravy.

“Are you going to eat that peanut?” I asked a few hours later, mouth watering as I eyed up one lonely little left over scrap of food on the corner of Adam’s seat tray.

“I picked it up off the floor.”

“I don’t care.”

“I was saving it for later, but, it’s yours, as a demonstration of my devotion,” he held it out to me tenderly and I started getting misty-eyed.

“Let’s share it,” I said, putting my love him before my survival instinct. I accepted our precious morsel like I was accepting a fine gem.  “Okay, I’m just going break it in half.”

“Be careful for God’s sake.” I saw a bead of sweat form on his brow, and from his tone, you would have thought I was defusing a bomb.

Just as I positioned my pincer grasp around the peanut, the nut in the seat next to me, who was still fast asleep with his mouth wide open, let out a snore that sounded like a Harley Davidson backfiring. Then, it was like everything happened in slow motion. I startled and my fingers came apart as I flung the peanut. Our eyes followed its upward trajectory, and Adam cried, “Nnooooo!” as we watched our snack fly above seat, execute a lovely arch, and fall into the crack between the seats in front of us. There was a moment of stunned silence and then I leaned forward, searching desperately, refusing to give up hope!

“I see it! It’s on the floor in front of you.” Adam didn’t hesitate. He immediately tried to squeeze his six foot two frame into position to retrieve our lost treasure, but it wasn’t working despite the fact that he was twisted into a position that would have made a circus contortionist jealous. “How did you get it off the floor before?” I asked on the verge of panic.

“It was closer to you. You’re smaller than I am. You try.”

I answered his call, and sprung into action. Trying to get to the floor, I leaned across his lap, squirming and writhing. “Grab my waist,” I ordered. He did as I thrust against him trying to reach the final quarter inch.

“Oh God, Lily,” he said, and I noticed his voice sounded husky. Before I could contemplate that too deeply, though, my fingers closed on the peanut.

“I got it,” I cried excitedly, pulling myself back up. When I gazed at him triumphantly, I saw his that eyes looked dark and slightly hazy. I knew that look. I glanced down and saw that I definitely had his attention.

“I’m glad you got it, baby,” he said, sounding pained.

“Oh, Adam. Let me get a blanket from overhead.”

“Are you cold?” he asked, looking puzzled.

“No. I’ll help you.” I stared down at the tent in his lap significantly.

“No. Not here. You were right. Our first intimate act as a married couple is not going to be a quickie in the john, or a hand-job under a blanket. I can wait a few hours to make love to my wife properly.”

“Okay,” I answered, trying not to get depressed even though we were starving and I had given my already sexually deprived husband a boner halfway through a fifteen-hour flight.

Somehow, we survived.  I like to think it was our love that carried us through the ordeal. By the time we got to Rio, though, a little afraid of commercial airline travel.

Chapter Two

              The gorgeous Copacabana Palace was one of the most famous hotels in the world, and somehow, my friend Bruce had managed to get Adam and me a room here on fairly short notice and at an affordable price. How a law librarian had pulled that off was a mystery. I would suspect he had sold his soul to the devil to pull this off, except everyone knew Bruce was undoubtedly going to Hell anyway.

              I tried not to gawk as we entered the ornate, Art Deco lobby. We went up to the front desk to check in and, immediately, it was like a siren had gone off.  The desk clerk’s face lit up and bellman appeared out of nowhere. I almost expected them to break into song.

              “The Roths!  The Roths have arrived!” our clerk announced, as if he were announcing the arrival of movie stars.  I wondered if he had mistaken us for the Rothschilds, or David Lee Roth, or someone besides two tired lawyers from Philly.

              “That’s Adam and Lily Roth,” I pointed out helpfully.

              “Yes, and do not worry, Mrs. Roth,” he said leaning in and looking around as if he were imparting confidential information. “Nobody will bother you, even though you are the famous novelist, Lilah Alden.”

              “Famous? Uh, well, yes, I do write romance novels under the pen name …”

              “How did you know who she was?” Adam interrupted suddenly.

              “Your agent, Mr. Weiss, ‘tipped us off,’ as you say.”

              “My agent?” I laughed. “Bruce is …”

              “Most thoughtful to have let you know in advance,” Adam broke in again. “So, uh, have you made any special accommodations for us?”

              “But of course, we have upgraded you to the penthouse suites, at no extra charge.  There are only seven, and only two are occupied at present. You will have your own private terrace overlooking beautiful Copacabana Beach.”

              “Private terrace?” Adam asked looking like he might jump for joy.  “Wow, that’s even better than a balcony.” He smiled, undoubtedly picturing some wild terrace sex.

              “We have also scheduled some special activities, some publicity, for you, and for the hotel. You will enjoy them very much.”

              “May I have a word with my husband privately for a moment?” I asked with a friendly smile, pulling Adam off to the side and leaning in closely to speak to him. “Adam, they think I’m some big Bestselling author.”

              “You are a Bestselling author.”

              “My books have been Bestsellers in the Women’s Fiction, Erotic, Romantic, American Saga category. I don’t think most people would consider me a big famous author.”

              “That’s just because you’re an independent author, and fewer people know about your books, but you get amazing reviews and you have lots of fans.”

              “Well, first of all, that answer just earned you a whole lot of sex, but secondly, that’s not the point.  The point is, it would be dishonest not to explain to them that I’m not really famous.”

              “Lily, you didn’t ask for an upgrade, and they could easily check their facts.  Besides, he said that only two are occupied.”

“What about the special stuff they scheduled?”

“He said the hotel would get publicity out of it too.”

              “If I were famous!”

              “They’ll say you’re famous and nobody will question it. What do you think, the Holiday Inn people are going to ‘out you’ as act of revenge?”

              “I don’t know …”

“We’re only staying here for one night before we move on to Buzios.  What would it hurt if for one night, on your honeymoon, you got the first class treatment you deserved?”

              “Well, when you put it that way. I’ll agree if, when we check out, we pay the difference in hotel rate.  That way we didn’t cheat them on the room cost, okay?”

              “Okay, it’s a deal.” He paused, looking deeply into my eyes. “Lily, tonight on our private terrace, under the moonlight, overlooking the beach in Rio, I’m going to make you my wife officially, and then I’m going make come so hard you’re going forget your name.”

I took a deep breath and followed Adam back to the front desk, where we now encountered a crowd. Joining our desk clerk were a handsome man with salt and pepper hair and nice green eyes, along with an attractive blonde and brunette.

              “Hello, I am Marcelo, the manager of the Copacabana Palace.” He took one of my hands in both of his warmly. Apparently, it was too warmly for Adam’s taste, and he elbowed his way in to pump Marcelo’s arm hard enough to dislocate his shoulder.

              “Attorney Adam Roth, I’m Mrs. Roth’s husband,” Adam said in a slightly menacing tone. Mr. Roth was Mrs. Roth’s husband. Imagine that.

              “Hello,” the blonde woman greeted us warmly. “I’m Flavia and this is my colleague Meire, and we’re literary agents here in Brazil. Your North American agent, Mr. Weiss, contacted us to let us know were coming.”

“We’re very excited to have such a popular author visiting us,” the brunette, Meire added. They did seem very nice, but Brazilian literary agents? This was starting to get out of control. I was going to kill Bruce. But how could they not know?

“You’re literary agents?  And you took Bruce’s word for it that I’m a well-known author?” Even Adam didn’t intervene this time. This was getting a little weird.

“We didn’t have to,” Flavia answered. “We were familiar with your books. They’re very popular among the English translations in Erotic Romance here. You didn’t know that?”

“Um, to be honest, I never really understood the international sales stuff very well,” I admitted, feeling simultaneously like an idiot and an ugly American. That was the moment that I resolved to do a better job appreciating my readers in other countries.

“Well, perhaps we can help you with it,” Meire said, glancing at her partner. “We would be interested in representing you, which is why we would love to see you get plenty of publicity before you move on to Buzios.”

“Okay, I’m thrilled, but this our honeymoon, you know?” I looked over Adam, feeling a little guilty.

“We’re going to a small romantic city tomorrow,” he said, reaching up and tucking a strand of my long, wavy brown hair behind my ear.  “We’ll have plenty of time to ourselves then. I would like to see you get the big author treatment for a day.”

“Thank you,” I whispered and my heart swelled with love for this man who cared so much about me. “I want to connect with Brazilian readers while I’m here. Show them that I’m interested in their city and their culture,” I said turning back to the agents. “Can we do that?”

“Of course! Let’s get going then!” Flavia said enthusiastically. “We don’t have much time and there is a pre-Carnival Ball tonight here at the Copa. They’re famous. You’ll love it.”

“A ball? But we didn’t pack …” I began.

“Not a problem,” Marcelo broke in, snapping his fingers.  A concierge appeared and wrote down our sizes. There would be clothes for the ball waiting for us when we got in. It was like a scene out of a Disney movie, but without the talking animals or the dead parent. I have to admit, I liked the famous author treatment.

Chapter Three

              Marcelo bid us goodbye and Flavia and Meire agreed to meet us in the lobby in half an hour. We checked our penthouse suit. It was beautiful. There was a spacious sitting room done in sage green and cream. The bathroom had a separate shower and deep whirlpool tub, easily big enough for two. The bedroom had a luxuriant-looking king-sized bed, and stretching along both the sitting room and the bedroom was the promised private terrace overlooking Copacabana beach. I had never stayed anywhere so luxurious or exotic. 

I stood for a moment feeling the breeze against my face and taking in the view, as I sighed a happy sigh. Even though Adam and I were tired, I still felt filled with excitement and anticipation. I felt my husband come up behind me and put his arms around my waist.

              “I can’t wait to see how your bare skin looks in the moonlight tonight,” he whispered provocatively in my ear and began kissing my neck. My belly clenched and a wave of rolled through, heading southward. He was making me ache for him.

              “Thank you for not minding the publicity stuff. I know you must be as tired and hungry and horny as I am.”

              “We’ll eat. We’ll nap. And we’ll make up for last night. All night.” I sighed with contentment. I knew he was a man of his word. We returned inside, hand-in-hand, unpacked and made our way down to meet our guides.

Both of us were starving, and we had agreed that food would be our top priority. Marcelo insisted that lunch be on the hotel. Even though the restaurants at the Copacabana Palace were world-famous, I had now fully embraced the idea of connecting with the Brazilian people. I wanted to eat Brazilian food, not French or Italian, no matter how good. Luckily, there was also a restaurant called Siri Mole that served traditional Brazilian dishes.

              “I’m in the mood for fish, but some Brazilian recipe,” I explained. “While I’m here, I want to sample the local cuisine.”

              “Well, there’s Moqueca, but it’s very spicy,” Meire suggested.

              “I like spicy,” I replied with a flirtatious glance at Adam, and the naïveté that only an American tourist can truly exhibit.

We placed our orders and went over our itinerary for the day. We would take a trip in a cable car up to Sugarloaf Mountain, where a photographer would take some pictures. Then we would come back down and get ready for the ball that night.  Our food arrived, accompanied by a photographer who the hotel had sent.  He set up next to us and I posed signing a copy of my book. It made me feel almost giddy.

A young woman came over, and Flavia explained that her name was Ana, and she was a fan of mine who they knew.  She spoke English very well, and the photographer kept shooting as I chatted with her. At one point, I glanced up at Adam and saw him watching me and looking happy and proud. I smiled and took a big bite of my Moqeca. Then, I nearly passed out. 

Here’s a traveler’s tip for you, when a native of a foreign land warns you that a local dish is hot, assume it’s closer to lava-like. You don’t understand hot just because you’ve had the spicy Buffalo wings at the local pub. Trust me.

My eyes filled with tears, but I couldn’t do anything, because the photographer was shooting and Flavia, Meire and Ana were all watching.  So I valiantly tried to hide the fact that I was eating a fish prepared with a nuclear level hot sauce. I smiled and calmly finished off my water. And then Adam’s water. And then Flavia and Meire’s water. And then the guy at the next table’s water. The Brazilians looked a little surprised, but they were very classy ladies, and so they just requested more water. Ana moved on to let us eat in peace. And I use that term loosely, because there was nothing peaceful going on in my mouth.

A plate of “God almighty that’s a spicy fish” and three pitchers of water later, the photographer had mercifully moved on as well.  We finished up and left for our trip to Sugarloaf. Traveler’s tip number two, don’t drink three pitchers of water before taking a cable car ride to the top of a mountain. I think you can probably figure out why.

              If you ever get to Rio, you really need to take this ride. The view from the cable car and the top of Sugarloaf Mountain is simply breathtaking. I’ll never forget the experience, and not just because I almost suffered a ruptured bladder and renal failure trying to avoid an unfortunate accident in a crowded cable car at thousands of feet in the air.  Luckily, they have facilities on the mountain. I just had to get to the mountain.

I was beyond good manners by the time we arrived, and so I was a bit pushy trying to get off the cable car. Just as I made it to the door, the guy in front of me dropped his bag and a bunch of magazines spilled out. I looked down in distress at the copy of Jugs and an inflight magazine and a completely irrational rage came over me.

“You!” I growled, shoving him forward with the force of a Berserker. What, did he carry a fucking newsstand full of weird magazines with him everywhere?

“Hey!” he said grumpily and then scratched his balls with one hand and picked his nose with the other. I vaulted over a small child to get around him without actually touching him.

Landing on the other side, I blindly tossed tourists of various nationalities out of my way, with my husband, two agents and a photographer hot on my heels. By the grace of God, I did make it to a restroom on time.  Just to find out there was no toilet paper.

It did get better from there. Adam managed somehow to explain my actions enough to avoid causing an international incident. I believe there was a whispered mention of some medical issue. We spent half an hour up there looking out over Rio as the photographer snapped away and fellow travelers looked on curiously. One approached tentatively and asked Flavia something in Portuguese. When she answered “Lilah Alden” the other woman got all excited and asked for my autograph.  It felt really weird, but really good.

Just before it was time to go back, the two agents gave Adam and me a moment alone. I stood at a railing, gazing out in wonder. The dark blue ocean, and the golden sands of Ipanema spread out in front of us, bordered by the bustling sights of Rio de Janeiro.

“Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” I asked Adam, who was standing beside me.

“No,” he answered simply, and something in his tone made me look up. He was looking at me.  My stomach flipped over and I felt my eyes fill with tears. He bent his head down and kissed me gently on the lips, lingering there for a moment, and I took a mental snapshot because I knew I would be adding that memory the my collection. It was an incredible afternoon.

Chapter Four

              When we made it back to the hotel, we had no choice but to collapse into an exhausted heap on our luxurious bed, which incidentally, was just as comfortable as it looked. We slept soundly for a few hours, until a knock at the door woke us.  Adam got up and went over to answer. Our ball gown and tuxedo had arrived.

              I have to admit, I was a little surprised to see the faux leopard skin dress with the plunging neckline and the huge slit up the front, but not as surprised as I was to see the rhinestone tiara. Now, I’m not a fashion coinsurer, but it seemed a little … much. When I slithered into it, that opinion was magnified. Just a little tighter and I would have needed to be greased up to get into it. I shimmied into the sitting room to show Adam. He looked up and his eyes widened.

              “That’s the dress they gave you?” He got up and walked over to check me out as he slowly circled.  “Don’t get me wrong. You look sexy as hell, in a sort of, Miss Porn America way. Hey, maybe it’s a local thing.” He shrugged.

              “Well, you look amazing,” I said, coming over and straightening his bow tie. “I say we just stay for a little while, and then come back up here and check out that terrace by moonlight.”

              “I say, yes,” he answered in a sexy voice and pulled me up against him. He lowered his head, and for the first time in far too many hours, his delicious cinnamon-tasting tongue invaded my mouth and rubbed sensually up against mine. I sighed and felt goose bumps form on my arms as a shiver of delight ran through me. And then we were interrupted, of course. 

The phone began to ring and we stepped apart resignedly. It was Flavia. It was time to go to the ball. We left the room holding hands and took the elevator to the Grand Ballroom. When we arrived, I noticed that the other ladies present, including the two agents, were also dressed in animal print. Apparently, it was a theme, not just an entire nation really into fake leopard skin. Meire explained that it was a party in anticipation of Carnival the following month, and that there would be Samba dancing, which sounded kind of fun. Adam and I enjoyed dancing together, although I wasn’t sure I could handle the Samba.

              “Is there a particular drink I should try?” I asked Flavia and Meire as we sat down to dinner at an elegant table.

              “There are Caipirinhas,” Flavia suggested. “They’re very sweet and fruity.” 

              “Oh, I like fruity drinks!” I smiled. They weren’t just fruity, they were fruity delicious, and I gulped Caipirinhas all through dinner. I assumed that because they were so yummy, that they couldn’t really be that strong. Here’s another traveler’s tip for you, never assume that. Let’s just say I was feeling no pain when the Samba dancers arrived.

              Now if you’ve never seen actual Samba dancers, let me fill you in. Their costumes include feathers, beads and a whole lot of skin. The music is full of primal rhythm and the moves are very sexy.  The dancers came out and started moving around the room and then the party really started and I was ready to party!

A Samba dancer came by, shaking her groove thing, and the next thing I knew I was part of a big group of dancers out on the floor and everyone was cheering me on.  The hotel photographer was back, and he was right there preserving all of it for posterity.  Adam came out and joined me on the floor, and I shook my tipsy American bootie for him shamelessly, with a confidence only alcohol can instill. If Brazilians didn’t know who I was before, they certainly knew me now.

The good thing about vigorous dancing, is that it helps you to burn off alcohol.  The bad thing is, that you may just sober up and find yourself doing something embarrassing. Like dancing the Samba when you’re not a Samba dancer. Adam and I eventually made our way back to the table, where Flavia and Meire were looking very amused.

We stayed a bit longer, and then warmly thanked our new friends for the wonderful day, with promises to be in touch soon to discuss the details of our new partnership. I couldn’t believe that I actually had international literary agents. Hell, I couldn’t believe I even had so many international readers. The photographer took some final photos of me posing by the agents, and with Marcelo, the hotel manager, and then they all left, and Adam and I were alone. Well, alone with all of the drunken revelers floating through the lobby.

It had been an incredible day, being given the celebrity author treatment, eating and drinking at famous restaurants, and seeing amazing sites with our own private tour guides. I smiled thinking about how special all of it was. When I looked up at Adam, though, immediately all of the trappings of my fifteen minutes of fame seemed completely unimportant. What was made this more special than anything else, was that it was our honeymoon. I was enjoying all of these things with the person who I loved more than anyone else in the world. Suddenly, all I wanted to do was to get out of the lobby, and back to our penthouse suite, so that we could finally consummate our marriage on a romantic terrace overlooking the ocean in Rio.

Chapter Five

              When we got back to the room, I took a bath while Adam changed out of his tux. When I emerged, I found him dressed in a thick terry robe that matched my own, and my tummy fluttered with anticipation.  Sugarloaf Mountain was breathtaking, but nothing compared to the sight of Adam Roth without clothing.

The door to the terrace was open, and he came over and took my hand, leading me outside into the warm night air. A candle burned on a small table next to a chaise lounger built for two, and we sat down, cuddled, and held each other close.

              “I love you so much, Adam,” I said with my cheek pressed against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart against the backdrop of the waves crashing on the beach below.

              “I love you too, Lily. It made me happy to see you so happy.  Are you sure you don’t want to try to get published by some big, fancy publishing house in the U.S.?”

              “I like having the freedom to do things my own way at home, but there’s always Brazil.”

              “Probably other countries too. You can be like the David Hasselhoff of Erotic Romance,” he joked, making me giggle.

              “At the moment, I’m much more excited to be Mrs. Adam Roth.”

              He tipped my chin up and leaned down to kiss me. Our tongues entwined with a wave of sensation that was positively sublime. He buried his hands in my hair, and held my head still as his mouth moved against mine and his tongue began to explore more boldly. A soft moan escaped my throat, and it seemed to excite him.

One hand moved downward and slid inside my robe, kneading and teasing my bare breast.  I arched, and pushed against him, dragging my fingers up along the hard muscles of his back, and I noticed that he was breathing heavily. It was such a powerful feeling, knowing that I could excite him so easily. He untied the belt of my robe and slipped on off of my shoulders, breaking our kiss and pulling back to let his eyes travel over my body.

“Beautiful,” he mumbled in a low, thick voice, and then stood up and let his own robe fall to the ground. Standing there with the moonlight shining on those perfectly formed muscles, he gave me a look that set me on fire more than any spicy fish could. My own breathing was pretty noticeable at that point, as I watched him walk around to the back of the lounger and ease back into the fully reclining position.  I laid back and rested on my elbows, waiting for him to join me, and he didn’t keep me waiting.

              Settling beside me, he urged me to lie down and then he covered me with his body, trailing kisses along my jaw and neck, working his way down until he pulled one hard nipple to his warm mouth and began caressing it with his tongue and then sucking vigorously. I gasped and tipped by head back as I began to run my hands along his chest, tracing the hard planes and angles.

              “Adam,” I said on a moan, “let’s make love.” He lifted his head and positioned himself over me, as I parted my legs wider and looked up into his eyes. Then my incredibly sexy husband slid inside me, and I took another mental snapshot, because I knew that was a moment I would always remember too.

And we lived happily ever after…

The End