Page 25 of Thiago (Family Ties #6)
Chapter Twenty-Five
B efore India and Thiago reached the lobby, his brother sent a photo of the newest member of the Connor-Santana clan—a red-faced little girl, eyes closed and swaddled in a white blanket.
“She’s adorable. She has the right name. She looks like an angel,” India said, returning Thiago’s phone to him.
“Yes, she does,” he agreed, taking one last look before tucking the phone in his pocket.
Their driver, Bernardo, was waiting in the lobby. He was a tall, slender man with chestnut-brown skin.
“ Bom dia ,” he greeted them.
Then he led the way to a white air-conditioned vehicle and opened the door so they could slide into the back.
On the way to their first destination, India took photos of Rio de Janeiro in all its colorful, noisy glory.
She captured bougainvillea spilling over balconies in public and private spaces, entrepreneurs selling street food under bright umbrellas on the sidewalks, and the art painted on the sides of buildings.
Their first stop was the Christ the Redeemer statue atop Corcovado Mountain.
Bernardo dropped them near the ticket entrance, where vendors were selling inexpensive souvenirs.
India purchased a few items before she and Thiago took the tram to the top.
It transported them through the Tijuca National Forest, one of the largest urban forests in the world.
When they arrived at the summit with the other passengers, the statue loomed high above them, impossibly tall with its arms stretched wide.
Beneath the clear blue sky, the white stone appeared to glow.
With visitors milling around, India tipped back her head and stared up at the magnificent structure.
Excluding the pedestal, it was 98 feet high and was the largest Art Deco-type sculpture in the world.
Thiago stepped up beside her. “Incredible, no?”
“Incredible doesn’t begin to describe it,” India replied.
“Stay there. I’ll be your photographer.”
He took her phone and crouched down to capture the monument above while she struck a pose. They took additional photos with her near the railing, with Rio sprawled behind her, and then it was time to move on.
Their next stop was Escadaria Selarón, a tiled staircase in the Lapa neighborhood, whose popularity exploded after the music video “Beautiful” by Pharrell Williams. The design was a gift from Chilean artist Jorge Selarón to the Brazilian people.
The steps blazed with color, each riser decorated with mismatched tiles in bright reds, yellows, and blues.
Some were painted with flags, while others contained faces or patterns.
India’s artistic eye appreciated the complexity of the project. Trailing her fingers along the cool ceramic, she marveled at how chaotic yet harmonious the combination of colors appeared.
“The design reminds me of a quilt. I want a couple of photos on the steps,” she said, handing Thiago her phone.
She waited for a couple to finish snapping their pictures and then sat on the step they had abandoned.
Thiago crouched low, capturing her against the rainbow of colors. After several clicks, he showed her the images.
“I like these better than the ones at Corcovado Mountain,” he commented.
“I do too,” she agreed.
Taking her hand, Thiago then led her around the artsy neighborhood, where they browsed the small stores lining the streets.
India spent extra time in one shop in particular where they sold unframed art and handmade jewelry.
She bought rings and bracelets for herself and Kiara and a couple of prints to hang on the wall at home.
She purchased souvenir T-shirts for Josh and her godsons at another location.
Their leisurely walk took them to the Metropolitan Cathedral of Saint Sebastian. Completed in 1979, it was the seat of the Archdiocese of Rio de Janeiro, and its majestic design was inspired by the Mayan pyramids.
When they stepped inside, Thiago dipped his fingers in the holy water at the front and traced the sign of the cross over his forehead, chest, and shoulders, quietly adding, “En el nombre del Padre, del Hijo, y del Espíritu Santo .”
India was struck by his reverent tone—in stark contrast to the clipped precision of his business voice—and the humility demonstrated by his bowed head.
He was different. Still powerful but softened by the ritual.
She was witnessing yet another facet of his personality and felt a twinge of shame at how she had casually dismissed his faith two days before.
When they ventured deeper inside, she gasped at the gorgeous stained glass windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling.
“This is huge,” she said in a hushed voice, looking around in wonder at the vast open space.
“The sanctuary holds up to 20,000 people,” Thiago said, keeping his voice equally low and respectful.
They didn’t take photos there, and after they left, they walked to a nearby restaurant for lunch. Afterward, Bernardo picked them up for the final destination on their day-long tour—Sugarloaf Mountain.
Located at the mouth of Guanabara Bay, a trip to the top offered panoramic views of the city and the water beyond. As the cable car carried them to the granite peak, India clutched the railing, a little nervous when the ground fell away beneath them.
From behind, Thiago placed a hand on either side of her on the railing. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” he asked, his voice a low rumble in her ear.
“I never thought so until this very moment.” India laughed nervously, her fingers tightening on the steel bar.
“Don’t worry. Thousands of people take this trip every day. It is perfectly safe,” Thiago said, amusement lacing his voice.
When the cable car stopped, and they stepped out, India decided the view at the top was worth her accelerated heartbeat. As the wind whipped around them, she inhaled a deep breath and sighed. “Wow.”
Thiago slipped an arm around her waist. “ Esto es Rio .”
India lost track of how much time they spent up there.
As they admired the view, Thiago pointed out Copacabana Beach, Christ the Redeemer, the blue water of the Atlantic, and the jagged mountains rising in the distance.
They took plenty of photos and then had drinks at one of the restaurants before heading back down the mountain.
As Bernardo drove them back to the hotel, India nestled against Thiago in the back seat, scrolling through the pictures on her phone.
Each image held a piece of the day—her smiling beneath Christ the Redeemer, sitting on the tiled steps, and finally holding tight to the hat on her head as the wind whipped around them on Sugarloaf Mountain.
This short trip had been exactly what she needed, and she wished they had more time.
At the hotel, they showered and changed clothes, then went downstairs to the poolside bar and enjoyed pre-dinner drinks while people-watching. Later, when they caught a taxi to a restaurant down the beach, the sun had dipped low, painting the city in amber and fiery red.
Like a typical churrascaria, the establishment was bustling with servers in crisp uniforms moving between the tables with skewers of sizzling meat.
This particular location, however, featured a buffet with an incredible array of seafood, such as moqueca , a Brazilian fish stew, grilled fish, huge shrimp, mussels, and more.
They ate until full, with Thiago teasing India after she surrendered her plate while he went back for thirds.
Night had fallen by the time they left, the strip along Copacabana Beach lit up by street lamps and the glow of lights from cars and buildings running parallel to the water.
“Let’s walk back,” India suggested.
Thiago frowned. “Our hotel is more than a mile away,” he said, concern in his eyes.
“So? It’s our last night in Rio, and I want to walk along the beach.” Instead of waiting, she took off without him.
“A mile is too much after such a long day,” Thiago called after her, following at a slower pace.
India glanced over her shoulder. “I can handle it.”
After a few feet, she looked back again. Thiago was strolling along, his hands tucked into his pants pockets.
“Can’t keep up?” she teased.
“I’m enjoying the view,” he replied, his eyes sparkling.
India pouted. “I don’t want to walk alone.”
He quickened his pace to walk beside her. “If you get tired, I’ll carry you.”
“Deal.”
They removed their shoes and let them dangle from their fingers. Side by side, they strolled the length of the beach, the cool grains sliding between India’s painted toes. The breeze rustled Thiago’s hair and whipped the hem of her dress around her calves.
Along the way, they encountered other pedestrians—a couple walking their dog on a leash, friends laughing and talking animatedly, kids running toward them ahead of their parents.
Nearing the Copacabana Palace, India remarked, “See, we’re almost back at the hotel. You were worried for no reason.”
“I am still worried,” Thiago said without hesitation. “If you so much as stumble, I will throw you over my shoulder.”
She laughed. “Like a caveman?”
He gave her a half-smile, his eyes glinting with humor. “You would complain the whole time, but I would ignore you because I know you’d secretly love it.”
She sighed dramatically. “Your arrogance knows no bounds.”
“Am I wrong?” he asked, his voice carrying easily over the roar of the surf.
“I’m not answering.”
“Then the answer is yes,” he said with confidence, taking her hand.
His gaze swept over her face, sending a flutter through her chest. Her body knew what was coming and wanted it.
They put on their shoes and, hand in hand, walked onto the boardwalk.
At a lull in the traffic, they hurried across the street to their hotel.
The elevator was almost full of guests when India squeezed in, followed by Thiago.
The throbbing between her thighs heightened now they were almost to the room.
Thiago’s fingers brushed hers, a quietly intimate move no one else saw, which turned the throbbing into a deep-seated ache.
The ride up seemed to take forever, the cabin stopping several times to let passengers off on lower floors. By the time she and Thiago arrived at their room, heat had spread throughout her limbs, and her stomach clenched.
Thiago lifted her from the floor and sank into an armchair. India straddled his thighs, his hard length pressing against her core, deepening the aching need to be taken by him.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Are you sure...?”
India undid his belt. “I’m fine. I promise.”
She pressed her lips to his, and Thiago held her face, kissing her long and deep. His lips slipped hungrily over hers, his tongue delving into her mouth to dominate and possess.
As the fingers of his hand slipped into her hair, India lowered the zipper on his pants. Lifting up on her knees, she shoved aside the crotch of her panties and settled onto his hard dick, moaning her relief.
Her body stretched around his girth, and she began to ride him in a desperate race to ecstasy. Thiago groaned in response, gripping her hips and undulating his pelvis beneath her so their bodies moved in time to a silent, erotic rhythm.
Wrapping her arms around him, India moaned louder, squeezing her eyes shut as his soft mouth and the drag of his beard caressed her sensitive throat.
Her lips parted on breathless pants as she pumped harder. This was the closest she could come to telling him about her true feelings without actually whispering words of love.
She was an ambitious, independent woman who had fallen in love with her boss—not her brightest move to date. She had surrendered her heart to a gruff, arrogant man who didn’t even want it.
But until he pushed her away, she would savor every moment in his arms, including this one, where he had her body on fire. Where his lips stoked desire and made every inch of her ache for relief.
When she came, it was sudden and forceful. His name fell from her tongue in a husky scream of surrender. Thiago’s mouth covered hers. He swallowed her cries as their bodies bucked against each other.
Finally, India buried her face in his neck, her arms squeezing tight as spasms rocked through her in the aftermath of her orgasm.
Every time with him felt like the first time. This was where she belonged—wrapped in the arms of this man, Thiago.
No one else would ever do.