His North Star

He walked 2 miles through shrubby hills and forest patches. At his brisk pace and with long strides, he emerged from a thicket of wild trees just as the sun began to rise.

Nathan smelled the plantation before he saw it. The concentrated odor of orange blossoms reached him from a distance; a seductive honey-floral smell with an edge of earth and greenness. There was nothing like the smell of an orange plantation in the early morning.

Wooden stakes and a wire marked the plantation boundary. He stepped across it in one stride—there was no sign warning against trespassing.

Spread out before him were rows of orange trees, many in blossom. This must be the 'Fazenda dos Anjos', with the sign he'd driven past on his way to the inn.

Nathan slowed his steps to a stroll, heading into the maze of citrus trees. How big was this plantation? 300 hectares? 400, maybe? It would be easy to get lost in it. He made sure to keep heading east. To find his way out, all he'd need to do was walk away from the rising sun.

He walked through the plantation for several minutes uninterrupted, but when he turned into a new row of trees, he saw a figure at the end of the row. A woman?

Nathan slowed some more. Yes, it was a woman. Her body was angled away from him, her face concealed. She was alone, standing under a tree with a basket beside her. She reached to pluck an orange blossom. As Nathan watched, she harvested the blossom and dropped it in her basket.

When she straightened, she noticed him.

Instantly, she froze. Her posture became rigid. She regarded him without speaking.

Nathan stared back, for different reasons. She was probably looking because he was a strange man on her land. He was looking because she was the kind of woman who'd draw the eye of any healthy, red-blooded male.

She had big dark eyes like Bambi's. Brown skin with a copper hue. Tendrils of black hair coiled around her face; escapees from the braided bun at her neck. The breeze flattened her shirt and baggy pants to the contours of her body—a slim body with round curves in all the right places. His eyes lingered on her breasts outlined against her shirt, before returning to her face.

There was a cautious expression in her eyes.

He'd better make it clear that he wasn't a threat to her safety.

Nathan raised his hand in hello, taking slow steps forward. "Oi," he called.

The woman regarded him another moment. "Oi," she echoed, her voice carrying to him. A sweet, cool voice. "Você precisa de ajuda? Se você siga em frente, a pousada fica ao lado esquerdo."

Although he had memorized how to greet people, how to check into hotels, send postcards and order food, he still didn't speak the language. He'd understood virtually nothing of what she'd just said. All he caught were the words 'you' and 'inn.'

If there was any time he'd wished he spoke the language, that time was now. So he could talk with this beautiful young thing. All he could do was tell her he didn't speak Portuguese. With sincere regret, Nathan replied: "Eu não falo Português." To clarify that he was a tourist, he said: "Sou turista."

She paused, scrutinizing him again. "I said that if you go straight ahead, the inn will be on your left. I thought you may have lost your way." Her accent was thick, but very pleasant to the ear.

She could speak English? He could talk to her? Relief made him smile.

"I already know the way to the inn, but thanks. I'm staying there right now. Arrived yesterday. Am I trespassing? There was no sign at the boundary." Nathan stopped a few feet away from her, near the tree she was still standing under.

She didn't return his smile. There was a remote air about her. "We don't get many visitors here, so we don't need signs to keep people away." Her tone stayed cool. She rested a gloved hand on the tree trunk. "My family welcomes everybody. If you don't harm the crop, you can walk around as you like."

Nathan's eyes were on her. Watching her lips move as she spoke. Watching the coils of hair billowing around her face. Watching those limpid dark eyes.

Gorgeous. She was fucking gorgeous.

"Your crops are in no danger from me." He smiled again. "I'm Nathan."

"I'm Marília," she replied. Bending, she picked up her basket. It was filled with orange blossoms. She carried the basket a few steps to the next tree and set it down again. Reaching up with her gloved hands, she resumed harvesting the blossoms.

For a moment, Nathan silently drank in the sight of her. Marília. Her movements were smooth and practiced. As she reached to pluck a blossom, her shirt rode up, giving him a glimpse of her midriff. Smooth coppery-brown skin, a trim waist and a flat stomach.

It would feel good to wrap his hands around that tiny little waist, then move them down to cup her round ass. Enjoy its weight in his hands. Squeeze it as he brought her body closer against his...

Nathan pulled his eyes away from her with difficulty. To give his hands something to do, he slipped them into his jeans pockets. "Your family owns this plantation?" He glanced around.

"We do." Marília examined her handful of blossoms then dropped them in the basket. "For many years now, although most of us now live in the cities." She picked up her basket and walked to the next tree. "Your accent. Are you from New York state?"

"Yeah. Not far from Syracuse." Nathan fell into step beside her, giving her a thoughtful appraisal. Strange that a woman who'd lived her entire life deep in this countryside could speak fluent English and accurately peg his regional accent.

"Do you enjoy living there?" she asked.

"It's okay. I'm really liking this country, though."

Marília regarded him speculatively. Her attitude remained aloof, yet there was no hostility about her. "But why have you come to this region? It's in Rio de Janeiro or São Paulo I expect to find tourists."

"I flew in through Rio and stayed a week. I've been driving through different States since then."

"So you've been in Brasil for a long time?"

"Yeah. Nearly a month now." Nathan matched his stride to hers as they walked to another row of trees. He glanced into her basket. "You harvest only the flowers."

"They're all I need. I leave everything else alone."

Nathan leaned his shoulder on the tree trunk, waiting for her as she harvested the blossoms. "I thought the orange agriculture is your family's business."

"It is," Marília said simply. "But I have no part in it. I'm not a farmer myself. My uncle is. He and his foreman run the plantation, and they do it well. I harvest the blossoms and go my way."

"What do you use them for?"

"Making perfume."

Nathan's brows rose. Huh. That was new. He'd thought he'd met a person for every possible profession, but this was his first time meeting a perfumer. "Any brand I've heard of?"

"Probably not. I sell only locally, but it's enough because everybody here likes perfume. I ship half the bottles to São Salvador for sale in drugstores. I ship the rest to a boutique in Rio. The lady who owns the boutique sells locally-made items to tourists with a 500% price markup."

Surprise made Nathan speechless for a second—and then he laughed aloud. "Five-hundred percent? Shit. Good thing I didn't buy anything in Rio. I bought locally-made gifts, but not there." He ran a hand through his hair, suppressing more laughter. "I'm the wrong person for you to have told that."

Marília didn't crack a smile, but some of her ice seemed to thaw. Her posture became less rigid. "I told you because we've known each other for many years," she said, straight-faced. "I know I can trust you to keep important secrets."

Nathan laughed again, slipping his hands back in his pockets. "Seeing as we're old friends, your secret's safe with me. I'll allow you and your business partner to keep screwing over all the other tourists. I'm okay with the conspiracy as long as I'm in on it."

"I'm glad to hear that." So saying, she picked up her basket. "That there is the last row I'll do this morning." She gestured to a row of trees. They walked to the row, stopped at the first tree, and she continued harvesting. "What of you? What is your work?"

"I'm a resident at a trauma center." Nathan waited to see if she, like most others, would ask for medical advice. He made another slow survey of her hourglass body. Perfect. No visibly detectible ailments anywhere.

She didn't ask for medical advice. She replied in that cool unruffled tone, "One of my uncles is a doctor, too."

"He lives here in Jandaíra?"

"No. His home is just outside of São Salvador. His wife is from your country. She's from Arkansas, originally." Marília dropped a handful of blossoms into the basket. She stooped to carry the basket again, but Nathan was faster.

"Let me," he said. He hunkered down and lifted it one-handed.

It was so light that a child could easily carry it, but he'd already figured that. He wasn't carrying it because he'd thought it might be too heavy for her. He was doing it as a mark of respect. He'd encroached into her family's land but she'd shown hospitality and was letting him chat her up, all without making him feel like a nuisance. The least he could do was carry her fucking basket.

She didn't stop him, or argue about carrying the basket herself. She calmly said, "Thank you," and they walked side-by-side to the next tree.

Leaning on the trunk, Nathan held the basket while she harvested. "You always head out so early to do this?"

"Not always." Marília dropped blossoms into the basket. "I harvest from late in April until early in May. I do it before the sun rises, because it's when the scent is strong. It makes the perfume good quality."

Nathan looked to the east. The sun was struggling to rise, piercing its first rays through dawn's clouds. He looked back down at Marília. As his eyes lingered on her, he had a change of plans—instead of sticking around here for a few days, he'd stay at least one week.

They went on to the final tree of the row. "You speak better English than some New Yorkers I know," he said. "You can't have always lived in here."

"I've lived in many places," Marília replied, her full attention seemingly on plucking the blossoms. "I lived with my parents in Alagoinhas when I was a child, then we lived a few years in London. Once we were permitted to come back to Brasil, I attended university in Rio. I lived there awhile, then I came back here to the plantation."

Nathan listened, a frown between his brows. 'Permitted' to come back to Brasil? Her parents had been forcibly exiled? They'd probably pissed off the military government somehow. But how?

There must be an interesting story there, but he didn't ask. It was too personal, and she was already aloof. Prodding into personal politics likely wouldn't end well. He merely said, "So you learned English while living in London."

Marília nodded, dropping the last blossoms into the basket. "Have you ever been to London?"

"No. Not yet, anyway. I might sometime. Most of us in The States don't travel much. I travel more than most and this is only my third time out of the country. First time was to Canada with my parents. We're from Binghamton so we drove across the border. My second time was in med school. I went to Australia and did some backpacking over the summer. That's how I got a taste for traveling solo."

They were walking as he spoke. Still carrying the basket for her, he restricted himself to matching her shorter stride. They headed out of the planted trees and onto a central path.

Nathan looked sideways at her. The path was wide enough that there were a few inches between them as they walked abreast. Her head came up to his chin. Another corkscrew coil of hair had escaped her bun. The coil rested at her throat, on brown skin that looked soft as butter. Would it feel butter-soft to his touch?

"Have you always wanted to come to Brasil?" She glanced at him. Their eyes held a second before she looked ahead, breaking the gaze.

"Not necessarily, although I'm glad it happened to be here. I picked a travel destination at random. The only place I wouldn't have gone is Venezuela."

"What's wrong with Venezuela?"

"I once had a patient who came in with a shattered collarbone. We got to talking for a couple minutes. He told me he'd recently come home from Venezuela because his job had taken him there for 6 months. A highlight of his time there was getting mugged at gunpoint by a cop."

Marília's head swiveled to him, her lips slightly parted. "Are you pulling my leg?"

Nathan smiled. "I'm not. It's true. He got mugged by a cop in broad daylight."

Marília shook her head, sighing softly. "Nossa," she muttered. "And I thought Rio was bad."

A few yards ahead, their trail crossed an adjacent trail. Over her head, Nathan looked to the right. A long way up from the path was a fazenda house on a higher plain; a two-story verandaed building backed by wild trees.

Nathan was about to turn in that direction, but Marília turned the opposite way. He kept abreast of her. "You're not heading up there?" He jerked his thumb in the fazenda house's direction.

"No. We live separately for privacy. Our house is a quarter-mile down this path."

'We' live separately? Nathan studied her profile. Who was 'we'? He didn't ask. They went a short way in silence, and a smaller house came into view. It was set yards back from the path; single-story, painted blue, and with bromeliad shrubs on the front lawn. A lantern was above the door.

"That your place?"

"It is," she replied. "You say you're staying at the inn. You've met Luana and Enéas?"

"Yeah. The place is good, and they both seem nice enough."

"They are. They're also from here, but they lived in the southeast for a while."

Now, they were a few yards from the house and Marília stepped ahead of him. Her hips had a gentle swing. Despite the looseness of her pants, Nathan noticed the roll and bounce of her round ass. His eyes were glued to those motions as she crossed the lawn to open the front door.

She opened it and stepped aside. "Go ahead," she invited in that cool voice.

Nathan ducked past the entrance and stepped inside.

It was a living room with touches of home. Paintings hung on the walls. Cushions were on the sofas, and the curtains were parted to admit the sunrise. A huge window overlooked a backyard patio, where a fringed hammock was strung between two wood pillars.

Marília's voice came from behind him. "You can drop the basket anywhere."

Nathan stepped across to a corner and set the basket on the floor. When he turned around to face her, she was busy removing her gardening gloves. She pulled off the right glove, then the left one.

As she removed the left glove, something gleamed on her hand. That thing was a ring. A gold ring on her fourth finger. A wedding band.

She was married.

Disappointment hit Nathan, swift and strong. She was a married woman.

She hadn't mentioned it. But then, why would she? He hadn't asked, and it wasn't something one went around randomly announcing to every stranger.

His eyes lingering on her wedding band, Nathan heaved an internal sigh. Married. A damn shame.

But of course she'd already be married. He should have guessed. Women who looked like her never stayed single for long. She'd probably had to chase prospective husbands away with a stick.

Nathan glanced around again. Where was the lucky husband? The house was too silent for him to be indoors. He was probably somewhere out on the plantation. And he probably disliked it when other men eyed up his wife.

Marília dropped her gloves on the cane table by the door. "You would like coffee?"

Nathan hesitated. The offer clearly meant nothing more to her than a polite gesture, but considering what his own desires had been, he should turn it down. He should say no and leave. But...it was a harmless cup of coffee. It made no difference, especially since there was a husband around nearby.

"Wouldn't mind," he replied.

In response, she made the 'follow me' head gesture.

Nathan followed her through a corridor. His eyes strayed to her ass again, fixated on its bounce. A slow bounce, like an invitation to caress it. Rub it. And then to spank it, making it bounce harder.

Married. She was a married woman.

With effort, he tore his eyes from her ass. Instead, he looked above her shoulder ahead into the kitchen. The window faced the backyard. Most of it was cooking space. In a corner, there was a table with four chairs.

She gestured to the table. "If you like, you can sit down."

"Thanks." Nathan drew a chair and sat. It had been a long trek from the inn, and it felt good to stretch his legs. Of their own volition, his eyes returned to her; tracking her as she moved around.

Marília went to a cupboard above the sink. Her t-shirt rode up as she reached to get something from the cupboard, giving him another glimpse of her midriff. She set a canister down on the countertop.

She worked without speaking. Nathan examined her figure from head to toe, contemplating her. She was a black woman, but there was some white in there. Most likely some indigenous blood in her, too.

She made coffee the old-school way, with no machines. She put sugar in a pan, poured in bottled water, and put it on the stove. She got the coffee canister, scooped out ground beans, added it to the pan and turned off the stove. Getting a coffee pot, she spread the filter and poured the pan's contents through.

Golden sunshine fell over her. Birdsong came from outside.

She got a cup, filled it from the coffee pot and brought it across to him. "Milk?" she asked, handing him the cup.

"I drink it black." Nathan took the cup, the rich aroma wafting up. He brought it to his lips. It tasted even better than it smelled. One thing he'd surely miss about Brasil was the coffee. No other place did it better. Not even close. He set his cup down. "You're not drinking?"

"Not yet. I need to start soaking the orange blossoms first." She turned away. "I'll be back in a small minute." She exited the kitchen through another corridor. Her footsteps faded. Somewhere in the house, a door opened and shut.

Alone, Nathan drank his coffee. He looked out the window. Where was her husband? It might be awkward if the guy suddenly walked in to find a complete stranger drinking coffee in his kitchen.

But that didn't happen. The husband didn't show, and Marília returned a few minutes later.

Nathan passed the coffee pot to her. She took it without speaking. As she did, her palm brushed against his fingers. The contact lasted only a second, but it confirmed that her skin was as butter-soft as it looked.

The pot in her hand, Marília poured its contents into a cup. Unable to help himself, he stared at her as she performed the task. She was looking downwards, thick black eyelashes fanned over her cheekbones. The sort of face that just begged a guy to brush his fingers across it while he was kissing her.

Then her wedding band caught the sunlight, glinting a reminder—she was someone's wife.

Once again, Nathan tore his gaze away. He should leave now.

He drained his cup and set it on the table. "Thanks for the coffee. Sorry for the trouble."

Marília sipped her coffee. "We don't have so many tourists here for it to be troublesome. I can make more coffee if you want another cup. I was going to cook breakfast. You can eat something too."

Nathan swallowed. He should refuse. He should leave. But as he looked at her, standing at her kitchen counter with that standoffish yet hospitable air, he heard himself reply: "Breakfast sounds good. What brand of coffee is this, by the way?"

"I'm not sure. It's a local arabica, but I don't know the brand. I buy it in packs from Varjão's Market. Have you been there?"

"No, but I might have driven past it on my way from the town. You mean the big supermarket opposite a gas station with a red banner?"