Confessions of a Pregnant Cinderella Page 7

  He turned to Skye, and some of that warmth faded. She felt it like a chill breeze over her skin.

  ‘Skye, I’d like you to meet Almudena—my housekeeper. She lives in the gate lodge with her family, and her husband oversees the farming and gardening and general maintenance.’

  Skye stepped forward and extended her hand. ‘Mucho gusto.’

  Almudena smiled. ‘El gusto es mio.’

  Skye could feel Lazaro’s eyes on her, assessing her. To her relief he said, ‘Almudena will show you to your room. When you’ve rested we’ll have dinner on the terrace.’

  ‘Okay.’

  She was relieved to have a moment to gather herself, out of Lazaro’s immediate orbit. The effect of that kiss on the plane still lingered in her blood. She felt too exposed around Lazaro. Not sure of who she was any more. He scrambled her brain.

  * * *

  Lazaro watched Skye disappear up the stairs with a beaming Almudena, who had obviously taken to her. Skye seemed to have that effect on people. He’d seen her interact with her customers in the restaurant the night they’d met and had witnessed the effect of her sunny disposition on them.

  He’d wanted her to look at him like that. And then, when she had, he hadn’t been prepared for the effect. Or how it would make him feel to see her treat everyone the same. Even if there had been a palpable electricity between them that had elevated their bond beyond the merely polite.

  A vivid memory flash of how it had felt to slide into her hot, tight body came back to him, and Lazaro cursed. Their interaction had been far from polite...

  He turned away from where he was standing, looking into space, and strode back into the hacienda and to his study. He switched on his computer and reminded himself of what his priority here was: damage control.

  * * *

  Skye had showered and changed into the black skirt she’d brought with her and worn that first night, and a clean long-sleeved top. They were all the clothes she had with her, and she tried not to feel too self-conscious.

  She wandered downstairs and began exploring the gardens, which were filled with surprises. She found a hammock stretched between two trees in one corner. A table inlaid with mosaics and stone seats strewn with coloured cushions in another corner. There were lounge beds dotted around the place, and several lined up by the pristine-looking swimming pool.

  It was decadent and luxurious. And totally peaceful. Hacienda Armonía, indeed.

  It seemed slightly incongruous when she thought of Lazaro and the man she’d discovered when she’d looked him up online. This didn’t seem like the habitat of a ruthlessly ambitious and driven playboy. There wasn’t a sound except for the crickets and planes far above in the sky, travelling to the other side of the world.

  It was so peaceful—

  ‘Here you are.’

  Skye turned around to see Lazaro strolling towards her, dressed in a fresh white polo shirt, open at the neck, and faded jeans. Every provocative line of his powerful body seemed to be moulded and emphasised by his clothes, and she found it hard to breathe for a moment.

  How had she ever caught his eye?

  His hair was damp. He’d obviously had a shower too. That reminded Skye of watching him emerge from the bathroom at that hotel in Dublin, with nothing but a towel slung around his narrow hips.

  She turned away from that view and back to the less provocative one. He came and stood beside her. ‘You have a beautiful property,’ she gabbled. ‘It’s so peaceful. Do you come here often?’

  She winced at that. Gauche, much?

  ‘Not as often as I’d like.’

  ‘Has it always been in your family?’

  Lazaro made a slightly choked sound. ‘Hardly. I bought it about nine years ago.’

  Skye realised that she knew next to nothing about his family, and that whenever she touched on his past he made some sarcastic comment. She turned to face him. ‘Where are your family?’

  Lazaro placed his hands on the stone wall of the terrace. His jaw tightened. ‘They’re in Madrid.’

  ‘But they weren’t there the other night—at the hotel.’

  ‘My father and half-brother were, actually.’

  Something cold prickled over Skye’s skin. Lazaro’s face showed no emotion. ‘You said you don’t have a relationship with them.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Why?’

  He waited so long to answer that Skye thought he was going to ignore her, but then he said, ‘Because I am the result of an illicit affair between two members of Spain’s oldest and most celebrated families. They abandoned me at birth into the social care system. I was an inconvenience for them—a stain on their whiter-than-white reputation.’

  ‘Oh.’

  He looked at her then, and she was surprised to see a glimmer of humour in his green eyes.

  ‘Oh. Your favourite word.’

  She made a face, but inside her heart was beating hard as she thought of the significance of what he’d said. ‘What happened to you?’

  Lazaro turned around and rested his back against the wall. His face was hard. ‘I bounced around foster homes until I realised I’d be safer on the streets. That’s where I got the most invaluable part of my education.’

  The fact that she’d judged him for having a privileged life mocked her now.

  She thought of something else. ‘That guy...Gabriel...the one who was in the paper...’

  He went very still beside her. ‘He’s the half-brother I mentioned—on my father’s side.’

  ‘Does he know he’s your half-brother?’

  Lazaro made a face. ‘He chooses not to acknowledge it.’

  Skye was about to say oh again and bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry that that happened to you. It wasn’t fair.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t fair. But it’s made me who I am today.’

  Skye would have preferred not to sink any lower in Lazaro’s estimation, but after what he’d just told her she felt compelled to blurt out, ‘My father was never on the scene either.’

  He looked at her.

  ‘That’s why it was so important to me that I told you about the baby. I don’t want him, or her, growing up fatherless if I can help it.’

  Just then Almudena appeared, to tell them dinner was ready, and Skye followed Lazaro to where a table had been set under a trellis of abundant bougainvillea.

  She sneaked glances at Lazaro as they ate their starter of a light salad. He looked so self-contained. So urbane. She could barely imagine what he must have been like before.

  Curiosity got the better of her, and when Almudena had served the main course Skye asked, ‘How did you go from living on the streets to all of...this?’

  He arched a brow. ‘You didn’t do your research on the internet?’

  Skye blushed again. ‘I didn’t read everything.’

  Mainly just the headlines about his billionaire playboy status.

  He shrugged. ‘I was noticed one day, outside a museum. I had found a way to get tourists in through a back entrance and was charging them less than the official fee.’ He sat back, cradling a glass of wine in his hand. ‘One of the tourists was impressed with my entrepreneurial skills and it turned out he was a successful businessman, moving to Madrid for work. He offered me a job. I was something of a maths genius, which I think I get from my father’s side. They are a family of bankers. One opportunity led to another and I just made the most of it.’

  Skye could understand where his ambition stemmed from now. His tenacious will to succeed.

  They ate in silence for a while, and then Lazaro put down his napkin. ‘I’ve arranged for your things to be packed and sent from Dublin—they should arrive here tomorrow. I’ll have to return to Madrid tomorrow. Something has come up with a project I’m working on. I’ll come back at the weekend.’

  Skye wasn’t entirely dism
ayed at the thought of some time to get her breath back, away from Lazaro’s disturbing presence. ‘And then we’ll discuss plans going forward?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. Because I’ll need to find a new job—and somewhere to live that meets your exacting standards.’

  Lazaro had to admit he was taken aback by Skye’s apparent desire to get back to her life. She wasn’t looking at him as she spoke. She was eating with the same single-minded absorption that she’d had the other night. Unselfconsciously.

  She was wearing another shapeless long-sleeved top which, thankfully for his rogue hormones, wasn’t falling off one shoulder. And, if he wasn’t mistaken, the same black skirt she’d been wearing that night in the hotel. Quite possibly the same skirt she wore to work as a waitress. Flat shoes. No make-up. Her hair was down and the setting sun burnished it copper and gold.

  She was economical in her movements. Precise. She wasn’t remotely interested in seducing him. And yet he was sitting here, his body in a permanent state of heightened awareness just from being near her. Since she’d stormed into his life the other night he had been constantly on the cusp of full-blown arousal, if not actually aroused. Like this afternoon, on the plane.

  He couldn’t deny she had an effect on him unlike any other woman. Take just now, for instance. He rarely, if ever, spoke of his past or his family—with anyone. And yet with little or no provocation he’d told Skye more than most people knew. Only close confidants and the people actually involved knew of his parentage.

  They weren’t so dissimilar. He sensed that her life with a single parent hadn’t necessarily been easy. She certainly hadn’t grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth. And she wasn’t looking for hand-outs. Yet. Lazaro had seen too much and was too cynical to trust that Skye didn’t have an agenda. After all, if he proved the baby she was carrying was his she’d be set for life.

  Suddenly he felt the urge to push her, to see how she would react. Almudena cleared away the plates and he said, ‘What do you see happening, Skye?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, are you hoping for some kind of permanent arrangement?’

  She looked at him as if he was speaking in tongues, but Lazaro didn’t let it fool him.

  ‘We won’t have a relationship beyond coming to an arrangement for our child,’ he said.

  * * *

  Skye was fighting to keep her expression neutral even as hurt mixed with pride in her gut. Clearly he hadn’t welcomed the reminder of their explosive chemistry when they’d kissed on the plane. And she certainly did not need to expose her susceptibility again.

  ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ she replied. ‘I don’t need you to tell me I’m not someone you’d want a relationship with. Clearly I’m not well-connected enough, or beautiful enough. But, I am the mother of your child, and I’m prepared to do what it takes to come to an agreement.’ The feeling of hurt made her add impetuously, ‘For what it’s worth, you’re the last man I’d want to be with. You’re far too cynical and obsessed with social standing and money.’

  Skye immediately felt bad—especially when she thought of all he’d been through. She was pathetic. But she couldn’t bear to hurt anyone. Even someone who seemed as impervious to hurt as Lazaro.

  He said, ‘If this is a game, Skye, you should know that I don’t respond well to manipulation. You’d be better off laying your cards on the table now, so we can come to an agreement.’

  Her sense of guilt dissipated in the face of his cynicism. ‘I don’t play games, Lazaro. I wouldn’t know how. If it wasn’t for this baby growing inside me I’d almost wish I’d never met you, but I refuse to regret the consequences of that night. You’re not the only one who has had their life turned upside down, so if you think I’d sign up for a repeat performance of that night or anything like it then you’ve another think coming.’

  Skye stood up and walked off the terrace, passing a stunned-looking Almudena, holding two plates of what looked like dessert. She garbled something in apology and went straight to her room.

  Once she was there she paced back and forth, angry for letting Lazaro get to her like that. There was no sense of satisfaction in having got the last word in—she didn’t care for herself, but she cared for their child, who would grow up no doubt held at some remove while Lazaro got on with his super-successful life. It was Skye’s job to ensure their child wasn’t pushed aside and forgotten about.

  She’d known the man was cynical, even if she hadn’t known of his background. His whole demeanour screamed jaded. It was one of the things that had intrigued her about him—the fact that such an obviously world-weary man was attracted to her, who couldn’t be more his opposite.

  Skye had managed to retain a fairly sunny outlook on life, in spite of her own experiences. Only she knew about the walls she’d erected over her lifetime that protected her from letting anyone get too close.

  Except once again Lazaro had proved how flimsy those walls were. He, uniquely, got to her. Got under her skin. And that made him very dangerous.

  As for how she felt about him, and the way he made her body sing whether she liked it or not, that was just something she would have to deal with.

  She told herself that by the time he returned to discuss the future, she’d be feeling more in control.

  * * *

  Lazaro was used to women storming away from him—usually after he’d told them their liaison with him was over. But this was different. He’d never felt an urge to go after any of them and yet he’d had to physically restrain himself from following Skye.

  Her words rang in his head: ‘If you think I’d sign up for a repeat performance of that night or anything like it then you’ve another think coming.’

  Another novelty. And he had to admit that her words stung. That night had been the most erotic experience he could remember in a long time. If ever. Not to mention their kiss earlier.

  Lazaro thought of another man being the first to awaken her innate sensuality and his hand gripped his wine glass so tight that he had to relax for fear of breaking it. He looked at the sweet dessert that Almudena had left on the table but his appetite had fled.

  His carnal appetite, however, was alive and burning him up inside.

  Emitting a curse, Lazaro got up and went inside. He was in control of this situation and he was not at the mercy of his libido.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Two weeks later

  ‘SO HOW EXACTLY were you planning on handling this situation, hmm?’

  Lazaro scowled at his best friend, Ciro Sant’Angelo, whom he’d met up with in Rome to discuss a business proposition.

  Ciro was holding up an Italian tabloid with a grainy picture of Skye from that night at the hotel on its front page and the screaming headline: Pregnant with Lazaro Sanchez’s baby—but where is she now?

  Ciro threw down the paper on his desk. Tall, dark and handsome. He would have been the quintessential Italian god, if it wasn’t for the jagged scar that ran down his right cheek, giving him a dangerous air. It was the result of a kidnapping he’d endured some years before.

  He said now, ‘My friend, I don’t think you need me to tell you that you’re looking at a lifetime commitment even if you don’t marry this mystery woman you won’t tell me anything about.’

  Ciro’s words rubbed up against every jagged edge inside Lazaro. Along with his conscience, which reminded him every day that Skye was still waiting at his hacienda and that for the past two weeks he’d leapt on every opportunity to delay his return. He did not like this need he had to see her again.

  ‘Why would I marry her? She’s completely wrong for me.’

  ‘Maybe because she’s the mother of your child?’ came Ciro’s dry response.

  Lazaro looked at his friend. ‘Just because you’ve let a woman brainwash you—’

  ‘Do not speak of Lara that way. Not even in j
est.’ Ciro’s expression turned dark in an instant. Tension crackled in the air.

  Lazaro’s insides clenched. This wasn’t him. He never provoked his friend. Lazaro had picked Ciro up off the floor—literally—after the woman he’d loved had betrayed him. But now they were back together, and Lazaro had been a witness at their wedding only recently.

  He’d never seen such absorption and passion between two people. It had unnerved him as much as it had caught at something inside him. Something deeply shut away and hidden. He couldn’t imagine ever letting himself be that vulnerable in front of another person. Not to mention dozens of people at a wedding.

  And that was another reason why he’d avoided going back to the hacienda. Skye touched on too many things inside him. Emotions he’d never explored before and had no intention of exploring now.

  Ciro said, ‘Actually, I have some news.’

  Lazaro looked at his friend, who said with a smile, ‘Lara’s pregnant. Three months.’

  Now Lazaro felt like a total heel. He went over and embraced his friend. Then stood back. ‘I’m really happy for you and Lara. You deserve this happiness.’

  His friend looked him in the eye. ‘Thanks... But so do you, you know.’

  * * *

  A couple of hours later, on his private plane en route back to Madrid, Lazaro was looking out of the window broodingly, thinking of Ciro’s words.

  So do you...

  Did he? It was an abstract concept for Lazaro, the notion of happiness. He’d always imagined it would come the moment he stood in a room in front of the people who had shunned him when they would have to acknowledge his presence and his success. Acknowledge that he was one of them.

  He’d almost had that moment. But his own careless actions had precipitated his downfall.

  An image of Skye’s heart-shaped face came into his head...that soft mouth. Instantly his body responded. He cursed.

  His phone pinged and he took it out, looking at the email one of his legal team had just sent him. And as he took in the contents his body temperature went from hot to icy. She was doing it again. Drawing attention to herself. And him. Making him a laughing stock in the process.