Confessions Of A Pregnant Cinderella. ABBY GREEN

his card in the bin of that hotel suite, and he could remember the sensation of disbelief. No woman—ever—had missed an opportunity to gain access to Lazaro’s inner circle.

      But he did have a rule that no one unknown was allowed to contact him. Especially women. She would have been an unknown to everyone else but him. No one knew about that night. Because he had been in Dublin. He wasn’t on the paparazzi’s radar there.

      He remembered something else from that night. When they’d sat down for a drink in his hotel bar he’d asked her why she’d decided to come.

      She’d looked at him a little embarrassed, but also with something almost defiant, and said, ‘Because I’ve never met anyone like you. And you’re right. Sometimes it’s good to be a little spontaneous.’

      He’d looked back at her. ‘You’re refreshingly honest.’

      She’d frowned at him as if he was crazy. ‘Why wouldn’t I be? What do I have to hide?’

      Something heavy settled in Lazaro’s gut. The truth was that she didn’t come from his world, where cynicism and mistrust went hand in hand. She was most likely telling the truth. But still, he’d be a fool not to confirm it for himself. And he’d be an even bigger fool to throw all caution to the wind and assume she wasn’t up to something just because of a feeling in his gut.

      When Skye woke the following morning she was disorientated. She was in the most comfortable bed she’d ever slept in—except she couldn’t remember falling asleep in it… Because she hadn’t. She’d fallen asleep in a chair.

      She came up on her elbows and felt the towel behind her on the pillow. She groaned. Her hair would be a disaster today. And how had she ended up in bed? She was under the covers, but still wearing the robe…

      Her face grew hot at the thought of Lazaro carrying her to the bed. But he must have. He must have come in. And watched her sleeping. And then he’d picked her up.

      Her insides knotted, and not entirely with anxiety. With awareness.

      She couldn’t hear any sounds coming from outside the bedroom but the sun was up. She got up, and after a quick wash, and trying to tame her hair as much as possible, she dressed and took a deep breath before venturing out into the suite—the apartment.

      She found Lazaro in the formal dining room. He was sitting at one end of a long table with breakfast laid out around him and a stack of papers. His legs were stretched out under the table and he was dressed in a blue pinstripe shirt and dark trousers. Hair damp from the shower. Jaw clean-shaven.

      And she felt a tug of desire deep in her belly.

      He looked up, just as a woman Skye hadn’t seen before bustled into the room, carrying what looked like a coffee jug.

      She greeted Skye. ‘Buenos dias.’

      Skye murmured hello back and went over to the table, feeling shy and self-conscious in the only change of clothes she’d brought with her—her habitual uniform of jeans and a loose top…sneakers. She’d always veered towards a tomboyish style, but she’d never been so aware of it than now, when she was in front of this man.

      The woman—his housekeeper?—left them alone again. Lazaro put down the paper he was reading and raked her up and down with those vivid green eyes, heightening her sense of exposure.

      ‘No fake waitress outfit today?’

      Skye blushed guiltily. ‘I wore my work clothes as I figured they might help me blend in with the staff at the hotel.’

      It wasn’t as if she could have hoped to blend in with the guests!

      Lazaro made a rude sound which only reminded her of the audacity of her actions and the dramatic consequences. Suddenly she felt sick.

      She gripped the back of a chair. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry about how it happened.’

      Lazaro frowned. ‘What’s wrong? You’ve gone white.’

      The dreaded nausea was rising. Skye managed to garble something unintelligible before she sprinted from the room, back to her bathroom, and made the toilet just in time.

      She groaned as she sensed a presence hovering nearby. ‘Leave me alone, please. It’s fine. It’s just morning sickness.’

      He didn’t leave. ‘You have this every day?’ He sounded horrified.

      Skye might have laughed if she’d been able to. She literally couldn’t possibly reach any lower in Lazaro Sanchez’s eyes right now, with her head inside a toilet bowl. Whatever desire he’d felt for her would be well and truly gone after this little episode.

      To her relief the sickness soon dissipated and a damp facecloth came into her vision. She took it. It was warm. She wiped her face and pulled herself up, going to the sink to rinse her mouth out.

      She didn’t want to see herself in the mirror, knowing just how wan she’d look.

      Lazaro was standing in the doorway looking slightly shell-shocked.

      ‘I’m sorry about that. I’ve no control over when it comes, but it passes pretty quickly. And the doctor said it shouldn’t last into the next trimester.’

      Lazaro still looked shocked, so she said, ‘It’s a perfectly normal part of pregnancy.’

      ‘Do you think you can eat something?’

      Skye nodded. That was the thing. Not long after her morning sickness she was usually ravenous.

      She followed him back into the dining room and he said something to the housekeeper, who sent Skye a sympathetic look before disappearing again.

      Skye sat down and saw her passport was on the table. She picked it up and looked at Lazaro accusingly. ‘What are you doing with my passport?’

      He poured himself some coffee, and her, and then looked at her, totally unrepentant. ‘Skye Blossom O’Hara?’

      Skye flushed and reluctantly divulged, ‘My mother was…is…a bit of a hippy. Hence Skye and Blossom.’

      ‘Is she in Ireland?’

      Skye shook her head and took a sip of the strong coffee, relishing its warmth soothing her insides. ‘She’s in India. In an ashram. I haven’t managed to track her down and let her know about the baby yet.’

      The housekeeper returned at that moment, with a selection of breads, eggs and pastries, and Skye smiled her thanks, relieved that Lazaro hadn’t asked about her father. When she glanced at him, though, he was looking at her with an arrested expression on his face.