He looked at her and put his hands on his hips—which only drew Skye’s attention to that lean waist.
‘So you were going to come, drop your bombshell and then leave?’
Skye winced at his thunderous expression. ‘I just wanted to let you know. I don’t expect anything from you. Maybe once the news has died down you can repair things with your fiancée…’ She saw his expression darken even more and corrected herself. ‘Sorry, ex-fiancée.’
He dismissed that with a wave of his hand. ‘I told you—Leonora won’t have anything to do with me after this.’
In fairness, Skye had to admit she had looked like a nice person. A person who didn’t deserve to be upset in public like that.
Her insides cramped with remorse. She hadn’t handled this very well at all.
Just then a chiming sound rang through the room, and Lazaro sent her a dark look before he went to the door. He came back with a tray. On it was a plate covered with a silver dome.
‘Come into the kitchen.’
Skye dutifully followed Lazaro, trying not to notice the sexy athleticism of his stride. Or feel hurt that he was going to take her into that utilitarian kitchen to eat—probably for fear she’d drop crumbs all over his pristine suite.
He must have been staying here in order to make the announcement. Perhaps he’d even planned on spending the night here with his fiancée. Celebrating their engagement. It was certainly romantic enough, with its stunning views of Madrid laid out around it.
Then Skye stopped on the threshold of a kitchen she hadn’t seen before. It certainly wasn’t the one she’d been led through. This one was massive, and had state-of-the-art appliances and a sleek modern finish. There was a dining table and chairs by one window. Lazaro was putting the tray down and taking off the silver dome to reveal a very fancy-looking sandwich and fries.
Her mouth watered. She went over and sat down.
‘I thought I came up through the kitchen?’
Lazaro looked slightly discomfited. ‘I asked them to bring you up that way to avoid the paparazzi.’
‘Oh.’
She said ‘oh’ a lot. Lazaro watched, half-fascinated, as Skye tucked into the sandwich and fries with little self-consciousness. Watching a woman eat, he realised, felt like a curiously intimate thing to do. Especially when most of the women he spent time with chased a lettuce leaf around their plates.
He got another glass of sparkling water and put it down on the table. She glanced at him and wiped her mouth. Her cheeks were tinged pink as she said thank you.
They’d gone pink like that when their eyes had met in that small restaurant near his hotel in Dublin. And they’d gone even pinker when he’d asked to her join him there for a nightcap when she finished work.
She’d said Oh then too.
‘Oh… Wow… I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t know you. You could be anyone.’
He’d handed her a card from his jacket pocket. A platinum-embossed card, with his name and contact details. He’d said, ‘It’s not proof I’m not a serial killer, but I can assure you I’m not. I’m just asking you to meet me for a drink at the bar…a chance to get to know one another a little better.’
She’d looked at him with those huge blue eyes that seemed to hide nothing. ‘But what’s the point?’ she’d asked.
Lazaro had surprised himself by saying, ‘Haven’t you ever done anything totally spontaneous for no good reason but just because you want to?’
He’d also surprised himself with how much he’d wanted her to say yes. He’d expected her to jump at the invitation—as most women would—but she’d seemed genuinely torn.
Eventually she’d said, ‘Okay…maybe.’
And so he’d sat in that hotel bar, waiting for a woman. And for the first and only time in his life he hadn’t known if she’d show up.
And then she had.
He could still recall seeing her standing in the doorway, in skinny jeans and that tatty jumper, half-falling off her shoulder. Holding a slouchy bag. It should have been the moment he’d realised he’d gone a bit crazy, but her long red hair had been down, and tumbling wildly over one shoulder, and an intense hunger had bitten into him so acutely that he hadn’t even been able to stand to greet her.
‘Thank you for that.’
Lazaro broke out of his reverie and saw Skye pushing the now empty plate away from her. He couldn’t recall ever seeing a woman actually finish her food.
‘Where are you staying?’ he asked.
She went pinker and avoided his eye. ‘I hadn’t actually got as far as booking anywhere. I saw a hostel at the train station when I came in from the airport, I’m sure I can get a room there.’
Lazaro’s gaze narrowed on her, his voice heavy with sarcasm. ‘You didn’t plan on staying and you’ve booked no accommodation? Did you even book a return flight? Or were you hoping that perhaps this little stunt might induce me to take you into my bed again, where you could ensure you became pregnant?’
Skye had been avoiding his eye, embarrassed at having been exposed in her lack of planning for this, but now her head snapped around so quickly she almost got whiplash.
For a long moment she couldn’t speak, she was so incensed. And then she stood up, trembling with emotion. ‘You are the most unbelievably cynical person I’ve ever met. I’m not here to fleece you, or to seduce you, Lazaro. I couldn’t care less about your wealth or your fancy hotel suite—’
‘Apartment.’
‘What?’
‘This is my apartment. I own the hotel.’
‘Oh.’
He owns the hotel. Of course he does.
Suddenly feeling overwhelmed, Skye made a move back to the living area, searching for her bag and coat.
‘Where are you going?’
She found them and picked them up. She turned around. ‘I’m going to go and find somewhere to stay. My return flight is early in the morning—because, as I told you, I’d just planned on giving you this information. Not staying. Leaving. Which I’m going to do now. Goodbye, Lazaro.’
Before she could turn to go Lazaro came and stood in front of her. He was shaking his head.
‘You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying here tonight and then we’ll discuss where to go from here tomorrow.’
Skye’s head was feeling fuzzy from tiredness. ‘But I’m due at work tomorrow night…’
‘If you are pregnant with my child—and let’s say I give you the benefit of the doubt until we can prove the baby is mine with a DNA test—then you’ll be staying right here in Spain.’
Skye’s mouth opened and closed. Opened again. ‘That’s crazy. You can’t order me to stay here.’
‘If you’re carrying my child, as you claim you are, then, yes, I have a right to be involved in its future—and in yours too.’
Skye felt panicky. ‘In its future. When he or she is born. Anything could happen between