Confessions Of A Pregnant Cinderella

‘You need to know something. I’m pregnant. With your child.’

For a long moment nothing seemed to happen. There was a shocked stillness in the air and everyone was frozen. Even the security men holding her arms seemed to go slack.

She was looking directly at Lazaro, and suddenly it was as if everyone else had disappeared and it was just them in the room.

She said in a quieter voice, in English, ‘It’s true. I’m pregnant…and it’s yours.’

Skye O’Hara. That was her name. She’d been a waitress in the restaurant where he’d had dinner after a business meeting in Dublin. He’d noticed her as soon as he’d gone in—something about her, the way she moved and interacted with people, had caught his attention. Which was unusual, because nothing much distracted Lazaro these days. But there had been something very refreshing about her. Open. Unaffected. Natural.

She’d been dressed much as she was now. Her clothes utterly banal. Not designed in any way to entice a man. And yet she had. With her petite figure and soft curves.

She’d served him. Pulling a pen out of the bun on the top of her head, flipping over her orders pad to a new page before looking at him. And that had been the moment. Zing. Lazaro had felt it like a thunderbolt. Instant heat and sexual awareness.

And so had she, judging by the flush on her cheeks and the way her eyes had widened.

Lazaro’s razor-sharp brain kicked into gear. There were members of the press in this room. His doing. To ensure maximum coverage of his moment of triumph. If he instructed his men to kick this woman out on the street the press would hunt her down, and he could already see the headlines and the lurid sob-story.

He had no doubt she was just capitalising on the fact that she’d realised who he was. She was on the make. He needed to contain this situation, defuse it and salvage what he could of this evening.

He put down his glass and stepped down from the dais and went over to her, taking her arm in his hand. It felt very slender. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing here?’

She went white. He ignored the prick of his conscience. He’d forgotten how petite she was.

She stuttered. ‘I came…to…to tell you… I couldn’t reach you any other way…we didn’t…you didn’t…we didn’t exchange numbers…’

He’d given her his card when he’d asked her to join him for a drink. But she’d left it in the wastebasket in the hotel room the following morning.

Her show of independence the morning after—her determination to go even after he’d offered to order up breakfast—had obviously been an act.

He could still see her, backing away in her skinny jeans and a loose jumper falling off one shoulder. Her hair down and wild. She’d looked like an art student. She’d looked thoroughly bedded. And he’d wanted her again.

He’d just come out of the shower with a towel around his waist to find her leaving. ‘Where are you going?’ he’d asked.

She’d looked up as she’d slipped on her shoes. He could still recall how her eyes had devoured him, lingering on his chest. Making him hard again.

‘I should leave… It’s okay. I know how these things go. I know this was just a one-off. You’re not from here.’ She’d waved a hand at the very rumpled bed and a flush had tinged her cheeks. ‘And I really wasn’t expecting this…’

She’d been a virgin.

Lazaro had felt a moment of panic at the thought of her slipping out through the door and never seeing her again. Impulsively he’d said, ‘Stay. I’ll order breakfast. There’s no need to rush.’

She’d looked torn for a moment. And then she’d shaken her head. ‘No, I have things to do. I have to leave.’

She’d turned around and walked to the door and then stopped and looked back over her shoulder. Her hair had been like a bright flame down her back.

‘Just…thank you. I wasn’t expecting what happened to happen. I wasn’t expecting to meet someone like you. But it was lovely.’

And then she’d slipped out through the door and Lazaro had stood there, stunned and very aroused, for long minutes. ‘It was lovely.’ Not something any woman had ever said to him before after a night of passion so intense he was surprised they hadn’t burnt the suite to ashes.

That memory mocked him now. It had all been an act. Clearly. And this had been her endgame. He’d been an idiot.

He took his hand off her arm and spoke to his men. ‘Take her to the office and keep her there until I give further instructions.’

He didn’t look at her again, just turned away towards the crowd. And, to Leonora, who was looking at him with wide eyes, cheeks leached of colour. He stepped back up onto the dais, not sure which fire to put out first.

He faced the crowd and held up his hands, forcing a smile. ‘I’m sorry for that interruption. It’s being dealt with.’

He was about to say that there were no grounds for what she’d said—‘I’m pregnant…and it’s yours’—but then he recalled that exquisite moment when he’d been poised to thrust inside her tempting body and he’d realised he wasn’t protected.

‘Are you protected?’ he’d asked her.

She’d said breathily, ‘It’s fine…please, just don’t stop.’

Self-recrimination blasted him. She could be telling the truth.

He looked at Leonora, who was backing away now, staring at him as if he was a monster. He stretched out a hand. ‘Leonora, please…let me explain.’

She stopped moving. Her face was pale. ‘Is it true?’

Lazaro couldn’t deny that it might be true, so he said nothing.

Leonora interpreted his silence. She shook her head. ‘I can’t agree to marry you—not now.’ She cast a wild-eyed look around them and then said with quiet desperation, ‘How could you do this to me? In front of all of these people?’

She turned and stepped down from the dais and all but ran to the nearest exit.

There was no sound at all for a long moment. And then came a slow hand-clap from the crowd.

Lazaro turned around to see his half-brother Gabriel moving forward through the crowd. Clapping. A smirk on his face. Lazaro’s hands bunched into fists at his sides.

‘I really didn’t expect this evening to be so entertaining, Sanchez. I have to hand it to you. If anyone knows how to make a reputation sink even lower into the gutter it’s you. But, frankly, I’ve better things to be doing than witnessing your lurid domestic dramas.’

Before Lazaro could articulate a response Gabriel strode out of the room, in the same direction as Leonora. And, as much as he wanted to go after him and punch that smirk off his face, Lazaro knew he couldn’t. Not here, not now.

He turned back to face his audience. The crowd he had assembled to share this moment of ultimate acceptance. No one would meet his eye except one man. His father, at the back of the room. He had a mocking look on his face as if to say, You tried and you failed to be one of us.

This moment, which should have been the pinnacle of his success, had turned into a farce. All because of a woman. And himself. Because for one night he’d let himself be ruled by lust and had thrown caution to the wind.

He should have known, after the life he’d lived, that he would suffer the consequences for any moment of weakness.

These people could afford to be weak. But not him. Not ever him. And he’d just proved that his desires were as base as theirs…that he didn’t, in fact, have more control.

Skye sat in a square box of a room. More like a storage cupboard, really. The burly man who had put her in here had just brought her small knapsack and her coat from where she’d left them in the cloakroom. She’d come straight here from the airport.

The adrenalin was still pumping through her system. Okay, so she’d got her message across. She hadn’t intended on the dramatics, but it had been impossible to try and contact Lazaro Sanchez from Dublin. He had more rings of security and assistants than a head of state. And at every step she’d been stonewalled.

It hadn’t helped that she’d thrown away the card he’d handed her when he’d asked her to join him for a drink. She’d not seen the point in keeping it, and hadn’t wanted to torture herself by knowing she had his phone number.

She’d been searching on the internet for another way to try and contact him when she’d seen the news that he was due to announce his engagement at an exclusive gathering at the Esmeralda Hotel—one of Madrid’s finest.

Before she’d lost her nerve she’d booked a cheap return flight. She’d travelled in her work uniform, hoping that it might help her blend in with staff. Which had worked only too well.

He was to be engaged. Yet he’d slept with her.

She’d always thought she was a good judge of character, but evidently lust had rewired her normal instincts that night three months ago.

He’d asked her to stay for breakfast the following morning and she’d been so tempted. He’d been standing there in nothing but a short towel. Massive chest bare and still damp from the shower. Dark hair dusting his pectorals and then narrowing into a line that dissected his six-pack before disappearing under the towel.

Skye stood up, suddenly restless. And hot. Thankfully the nausea had subsided slightly. Her morning sickness was acute at the moment, and mainly in the early part of the day, but the doctor had told her it should subside soon. If she was lucky.

Pregnant. She stopped pacing and put her hand on her belly.

She’d tried to contact her mother to no avail. She was somewhere in India at an ashram, with little or no communications. Not an unusual scenario. But even without her mother’s advice Skye hadn’t felt a moment’s hesitation about keeping the baby.

Even though, she’d always wanted a different life for herself than she’d had as a child. Being dragged all around Europe as her mother had followed one whim after another. Or one lover after another. She’d had Skye when she was eighteen, and most of the time Skye had felt more like the adult than her bohemian but very lovable mother. Yet here she was, only a few years older than her mother had been, and quite possibly about to become a single mother too.

She’d always vowed that if and when she had children she would be in a committed relationship and their existence wouldn’t be rootless. It would be secure and stable.

Suddenly the door opened again and Skye whirled around, her heart jumping into her throat. But it wasn’t him—it was the burly security guard.

‘You can come with me now.’

As much as Skye might have preferred not to go, she knew she had to see this through.

The man led her to a staff elevator and they ascended to the top floor. The doors opened onto an unremarkable corridor and the guard opened an unremarkable door. He led her into a small utilitarian kitchen and then into a very plush suite, with jaw-dropping floor-to-ceiling windows and views over Madrid.

This must be the penthouse suite, and she’d just been brought through the service kitchen.

Her face grew hot with humiliation.

The man led her to a vast open-plan space, with couches dotted around glass coffee tables. Vast canvases of modern art hung on walls. Low lighting imbued the space with golden light but made it no less intimidating.

And there he was. With his back to her. No jacket. Just his shirt and trousers.

He turned around, but Skye couldn’t see his expression from where she was. Probably a good thing. She could see that his top shirt button was open and his bow-tie hung askew, as if pulled apart roughly.

He dismissed the guard with a few curt words and Skye heard the door snick shut behind her.

And then, in a lethally soft voice which was worse than if he’d shouted at her, he said, ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’

CHAPTER TWO

SKYE DID HER best not to show how intimidated she was. She walked further into the room, even though her legs felt suspiciously rubbery.

Lazaro Sanchez looked unbelievably tall and imposing. He fitted the vast space around him and the spectacular views of night-time Madrid through the windows.

Had his shoulders always been so broad? His legs so long?

She could see that he was furious. Livid. A million miles from the charming urbane man who had seduced her that night.

You were a very active participant, pointed out a snarky voice in her head.

She could see a muscle pop in his jaw, as if he was gritting it. But in spite of his palpable anger she could still feel his affect on her. As if a million nerve-endings were firing to life. Her whole body humming with awareness. Liquid electricity running through her veins.

When she’d met him in the bar of that Dublin hotel after he’d issued her an invitation to join him, she’d said, ‘I don’t do this sort of thing…meet random men in bars. And I haven’t come here for something…anything…’ She’d blushed profusely, feeling as gauche as a sixteen-year-old.

He’d just smiled sexily and pulled out a chair for her. ‘Let’s just have a drink, hmm?’

That felt like a very long time ago now.

She swallowed. ‘I’m sorry…about downstairs. I wouldn’t have done it like that if I’d been able to contact you through normal channels. I did try calling your offices—several of them, in fact—but no one would pass on a message. Not when I said it was personal.’

‘Not good enough.’ He folded his arms.

Skye flushed. ‘When I read the news about your engagement announcement, I thought it would be the best opportunity to get close enough to tell you.’

He arched a brow. ‘How convenient that this opportunity also maximised your impact by ensuring you’d be splashed all over the tabloids.’

Skye frowned. ‘Tabloids?’

Lazaro’s mouth thinned. ‘Don’t pretend ignorance now, after that stunt. You knew damn well the press would be there.’

Her conscience pricked when she thought of the look of horror and shock on his fiancée’s face. ‘I thought… I made a judgement that the only way I’d get your attention would be to do…what I did.’

Lazaro was grim. ‘Well, you have my attention. You assured me after our night together that you understood “how these things go”. Were you lying?’

‘No.’ Skye choked out, but her conscience pricked.

She could recall how tempted she’d been to indulge the fantasy and stay a little longer the following morning. But the memory of her mother falling in and out of lust and love had come back to haunt her, and Skye had been too terrified to give in to the urge to linger, when everyone knew one-night stands never went anywhere.

‘I meant what I said that morning. Obviously I wasn’t aware that…that something had happened.’

Namely, a baby.

Now he sounded accusing. ‘I asked if you were protected and you said, “It’s fine”. You lied.’

Skye bit her lip. All she could remember was the desperation she’d felt in that moment for him to join their bodies. For him not to stop. She’d never been so desperate for anything in her life. But, even so, she hadn’t completely lost her mind.

She shook her head. ‘I really did think it would be okay. I thought I was at a safe place in my cycle.’

He made a dismissive noise. ‘How do I even know you’re pregnant? You don’t look pregnant.’

Skye didn’t know whether to be flattered or dismayed that her growing belly wasn’t obvious. She put her free hand there. ‘I am pregnant. I had my three-month scan last week, to confirm that everything was okay. That’s why I waited till now… Sometimes things happen…’

There was a heavy silence as he digested that, and then he said, ‘How can you be certain I’m the father?’

Skye was immediately indignant. ‘I’ve had sex once—with you. No one else.’

They’d had sex twice that night, actually. But Lazaro wasn’t about to issue that reminder, because those X-rated memories were far too vivid and recent as it was.

He saw a dull flush rise up under her pale skin and felt a corresponding jump in his pulse. His blood was running hot, but he told himself it was anger, not lust.

He looked at the small pale hand that rested over her still flat belly. It was almost impossible to accept the revelation that she was pregnant. With his child.

As someone who had been abandoned at birth by his own parents, and who had been thrown around the foster care system most of his young life, he had a jaundiced view of the bond between parents and children to say the least. And yet the thought of her having that scan without him made him feel disturbingly conflicted. As if he’d missed out on something.

He’d always vowed that if he did have children he would do his best by them and not abandon them. He would give them a better life than he had known. But he certainly hadn’t expected to have to think about it yet.

Even with Leonora he would have expected at least a few years to elapse before they talked about children.

He was still reeling from what had happened. The sudden and swift fall from grace.

Ha! sneered an inner voice. He’d come close to grace—that was all. Maybe it was something that would elude him for ever. Like the ultimate acceptance he craved.

He’d gone after Leonora but she’d disappeared, and he’d known it would be futile anyway. She’d told him it was over, and in her world that kind of public humiliation couldn’t be forgiven. It really was over. And so he’d come up here. To try and deal with the situation. With her.

Skye put her bag and coat down at her feet. She straightened up and her expression was contrite. Before he could stop himself Lazaro was struck again by her natural beauty. The scattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Innocent.

She said, ‘Look, I promise I didn’t intend to tell you like this. I really believed it was the only way. I didn’t mean to upset your fiancée.’

Lazaro didn’t believe this faux sincerity for a second. ‘She’s not my fiancée any more. The engagement is over.’

Skye seemed to go even paler. ‘If she loves you then maybe you can work this out—’

Lazaro emitted an involuntary laugh and held up a hand, stopping her words. ‘Love? There is no such thing as love. We weren’t marrying for love. That’s not how this works.’

Skye looked genuinely perplexed. ‘Then what were you marrying for?’

He shrugged minutely, this line of questioning making him uncomfortable. ‘Because it made sense. Because she would have helped me to get where I need to be and I would have helped her.’

‘That sounds so…cold.’

‘I would have said efficient, myself. Marriages based on such nebulous notions as love rarely last.’

Hesitantly she asked, ‘Were you together when we…met?’

‘No. It happened…just afterwards.’

Lazaro felt even more uncomfortable when he recalled how the intensity of his experience with Skye had left him feeling hungry for more, but also very wary. He was not looking for grand passion in his life. He was looking for acceptance and respect. And he needed a woman who would help him achieve it. A woman from his father’s world and the right side of it.

Leonora Flores de la Vega had already been on his radar—he’d seen her at a few events and had always been intrigued by her aloof manner. The way she always seemed slightly apart from the crowd. It had resonated with something inside him—perhaps the part that was still ostracised despite his success.

But he had to concede now that meeting Skye had spurred him on to ask Leonora out. As if that night with Skye had spooked him. Made him realise that he had a voracious hunger inside him that he’d never acknowledged before. He’d wanted to forget that he’d acted totally out of character for a moment. Put their extraordinary chemistry down to a fluke happenstance.

But it hadn’t been a fluke because he could feel it again now. An inexorable pull to this woman. A sizzling in his blood. A growing urgency to touch her again. Damn her.

‘Oh.’

Skye looked away for a moment and the irritation he was feeling at this woman’s effect on him showed in his curt response. ‘What does that mean? Oh.’

With visible reluctance she looked at him again. ‘Well… I’m very different to her. You looked good together. I can see why you chose her to be your wife.’

It was as if she could see into his mind. His skin prickled. She was right. Skye O’Hara couldn’t be more different from the very tall and svelte Leonora. But her petite curvy body and fresh-faced prettiness had a far earthier appeal to his libido than Leonora’s cool elegance. Leonora had never connected with that part of him.

In fact Skye was like no other woman he’d ever been with, and yet she’d been the one with whom he’d connected most viscerally.

She said, ‘Well, maybe this has done her a favour. Everyone deserves to be loved.’

Inexplicably, Lazaro felt an ache deep inside him. He quashed it brutally. ‘Don’t be so ridiculously sentimental. You caused this to happen by interrupting a private and exclusive gathering.’

‘Not that private or exclusive if the press were there,’ she pointed out.

Lazaro ground his teeth. ‘We are not here to debate the issue.’

She bent down then, and picked up her bag and coat. ‘No, we’re not. I came to tell you that I’m pregnant, and now that I have I’ll leave.’

She moved as if to walk out and then stopped, looking around at the maze of doors leading off in different directions.

She turned around, sheepish. ‘Can you tell me the way out, please?’

Lazaro shook his head, as much in negation of her question as to check if he was hearing her correctly. But she looked deadly serious.

Remembering how quickly she’d slipped out of his grasp once before, he went over and caught her arm, leading her over to a sofa, saying grimly, ‘You don’t get to deliver a bombshell, wreck my engagement and then walk out the door like nothing’s happened. Sit down. You’re not going anywhere.’

Skye should have known it wouldn’t be so easy. Of course a man like Lazaro Sanchez—so important that it was impossible to get in touch with him like any normal mortal—wouldn’t just let this go. And she had to concede that this had to be a huge shock for him. As much as it had been for her, and she’d had three months to absorb it now.

As if it was paining him to ask, he said, ‘Do you want something? Tea? Coffee?’

Skye appreciated the fact that he patently didn’t want her there but was being forced to be civil. ‘Maybe a glass of water?’

She was also starving. This was usually the best time of day for her to eat, when she could keep it down, but she didn’t think Lazaro was about to order her a club sandwich and fries—her current craving.

He came back from the drinks cabinet and handed her a glass of water, which she accepted gratefully. He had a glass of something for himself that looked like brandy or whisky.

He went and stood in front of one of the windows and Skye felt awed. He really did look like a titan. Master of his universe.

‘You must have known who I was,’ he said.

Skye looked at his back. ‘Excuse me?’

He turned around. ‘You knew who I was and you targeted me.’

Skye stood up, incensed, water splashing unnoticed from her glass to the rug on the floor. ‘I beg your pardon? You walked into my restaurant and sat in my section.’

Now he flushed, and a bolt of heat went straight to Skye’s groin because it reminded her of his flushed face after they’d made love. He’d looked so…sexy.