‘I’m not here to be judged by a man who was happy enough to bed me but who rejects the consequences.’

Luc reared back with surprise. Clearly the last thing he had expected was for her to take him on. The great Lucas Marcelos versus Emma Fane, a chambermaid? No contest, he must have thought. No contest? She’d be a mother soon. He’d better get used to that idea.

‘I’ll need proof that your baby is mine,’ he grated out.

‘I’d expect nothing less,’ she said coldly.

‘Well, we are where we are, so I will tell you what’s going to happen next.’

‘No, you won’t,’ she argued firmly. ‘This is one occasion where you don’t decide. This is my body and my baby—’

‘Our baby, according to you,’ he fired back.

‘Our baby,’ she conceded. ‘There is no blame here, Luc. We’re both equally responsible for this child, and both equally invested in its future.’

She hoped that was true, and something in Luc’s eyes said he did want to be part of this—though whether that was a good thing, right now she couldn’t tell. For all that he was a notorious playboy, Lucas Marcelos was famous for his loyalty—to his friends, to his polo team, and to the staff who worked for him. Her only worry was that Lucas would take his sense of responsibility to the nth degree, and that once he was satisfied he was the father of her child he would demand complete control.

Welcome to the hot, sultry and successful world of Brazilian polo!

Get ready to spend many

HOT BRAZILIAN NIGHTS

with Brazil’s sexiest polo champions!

Forget privilege and prestige, this is Gaucho Polo—hard, hot and unforgiving …

like the men who play the game!

Off the field the Thunderbolts are notorious heartbreakers, but what happens when they meet the one person who can tame that unbridled passion?

You may have already met gorgeous team captain Gabe in

Christmas Nights with the Polo Player

Now get ready to meet the rest of the team in:

In the Brazilian’s Debt March 2015

At the Brazilian’s Command April 2015

Brazilian’s Nine Months’ Notice November 2015

And look out for

Back in the Brazilian’s Bed December 2015

Available from millsandboon.co.uk

Or visit the author’s website:

susanstephens.com/thunderbolt

Brazilian’s Nine Months’ Notice

Susan Stephens

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SUSAN STEPHENS was a professional singer before meeting her husband on the Mediterranean island of Malta. In true Mills & Boon Modern Romance style they met on Monday, became engaged on Friday and married three months later. Susan enjoys entertaining, travel and going to the theatre. To relax she reads, cooks and plays the piano, and when she’s had enough of relaxing she throws herself off mountains on skis, or gallops through the countryside singing loudly.

For my friend, the wonderfully warm and talented Carole Mortimer, in this, her very special year.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

HOT BRAZILIAN NIGHTS

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

HAVING THE NIGHT off from her job as chambermaid to attend the wedding of her best friend in Scotland should have been a cause for celebration. A racing heart made that impossible, because Lucas Marcelos would almost certainly attend the wedding too, which meant no swerving from the truth.

Luc...

Would she ever learn?

No, Emma concluded, staring into the mirror in the ladies room at her rabbit-in-the-headlights face. Her stomach clenched at the thought of meeting up with the man who had fathered her unborn child. There was no doubt. She had taken a pregnancy test three times. It was only a couple of weeks since she’d left London and the bed of the hotel owner and infamous bad boy of gaucho polo, Lucas Marcelos—too early for doctors or scans, or even the physical signs to make themselves felt, other than tender breasts and some nausea, which, she had no doubt, would ramp up when she faced Luc.

The self-professed playboy was hardly going to leap with joy when he heard her news. He certainly wouldn’t show the same warm charm he had in London. A man as wealthy and successful as Lucas was bound to be suspicious of her motives. He would be even more suspicious if he knew how elated she’d been when she had discovered she was pregnant.

Emma’s main worry wasn’t for herself. She wondered if Luc would make a good father for her baby. They hardly knew each other, and what she did know about him hardly pointed to him being a family man.

One step at a time, she told herself firmly, checking the dress that had seemed perfectly fine when she had first walked into the cloakroom and now seemed too tight. Luc was a close friend of the groom so he was bound to be here. The groom, Tiago Santos, was marrying one of Emma’s closest friends, Danny Cameron. When Luc could spare the time from his chain of super-luxury hotels, both men played gaucho polo for the world-famous Thunderbolt polo team. If Luc didn’t show up he would be the only member of team Thunderbolt not attending the wedding. Emma had recognised several striking faces from the team’s publicity photos. Odds on, Lucas was prowling the party right now.

She’d been on Luc’s hotel training course in London when the principal of the college had brought her to his attention. Luc’s menacing glamour had caused quite a stir at the annual prize-giving ceremony, where Emma had been singled out for special praise for having an extraordinary grasp of the hotel industry. Because she’d cared for his staff and had seen ways to streamline their jobs, Emma had insisted when Luc had praised her afterwards. ‘You interest me,’ he’d said, his dark eyes mesmerising. She just hadn’t realised how much.

The instant that faintly amused stare had landed on her awestruck face, she had been lost. She’d always been a romantic and Lucas Marcelos more than lived up to his formidable reputation. He was built like a gladiator, and he did look like a god of the underworld, as some of the more colourful media reports had commented. With his wavy black hair, swarthy complexion, sharp black stubble and hard, driven face, Lucas was a primal force, and his interest had led her to progress to a wholly unrealistic fantasy along the lines of working alongside him and seeing him every day.

When he had stayed on in London this had seemed almost possible, and she had worked hard to maintain a professional front and impress him. As the days had stretched into weeks, she had allowed herself to believe they could be friends. She had opened up to him about her hopes for her future and her dreams of a career within his company. She had been flattered by his continued interest, she supposed now—too naïve to realise that Luc was a practised seducer who could adapt his technique to suit the situation—or that, for a short time, she had been that situation and her chastity had been a challenge Luc had been determined to overcome.

It had all come to a head on the night she had learned that her parents had been killed in a police chase. She had been so devastated she hadn’t told anyone. She certainly hadn’t told Luc, as she would have had to explain her parents’ criminal past and her own deep-seated grief, which she couldn’t explain even to herself.

Her parents had never wanted her, and had always referred to her as their accidental child. That hadn’t stopped her loving them, or pursuing an endless quest to win their love. She had made excuses to herself—her beautiful mother found ageing difficult to handle, while her father, a member of the aristocratic Fane family, must have found the pressure to succeed unbearable. On the night they’d died her tears had been genuine—sorrow for them and the lives they had wasted, and acceptance that her long-held dream to find a way to make them love her, had been lost. She could remember the overwhelming need to be held and loved overcoming her.

Pretend love was better than no love at all, and Luc was a master of seduction. She had been so glad of it that night. He had woken her to pleasure so extreme she’d found she could forget everything. And so the fantasy had progressed for one more night. Lucas Marcelos had then been her adoring lover, and she had been his treasured love. She had even asked him at one point where they would go from there. Luc had looked at her with surprise, and then he’d shrugged. ‘We could have an affair, if you like.’

Her dreams had shattered. And then he’d laughed, as if such things were all too easily arranged. She had waited until he’d been asleep and had slipped out of his bed, making the long trek home to Scotland, thinking that would get her head straight. In going back home, she’d hoped to find some trace of a happy memory with her parents, but there had been no trace. There had been nothing to find. So she’d got a job here and started to rebuild her life. She had never thought to see Luc again, but now he was back in her life, for however short a time, she would have to tell him about the baby.

At least she was back in touch with reality now, Emma reflected as she smoothed the fine silk dress over her still-flat stomach. Lucas was a devastatingly handsome billionaire. She was a chambermaid in training. There was no common ground between them. And skulking in the ladies room wasn’t the answer. She had to face him. With her life as it stood now, she couldn’t afford to waste any more time on hopeless causes. She’d feel better when she explained how happy she was to be expecting a child, and that she didn’t need his help, now or ever.

He probably wouldn’t even remember her, Emma reflected as a crowd of women joined her in the cloakroom. As they jostled for space at the mirror she reached for her small pouch of cosmetics and set about improving the things she could. Too much make-up and she’d look as if she’d painted her courage on. Too little and Luc might think her pale and weak. And she would never allow him to think that. Adding some lip-gloss helped, and blusher worked wonders. She was just putting everything away again when one of the women turned to her. ‘Hi. Great party, isn’t it?’

‘Have you seen who’s here?’ another woman chipped in.

‘Lucas Marcelos!’ a third exclaimed, faking a swoon as she directed a knowing look at her friends. ‘I wonder if any of us will come to his attention tonight?’

Emma was glad of the raucous laughter as it gave her a chance to recover. ‘He’s here?’ she confirmed once they had calmed down.

‘And alone,’ the first woman confided. Raising a brow, she added, ‘Men like him shouldn’t be allowed out without a leash. Have you seen him?’ She fanned herself. ‘He’s a licence to sin. Who could blame us if we had to give him a test drive?’

Emma said nothing as the women continued to discuss their sighting of the notorious heartbreaker. Her first impulse was to run as far and as fast as she could. She was pregnant by a rich and powerful man—a man she hardly knew, with a reputation for ruthlessness and womanising. To top that off, she was penniless in a dead-end job. A job that would lead places, she was determined, calming herself down, and motherhood didn’t come with a handbook, but, like countless women, she would do her best for her child with or without a man’s help. She wasn’t running anywhere. She would see this out. She had never been a quitter, except for that one night in London when she’d run from the most devastating man she had ever met, because she couldn’t bear to be hurt again, but now there was a child to consider, and she would never run away again. Her child wasn’t an accident, it was a gift.

Feeling better, she collected up her things. Danny had lent her a beautiful dress to wear, and both Danny and the chief bridesmaid, Lizzie, another of her childhood friends, would be waiting for her, wondering where she was. Smoothing down the dress, she checked her reflection in the mirror one last time. Pregnancy and Lucas was a dizzying combination, but the make-up had helped to conceal her ashen complexion. She just had to get through tonight. She had to find a way to talk to him that kept the facts central and emotion out of it.

She could do this. She turned to say goodnight to the women. ‘Have a great party—’ And stepped out of the door, straight into the path of Lucas.

Her shocked gaze flashed to his face as he steadied her. Luc’s touch was so familiar she felt faint for a moment. It was as if they had never been apart. His dark stare was just as penetrating, his firm mouth still as tempting. Her lips tingled with anticipation, even as her stomach clenched with alarm.

‘Are you okay?’

His husky voice caressed her senses. It was the same voice that had lulled and thrilled her while he had directed her pleasure.

‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you.’ She pulled back to put some space between them. Theorising was all very well, but standing in front of Luc again had completely thrown her. ‘Apologies for bumping into you,’ she said lightly, relying on good manners to get her through a difficult situation.

‘We know each other, don’t we?’

He was teasing her. They definitely knew each other. Luc knew every inch of her body intimately. ‘I believe we’ve met.’ She cursed her body for its instant response when her aim was to act cool.

Luc’s ebony brows swept up, making him look like a Tartar from the plains on a raid. Tall, dark and dangerous, with watchful eyes, he was exactly as she remembered him—except for the clothes. He’d been naked when she’d left him. The formal black tailoring suited him. White shirt, grey silk tie, black diamond cufflinks, accessorised with a killer smile, Lucas Marcelos was every bit the awe-inspiring billionaire, while she was every bit the chambermaid in her borrowed dress. She turned to go.

Luc stepped in front of her. His heat enveloped her. His potent sexuality threatened to seduce her all over again.

‘I hope you enjoy your evening, Senhor Marcelos,’ she said formally, looking past him towards the ballroom, where the party was in full swing.

‘Why did you leave London so suddenly, Emma?’

Why didn’t he get out of her way? ‘It was time to go.’ She kept her tone carefully neutral, wanting to put some distance between them so she could get her head together. This wasn’t the time or place to tell him she was pregnant with his child, but the time would come and she wanted to be ready for it. She shrugged. ‘I had places to be.’ She met his stare levelly, hoping he would leave it there.

Luc didn’t leave it.

‘I thought you were happy in your job. I thought all my staff was happy?’

‘I’m sure they are.’

‘But you couldn’t have been, or you wouldn’t have left.’

Luc’s stare had hardened. He expected her to answer, but her heart was beating so rapidly she doubted she could draw enough breath to speak.

‘Did you find a better job?’

‘Not really,’ she admitted honestly, following Luc’s stare around their surroundings. She got his message loud and clear. This hotel was lovely for a small town in the wilds of Scotland, but it was hardly on the scale of Luc’s fabulous palaces. Maybe he thought their encounter in London had been a tactical move on her part to help her scramble up the career ladder faster, and when that hadn’t worked out she’d come back here. Nothing could be further from the truth. She had worried their short-lived affair would compromise her career. Now she knew that sex was sex to Lucas, and had no bearing on his business. To her, sex was a promise and an endorsement of trust—she had thought. Thankfully, she knew better now.

‘Did you return to Scotland for the wedding?’ Luc enquired, staring at her intently.

‘This is my home. I was born in Scotland. I work here. The bride was born here too, which is why Danny chose to get married at this hotel.’

‘I heard your cousin Lizzie is the daughter of the local laird?’

‘That’s right.’ She could practically hear the cogs whirring in his mind. If her cousin was the daughter of the local laird, why was Emma scrubbing floors?

Luc’s frown deepened. ‘So you have the same job here that you had in London?’

‘Not quite. I’m still working as a chambermaid,’ she confirmed proudly. Her uncle might be a laird, but Emma came from the poor branch of the Fane family, the notorious branch that had resorted to criminal activities rather than taking an honest job. That had never been her way, and, however meagre her wage packet, she had the satisfaction of knowing that she had earned every single penny herself. Circumstances at home might have resulted in her education being patchy, but she was changing that, studying at night, even though there was no hope of progression here. She still had ambitions for a career but had to keep working in the meantime, and now, with a child to consider, she had a real purpose and drive behind that ambition.

‘Surely there’s no possibility of advancement for you here?’ Luc commented, as if he’d read her thoughts.

‘No training programme either,’ she confirmed, ‘but it’s a start.’ She stared him down, as if daring him to contradict her. This wasn’t her forever job. This was a job to help her get back on her feet. But it would seem odd to Lucas that she had come here to work in a hotel that couldn’t offer its staff any of the advantages he could.

‘You should have stayed in London.’

She recoiled at his tone. What business was it of his? Then she remembered the offer to become his short-term mistress. Did he think that had been a better prospect for her? If he did, he was alone.

That sensible determination wasn’t enough to stop her mind taking off in one direction while her wilful body took off in another, and only one of those places was safe.

‘You must be paid a lot less here than my company paid you in London.’

‘Money isn’t everything, Senhor Marcelos.’

‘But it helps. And please call me Luc. I think both of us are grown-up enough to handle this situation, aren’t we?’ His steely stare homed in on her face.

Firming her jaw, she shrugged. ‘I like it here. I’m happy here. I’ve got friends around me—friends who are waiting for me in the ballroom right now. So, if you will excuse me?’

Luc made her a mock bow. ‘Forgive me for monopolising you. I will escort you back to your friends.’

Every second she spent with him was torture, because every second she spent with Luc was an opportunity to tell him about the baby, but could she really do that here, in a crowded hotel corridor?

‘So, Emma, do you live here permanently now?’

‘Not exactly here.’ She glanced around. Luc’s staff quarters were known to be some of the best in London, but though this hotel was comfortable in the public areas it was a lot less so in the parts the public never got to see. ‘I really should be joining my friends.’ She breathed a sigh of relief as Luc ushered her forward towards the dazzle and the noise of the party. They walked together, close but not touching—still close enough to make the women from the cloakroom gape and stare. If only they knew, they wouldn’t be jealous, and she wouldn’t be falling for Luc’s brutal charm a second time. Satisfied she’d got everything in hand, she risked a smile as they parted.

‘You look pleased with yourself,’ he said.

And you’re a practised seducer, she thought, her heart thumping wildly as she took in the suspicion in his face. ‘I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening, Senhor Marcelos.’

‘You too, Ms Fane.’

She would enjoy her evening. Lucas Marcelos would have to look elsewhere for his entertainment tonight.

CHAPTER TWO

HE WOULD HAVE known her anywhere. The bolt of lust he’d experienced in London was back. Emma Fane had invaded his senses again, making the ache in his groin a permanent fixture. Hearing her scream with pleasure in his arms seemed to have happened moments ago. He had wanted to lead her from the wedding reception, not towards it—find a quiet room where they could continue what they’d started—but for some reason he had sensed that she was holding him at bay.

His lips pressed down as he thought about it. He never bedded the staff. Emma had been an exception. Something about her had driven him to possess her, and as he entered the ballroom now, his hunting instinct sharpened as he spotted her right away. One taste of Emma Fane could never be enough for him.

‘This is your table, sir,’ the waiter said, distracting him.

He thanked the man, who had recognised him immediately. The seat was perfect. It gave him an excellent view of Emma. Seated between the bride and the chief bridesmaid, she appeared relaxed and animated, not a bit like the girl who had confronted him with such icy self-control outside the cloakroom. Of course she would have changed, he mused, trying to make sense of her manner. He’d learned only after she’d left his bed of the tragedy that would have brought her down to earth with a bump. Losing both her parents in a car chase with the police, only to discover they had been criminals on the run, would have been enough for anyone. The Fanes had been selfish and uncaring of their only child, by all accounts, but that didn’t stop a person hunting for love, even if they knew their quest was hopeless.

When he’d first seen her, Emma had been full of fire, but she looked exhausted now. The job here, he reasoned as he studied her. She was more composed than she had been in London. An attractive air of maturity had settled over her, as if life had taught her some harsh lessons and she had come through. She’d been wild the night they’d wound up in his bed. Her zest for life had been contagious. Now he guessed her behaviour that night had been an attempt to blot out the pain, he suspected that Emma had used him in an attempt to forget.

That piqued his pride. It made him all the more determined to seduce her—to have her want him for more than forgetfulness. But why was she still here, working a job with no future? Surely she could have stayed in Scotland for the funeral and then returned to her job and the training course in London? Was she trying to avoid him? And, if so, why?

‘Three beautiful women, aren’t they?’ the older woman sitting next to him commented.

He only realised now that he had been ignoring his dining companion and had been staring fixedly at Emma. There was only one beautiful woman in this room as far as he was concerned. ‘All the women in Scotland are beautiful, from what I’ve seen.’ he said, in an attempt to make amends for his lack of manners.

‘And you are another charmer from Brazil,’ the older woman observed shrewdly. ‘But our women seem to like you dangerous men.’

He huffed a smile as he stared at the groom. Tiago Santos had been a notorious heartbreaker until the bride, Danny, had tamed him. The matron of honour, Lizzie, was married to another member of the Thunderbolt polo team, and Chico Fernandez had hardly been noted for his scrupulous behaviour when it came to women before he’d met his wife.

He had no intention of changing, Luc determined as he turned to make up for his poor manners at the dinner table. ‘I trust you won’t find me too threatening tonight?’ he teased his wily companion.

‘I shall keep you at arm’s length,’ she assured him with a twinkle in her eyes. ‘Forty years ago it might have been a different story. Just don’t hurt her,’ the matriarch added, her face turning serious as she stared at him unblinking.

‘Who are you taking about?’ he said, frowning as if he didn’t know what she meant.

‘Emma Fane.’ She gave him a look. ‘It’s no use trying to fool me, young man. I know exactly who you’ve been looking at. And my warning stands firm. That one’s had more trouble in her life than she deserves.’

He knew better than to deny his interest in Emma. She was in his sights. Hearing the affection with which his neighbour had just described her made him all the more determined to hunt her down. Emma Fane intrigued him. She aroused him. He wouldn’t let her get away from him a second time.

* * *

The band was playing. The ballroom was glittering with chandeliers, crystal and silver as it played host to an elegantly dressed crowd. But all Emma could see was Lucas. She pretended not to notice him. She had thought it would be easy to save all her attention for her friends, but couldn’t stop her gaze wandering, and each time she looked at Luc he was looking back. She found that thrilling and dangerous, like a promise that this wasn’t over yet. When the time came for her to leave her seat and help the bride get ready to leave the party with the groom, Luc was waiting for her in the hall.

She wasn’t ready for this. She would never be ready for this.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, adding a regretful smile, ‘I really can’t talk to you now.’

‘When?’ Luc demanded, his voice uncompromising.

‘I’m busy. Can’t you see?’ She stared pointedly after the bridal party as they started up the stairs.

‘Make time.’

‘I beg your pardon.’ She shot him a look.

‘You heard what I said,’ he repeated harshly.

‘You make it sound irresistible,’ she countered.

Luc glared at her. His voice held that same edge of command she remembered from London. It was the voice that had made her body thrill. Ignoring the pulse of lust, she moved past him.

He stopped her with his hand on her arm.

‘Let me go.’

‘No.’

His face was close, his eyes were blazing messages she didn’t want to see. ‘Are you always so direct?’ She pulled away, tightening the tension between them.

‘You should know,’ he murmured drily.

Sensation rocked through her. She remembered every one of Luc’s instructions. It didn’t help that his wicked mouth was tugging in the faintest of smiles as he stared into her eyes. He was letting her know that he understood the effect he was having on her. ‘I seem to remember you like me to be direct—and to direct you,’ he said.

‘How could you bring that up now?’ Her voice was low and tense as she glanced around, wondering who might have heard him.

Luc shrugged.

‘Excuse me, Senhor Marcelos. I need to go.’

‘Luc,’ he corrected her, his mouth tugging faintly.

Shaking her head with impatience, she tried again to move past him, and hated herself for being disappointed when he moved away first, holding his hands up as if he couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Was she so easily seduced by Luc’s black charm?

No. She was not, Emma decided. Running up the magnificent staircase to catch up with the bride, she didn’t give him a backward glance.

* * *

He showered at first light with the temperature turned to ice. Nothing helped. He huffed a smile at his physical reaction to thoughts of Ms Emma Fane. She was only a matter of yards away, which didn’t help. She slept in the staff quarters beneath the eaves, the floor above his room, one of the housemaids had told him with a cheeky smile.

Securing a towel around his waist, he glanced at his face in the mirror and raked his hand through his hair. He couldn’t get Emma out of his head. He had to do something about this. She had bewitched him in London and that memory hadn’t died. Having slept on the problem, he thought he knew why she’d come home. Sometimes in life it was necessary to reboot before moving on, and where better could she do that than here amongst friends?

Towelling down roughly, he threw on his jeans, wondering where she was now. She had run away last night like Cinderella when the clock struck twelve—to look after the bride, she’d said. To avoid talking to him, he’d thought.

Maybe she had a boyfriend?

He swore viciously at the thought—then remembered he hadn’t seen her with anyone at the party.

Maybe her boyfriend worked at the hotel and couldn’t get away from his job?

Maybe. Emma Fane was an attractive woman. It seemed unlikely that she was on her own.

And who cared? It was none of his business. To hell with Emma Fane!

Glancing in the mirror, he parked the idea of a shave, but then he made the mistake of glancing at the bed and remembering their night in London. Having Emma in his bed had been one of the best parts of that night. She’d been wild for it, and he’d been only too happy to oblige. He tore his gaze away regretfully. He didn’t have time for distractions like that. He wasn’t just here for the wedding. He had a castle to buy, along with some other business to attend to. Neither was he an adolescent to waste his day fantasising about having sex with Emma Fane. Forget her. Breakfast, and then work...

Forget Emma?

Would she be working today?

Why not? She was a regular girl with a regular job.

Snatching up the phone, he called Housekeeping. ‘I need some more towels in here, please.’

Emma was a regular girl?

He laughed at the thought. No way was Emma a regular girl. Nothing about her resembled the women he knew, from her generous figure to the way she took him on. None of the women he knew would dare to take him on. They wouldn’t risk spoiling things. They expected him to lavish his time and money on them and then they repaid him in bed. Emma expected nothing from him. In fact, the less she had to do with him, the better she seemed to like it, or so it appeared to him.

He paced the room, weighing up the odds of getting the result he wanted. Even a hotel this size must surely employ more than one chambermaid.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out. There was a knock on the door, and a voice called out ‘Housekeeping.’

Emma.

* * *

‘Towels, sir? Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ Emma blurted before she could stop herself.

Luc laughed, his eyes black with hidden thoughts. ‘You didn’t think to check the name of the guest requesting towels?’ he challenged as he admitted her into his room.

‘I’m not expected to address the guests by name, sir.’

Luc’s lips pressed down with disapproval as he observed tersely, ‘Poor training.’

‘Safer for the staff,’ she countered, walking past him. ‘We’re not encouraged to be familiar with the guests.’

‘Even those you know, Emma?’ Luc called after her.

Her spine tingled as his stare warmed her back. ‘Even those I know,’ she confirmed coolly.

She knew this man very well indeed, and not at all, Emma realised as she headed for his bathroom. There had been very little talking, other than about the running of the hotel, in London, and even less last night. For once in her life she’d managed to remain sensible, and had steered well clear of Lucas.

‘Don’t you have anything to say to me, Emma?’ Luc’s lips pressed down in mock affront when she emerged from the bathroom, having finished arranging his towels.

‘Sorry, sir. That’s not what I’m here for.’ This was definitely not the moment to tell him about the baby. When she did that, she wanted it to be a private chat, but in a public place. Straightening her back, she made straight for the door. Luc opened it for her, and she avoided his gaze as she told him, ‘If you want anything else just call Housekeeping and they’ll send someone—’

‘But maybe not you?’ he interrupted.

‘Maybe not me,’ she agreed, turning to meet his stare head on. ‘It all depends who’s on duty.’

‘When do you get off duty, Emma?’

Her heart thundered. ‘Me?’ She frowned. ‘When my shift is over.’ Slipping past him, she could only think of leaving his room and reaching the safety of the kitchens downstairs.

She had barely opened the door to the kitchen when the head of housekeeping turned her around. ‘He’s ringing again,’ she said with a look. ‘Apparently, he’s run out of coffee now.’

But she’d filled up the tray when she’d serviced Luc’s room. What could he want now? Biting back her anxious thoughts, she made sure the service trolley had everything she required, and was back outside Luc’s room within five minutes of leaving it. ‘Yes, sir?’ she said politely as he opened the door. ‘Here I am with everything you could possibly need.’ She couldn’t help herself. She was fuming.

‘If only,’ he murmured, and she suspected he was trying not to laugh.

She pushed her trolley past him, wondering if the moment would ever come when she could tell him about the baby. Was now the time to tell him? Should she close the door and beard the lion in his den?

Could she afford to lose this job?

No. And he might just erupt in fury—ring downstairs and get her sacked. Propositioning a guest? That was a sackable offence. Threatening him? Goodness knew, she couldn’t risk that appearing on her CV.

‘Problem?’ he queried, no doubt wondering at her silence.

Calming herself, she took stock. He was just a man—a formidable man, but a living, breathing human being just as she was. She would speak to him when the time was right. There was no need to feel panicked into it.

‘Lovely day,’ he commented, turning to look out of the window.

She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. The snow was drifting down, and it was a chocolate-box scene outside, but frigidly cold, while Luc was the polar opposite. He looked so hot dressed just in jeans and a casual shirt. He looked hot in everything—

Especially naked.

‘My apologies for not noticing that you had run out of coffee,’ she said, trying to remain cool and professional. ‘I should have noticed when I brought up the towels.’

‘No problem.’ He turned and seemed to look at her a little longer. ‘I only just noticed the lack of it, or I wouldn’t have called you back.’

She doubted that somehow, but gave him one of the thin smiles she reserved for those times when guests were difficult and pride in her job wasn’t enough.

‘When does your shift end today?’ he asked, catching her off guard as she organised his fresh supplies.

Was he suggesting they get together when her shift ended? It would give her chance to talk about the baby... But his voice was too intimate, too darkly amused. Luc wasn’t going to suggest a quiet talk over a cup of coffee, she suspected.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said on a dry throat. ‘That all depends.’ She hurried to move the trolley towards the door. Luc was leaning against the wall, watching her like a tiger with a mouse.

‘That’s all right, you can go now,’ he said, opening the door for her.

She breathed a sigh of relief to be let off the hook. She’d choose the time, and she would choose the place to tell him.

‘See you later,’ he said.

His warm, clean scent washed over her as she moved past him. Luc had recently showered, and his hair was still damp. Waving in disarray, it had caught on his stubble. He hadn’t shaved.

And why should she care? Emma decided as she pushed her trolley out into the corridor.

Fit, tall and hard, wearing snug-fitting jeans, Lucas Marcelos was a formidable sight. She cared. ‘Will there be anything else, sir?’ she enquired in her best professional voice. But then some demon must have climbed inside her throat. ‘Perhaps you’d like your shoes cleaned or your trousers pressed?’ With you still wearing them, preferably, her hostile face clearly said. ‘How about the bed? Would you like me to straighten that before I leave?’

That was absolutely the wrong thing to say, she realised as a slow smile curved his mouth. Luc really knew how to use a bed. And not just to lie in it.

‘Why don’t you come back later to do that? I’ll put a sign outside my door when I’m ready for you.’

With difficulty, she curbed her thoughts and managed to say nothing in reply, other than a polite ‘Yes, sir.’

‘There is one thing.’

‘Yes, sir?’ she repeated with studied patience.

‘Tell Housekeeping they need to get bigger towels.’

None of their guests was half his size. Luc was a towering presence in every way. ‘Will there be anything else, sir?’

‘Yeah. How long do you plan to keep this up?’

‘Keep what up, sir?’ She waited a moment. ‘If there’s nothing else, sir?’

‘Not for now.’

* * *

He leaned back against the door and laughed. On each meeting he liked Emma more. It wasn’t just her voluptuous form, her flame-red hair or her spiky nature—though he liked that a lot. She might look young and vulnerable with that pale Celtic beauty, but beneath her demure uniform-clad exterior Emma Fane was still the firebrand he remembered and had enjoyed. She was everything he’d craved when he’d first seen her in London, and he was in no way done with her yet.

She’d improved, he concluded as he pulled a sweater over his shirt. She was more assured. While in London he hadn’t been very interested in her personality, he had detected that she was bolder now, though she’d been bold enough then—a wild thing, furious with passion. She was different now. Steely.

It was only natural she would have toughened up after her parents’ accident and the subsequent brutal press revelations. He was impressed with her control, and the polite words she’d trotted out, delivered with that fiery emerald stare. That wasn’t something he was going to forget in a hurry.

Picking up the keys to his car, he looked around and thought the room seemed empty without her. Emma was a small woman with plenty of character. She’d been too busy with her bridesmaid’s duties for them to get together last night, and then she had taunted him with the lilting laugh she reserved for her friends. Her reddened, careworn hands hadn’t changed, he mused as he left the room and strolled down the corridor towards the bank of elevators. He had noticed them in London, with particular reference to the magic such work-worn hands could weave—once she had been shown how to use them and had been encouraged.

Nodding politely to his fellow guests, he entered the elevator still thinking about Emma. When she had disappeared out of his bed in London in the middle of the night, his enquiries had proved he wasn’t the only one to be surprised by her disappearance. Emma was such a good worker, he’d been told, and had such great prospects of advancement in the business. Well, he’d noticed that in her himself. Why would she leave? Where would she go? She was renowned for putting in long hours without complaint, and always making the best of every situation. What had happened to Emma Fane had been the question on everyone’s lips. He knew now that she was making the best of a bad situation. But did he know anything about that situation?

Emma Fane was trouble he didn’t need, he told himself firmly as he stood back to let the other guests spill out into the lobby first. He admired her professionalism, but it riled him that she could treat him like any other guest. After their night in London he’d expected more.

Giving him the chance to turn her down?

Okay. Yes. His pride was bruised. He had never been wrong-footed by a woman before. Had Emma forgotten that he’d made her scream with pleasure in his arms? Or was that why she was keeping her distance from him? Couldn’t she trust herself around him?

He liked that version best, and smiled as he waited for the valet to bring his car round. There was no basis for his obsession with Emma. Full lips, full breasts and shapely legs—all great, but he wasn’t about to fall at the feet of a flame-haired temptress simply because she was dressed in a severely cut uniform that demanded it be ripped off her. Tipping the valet, he got into his car.

All that day he lectured himself on steering clear of a woman who affected him so badly he couldn’t concentrate. Hadn’t he vowed never to become plagued by a woman again? He’d kept that pledge up to now—apart from that one slip in London with Emma. When he’d woken that morning he’d been almost glad she’d gone—until he’d started missing her. Hadn’t he learned that caring destroyed lives, or that hunger for a woman could so easily become an obsession? He wasn’t going down that blind alley ever again.

So why was he still thinking about Emma Fane?

Because she was making herself unavailable to him, and that was a situation he would not allow to continue.

With the last appointment of the day done and dusted, he gunned the engine and released the handbrake. Thanks to Emma, he was aching with frustration. If he couldn’t get her out of his head he would continue to be distracted. And that wasn’t going to happen. He had to do something about Emma Fane. And soon.

CHAPTER THREE

LUC MARCELOS. SEX GOD. Damaged hero, according to the press, though whatever that meant had been carefully hushed up, Emma reflected as she hurried about her final tasks of the day.

That was another advantage of being as rich as Croesus. If people wanted to feed at his trough, they had to kowtow to Senhor Marcelos. Yes, there’d been talk about his past—nothing specific, a few high-profile affairs and some mammoth business deals. He let certain gossip get through on purpose, she suspected, so that the things he really cared about remained hidden. She could see something swirling behind his eyes and knew she wasn’t imagining it, because she had the same hurt and shadows in her own stare. They were both private people who relied on themselves and no one else, but she couldn’t pretend that Luc’s shadows didn’t intrigue her, or that she wouldn’t like to know more about him, what made him tick.

Must she always go looking for trouble?

Apparently, yes, or she would have found some excuse not to service his room. One of the other chambermaids at the hotel would have jumped at the chance to take over from her.

Why didn’t she ask them?

Not a chance.

It didn’t matter how dangerous Luc might be—while he was here she couldn’t stay away from him. There was a good reason for that. She had to find the right moment to tell him about the baby, and at some point he would leave Scotland for destinations unknown. Luc had homes all over the world, and could go to any one of them. Before he left she had to talk to him. He was hardly going to leave her a forwarding address.

When her shift was over she ran up the back stairs to her room. Her thoughts were still just as confused. Her main aim was to be a good parent, and to be as honest as she always had been, which meant coming clean with Luc, but each time she saw him her head reeled and her thoughts scrambled. How was she supposed to form a sound judgement about a man she only knew by reputation?

It didn’t help that Luc seemed to think she was still that girl he knew from London, the girl who would go to bed with him at the drop of a hat. He couldn’t know that things had changed radically for her since then. She’d been half-crazy with grief and shock that night and in her furious despair had found release and pleasure with him, but her reality had changed and she had no excuse now.

Safe in her tiny box room beneath the eaves, she lay on her narrow cot and thought about Luc... Luc naked. Luc looming over her, bronzed and immense, his wild black hair waving around his face, his stubble thick, his mouth firm and curving in a wicked invitation to sin. He hadn’t needed to seduce her. She had been seduced at her first sight of him. He had made her body sing. He had inhabited every part of her, mind, body and soul, and with pleasure had come oblivion, which was all she’d craved.

So she had no excuse for still wanting him. She was back on her feet now and had more sense. She should steer clear—except she couldn’t, because there was a baby to consider now. Sinking down onto the edge of the bed, she frowned, trying to imagine a situation where they could face each other and talk sensibly. It didn’t seem likely they ever would. Luc had never been interested in conversation. She had to change that.

How?

Luc had a world of women at his beck and call. How was she going to persuade him that becoming a father would be so much more rewarding?

She shivered as memories of her own father came flooding back. He hadn’t wanted her. He hadn’t changed his life for her. However hard she had tried to win his love, he had rejected her. Was that what she wanted for her child?

She had to clear her mind and stop panicking. It was better that her child knew its father, rather than that it grew up searching and hoping and hunting for some elusive role model that didn’t exist. And she had a nest egg to build up fast. She couldn’t afford to lose this job. She had to provide a good home for her child. That was more important than anything else.

Examining her reflection in the mirror, she straightened her uniform and smoothed her hair. She took pride in what she did, and that wasn’t going to change, but she had to face facts. Lucas Marcelos was fabulously wealthy with an aristocratic lineage stretching back to antiquity. She was the last in a long line of black sheep. How likely was it that Luc would take her seriously when she told him about their child? He was more likely to think she was trying to scam him and get money out of him with the news that she was pregnant. But she knew the truth and could hold her head up high. And she wasn’t the first of her friends to deal with a bad boy.

The next morning, she straightened her room with new purpose before going downstairs to start work. She had decided to tell Luc today how things stood. Only then could she get on with her life. He was going back to Brazil, so they would both get a chance to think things through quietly before they came to any decision about the future. Telling him shouldn’t be so hard. The entire Thunderbolt team was composed of bad boys, and her friends Lizzie and Danny had married two of them...

Why would that make it easier for her? She had no interest in taming Luc.

No. She had better things to do. Like working hard and raising a child. She certainly didn’t have any more time to waste daydreaming.

The first bombshell to hit her when she arrived in the staffroom was the news that Lucas Marcelos wasn’t leaving until the end of the week. All her thoughts of telling him and then them both having chance to think things through calmly while they were half a world apart crashed and burned. Luc would be right here. The consequences of telling him would be in her face.

‘And he’s calling for more towels,’ the housekeeper announced, draining the remaining blood from Emma’s face. ‘The new big ones I bought especially for him.’

‘More towels?’ one of the chambermaids queried with a frown. ‘I just took him some more towels.’

‘It’s not for us to question our guests,’ the housekeeper reprimanded as she continued with her work.

Luc would keep on calling for one thing or another until she went upstairs to see him, Emma guessed. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll go,’ she said, wanting to make an end of it. It was better to face him now than allow this charade to continue.

* * *

He looked up at the knock on the door. ‘Come in.’ Putting his newspaper down, he stood up then relaxed as Emma used her pass card to open the door.

‘Towels,’ she told him briskly, sidestepping him as she walked into the room.

‘Coffee?’ he suggested, watching her back view appreciatively as she disappeared into the bathroom.

‘Do you need more coffee?’ she asked him with a touch of impatience.

‘I have all the coffee I need, thank you. I just thought you might like a cup.’

‘I’m afraid that wouldn’t go down very well with my boss.’

‘You never used to worry about what your boss thought.’

She chose not to answer him. He moved in front of her so she couldn’t leave. ‘You’ve still got a job in London, if you want it.’

‘As what? Your part-time mistress?’ she said in the same clipped and professional voice.

Nothing quite so permanent, he thought as his appetite sharpened. ‘You could continue your training course.’

‘Thanks for the offer.’

‘And?’ he prompted.

‘And nothing.’

The lift of her brow said Emma believed he belonged to that group of gilded individuals who only had to look a certain way for a woman to fall at their feet. And she wasn’t one of them. She had carefully turned her face away from his naked chest. He hadn’t thought about it until now. He had slipped on a shirt and jeans for the sake of decency after his shower, not wanting to slob around in a robe, and only noticed now that the shirt wasn’t fastened.

‘Luc, I need to talk to you—’

‘And I to you,’ he assured her, but they were interrupted by a second knock on the door. ‘Breakfast. Hot coffee, freshly baked rolls. How can you resist?’

Easily, her look told him. Emma could resist the coffee and him.

She stood aside as he opened the door to let the waiter in, giving him all the chance he needed to admire her resolute profile: the firm mouth he loved to kiss, and the neat nose that made him smile when it wrinkled. Her expression right now was fixed in disapproval. How he’d love to soften that. He cleared the table for the waiter instead.

‘Join me?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ she said.

He loved the way she drew herself up. She still had to tilt her chin at an acute angle in order to meet his stare. ‘Join me for breakfast—coffee at least,’ he pressed as the waiter set out breakfast on his dining table.

‘Sorry, sir. I can’t do that,’ Emma told him firmly.

He could just imagine the rumours flying around the kitchen after this. He should be more considerate and think about her reputation, but this was the woman who had clung to him and wrapped her naked limbs around him as she’d begged him for more. Why was she acting so cool now? He stopped her at the door with a hand on her shoulder, and turning his back on the waiter he murmured, ‘Why don’t you lighten up?’

‘I’m not expected to lighten up,’ she replied, matching his discretion. ‘This is my job. I’m working.’

‘So being pleasant to guests isn’t part of your job description?’

‘There are limits,’ she said, glancing over his shoulder at the waiter.

‘If you didn’t work here, would you join me for coffee?’

‘If I didn’t work here, I wouldn’t be in your room.’

She turned and seized hold of the doorhandle—so tightly her knuckles turned white. ‘If you will excuse me?’

‘Allow me,’ he said.

There was a rapid transfer of hands as Emma whipped hers away before he could touch her. The waiter was ready to leave, and they both stood back to let him go. He tipped the man a fistful of coins. Once he was out of earshot he turned back to Emma. ‘Are you sure you won’t join me?’

‘Completely sure,’ she said firmly. ‘May I go now, sir?’

There were dozens of things rampaging behind her eyes that he guessed she would like to say, but not now. He decided to push a little harder to find out what was on her mind. ‘You do know I’m staying on for another few days?’

‘Yes, I heard.’

She had turned back to face him, and again that unsaid something flashed across her face. ‘If there’s something you need to say to me, Emma, just spit it out.’

She looked genuinely shocked for a moment, and then reverted to her role of efficient hotel employee. ‘Just call downstairs when you’re ready to leave, and they’ll have someone come up to collect your luggage.’

‘I think I can manage the cases myself,’ he gritted out. Digging into the back pocket of his jeans, he said, ‘Here...for you.’

‘What’s this?’ She frowned as he held out a twenty.

His patience was exhausted. ‘It’s money, Emma. What does it look like? It’s common practice in the hotel industry to offer money for good service. I’ve had you running up and down for the past couple of days. A tip is customary in Scotland as well as in London, I presume?’

She flinched as he pressed the note into her hand. And then, very slowly and deliberately, she folded it and placed it on the table just inside his door. ‘There are some excellent charities you can give this money to. But I’m not one of them. Have a good day, Senhor Marcelos,’ she added with a cool stare. ‘I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay.’

She’d changed—too much for him not to be suspicious. He watched with mixed emotions as Emma walked off down the corridor. From wild party girl to considered and efficient chambermaid, who looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, was quite a leap. And he didn’t believe it for a minute. Pheromones were still dancing in the air. Round one to Emma, but the battle wasn’t over yet. In London she’d been all fire and passion, but now she was thoughtful and distant. She must know she couldn’t have prevented her parents’ death, so what was eating her?

He didn’t have time to waste thinking about it. He had business meetings stacked up end on end.

Emma remained in his head for the rest of the day—to the point where he cut things short, something he’d never done before, and all because he couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel to see Emma.

When he arrived and saw her waiting for the elevator as he walked into the lobby, his hunting instincts sharpened. She sensed, rather than saw him, and turned around as he walked towards her. ‘Good evening, Senhor Marcelos. I hope you’ve had a nice day?’

‘A highly successful day, thank you.’

She gave him a look as if to say, Is there any other kind of day for you? She was dressed in her chambermaid’s outfit with a kettle in her hand and more towels for another guest. The sight irritated him. They worked her to death here, and he hated the idea of Emma Fane waiting on anyone but him. She’d had such good prospects in London, which she had rejected, thrown away.

Why?

Once they were inside the elevator she didn’t look at him but stared fixedly at the illuminated floor numbers above the door panel as they flashed on and off. Her wildflower scent filled his senses. She was soft and warm. He was big and hard. He radiated cold from the frigid temperature outside, while to his tortured imagination Emma appeared to be surrounded by a cosy if impenetrable glow. She was so tiny compared to him, yet they had fitted together so well, he remembered. His body remembered everything about her—everything that had happened that night. It made her coolness now all the more insulting.

The lift emptied and they were on their own for the last few floors.

‘Come back to London with me, Emma,’ he said as the lift slowed.

She turned to look at him with surprise and raised a brow.

‘Don’t allow the tragedy to destroy your life.’

‘Thank you, but I’m quite capable of handling my own affairs, and I really don’t want to talk about them with you.’

‘Don’t you?’

Her cheeks flamed red as if she was hiding something from him. He wondered what as she went back to studying floor numbers as they flashed on and off.

‘I understand why you came home to Scotland, but not why you stay here. It makes more sense to go back to London and complete your training.’

‘To you, maybe.’

His senses surged as she fired back at him. He liked her like this, full of passion, full of fire. ‘You can pick up the programme,’ he insisted, determined to keep the pressure on. ‘Everyone will understand that you needed time to come to terms with what happened. It’s a good course, Emma—the best. And free to all my staff.’

‘I know that,’ she said, refusing to look at him.

‘You had career prospects—great prospects. Why are you throwing them away?’

‘I’m happy here.’

The elevator slowed and the doors slid open, but before she could walk through them he stood in front of her. ‘What do you get here that you can’t get in London? The chance to grow old and grey while you wait for promotion?’

‘Peace of mind,’ she fired back, her eyes full of steel as she stared at him.

‘So it’s all about me?’

‘Hah!’ She laughed.

‘Well, I can tell you what it’s about here,’ he drove on. ‘It’s all about dead men’s shoes, while I have hotels around the world full of opportunity. You could work in any one of them—’

‘You’re pitching hard,’ she interrupted. ‘Why, Lucas?’

‘What’s your problem? I know there’s something. Debts? A persistent boyfriend you can’t get rid of? I don’t know—’

‘Don’t you, Lucas?’

‘There is something troubling you,’ he said. ‘If you had problems in London you should have told me.’

‘Problems apart from you?’ Her eyes were firing bullets at him. ‘I didn’t have any problems in London,’ she assured him tensely.

‘What, then?’

‘Why can’t you let it go? This isn’t the time. I have work to do.’

‘When will it be the time?’

She looked as if she would like to say something, but then thought better of it, and so he quietened his tone and said, ‘If you have a problem, who else is going to help you?’

‘You’re going to help me?’ Her mouth slanted sceptically.

‘You trusted me in London. Why not now?’

‘I trusted you,’ she said, neither a question nor a statement. ‘But you flew out of the country that morning. “Billionaire off on his travels again”,’ she quoted from the newspapers. ‘Whether I’d left you or not, don’t even pretend you were planning to stick around.’

‘Did you expect me to stay and start something with you?’

‘A proper relationship, do you mean?’ She shook her head as if that had never entered her thoughts, and he believed her. ‘I want to get out of the lift, if you don’t mind,’ she said, looking past him.

He moved aside. ‘Think about what I’ve said, Emma. There’s still a place for you in London, if you want it.’

‘I’ve just taken on more hours here,’ she said, as if that was an end of the subject.

‘We can still discuss it.’

‘I’ve got a twelve-hour shift ahead of me.’

‘Twelve hours?’ He was aghast. ‘How many hours have you put in so far today? There are laws to protect workers like you, Emma. This isn’t the Dark Ages. Your hours would be capped at my hotel in London, and you’d still receive a decent wage.’ She couldn’t deny that he cared for his staff. ‘My staff mean everything to me. Without them, I have nothing. They should treat you the same way here. Don’t they ever give you time off?’

‘I choose my hours, and I get enough time,’ she assured him.

He exhaled, both with anger and frustration, as Emma slipped past him and walked away.

* * *

The last thing she heard as the steel door slid to was Luc’s angry huff, but she had always worked hard. Growing up, there had only been one way to have new clothes and enough food on the table, and that had been to make the money herself. Whether her parents had made much out of their life of crime was hard to say. The only times she’d ever seen them they were so drunk or so high it would have the easiest thing in the world to steal from them, and they had died penniless and in debt, which she was also struggling to pay.

After she’d restocked the room, she headed up the stairwell, through the fire door onto the small balcony at the top of the fire escape. The air was so cold here it was like breathing in ice shards, but she needed to refresh herself and wake up in readiness for the next shift. She was exhausted with the pregnancy and exhausted from working double shifts, but she had to go on. She had to support herself and a child.

As a lone bird flew across her field of vision to its roost, she wished briefly that she could fly away. Lucas had used her for sex and moved on. She had used him for sex and moved on, so they were quits. If only she could forget about him once she had told him about their baby, but their child bound them together for life.

Hugging her stomach protectively, she started to agonise over how and when to tell him. The future of an unborn child was at stake, and she couldn’t afford to get the timing wrong, and didn’t want to think how Luc would take the news.

* * *

She worked harder than she ever had during the night shift in a failed attempt to put Lucas Marcelos out of her mind. Only one thing mattered, she kept telling herself fiercely, and that was her baby, and by the end of this shift she could add to her nest egg.

Though she scrubbed and cleaned and polished throughout the long night, Luc never left her mind. His baby was with her too. That was the one thought that kept her going, kept her happy, kept her calm. In spite of all the obstacles, she was so happy to be pregnant. From the first moment she’d suspected, the world had seemed a brighter place and she had vowed there and then that, whatever problems lay ahead of her, she would make a very different life for her child from the life she had known growing up.

Luc might have no part in raising their child. She had already accepted that and intended to ask nothing of him. She didn’t need his help. She could do everything by herself, she always had. Telling him was the only difficult part, and that had seemed so easy in theory, but when she’d seen him face-to-face she’d known that nothing about it would be easy, and had panicked at the thought of him taking her baby away from her. Luc had the power to do that. He had the money and the influence she lacked. How would she even find her child if he decided to steal it away from her, when he had homes all over the world?

She had to lift her head from her scrubbing to take some deep, calming breaths. Becoming a shivering wreck wouldn’t help her child.

Would a man like Luc turn his back when she told him? Would he allow her to carry on and remain in Scotland? No. He would interfere. But she still had to tell him. It was the right thing to do. But Luc would want his child to have a very different life from anything she could provide. His child would have a privileged life, with nannies and carers and expensive schools...

But no mother on hand.

No encumbrance of any kind would be allowed to interfere in the self-indulgent lifestyle of the infamous Lucas Marcelos. His child would reflect his wealth and status, while its mother could only be an embarrassment to him.

And now her throat felt as dry as tinder, and she remained cold and shivery for the rest of her shift. It was still dark when she finished work. The winter nights were long and cold this far north, and she had never felt so alone and uncertain as she put her cleaning equipment away and prepared to face the new day.

There were hormones racing through her system, she reminded herself, and these, coupled with simple exhaustion, meant she must pull herself together, and quickly. She had to carry on. She had a baby to think about now. Which meant keeping up her strength by eating something now. Washing her hands and straightening her hair as best she could, she headed downstairs to the basement where the kitchen was located. There was always something good to eat. But not this morning, she discovered to her disappointment, because a hiking party had arrived unexpectedly, and paying guests always took precedence over staff.

‘You’ll have to go out for breakfast,’ the chef told her with an apologetic shrug. ‘I’m sorry, Emma. That’s how it goes sometimes.’

‘No problem.’ She found a smile. ‘You’ve got enough to do. I’ll go into town and get something there.’

She was rocking on her feet for want of sleep, but she could buy something in town and bring it back to eat in her room. She didn’t really care. She was too tired to think. Plucking her coat from the hook, she shrugged it on, and opening the back door she stepped outside from steaming warmth into the shock of the freezing air. Tucking her chin down, she was on the point of braving the walk into town when she stopped dead. Dressed to brave the worst of a Scottish winter, Luc was leaning against the side of a sleek black sports car. ‘How...?’

‘I made enquiries to find out when your shift ended,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Are you satisfied now that you’ve completely exhausted yourself?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You’re not fine, Emma.’ Opening the passenger door, he stood waiting for her to get in.

‘What?’ She couldn’t even form the words. She was too tired to think.

Luc shook his head. ‘We both know that what you’re doing is against all regulations. The hotel could be fined for abusing its staff with these overly long hours, and then you really will be out of a job. Working through the night?’ he said, his frown deepening. ‘What are you trying to prove, Emma?’

‘I’m not trying to prove anything,’ she insisted.

Powerful arms folded across his rugged jacket, Luc disagreed. ‘You’d better get in,’ he said, ‘before you freeze to death.’

And still she hesitated. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘What’s to understand, Emma?’

‘Why are you waiting for me? I don’t need a lift. I can walk into town.’

‘Get in,’ Luc repeated. ‘I won’t tell you again.’

CHAPTER FOUR

HE WASN’T JOKING. He practically lifted her into the car. She was glad of it. The pavements were icy—another thing the hotel had let slip. All the other parts of the pavement had been salted, but not here—they were treacherous, for guests, and for old folk in particular.

And for pregnant women, Emma reminded herself as Lucas settled her in the car. He even fastened the seat belt for her before closing the door, as if he knew how cold she was, and how exhausted. Walking around the sleek black vehicle, he got in and made himself comfortable on cream kidskin. She wasn’t so tired she didn’t notice that in jeans and rugged boots, with a jacket that emphasised the width of his shoulders, Luc looked like the perfect port in a storm.

At least this particular storm, Emma amended as she gazed up into the snow-dappled air. She hadn’t realised how cold she had become until now, when she was safely enclosed in the warm interior of Luc’s luxury vehicle—every part of which called for wool or cashmere or alpaca, rather than a cheap nylon uniform beneath a thin, shabby coat. ‘You don’t have to do this,’ she protested, suddenly self-conscious. She was having second thoughts as he pulled away from the kerb, thinking the type of place Luc would take her to for breakfast could only make her feel worse.

‘You’re going to eat and so am I,’ he said. ‘It would be churlish of me not to offer you a lift. I didn’t fancy eating in a packed dining room or in my suite today.’ He shrugged as he turned on the engine and moved into the stream of traffic heading into town. ‘And you look as if you need a lift,’ he added glancing at her.

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