Confessions of a Pregnant Cinderella (Rival Spanish Brothers 1)

He relaxed his grip on the paper in his hand and forced himself to look at the picture again. It had been taken that night, outside the hotel. Gabriel had his arm protectively around Leonora as he helped her into his low-slung sports car. He was looking directly down the lens of the paparazzi’s camera, as if to send a message to Lazaro: You had no right to try to marry your way into our world, Sanchez.

Lazaro threw the paper down, a feeling of impotent fury boiling in his gut. Gabriel Torres was a thorn in his side. A constant reminder that he would never be fully accepted. A reminder that his parents had thought so little of him that they’d handed him over to complete strangers to bring up, uncaring if he lived or died.

He glanced moodily at Skye. It should have been Leonora accompanying him to his estate this week. He’d been planning on showing her his land. And yet he knew that if she was sitting on the other side of the plane right now he wouldn’t be feeling this constant hunger. Like an ache. He wouldn’t be sparring with her. They would be having a perfectly civil conversation that would never delve beneath the surface...

And as Lazaro thought of that now he instinctively went to loosen the tie at his throat—except he wasn’t even wearing a tie.

Something struck him then. Was he relieved that the engagement had been blown apart? Obviously not in the way it had happened—he could have done without the press attention. But, yes...there was a grudging sense of relief and he hadn’t expected that.

Right now Skye couldn’t have provided a more stark contrast to Leonora Flores. She was dressed in what seemed to be her default style, skinny jeans and yet another loose colourless top. A faded pink bra strap was visible. Her hair was haphazardly up, with soft golden-red tendrils falling around her face. Small straight nose. Full mouth. Those freckles that danced across almost every exposed bit of skin.

Lazaro cursed silently and had to adjust himself as his body responded.

Suddenly Skye looked at him and her face flushed. She touched her hair. ‘What is it? Is something wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?’

Irritated to have so little control of himself around her, he said, ‘Like what?’

‘You’re scowling at me.’

Lazaro had literally never been in this situation with a woman he desired. He was known for his charm. For his easy-going manner which hid a far steelier persona. The reason he’d been so successful was largely in part because people underestimated him. They got punished every time.

Suddenly Skye stood up. She was pale and Lazaro noticed she was trembling.

‘Look, I’ve said I’m sorry about how this worked out, and I know that I’m not the woman you would have chosen to be here with you, but we’re in this situation now and we have to make the best of it. I know you hate me because of what happened, and I know you wish I was her, even if you didn’t love her, but I’m me and I’m here...and I’m sorry.’

She looked left and right, visibly distraught, searching for somewhere to go. Lazaro’s insides clenched. He put out a hand and caught her arm just as the plane hit some turbulence, putting her off balance. She landed in Lazaro’s lap with a soft oof.

Suddenly every coherent thought went out of Lazaro’s head as he became very aware of Skye’s curvy body nestled intimately into his. She fitted him. She looked equally stunned. There was no space between them. Her short sharp breaths whispered close to his mouth.

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Somehow one hand was on her waist and his other hand had found its way to her head. Her hair tumbled down over her shoulder with a mere flick of his fingers. She smelled of crushed roses—and something much earthier.

He stretched his fingers over her waist, unable not to trace the delicious curve. And then he gave in to the primal need beating inside him and pulled her even closer, crushing her soft breasts against his chest, covering her mouth with his.

* * *

Fire. Skye was on fire. Burning up from the inside out. One minute she’d wanted to get as far away from Lazaro as possible and the next she was in his arms and melting all over. Melting into him. Her mouth was opening under his, allowing him access so he could sweep inside and take her even deeper.

It had been like this the night she’d met him in his hotel. He hadn’t even kissed her before he’d asked her to go up with him to his room. And yet she’d gone with him. It had been crazy. Totally out of character. But she’d been burning up after talking to him, after looking into his eyes. Aching to know what it would feel like to have him touch her. Kiss her.

He was the first man she’d ever craved intimacy with. The first man she’d ever let past the carefully erected walls that protected her from getting too close to people.

Since they’d met again there had been no indication that he still desired her, but now it was all she could feel—and along with the desire racing through her system was a rush of something that felt awfully like relief.

She welcomed the desperate press of his fingers into her waist, tugging her top up so that he could touch her bare skin. Every nerve tingled...her breasts ached.

Her arms were wrapped around his neck. If she could have climbed into his skin she would. She was desperate to experience that conflagration again. The exquisite release he’d wrung from her body, leaving her spent and sated beyond her wildest dreams. She’d never been so...at peace. Still. Safe.

She had felt as if she’d been travelling for a long time and finally found her harbour.

That disturbing recollection broke her out of her trance.

Skye pulled back from Lazaro abruptly. Every part of her body protested as she put space between them. Her heart was pounding. He looked at her, his eyes a stormy dark green. His hair flopped messily, sexily, onto his forehead.

She scrambled back and stood up, unsteady on her feet as she looked down at the carelessly sprawled body and the expression on Lazaro’s face that spoke of how utterly usual it was that a woman would fall into his arms—literally—expecting to be pleasured to within an inch of her life.

The fact that her whole body was throbbing and it was taking her so long to speak only compounded her humiliation.