Skye murmured hello back and went over to the table, feeling shy and self-conscious in the only change of clothes she’d brought with her—her habitual uniform of jeans and a loose top...sneakers. She’d always veered towards a tomboyish style, but she’d never been so aware of it than now, when she was in front of this man.
The woman—his housekeeper?—left them alone again. Lazaro put down the paper he was reading and raked her up and down with those vivid green eyes, heightening her sense of exposure.
‘No fake waitress outfit today?’
Skye blushed guiltily. ‘I wore my work clothes as I figured they might help me blend in with the staff at the hotel.’
It wasn’t as if she could have hoped to blend in with the guests!
Lazaro made a rude sound which only reminded her of the audacity of her actions and the dramatic consequences. Suddenly she felt sick.
She gripped the back of a chair. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry about how it happened.’
Lazaro frowned. ‘What’s wrong? You’ve gone white.’
The dreaded nausea was rising. Skye managed to garble something unintelligible before she sprinted from the room, back to her bathroom, and made the toilet just in time.
She groaned as she sensed a presence hovering nearby. ‘Leave me alone, please. It’s fine. It’s just morning sickness.’
He didn’t leave. ‘You have this every day?’ He sounded horrified.
Skye might have laughed if she’d been able to. She literally couldn’t possibly reach any lower in Lazaro Sanchez’s eyes right now, with her head inside a toilet bowl. Whatever desire he’d felt for her would be well and truly gone after this little episode.
To her relief the sickness soon dissipated and a damp facecloth came into her vision. She took it. It was warm. She wiped her face and pulled
herself up, going to the sink to rinse her mouth out.
She didn’t want to see herself in the mirror, knowing just how wan she’d look.
Lazaro was standing in the doorway looking slightly shell-shocked.
‘I’m sorry about that. I’ve no control over when it comes, but it passes pretty quickly. And the doctor said it shouldn’t last into the next trimester.’
Lazaro still looked shocked, so she said, ‘It’s a perfectly normal part of pregnancy.’
‘Do you think you can eat something?’
Skye nodded. That was the thing. Not long after her morning sickness she was usually ravenous.
She followed him back into the dining room and he said something to the housekeeper, who sent Skye a sympathetic look before disappearing again.
Skye sat down and saw her passport was on the table. She picked it up and looked at Lazaro accusingly. ‘What are you doing with my passport?’
He poured himself some coffee, and her, and then looked at her, totally unrepentant. ‘Skye Blossom O’Hara?’
Skye flushed and reluctantly divulged, ‘My mother was...is...a bit of a hippy. Hence Skye and Blossom.’
‘Is she in Ireland?’
Skye shook her head and took a sip of the strong coffee, relishing its warmth soothing her insides. ‘She’s in India. In an ashram. I haven’t managed to track her down and let her know about the baby yet.’
The housekeeper returned at that moment, with a selection of breads, eggs and pastries, and Skye smiled her thanks, relieved that Lazaro hadn’t asked about her father. When she glanced at him, though, he was looking at her with an arrested expression on his face.
She wanted to divert his attention from her. ‘What about your parents?’ she asked. She had a sudden thought and her hand stilled in the act of picking up a croissant. ‘Were they there last night?’
He avoided her gaze, and seemed to hesitate before saying very curtly, ‘I don’t have a relationship with my parents.’
‘Oh.’