Confessions of a Pregnant Cinderella

Lazaro’s body tensed and he sat up and forward, green eyes flashing. ‘Believe me,’ he gritted out, ‘there’s nothing convenient about this or how you make me feel. It would be a whole lot more convenient if I felt nothing when I looked at you.’

Ignoring the voices in her head that told her to just walk away and regain her composure, Skye asked, ‘What do you feel when you look at me?’

He raised a dark blond brow. ‘I think we’ve answered that question pretty effectively.’

This was uncharted territory for Skye. She was a novice when it came to dealing with a consummate playboy like Lazaro Sanchez. He was eyeing her now the way a lazy cat might look at a terrified cornered mouse.

Something caught her peripheral vision and she saw the air stewardess coming out of the bathroom at the other end of the plane. Skye garbled something incoherent and fled in that direction, seeking escape from that far too knowing and cynical green gaze.

When she reached the bathroom the woman in uniform looked shocked and said, ‘Miss O’Hara, there’s a private suite and bathroom for your convenience at the other end of the plane—you don’t need to use this one.’

Skye’s face was burning at the word convenience and she said, ‘This is fine, honestly,’ and locked herself inside the small space.

She sat on the closed toilet seat and berated herself. Stupid...no self-control. She’d just shown herself up to be totally gauche and inept. Lazaro Sanchez must be wondering what he’d ever seen in her. He clearly resented every second that this desire flared between them.

Skye stood up and gasped when she saw herself in the mirror. Her hair was down and in a mad tangle over one shoulder. Her face was pink. Her mouth was swollen. Her eyes were glittering. Her nipples stood out like two hard pebbles against the thin material of her top.

Angry all over again at her lack of control, she scraped her hair back and into a tight knot. She splashed cold water on her wrists and face and emerged only when she looked slightly less ravished.

When she came back down the plane and saw Lazaro engrossed in something on his laptop she avoided looking anywhere near him and slipped into her seat.

* * *

Lazaro was aware of every minute move that Skye made—which was incredibly irritating because she appeared to be a fidgety person. He’d not even looked at her on her return from the bathroom, telling himself that if he didn’t then he wouldn’t want to stand up, throw her over his shoulder and take her to the bedroom at the back of the plane and finish what they’d started.

But not looking at her was nearly worse. He could smell her subtle scent. Recall only too easily how sweetly her mouth had opened under his. Still feel the curve of her waist under his hand...the press of her breasts against his chest.

He pushed aside his laptop with a sound of frustration and anger and finally gave in to the urge to look across the aisle, fully expecting to see those huge blue eyes staring guilelessly back at him.

But she wasn’t looking at him. She was asleep. Her legs were tucked up underneath her. Her head was against the pulled-down blind on the window. She’d rolled up a blanket as a pillow. She was frowning in her sleep, and her lips moved as if she was saying something.

It reminded Lazaro of how, after they’d made love, she’d draped herself over him, one leg entwined with his, one arm across his chest. As if to hold him down.

With any other woman, at any other time, he would have felt claustrophobic. Stifled. Trapped. But with her he’d found himself almost...enjoying it.

She’d made little noises—sleep-talking. Gibberish he hadn’t been able to understand. And then she’d woken with a start, and he could remember how her eyes had focused on him and the way they’d widened as she’d obviously remembered where she was and what they’d been doing.

Just from that look he’d become as hard as a rock, and she’d felt him and smiled shyly. That was when they’d made love for the second time.

Lazaro cursed silently and looked away. He never thought of ex-lovers like this. He never dwelt on the past. Always on the present moment and the future. The future he wanted to create. Like a phoenix rising out of the ashes of his ignominious past.

This was just a bump on the road to that future. He would treat this situation as he would anything that got in his way—as a problem to be assessed and dealt with in the most expedient way possible. Skye and the baby...this very inconvenient desire he felt...he vowed that none of it would hold him back.

How she and the baby would figure in his life going forward was something he would have to deal with, but first he’d get Skye settled and then do some serious damage control on the last forty-eight hours of his life.

* * *

All Skye could see was acres and acres of sunflowers. They were driving up a long winding driveway under a cerulean blue sky and Lazaro was at the wheel of a sleek four-by-four.

He made a gesture to the sunflowers. ‘We make sunflower oil here. And we also have vineyards. I’m working on a sherry and some red wines. We hope to produce something with this harvest of

grapes.’

The scenery was breathtaking—the sheer expanse of the land around them with the Sierra Nevada mountains rising majestically in the distance. They turned a corner and Skye gasped as the driveway opened out into a huge courtyard in front of a two-storeyed white building in the old colonial style.

It was very green and lush. Lazaro pulled the car to a stop by the front door and got out. Skye opened her door and hopped out before he could come round—she was being a coward, avoiding any possibility of touching him.

She relished the heat of the late-afternoon sun. She’d always loved summer in southern Europe.