Brazilian's Nine Months' Notice

‘Emma, there are people waiting to greet us.’

Recovering fast, she walked forward to acknowledge the line of smiles and cheery hellos. She was conscious of polite curiosity directed her way, but there was no doubt about the genuine enthusiasm for Luc. People couldn’t fake that kind of warmth in their eyes. He knew everyone by name, and their passage across the football pitch–sized floor to the bank of elevators took quite some time as he spoke to each member of staff in turn.

She had done the right thing, Emma convinced herself, standing back during one of these many encounters. This was their child’s heritage as much as the small village in Scotland she came from. The one thing that remained a mystery was where she fitted in. She knew nothing of Luc’s personal life, and a managerial post in this hotel, however junior, was so far ahead of her in terms of training, it was a joke.

‘Emma—’

She jumped, feeling annoyed with herself for needing a second prompt from Luc as the steel doors of the elevator slid open. There were no floor numbers, so this had to be the private elevator to his suite of rooms. She would soon find out. The lift was soaring up at a dizzying speed. ‘Where are you taking me?’

‘To your apartment.’ He frowned as if he couldn’t imagine where else she’d had in mind.

They stepped out onto an elegant corridor and she looked around for the type of door that might lead to the staff quarters.

‘Your apartment is next to mine,’ Luc explained.

How convenient.

‘You will use the private elevator, as I do,’ he informed her, not sparing her a glance as they walked down the corridor towards a set of elegant doors.

She had been posted in the pigeonhole marked ‘job done’, Emma suspected.

‘You will find a security card in your apartment when I let you in,’ Luc added as he opened the door. ‘Don’t lose it. It operates both the elevator and the door to your room. Do you have a problem with that, Emma?’

Luc had the key to her room?

Of course he had the key to her room. Luc owned the hotel. He had the key to every room. From now on she would be under his scrutiny every minute of every day.

‘Don’t lose that card,’ he reminded her crisply. ‘Freshen up. Take a rest.’

He made no attempt to follow her into her room, thank goodness. She needed a chance to take stock. ‘What then?’ she asked, hovering on the threshold.

‘Then?’ One ebony brow lifted. ‘Then you will join a junior management training team tomorrow morning.’

‘And that’s it?’ She tried to read his eyes, but there was nothing in them to read—not for her, at least.

‘Should there be more?’ he queried.

Yes. She should have made better use of their time together—on the flight—on the drive here. It would have been helpful if she’d got everything ironed out about what to do and where to report in the morning before she arrived at the hotel.

‘Will I see you—?’ Her mouth clamped shut. Luc had already turned his back and walked away.

Okay, so she didn’t need him. She wasn’t helpless. She’d vowed to go it alone, and she would. Closing the door, she glanced around the cavernous suite. A bigger contrast to her small functional cell at the hotel in Scotland was hard to imagine. This was a billionaire’s playroom, full of high-tech gizmos and amazing art. Floor-to-ceiling windows gave her a stunning view of the city, and there were fabulously scented flower arrangements on every surface, as well as a bottle of champagne on ice. Goodness knew what she had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.

She flopped down on one of the silk-covered sofas, then got up to pace. She was alone in Rio—that wasn’t a problem, but she wanted to know if she should prep for her new job tomorrow. She didn’t want to appear completely out of her depth when she reported for duty. Picking up her room card, she headed straight for the only other door onto the corridor.

Luc answered and seemed surprised to see her. ‘May I come in?’ she asked politely.

‘Of course.’

He stood back. Their bodies almost touched. Heat hit the back of her neck and trickled seductively down her spine. Luc had just showered and was wearing a clean shirt. She could smell soap on him. This was the Luc she remembered from their first night in London, the distant but potentially explosive man, who was a blistering combination of searing hot passion and chilly reproof. Unfortunately for her sane and reasoning mind, this was a combination she still found irresistible.