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Lazaro looked at Skye. His new wedding ring felt heavy on his finger. Solid. She wasn’t so pale any more. She looked up at him warily. He put a finger under her chin, tipping it up. He felt resistance and he frowned.
She whispered, ‘Do we have to do this now? In front of these people?’
‘Yes. We do.’
The irony of the fact that he had just married the one woman who seemed intent on resisting him at every turn was not welcome. Nor was the vivid memory of how it had felt to be embedded deep inside her, the exquisite clasp of her embrace.
Irritation made him pull her into his body, an arm around her waist. Her body was soft against his. He lowered his mouth and touched infinite softness, and he cursed her pull on him even as he couldn’t help deepening the kiss.
* * *
Skye had really hoped Lazaro wouldn’t kiss her in front of these people, because she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to control herself around him. But it was too late. He was kissing her and she was drowning.
When he finally drew back his eyes were two burning green gems and she was clinging to him. She let go and would have staggered back in her high heels if he hadn’t been holding her. She scowled at him.
He frowned. ‘What’s wrong?’
She forced her features into the semblance of a smile, aware of their audience. ‘Nothing. I’m fine.’
He took her hand and led her to a back room, where they signed the register. Then he led her back out and said, ‘There will be photographers from the press waiting when we go outside. Are you ready for this?’
No.
But Skye just nodded. She had no choice but to get used to this.
They walked outside into the bright sunshine and for a moment Skye was blinded. Lazaro put his arm around her waist and pulled her close. She was still holding the small posy of flowers she’d impulsively picked from the garden at the hacienda.
When she could see again, she heard their names being called.
‘Lazaro! Skye! Over here!’
‘Please...una màs, one more!’
But Lazaro put up his hand and signalled that they’d got enough pictures.
Then one voice called out, ‘Hey, Sanchez, how do you feel about Gabriel Torres marrying your ex-fiancée?’
Lazaro went very still, and then he turned in the direction of where the question had come from and said coolly, ‘My wife and I wish them all the very best, of course.’
My wife and I.
As if they were already a unit, speaking as one.
The speed with which Lazaro seemed to be adapting to married life with a woman he would never have married under other circumstances demonstrated to Skye just how ruthless he was—and how determined he was to make things work. To keep up appearances.
He guided her over to where a sleek SUV was parked and helped her get into the back. He joined her on the other side and the driver moved into the traffic smoothly.
He looked at her. ‘Okay?’
Skye was still seeing stars after the blaze of cameras, but she nodded. ‘Fine.’
‘After the wedding breakfast we’ll leave for Venice. I asked the stylist to pack a bag for you.’
Lazaro’s cool unflappability, when she felt frayed and on edge after that kiss—after that ceremony—made her say sharply, ‘That’s how it is now, is it? You’ll tell me where we’re going and what we’re doing?’
He answered smoothly. ‘I’m a busy man, Skye. My work takes me all over Europe and to America. I’ll bring you with me as and when I need to, but once the baby comes obviously I won’t expect you to be as mobile as before. To that end,’ he continued, ‘I’ve already selected some properties to view in Madrid, with a view to moving somewhere more suitable for you and the baby.’
‘And you?’
