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She’d tried to contact her mother to no avail. She was somewhere in India at an ashram, with little or no communications. Not an unusual scenario. But even without her mother’s advice Skye hadn’t felt a moment’s hesitation about keeping the baby.
Even though, she’d always wanted a different life for herself than she’d had as a child. Being dragged all around Europe as her mother had followed one whim after another. Or one lover after another. She’d had Skye when she was eighteen, and most of the time Skye had felt more like the adult than her bohemian but very lovable mother. Yet here she was, only a few years older than her mother had been, and quite possibly about to become a single mother too.
She’d always vowed that if and when she had children she would be in a committed relationship and their existence wouldn’t be rootless. It would be secure and stable.
Suddenly the door opened again and Skye whirled around, her heart jumping into her throat. But it wasn’t him—it was the burly security guard.
‘You can come with me now.’
As much as Skye might have preferred not to go, she knew she had to see this through.
The man led her to a staff elevator and they ascended to the top floor. The doors opened onto an unremarkable corridor and the guard opened an unremarkable door. He led her into a small utilitarian kitchen and then into a very plush suite, with jaw-dropping floor-to-ceiling windows and views over Madrid.
This must be the penthouse suite, and she’d just been brought through the service kitchen.
Her face grew hot with humiliation.
The man led her to a vast open-plan space, with couches dotted around glass coffee tables. Vast canvases of modern art hung on walls. Low lighting imbued the space with golden light but made it no less intimidating.
And there he was. With his back to her. No jacket. Just his shirt and trousers.
He turned around, but Skye couldn’t see his expression from where she was. Probably a good thing. She could see that his top shirt button was open and his bow-tie hung askew, as if pulled apart roughly.
He dismissed the guard with a few curt words and Skye heard the door snick shut behind her.
And then, in a lethally soft voice which was worse than if he’d shouted at her, he said, ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’
CHAPTER TWO
SKYE DID HER best not to show how intimidated she was. She walked further into the room, even though her legs felt suspiciously rubbery.
Lazaro Sanchez looked unbelievably tall and imposing. He fitted the vast space around him and the spectacular views of night-time Madrid through the windows.
Had his shoulders always been so broad? His legs so long?
She could see that he was furious. Livid. A million miles from the charming urbane man who had seduced her that night.
You were a very active participant, pointed out a snarky voice in her head.
She could see a muscle pop in his jaw, as if he was gritting it. But in spite of his palpable anger she could still feel his affect on her. As if a million nerve-endings were firing to life. Her whole body humming with awareness. Liquid electricity running through her veins.
When she’d met him in the bar of that Dublin hotel after he’d issued her an invitation to join him, she’d said, ‘I don’t do this sort of thing...meet random men in bars. And I haven’t come here for something...anything...’ She’d blushed profusely, feeling as gauche as a sixteen-year-old.
He’d just smiled sexily and pulled out a chair for her. ‘Let’s just have a drink, hmm?’
That felt like a very long time ago now.
She swallowed. ‘I’m sorry...about downstairs. I wouldn’t have done it like that if I’d been able to contact you through normal channels. I did try calling your offices—several of them, in fact—but no one would pass on a message. Not when I said it was personal.’
‘Not good enough.’ He folded his arms.
Skye flushed. ‘When I read the news about your engagement announcement, I thought it would be the best opportunity to get close enough to tell you.’
He arched a brow. ‘How convenient that this opportunity also maximised your impact by ensuring you’d be splashed all over the tabloids.’
Skye frowned. ‘Tabloids?’
