couldn’t see it from here but she could remember it. Sculpted and firm. Hot. She remembered how it had felt on her bare skin…closing over her…
A gap formed in the crowd and now she could see all of him.
Her heart pounded as she drank in every long and lean inch of his six-foot-three-inch frame. Tall and broad-shouldered. Golden. Gorgeous. The sexiest man she’d ever seen. The first man she’d ever thought of as sexy. And consequently the first man she’d ever slept with.
He was wearing a white tuxedo jacket with a white bow-tie. Black trousers. He stood out effortlessly…a little bit different from everyone else. As if he couldn’t contain some elemental part of himself even in this civilised milieu.
Elemental. That was what it had been like that night. Wild. Visceral. Unbelievable. Unforgettable.
Skye’s hand tightened on her belly. Unforgettable in more ways than one.
A woman came up to her with a stern look on her face. Staff, not a guest, wearing a black uniform dress. Just as Skye was about to panic that she’d been caught out, the woman handed her a tray full of glasses of champagne and told her to stop wasting time. Relief flooded Skye. Her disguise had worked.
She took a deep breath and started to move closer through the crowd to where he stood. Lazaro Sanchez. She’d looked him up on the internet the day after their night together—and nearly had a heart attack when she’d realised that he was a seriously wealthy and influential financier, with an extensive real-estate portfolio. A household name in his native Spain.
And he was also a renowned playboy. There had been acres of photos of him with a veritable stream of beautiful women. It had stung more than a little to know that she’d been naive enough to fall for his smooth charm. That what had happened between them must have merely been a blip in his normal routine. A forgettable night among many. And it had stung even more that she didn’t resemble any of his usual women, so evidently he’d only slept with her because she’d been a bit…different.
And now… Now he was about to announce his engagement to the most beautiful woman in the world. Skye could see her standing beside Lazaro, with his arm around her waist.
They looked good together—both tall, lean. Her dark hair was sleek and pulled back, and she wore a red strapless dress. A slim classic column that clung to every perfectly proportioned curve and oozed sophistication and elegance.
For a second Skye faltered. She put the tray down on a nearby table for fear of dropping it. Should she have come here to do this?
She lamented again the fact that she hadn’t been able to get to Lazaro before this event, but it would have been easier to get a message to the Pope. She’d been blocked and shut out at every turn.
What right did she have to interrupt this momentous moment? The announcement of his engagement to this Glamazon?
Because you’re pregnant with his baby and he needs to know, reminded a cool voice in her head.
Just then there was the sound of someone tapping on glass, which cut through the buzz of chat in the room. Everyone fell silent and turned to where Lazaro and his fiancée were standing on a raised dais.
Skye felt even more sick now. Had he been involved with her when they’d slept together three months ago? Had he known he would be getting engaged?
She saw the cordon of security men near the couple. Fearsome-looking individuals. Skye could see what would happen—they’d announce their news, and suddenly they’d be thronged, and then they’d be whisked off to some secret location.
This was her only chance to get his attention. She had to take it. She couldn’t have it on her conscience that he didn’t know she was pregnant. That their one amazing night together had had repercussions.
And his fiancée deserved to know the kind of man she was marrying, if they had already been involved while he’d been seducing Skye in another city.
Lazaro cleared his throat. He savoured the few seconds before he spoke, aware of every eye turned their way. His father, pretending he didn’t know this was his illegitimate son, about to make an announcement. His half-brother Gabriel was scowling and looking even more brooding and forbidding than he usually did.
‘Thank you all for coming here this evening…’
Lazaro looked at Leonora and smiled. She wasn’t looking at him, though, she was looking into the crowd, slightly transfixed. There was a flush in her cheeks. He exerted a tiny bit of pressure on her waist and she glanced at him and smiled. But it was strained.
Lazaro ignored the prickling sensation over his skin. Last-minute jitters.
‘I know it’s hardly a surprise to many of you, as it’s already appeared in some papers…’ here there was a ripple of laughter ‘…but it gives me great pleasure to formally announce that Leonora Flores de la Vega has consented to be my wife. Invitations to the wedding will be sent out shortly.’
Lazaro lifted his glass of champagne, about to make a toast to his future wife, when a voice shattered the expectant hush.
‘Wait! Stop!’
It took Lazaro a second to realise that people weren’t looking at them any more. They were all looking to his left-hand side at something. Or someone.
He glanced around to see that two of his security team were holding back a woman. A petite, red-haired woman. Who looked familiar. Too familiar. He noticed the details dispassionately, as shock flooded his system to see her here, not just in his memory.
Her blue eyes were huge and slightly wild-looking. Her hair was up in a bun, with tendrils of red and gold falling down around her heart-shaped face. Determined chin. Small straight nose. Full mouth currently in a thin line. White shirt…black skirt.
He could see the white of her bra under the material. The press of her breasts against the fabric. He’d cupped those breasts in his hands, rubbed his thumbs across her deeply sensitive nipples. She’d shuddered against him when he’d touched her there.
Heat flooded his body.
Suddenly the shock galvanised him into action. He let go of Leonora and made a move towards the woman, as if he knew what was about to happen and thought he could stop it. But, no. Before he could reach her, her voice rang out again—loud and clear. The fact that she spoke in Spanish was a detail he didn’t even absorb fully.
‘You need to know something. I’m pregnant. With your child.’
For a long moment nothing seemed to happen. There was a shocked stillness in the air and everyone was frozen. Even the security men holding her arms seemed to go slack.
She was looking directly at Lazaro, and suddenly it was as if everyone else had disappeared and it was just them in the room.
She said in a quieter voice, in English, ‘It’s true. I’m pregnant…and it’s yours.’
Skye O’Hara. That was her name. She’d been a waitress in the restaurant where he’d had dinner after a business meeting in Dublin. He’d
