by Dani Collins
It hadn’t helped that she’d thrown away the card he’d handed her when he’d asked her to join him for a drink. She’d not seen the point in keeping it, and hadn’t wanted to torture herself by knowing she had his phone number.
She’d been searching on the internet for another way to try and contact him when she’d seen the news that he was due to announce his engagement at an exclusive gathering at the Esmeralda Hotel—one of Madrid’s finest.
Before she’d lost her nerve she’d booked a cheap return flight. She’d travelled in her work uniform, hoping that it might help her blend in with staff. Which had worked only too well.
He was to be engaged. Yet he’d slept with her.
She’d always thought she was a good judge of character, but evidently lust had rewired her normal instincts that night three months ago.
He’d asked her to stay for breakfast the following morning and she’d been so tempted. He’d been standing there in nothing but a short towel. Massive chest bare and still damp from the shower. Dark hair dusting his pectorals and then narrowing into a line that dissected his six-pack before disappearing under the towel.
Skye stood up, suddenly restless. And hot. Thankfully the nausea had subsided slightly. Her morning sickness was acute at the moment, and mainly in the early part of the day, but the doctor had told her it should subside soon. If she was lucky.
Pregnant. She stopped pacing and put her hand on her belly.
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?’
Copyright © 2019 by Abby Green
ISBN-13: 9781488044946
Bound by Their Nine-Month Scandal
Copyright © 2019 by Dani Collins
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