Brazilian's Nine Months' Notice

by Susan Stephens

‘I heard your cousin Lizzie is the daughter of the local laird?’

  ‘That’s right.’ She could practically hear the cogs whirring in his mind. If her cousin was the daughter of the local laird, why was Emma scrubbing floors?

  Luc’s frown deepened. ‘So you have the same job here that you had in London?’

  ‘Not quite. I’m still working as a chambermaid,’ she confirmed proudly. Her uncle might be a laird, but Emma came from the poor branch of the Fane family, the notorious branch that had resorted to criminal activities rather than taking an honest job. That had never been her way, and, however meagre her wage packet, she had the satisfaction of knowing that she had earned every single penny herself. Circumstances at home might have resulted in her education being patchy, but she was changing that, studying at night, even though there was no hope of progression here. She still had ambitions for a career but had to keep working in the meantime, and now, with a child to consider, she had a real purpose and drive behind that ambition.

  ‘Surely there’s no possibility of advancement for you here?’ Luc commented, as if he’d read her thoughts.

  ‘No training programme either,’ she confirmed, ‘but it’s a start.’ She stared him down, as if daring him to contradict her. This wasn’t her forever job. This was a job to help her get back on her feet. But it would seem odd to Lucas that she had come here to work in a hotel that couldn’t offer its staff any of the advantages he could.

  ‘You should have stayed in London.’

  She recoiled at his tone. What business was it of his? Then she remembered the offer to become his short-term mistress. Did he think that had been a better prospect for her? If he did, he was alone.

  That sensible determination wasn’t enough to stop her mind taking off in one direction while her wilful body took off in another, and only one of those places was safe.

  ‘You must be paid a lot less here than my company paid you in London.’

  ‘Money isn’t everything, Senhor Marcelos.’

  ‘But it helps. And please call me Luc. I think both of us are grown-up enough to handle this situation, aren’t we?’ His steely stare homed in on her face.

  Firming her jaw, she shrugged. ‘I like it here. I’m happy here. I’ve got friends around me—friends who are waiting for me in the ballroom right now. So, if you will excuse me?’

  Luc made her a mock bow. ‘Forgive me for monopolising you. I will escort you back to your friends.’

  Every second she spent with him was torture, because every second she spent with Luc was an opportunity to tell him about the baby, but could she really do that here, in a crowded hotel corridor?

  ‘So, Emma, do you live here permanently now?’

  ‘Not exactly here.’ She glanced around. Luc’s staff quarters were known to be some of the best in London, but though this hotel was comfortable in the public areas it was a lot less so in the parts the public never got to see. ‘I really should be joining my friends.’ She breathed a sigh of relief as Luc ushered her forward towards the dazzle and the noise of the party. They walked together, close but not touching—still close enough to make the women from the cloakroom gape and stare. If only they knew, they wouldn’t be jealous, and she wouldn’t be falling for Luc’s brutal charm a second time. Satisfied she’d got everything in hand, she risked a smile as they parted.

  ‘You look pleased with yourself,’ he said.

  And you’re a practised seducer, she thought, her heart thumping wildly as she took in the suspicion in his face. ‘I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening, Senhor Marcelos.’

  ‘You too, Ms Fane.’

  She would enjoy her evening. Lucas Marcelos would have to look elsewhere for his entertainment tonight.

  CHAPTER TWO

  HE WOULD HAVE known her anywhere. The bolt of lust he’d experienced in London was back. Emma Fane had invaded his senses again, making the ache in his groin a permanent fixture. Hearing her scream with pleasure in his arms seemed to have happened moments ago. He had wanted to lead her from the wedding reception, not towards it—find a quiet room where they could continue what they’d started—but for some reason he had sensed that she was holding him at bay.

  His lips pressed down as he thought about it. He never bedded the staff. Emma had been an exception. Something about her had driven him to possess her, and as he entered the ballroom now, his hunting instinct sharpened as he spotted her right away. One taste of Emma Fane could never be enough for him.

  ‘This is your table, sir,’ the waiter said, distracting him.

  He thanked the man, who had recognised him immediately. The seat was perfect. It gave him an excellent view of Emma. Seated between the bride and the chief bridesmaid, she appeared relaxed and animated, not a bit like the girl who had confronted him with such icy self-control outside the cloakroom. Of course she would have changed, he mused, trying to make sense of her manner. He’d learned only after she’d left his bed of the tragedy that would have brought her down to earth with a bump. Losing both her parents in a car chase with the police, only to discover they had been criminals on the run, would have been enough for anyone. The Fanes had been selfish and uncaring of their only child, by all accounts, but that didn’t stop a person hunting for love, even if they knew their quest was hopeless.

  When he’d first seen her, Emma had been full of fire, but she looked exhausted now. The job here, he reasoned as he studied her. She was more composed than she had been in London. An attractive air of maturity had settled over her, as if life had taught her some harsh lessons and she had come through. She’d been wild the night they’d wound up in his bed. Her zest for life had been contagious. Now he guessed her behaviour that night had been an attempt to blot out the pain, he suspected that Emma had used him in an attempt to forget.

  That piqued his pride. It made him all the more determined to seduce her—to have her want him for more than forgetfulness. But why was she still here, working a job with no future? Surely she could have stayed in Scotland for the funeral and then returned to her job and the training course in London? Was she trying to avoid him? And, if so, why?

  ‘Three beautiful women, aren’t they?’ the older woman sitting next to him commented.

  He only realised now that he had been ignoring his dining companion and had been staring fixedly at Emma. There was only one beautiful woman in this room as far as he was concerned. ‘All the women in Scotland are beautiful, from what I’ve seen.’ he said, in an attempt to make amends for his lack of manners.

  ‘And you are another charmer from Brazil,’ the older woman observed shrewdly. ‘But our women seem to like you dangerous men.’

  He huffed a smile as he stared at the groom. Tiago Santos had been a notorious heartbreaker until the bride, Danny, had tamed him. The matron of honour, Lizzie, was married to another member of the Thunderbolt polo team, and Chico Fernandez had hardly been noted for his scrupulous behaviour when it came to women before he’d met his wife.

  He had no intention of changing, Luc determined as he turned to make up for his poor manners at the dinner table. ‘I trust you won’t find me too threatening tonight?’ he teased his wily companion.

  ‘I shall keep you at arm’s length,’ she assured him with a twinkle in her eyes. ‘Forty years ago it might have been a different story. Just don’t hurt her,’ the matriarch added, her face turning serious as she stared at him unblinking.

  ‘Who are you taking about?’ he said, frowning as if he didn’t know what she meant.

  ‘Emma Fane.’ She gave him a look. ‘It’s no use trying to fool me, young man. I know exactly who you’ve been looking at. And my warning stands firm. That one’s had more trouble in her life than she deserves.’

  He knew better than to deny his interest in Emma. She was in his sights. Hearing the affection with which his neighbour had just described her made him a
ll the more determined to hunt her down. Emma Fane intrigued him. She aroused him. He wouldn’t let her get away from him a second time.

  * * *

  The band was playing. The ballroom was glittering with chandeliers, crystal and silver as it played host to an elegantly dressed crowd. But all Emma could see was Lucas. She pretended not to notice him. She had thought it would be easy to save all her attention for her friends, but couldn’t stop her gaze wandering, and each time she looked at Luc he was looking back. She found that thrilling and dangerous, like a promise that this wasn’t over yet. When the time came for her to leave her seat and help the bride get ready to leave the party with the groom, Luc was waiting for her in the hall.

  She wasn’t ready for this. She would never be ready for this.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, adding a regretful smile, ‘I really can’t talk to you now.’

  ‘When?’ Luc demanded, his voice uncompromising.

  ‘I’m busy. Can’t you see?’ She stared pointedly after the bridal party as they started up the stairs.

  ‘Make time.’

  ‘I beg your pardon.’ She shot him a look.

  ‘You heard what I said,’ he repeated harshly.

  ‘You make it sound irresistible,’ she countered.

  Luc glared at her. His voice held that same edge of command she remembered from London. It was the voice that had made her body thrill. Ignoring the pulse of lust, she moved past him.

  He stopped her with his hand on her arm.

  ‘Let me go.’

  ‘No.’

  His face was close, his eyes were blazing messages she didn’t want to see. ‘Are you always so direct?’ She pulled away, tightening the tension between them.

  ‘You should know,’ he murmured drily.

  Sensation rocked through her. She remembered every one of Luc’s instructions. It didn’t help that his wicked mouth was tugging in the faintest of smiles as he stared into her eyes. He was letting her know that he understood the effect he was having on her. ‘I seem to remember you like me to be direct—and to direct you,’ he said.

  ‘How could you bring that up now?’ Her voice was low and tense as she glanced around, wondering who might have heard him.

  Luc shrugged.

  ‘Excuse me, Senhor Marcelos. I need to go.’

  ‘Luc,’ he corrected her, his mouth tugging faintly.

  Shaking her head with impatience, she tried again to move past him, and hated herself for being disappointed when he moved away first, holding his hands up as if he couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Was she so easily seduced by Luc’s black charm?

  No. She was not, Emma decided. Running up the magnificent staircase to catch up with the bride, she didn’t give him a backward glance.

  * * *

  He showered at first light with the temperature turned to ice. Nothing helped. He huffed a smile at his physical reaction to thoughts of Ms Emma Fane. She was only a matter of yards away, which didn’t help. She slept in the staff quarters beneath the eaves, the floor above his room, one of the housemaids had told him with a cheeky smile.

  Securing a towel around his waist, he glanced at his face in the mirror and raked his hand through his hair. He couldn’t get Emma out of his head. He had to do something about this. She had bewitched him in London and that memory hadn’t died. Having slept on the problem, he thought he knew why she’d come home. Sometimes in life it was necessary to reboot before moving on, and where better could she do that than here amongst friends?

  Towelling down roughly, he threw on his jeans, wondering where she was now. She had run away last night like Cinderella when the clock struck twelve—to look after the bride, she’d said. To avoid talking to him, he’d thought.

  Maybe she had a boyfriend?

  He swore viciously at the thought—then remembered he hadn’t seen her with anyone at the party.

  Maybe her boyfriend worked at the hotel and couldn’t get away from his job?

  Maybe. Emma Fane was an attractive woman. It seemed unlikely that she was on her own.

  And who cared? It was none of his business. To hell with Emma Fane!

  Glancing in the mirror, he parked the idea of a shave, but then he made the mistake of glancing at the bed and remembering their night in London. Having Emma in his bed had been one of the best parts of that night. She’d been wild for it, and he’d been only too happy to oblige. He tore his gaze away regretfully. He didn’t have time for distractions like that. He wasn’t just here for the wedding. He had a castle to buy, along with some other business to attend to. Neither was he an adolescent to waste his day fantasising about having sex with Emma Fane. Forget her. Breakfast, and then work...

  Forget Emma?

  Would she be working today?

  Why not? She was a regular girl with a regular job.

  Snatching up the phone, he called Housekeeping. ‘I need some more towels in here, please.’

  Emma was a regular girl?

  He laughed at the thought. No way was Emma a regular girl. Nothing about her resembled the women he knew, from her generous figure to the way she took him on. None of the women he knew would dare to take him on. They wouldn’t risk spoiling things. They expected him to lavish his time and money on them and then they repaid him in bed. Emma expected nothing from him. In fact, the less she had to do with him, the better she seemed to like it, or so it appeared to him.

  He paced the room, weighing up the odds of getting the result he wanted. Even a hotel this size must surely employ more than one chambermaid.

  He didn’t have to wait long to find out. There was a knock on the door, and a voice called out ‘Housekeeping.’

  Emma.

  * * *

  ‘Towels, sir? Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ Emma blurted before she could stop herself.

  Luc laughed, his eyes black with hidden thoughts. ‘You didn’t think to check the name of the guest requesting towels?’ he challenged as he admitted her into his room.

  ‘I’m not expected to address the guests by name, sir.’

  Luc’s lips pressed down with disapproval as he observed tersely, ‘Poor training.’

  ‘Safer for the staff,’ she countered, walking past him. ‘We’re not encouraged to be familiar with the guests.’

  ‘Even those you know, Emma?’ Luc called after her.

  Her spine tingled as his stare warmed her back. ‘Even those I know,’ she confirmed coolly.

  She knew this man very well indeed, and not at all, Emma realised as she headed for his bathroom. There had been very little talking, other than about the running of the hotel, in London, and even less last night. For once in her life she’d managed to remain sensible, and had steered well clear of Lucas.

  ‘Don’t you have anything to say to me, Emma?’ Luc’s lips pressed down in mock affront when she emerged from the bathroom, having finished arranging his towels.

  ‘Sorry, sir. That’s not what I’m here for.’ This was definitely not the moment to tell him about the baby. When she did that, she wanted it to be a private chat, but in a public place. Straightening her back, she made straight for the door. Luc opened it for her, and she avoided his gaze as she told him, ‘If you want anything else just call Housekeeping and they’ll send someone—’

  ‘But maybe not you?’ he interrupted.

  ‘Maybe not me,’ she agreed, turning to meet his stare head on. ‘It all depends who’s on duty.’

  ‘When do you get off duty, Emma?’

  Her heart thundered. ‘Me?’ She frowned. ‘When my shift is over.’ Slipping past him, she could only think of leaving his room and reaching the safety of the kitchens downstairs.

  She had barely opened the door to the kitchen when the head of housekeeping turned her around. ‘He’s ringing again,’ she said with
a look. ‘Apparently, he’s run out of coffee now.’

  But she’d filled up the tray when she’d serviced Luc’s room. What could he want now? Biting back her anxious thoughts, she made sure the service trolley had everything she required, and was back outside Luc’s room within five minutes of leaving it. ‘Yes, sir?’ she said politely as he opened the door. ‘Here I am with everything you could possibly need.’ She couldn’t help herself. She was fuming.

  ‘If only,’ he murmured, and she suspected he was trying not to laugh.

  She pushed her trolley past him, wondering if the moment would ever come when she could tell him about the baby. Was now the time to tell him? Should she close the door and beard the lion in his den?

  Could she afford to lose this job?

  No. And he might just erupt in fury—ring downstairs and get her sacked. Propositioning a guest? That was a sackable offence. Threatening him? Goodness knew, she couldn’t risk that appearing on her CV.

  ‘Problem?’ he queried, no doubt wondering at her silence.

  Calming herself, she took stock. He was just a man—a formidable man, but a living, breathing human being just as she was. She would speak to him when the time was right. There was no need to feel panicked into it.

  ‘Lovely day,’ he commented, turning to look out of the window.

  She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. The snow was drifting down, and it was a chocolate-box scene outside, but frigidly cold, while Luc was the polar opposite. He looked so hot dressed just in jeans and a casual shirt. He looked hot in everything—

  Especially naked.

  ‘My apologies for not noticing that you had run out of coffee,’ she said, trying to remain cool and professional. ‘I should have noticed when I brought up the towels.’

  ‘No problem.’ He turned and seemed to look at her a little longer. ‘I only just noticed the lack of it, or I wouldn’t have called you back.’

  She doubted that somehow, but gave him one of the thin smiles she reserved for those times when guests were difficult and pride in her job wasn’t enough.