Читать книгу Brazilian's Nine Months' Notice - Susan Stephens, Susan Stephens - Страница 9

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 all 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.

‘When does your shift end today?’ he asked, catching her off guard as she organised his fresh supplies.

Was he suggesting they get together when her shift ended? It would give her chance to talk about the baby... But his voice was too intimate, too darkly amused. Luc wasn’t going to suggest a quiet talk over a cup of coffee, she suspected.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said on a dry throat. ‘That all depends.’ She hurried to move the trolley towards the door. Luc was leaning against the wall, watching her like a tiger with a mouse.

‘That’s all right, you can go now,’ he said, opening the door for her.

She breathed a sigh of relief to be let off the hook. She’d choose the time, and she would choose the place to tell him.

‘See you later,’ he said.

His warm, clean scent washed over her as she moved past him. Luc had recently showered, and his hair was still damp. Waving in disarray, it had caught on his stubble. He hadn’t shaved.

And why should she care? Emma decided as she pushed her trolley out into the corridor.

Fit, tall and hard, wearing snug-fitting jeans, Lucas Marcelos was a formidable sight. She cared. ‘Will there be anything else, sir?’ she enquired in her best professional voice. But then some demon must have climbed inside her throat. ‘Perhaps you’d like your shoes cleaned or your trousers pressed?’ With you still wearing them, preferably, her hostile face clearly said. ‘How about the bed? Would you like me to straighten that before I leave?’

That was absolutely the wrong thing to say, she realised as a slow smile curved his mouth. Luc really knew how to use a bed. And not just to lie in it.

‘Why don’t you come back later to do that? I’ll put a sign outside my door when I’m ready for you.’

With difficulty, she curbed her thoughts and managed to say nothing in reply, other than a polite ‘Yes, sir.’

‘There is one thing.’

‘Yes, sir?’ she repeated with studied patience.

‘Tell Housekeeping they need to get bigger towels.’

None of their guests was half his size. Luc was a towering presence in every way. ‘Will there be anything else, sir?’

‘Yeah. How long do you plan to keep this up?’

‘Keep what up, sir?’ She waited a moment. ‘If there’s nothing else, sir?’

‘Not for now.’

* * *

He leaned back against the door and laughed. On each meeting he liked Emma more. It wasn’t just her voluptuous form, her flame-red hair or her spiky nature—though he liked that a lot. She might look young and vulnerable with that pale Celtic beauty, but beneath her demure uniform-clad exterior Emma Fane was still the firebrand he remembered and had enjoyed. She was everything he’d craved when he’d first seen her in London, and he was in no way done with her yet.

She’d improved, he concluded as he pulled a sweater over his shirt. She was more assured. While in London he hadn’t been very interested in her personality, he had detected that she was bolder now, though she’d been bold enough then—a wild thing, furious with passion. She was different now. Steely.

It was only natural she would have toughened up after her parents’ accident and the subsequent brutal press revelations. He was impressed with her control, and the polite words she’d trotted out, delivered with that fiery emerald stare. That wasn’t something he was going to forget in a hurry.

Picking up the keys to his car, he looked around and thought the room seemed empty without her. Emma was a small woman with plenty of character. She’d been too busy with her bridesmaid’s duties for them to get together last night, and then she had taunted him with the lilting laugh she reserved for her friends. Her reddened, careworn hands hadn’t changed, he mused as he left the room and strolled down the corridor towards the bank of elevators. He had noticed them in London, with particular reference to the magic such work-worn hands could weave—once she had been shown how to use them and had been encouraged.

Nodding politely to his fellow guests, he entered the elevator still thinking about Emma. When she had disappeared out of his bed in London in the middle of the night, his enquiries had proved he wasn’t the only one to be surprised by her disappearance. Emma was such a good worker, he’d been told, and had such great prospects of advancement in the business. Well, he’d noticed that in her himself. Why would she leave? Where would she go? She was renowned for putting in long hours without complaint, and always making the best of every situation. What had happened to Emma Fane had been the question on everyone’s lips. He knew now that she was making the best of a bad situation. But did he know anything about that situation?

Emma Fane was trouble he didn’t need, he told himself firmly as he stood back to let the other guests spill out into the lobby first. He admired her professionalism, but it riled him that she could treat him like any other guest. After their night in London he’d expected more.

Giving him the chance to turn her down?

Okay. Yes. His pride was bruised. He had never been wrong-footed by a woman before. Had Emma forgotten that he’d made her scream with pleasure in his arms? Or was that why she was keeping her distance from him? Couldn’t she trust herself around him?

He liked that version best, and smiled as he waited for the valet to bring his car round. There was no basis for his obsession with Emma. Full lips, full breasts and shapely legs—all great, but he wasn’t about to fall at the feet of a flame-haired temptress simply because she was dressed in a severely cut uniform that demanded it be ripped off her. Tipping the valet, he got into his car.

All that day he lectured himself on steering clear of a woman who affected him so badly he couldn’t concentrate. Hadn’t he vowed never to become plagued by a woman again? He’d kept that pledge up to now—apart from that one slip in London with Emma. When he’d woken that morning he’d been almost glad she’d gone—until he’d started missing her. Hadn’t he learned that caring destroyed lives, or that hunger for a woman could so easily become an obsession? He wasn’t going down that blind alley ever again.

So why was he still thinking about Emma Fane?

Because she was making herself unavailable to him, and that was a situation he would not allow to continue.

With the last appointment of the day done and dusted, he gunned the engine and released the handbrake. Thanks to Emma, he was aching with frustration. If he couldn’t get her out of his head he would continue to be distracted. And that wasn’t going to happen. He had to do something about Emma Fane. And soon.