Brazilian's Nine Months' Notice

‘Towels,’ she told him briskly, sidestepping him as she walked into the room.

‘Coffee?’ he suggested, watching her back view appreciatively as she disappeared into the bathroom.

‘Do you need more coffee?’ she asked him with a touch of impatience.

‘I have all the coffee I need, thank you. I just thought you might like a cup.’

‘I’m afraid that wouldn’t go down very well with my boss.’

‘You never used to worry about what your boss thought.’

She chose not to answer him. He moved in front of her so she couldn’t leave. ‘You’ve still got a job in London, if you want it.’

‘As what? Your part-time mistress?’ she said in the same clipped and professional voice.

Nothing quite so permanent, he thought as his appetite sharpened. ‘You could continue your training course.’

‘Thanks for the offer.’

‘And?’ he prompted.

‘And nothing.’

The lift of her brow said Emma believed he belonged to that group of gilded individuals who only had to look a certain way for a woman to fall at their feet. And she wasn’t one of them. She had carefully turned her face away from his naked chest. He hadn’t thought about it until now. He had slipped on a shirt and jeans for the sake of decency after his shower, not wanting to slob around in a robe, and only noticed now that the shirt wasn’t fastened.

‘Luc, I need to talk to you—’

‘And I to you,’ he assured her, but they were interrupted by a second knock on the door. ‘Breakfast. Hot coffee, freshly baked rolls. How can you resist?’

Easily, her look told him. Emma could resist the coffee and him.

She stood aside as he opened the door to let the waiter in, giving him all the chance he needed to admire her resolute profile: the firm mouth he loved to kiss, and the neat nose that made him smile when it wrinkled. Her expression right now was fixed in disapproval. How he’d love to soften that. He cleared the table for the waiter instead.

‘Join me?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ she said.

He loved the way she drew herself up. She still had to tilt her chin at an acute angle in order to meet his stare. ‘Join me for breakfast—coffee at least,’ he pressed as the waiter set out breakfast on his dining table.

‘Sorry, sir. I can’t do that,’ Emma told him firmly.

He could just imagine the rumours flying around the kitchen after this. He should be more considerate and think about her reputation, but this was the woman who had clung to him and wrapped her naked limbs around him as she’d begged him for more. Why was she acting so cool now? He stopped her at the door with a hand on her shoulder, and turning his back on the waiter he murmured, ‘Why don’t you lighten up?’

‘I’m not expected to lighten up,’ she replied, matching his discretion. ‘This is my job. I’m working.’

‘So being pleasant to guests isn’t part of your job description?’

‘There are limits,’ she said, glancing over his shoulder at the waiter.

‘If you didn’t work here, would you join me for coffee?’

‘If I didn’t work here, I wouldn’t be in your room.’

She turned and seized hold of the doorhandle—so tightly her knuckles turned white. ‘If you will excuse me?’

‘Allow me,’ he said.

There was a rapid transfer of hands as Emma whipped hers away before he could touch her. The waiter was ready to leave, and they both stood back to let him go. He tipped the man a fistful of coins. Once he was out of earshot he turned back to Emma. ‘Are you sure you won’t join me?’

‘Completely sure,’ she said firmly. ‘May I go now, sir?’

There were dozens of things rampaging behind her eyes that he guessed she would like to say, but not now. He decided to push a little harder to find out what was on her mind. ‘You do know I’m staying on for another few days?’

‘Yes, I heard.’

She had turned back to face him, and again that unsaid something flashed across her face. ‘If there’s something you need to say to me, Emma, just spit it out.’

She looked genuinely shocked for a moment, and then reverted to her role of efficient hotel employee. ‘Just call downstairs when you’re ready to leave, and they’ll have someone come up to collect your luggage.’

‘I think I can manage the cases myself,’ he gritted out. Digging into the back pocket of his jeans, he said, ‘Here...for you.’

‘What’s this?’ She frowned as he held out a twenty.

His patience was exhausted. ‘It’s money, Emma. What does it look like? It’s common practice in the hotel industry to offer money for good service. I’ve had you running up and down for the past couple of days. A tip is customary in Scotland as well as in London, I presume?’

She flinched as he pressed the note into her hand. And then, very slowly and deliberately, she folded it and placed it on the table just inside his door. ‘There are some excellent charities you can give this money to. But I’m not one of them. Have a good day, Senhor Marcelos,’ she added with a cool stare. ‘I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay.’

She’d changed—too much for him not to be suspicious. He watched with mixed emotions as Emma walked off down the corridor. From wild party girl to considered and efficient chambermaid, who looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, was quite a leap. And he didn’t believe it for a minute. Pheromones were still dancing in the air. Round one to Emma, but the battle wasn’t over yet. In London she’d been all fire and passion, but now she was thoughtful and distant. She must know she couldn’t have prevented her parents’ death, so what was eating her?

He didn’t have time to waste thinking about it. He had business meetings stacked up end on end.

Emma remained in his head for the rest of the day—to the point where he cut things short, something he’d never done before, and all because he couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel to see Emma.

When he arrived and saw her waiting for the elevator as he walked into the lobby, his hunting instincts sharpened. She sensed, rather than saw him, and turned around as he walked towards her. ‘Good evening, Senhor Marcelos. I hope you’ve had a nice day?’

‘A highly successful day, thank you.’

She gave him a look as if to say, Is there any other kind of day for you? She was dressed in her chambermaid’s outfit with a kettle in her hand and more towels for another guest. The sight irritated him. They worked her to death here, and he hated the idea of Emma Fane waiting on anyone but him. She’d had such good prospects in London, which she had rejected, thrown away.

Why?

Once they were inside the elevator she didn’t look at him but stared fixedly at the illuminated floor numbers above the door panel as they flashed on and off. Her wildflower scent filled his senses. She was soft and warm. He was big and hard. He radiated cold from the frigid temperature outside, while to his tortured imagination Emma appeared to be surrounded by a cosy if impenetrable glow. She was so tiny compared to him, yet they had fitted together so well, he remembered. His body remembered everything about her—everything that had happened that night. It made her coolness now all the more insulting.

The lift emptied and they were on their own for the last few floors.

‘Come back to London with me, Emma,’ he said as the lift slowed.

She turned to look at him with surprise and raised a brow.

‘Don’t allow the tragedy to destroy your life.’

‘Thank you, but I’m quite capable of handling my own affairs, and I really don’t want to talk about them with you.’

‘Don’t you?’

Her cheeks flamed red as if she was hiding something from him. He wondered what as she went back to studying floor numbers as they flashed on and off.

‘I understand why you came home to Scotland, but not why you stay here. It makes more sense to go back to London and complete your training.’

‘To you, maybe.’

His senses surged as she fired back at him. He liked her like this, full of passion, full of fire. ‘You can pick up the programme,’ he insisted, determined to keep the pressure on. ‘Everyone will understand that you needed time to come to terms with what happened. It’s a good course, Emma—the best. And free to all my staff.’

‘I know that,’ she said, refusing to look at him.

‘You had career prospects—great prospects. Why are you throwing them away?’

‘I’m happy here.’

The elevator slowed and the doors slid open, but before she could walk through them he stood in front of her. ‘What do you get here that you can’t get in London? The chance to grow old and grey while you wait for promotion?’

‘Peace of mind,’ she fired back, her eyes full of steel as she stared at him.

‘So it’s all about me?’

‘Hah!’ She laughed.

‘Well, I can tell you what it’s about here,’ he drove on. ‘It’s all about dead men’s shoes, while I have hotels around the world full of opportunity. You could work in any one of them—’

‘You’re pitching hard,’ she interrupted. ‘Why, Lucas?’

‘What’s your problem? I know there’s something. Debts? A persistent boyfriend you can’t get rid of? I don’t know—’

‘Don’t you, Lucas?’

‘There is something troubling you,’ he said. ‘If you had problems in London you should have told me.’

‘Problems apart from you?’ Her eyes were firing bullets at him. ‘I didn’t have any problems in London,’ she assured him tensely.

‘What, then?’

‘Why can’t you let it go? This isn’t the time. I have work to do.’

‘When will it be the time?’

She looked as if she would like to say something, but then thought better of it, and so he quietened his tone and said, ‘If you have a problem, who else is going to help you?’

‘You’re going to help me?’ Her mouth slanted sceptically.

‘You trusted me in London. Why not now?’

‘I trusted you,’ she said, neither a question nor a statement. ‘But you flew out of the country that morning. “Billionaire off on his travels again”,’ she quoted from the newspapers. ‘Whether I’d left you or not, don’t even pretend you were planning to stick around.’

‘Did you expect me to stay and start something with you?’

‘A proper relationship, do you mean?’ She shook her head as if that had never entered her thoughts, and he believed her. ‘I want to get out of the lift, if you don’t mind,’ she said, looking past him.

He moved aside. ‘Think about what I’ve said, Emma. There’s still a place for you in London, if you want it.’

‘I’ve just taken on more hours here,’ she said, as if that was an end of the subject.

‘We can still discuss it.’

‘I’ve got a twelve-hour shift ahead of me.’

‘Twelve hours?’ He was aghast. ‘How many hours have you put in so far today? There are laws to protect workers like you, Emma. This isn’t the Dark Ages. Your hours would be capped at my hotel in London, and you’d still receive a decent wage.’ She couldn’t deny that he cared for his staff. ‘My staff mean everything to me. Without them, I have nothing. They should treat you the same way here. Don’t they ever give you time off?’

‘I choose my hours, and I get enough time,’ she assured him.

He exhaled, both with anger and frustration, as Emma slipped past him and walked away.

* * *

The last thing she heard as the steel door slid to was Luc’s angry huff, but she had always worked hard. Growing up, there had only been one way to have new clothes and enough food on the table, and that had been to make the money herself. Whether her parents had made much out of their life of crime was hard to say. The only times she’d ever seen them they were so drunk or so high it would have the easiest thing in the world to steal from them, and they had died penniless and in debt, which she was also struggling to pay.

After she’d restocked the room, she headed up the stairwell, through the fire door onto the small balcony at the top of the fire escape. The air was so cold here it was like breathing in ice shards, but she needed to refresh herself and wake up in readiness for the next shift. She was exhausted with the pregnancy and exhausted from working double shifts, but she had to go on. She had to support herself and a child.

As a lone bird flew across her field of vision to its roost, she wished briefly that she could fly away. Lucas had used her for sex and moved on. She had used him for sex and moved on, so they were quits. If only she could forget about him once she had told him about their baby, but their child bound them together for life.

Hugging her stomach protectively, she started to agonise over how and when to tell him. The future of an unborn child was at stake, and she couldn’t afford to get the timing wrong, and didn’t want to think how Luc would take the news.

* * *

She worked harder than she ever had during the night shift in a failed attempt to put Lucas Marcelos out of her mind. Only one thing mattered, she kept telling herself fiercely, and that was her baby, and by the end of this shift she could add to her nest egg.

Though she scrubbed and cleaned and polished throughout the long night, Luc never left her mind. His baby was with her too. That was the one thought that kept her going, kept her happy, kept her calm. In spite of all the obstacles, she was so happy to be pregnant. From the first moment she’d suspected, the world had seemed a brighter place and she had vowed there and then that, whatever problems lay ahead of her, she would make a very different life for her child from the life she had known growing up.

Luc might have no part in raising their child. She had already accepted that and intended to ask nothing of him. She didn’t need his help. She could do everything by herself, she always had. Telling him was the only difficult part, and that had seemed so easy in theory, but when she’d seen him face-to-face she’d known that nothing about it would be easy, and had panicked at the thought of him taking her baby away from her. Luc had the power to do that. He had the money and the influence she lacked. How would she even find her child if he decided to steal it away from her, when he had homes all over the world?

She had to lift her head from her scrubbing to take some deep, calming breaths. Becoming a shivering wreck wouldn’t help her child.

Would a man like Luc turn his back when she told him? Would he allow her to carry on and remain in Scotland? No. He would interfere. But she still had to tell him. It was the right thing to do. But Luc would want his child to have a very different life from anything she could provide. His child would have a privileged life, with nannies and carers and expensive schools...

But no mother on hand.

No encumbrance of any kind would be allowed to interfere in the self-indulgent lifestyle of the infamous Lucas Marcelos. His child would reflect his wealth and status, while its mother could only be an embarrassment to him.

And now her throat felt as dry as tinder, and she remained cold and shivery for the rest of her shift. It was still dark when she finished work. The winter nights were long and cold this far north, and she had never felt so alone and uncertain as she put her cleaning equipment away and prepared to face the new day.

There were hormones racing through her system, she reminded herself, and these, coupled with simple exhaustion, meant she must pull herself together, and quickly. She had to carry on. She had a baby to think about now. Which meant keeping up her strength by eating something now. Washing her hands and straightening her hair as best she could, she headed downstairs to the basement where the kitchen was located. There was always something good to eat. But not this morning, she discovered to her disappointment, because a hiking party had arrived unexpectedly, and paying guests always took precedence over staff.

‘You’ll have to go out for breakfast,’ the chef told her with an apologetic shrug. ‘I’m sorry, Emma. That’s how it goes sometimes.’

‘No problem.’ She found a smile. ‘You’ve got enough to do. I’ll go into town and get something there.’

She was rocking on her feet for want of sleep, but she could buy something in town and bring it back to eat in her room. She didn’t really care. She was too tired to think. Plucking her coat from the hook, she shrugged it on, and opening the back door she stepped outside from steaming warmth into the shock of the freezing air. Tucking her chin down, she was on the point of braving the walk into town when she stopped dead. Dressed to brave the worst of a Scottish winter, Luc was leaning against the side of a sleek black sports car. ‘How...?’

‘I made enquiries to find out when your shift ended,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Are you satisfied now that you’ve completely exhausted yourself?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You’re not fine, Emma.’ Opening the passenger door, he stood waiting for her to get in.

‘What?’ She couldn’t even form the words. She was too tired to think.

Luc shook his head. ‘We both know that what you’re doing is against all regulations. The hotel could be fined for abusing its staff with these overly long hours, and then you really will be out of a job. Working through the night?’ he said, his frown deepening. ‘What are you trying to prove, Emma?’

‘I’m not trying to prove anything,’ she insisted.

Powerful arms folded across his rugged jacket, Luc disagreed. ‘You’d better get in,’ he said, ‘before you freeze to death.’

And still she hesitated. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘What’s to understand, Emma?’

‘Why are you waiting for me? I don’t need a lift. I can walk into town.’

‘Get in,’ Luc repeated. ‘I won’t tell you again.’

CHAPTER FOUR

HE WASN’T JOKING. He practically lifted her into the car. She was glad of it. The pavements were icy—another thing the hotel had let slip. All the other parts of the pavement had been salted, but not here—they were treacherous, for guests, and for old folk in particular.

And for pregnant women, Emma reminded herself as Lucas settled her in the car. He even fastened the seat belt for her before closing the door, as if he knew how cold she was, and how exhausted. Walking around the sleek black vehicle, he got in and made himself comfortable on cream kidskin. She wasn’t so tired she didn’t notice that in jeans and rugged boots, with a jacket that emphasised the width of his shoulders, Luc looked like the perfect port in a storm.

At least this particular storm, Emma amended as she gazed up into the snow-dappled air. She hadn’t realised how cold she had become until now, when she was safely enclosed in the warm interior of Luc’s luxury vehicle—every part of which called for wool or cashmere or alpaca, rather than a cheap nylon uniform beneath a thin, shabby coat. ‘You don’t have to do this,’ she protested, suddenly self-conscious. She was having second thoughts as he pulled away from the kerb, thinking the type of place Luc would take her to for breakfast could only make her feel worse.

‘You’re going to eat and so am I,’ he said. ‘It would be churlish of me not to offer you a lift. I didn’t fancy eating in a packed dining room or in my suite today.’ He shrugged as he turned on the engine and moved into the stream of traffic heading into town. ‘And you look as if you need a lift,’ he added glancing at her.

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