Confessions of a Pregnant Cinderella

by Abby Green

  Skye struggled to recall what he’d said, and then she answered, ‘I know enough to get by.’

  For a moment they looked at each other, the grandeur of the Grand Canal going unnoticed. Lazaro reached out and twined a tendril of loose hair around his finger, tugging Skye towards him.

  ‘What other languages do you speak?’

  ‘Passable French, Greek... Arabic. We lived in Cairo for a couple of months when I was twelve.’

  He said, ‘You’re a very...surprising woman.’

  At that moment the boat made a thud sound and came to a halt. Skye broke out of her trance, a little relieved at the interruption. There had been a look in Lazaro’s eyes that had made her insides flutter far too dangerously.

  They’d arrived at one of the grand palazzo buildings fronting onto the canal. Standing on its own, it dwarfed the buildings on either side, windows gleaming. A balcony ran the length of the building on the first floor. It was breathtaking.

  They were helped out of the boat and up the steps into the building. Marble floors and Murano chandeliers decorated the reception area. It was deliciously cool inside.

  A man in a suit approached, greeting Lazaro effusively in Italian. Lazaro smoothly replied, also in Italian. Skye wondered how he’d become so fluent.

  The man introduced himself to Skye as the manager of the hotel and led them over to an elevator. The inside was as elegant as the reception area, with hundreds of mirrors in its gold-panelled walls. Skye avoided her reflection, not wanting to see how bedraggled she must look.

  Then she thought of something, and asked Lazaro suspiciously, ‘Do you own this hotel too?’

  He leaned back against one of the walls of mirrors, hands in his pockets. Supremely at home in this rarefied atmosphere in spite of his background. ‘No.’ His mouth twitched. ‘But I am in talks to acquire it—which is why we’re here. I’m finalising some details before I sign the contracts.’

  Skye was about to say oh but she clamped her mouth shut, trying not to be intimidated at the sheer level of Lazaro’s wealth. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what a palazzo on the Grand Canal in Venice was worth.

  The lift doors opened then, and they stepped out and into the most opulent room Skye had ever been in.

  The parquet floor was covered with exquisite oriental rugs. There was chinoiserie wallpaper on the walls. More Murano chandeliers and elaborate frescoes on the gilded ceiling. Three huge windows opened out onto the balcony which overlooked the canal.

  She went over and stood on it, watching the sunlight bounce off the canal and the waves created by the boats and activity.

  ‘It’s so beautiful... I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  Lazaro stood beside her. ‘Yes...it’s pretty spectacular.’

  Skye tore her gaze from the view to look at him. ‘Why do you want to buy it?’

  He shrugged lightly. ‘Because I can. Because it’ll enhance my portfolio.’

  He turned and went back into the room. It was dotted with sleek furniture in a more modern style than the room, but perversely it fitted. Low glass coffee tables, cream couches. Modern art and artefacts.

  He went to a drinks tray and looked back at her. ‘Would you like some juice or water?’

  She came into the room. ‘Sparkling water, please.’ She kicked off her shoes and gave a groan of relief, slipping off her coat before sinking down onto one of the couches, tucking her legs underneath her.

  Lazaro handed her a glass and she took a sip. He had what looked like a tumbler of whisky in his hand. He sat down at the other end of the couch, resting an arm across it. The movement tightened his shirt across his chest, and instantly Skye wanted to undo his buttons and spread the material apart so she could look at him. And not just look at him.

  Her face burning, she took another gulp of water.

  Pregnancy hormones.

  ‘You’re really not that impressed, are you?’

  Skye looked at Lazaro, whose gaze was narrowed on her hot face. ‘Impressed by what?’

  He waved a hand. ‘The fact that I’m about to become the owner of one of Venice’s most celebrated and oldest palazzos.’

  Skye looked at him. ‘When I lived here with my mother needless to say we were in one of the less salubrious areas, far away from the canal. I used to dream of travelling down the canal by boat and stepping into one of these buildings as if I owned it... But that was just a fantasy. It doesn’t really matter to me either way. It’s enough for me to be here and experience it.’

  Lazaro leant forward. ‘But that’s the thing—it’s not a fantasy. It’s your reality now.’

  It hit Skye in that moment how different her life would be.

  There was a knock on the door and the hotel manager appeared again to check that everything was all right. A porter was behind him with their bags. Skye saw them being taken into what she presumed was the bedroom.

  She stood up as the manager put down a pile of papers on a round table and said, ‘The evening editions have just come in with news of your wedding. Many congratulations, Señora Sanchez.’

  She murmured her thanks as Lazaro walked him to the door. The porter left too. Skye was drawn to the papers, even though she dreaded seeing what they had to say about her marrying the man whose engagement she’d ruined so publicly.

  On the top were the Italian tabloids. There was a picture of her and Lazaro emerging from the town hall. Skye winced. She looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights, eyes wide and startled, clutching her very homemade bunch of flowers and latched onto Lazaro’s arm.

  She couldn’t have looked less like the sleekly perfect woman he should have married.

  All she could think about now was that he might not have loved Leonora, but he had felt something for her, and he must have desired her—how could he not have? And if they were here right now they’d be in the bedroom—

  Skye cursed out loud.

  Lazaro came over. ‘What is it?’ He saw what she was looking at and swept up the papers and dumped them in a rubbish bin near the door.

  Skye didn’t want Lazaro to see an atom of what she was feeling, so she went back over to the balcony to look out over the canal. They were married now, and having a baby. She had to deal with it and stop feeling so insecure.

  But, as if sensing her turmoil, Lazaro came over. ‘Skye?’

  Stubbornly, she kept her gaze forward.

  ‘Skye, look at me.’

  With extreme reluctance she did, turning to face Lazaro, thinking churlishly in that moment that for a man who was fixated on world domination he seemed to have an uncanny ability to push her when she wanted it least.

  ‘What is it? What’s going on in that head of yours?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing... Just...’ But she couldn’t keep it in. She blurted out, ‘Leonora—she was so beautiful and perfect... You must have wanted her... She should be here, not me...’

  * * *

  Lazaro was struck by the fact that Skye was wrong on so many levels.

  ‘I didn’t want her. That’s why it was so easy to let her go.’

  In that instant Lazaro realised that he would never have been as sanguine about letting Skye go. She was embedded under his skin and he hungered for her on a constant basis.

  But it was more than that. Just watching the expressions on her face as they’d arrived in Venice had enthralled him. He would have bet money she’d never seen it before, and when she’d said she had a small part of him had felt something disturbingly like jealousy. Because he hadn’t witnessed her very first viewing of this magical city.

  Desire made you think crazy things.

  Skye was frowning. ‘You mean you never...?’

  Lazaro was almost enjoying her inarticulacy. ‘Are you asking me if I slept with her?’

  Skye blushed.

  It was still amazing to Lazar
o every time she did it. And especially here, against this sophisticated backdrop.

  ‘Don’t make fun of me,’ Skye said hotly.

  Lazaro acted on impulse and ran his knuckles down one hot cheek. Her hair was coming undone and her freckles were starting to pop through her wedding make-up. And just the feel of her hot cheek under his knuckle was enough to tip him over the edge of his control.

  ‘I didn’t sleep with Leonora, Skye. I wasn’t marrying her because I wanted her. Desire complicates things.’

  Now her expression shuttered, and everything in him rejected that way she had sometimes of closing off.

  ‘You mean I’ve complicated things?’ she said.

  He put a finger under her chin, tipping it up. She was still trying to control her face. He could see the effort.

  ‘Funnily enough, this is one complication I don’t seem to care about any more.’

  The closed-off expression faded. He could see uncertainty. Vulnerability.

  ‘You don’t?’

  He shook his head. ‘We have much more important things to do right now.’

  ‘Like what?’

  He put his hands on her waist and felt its thickness. Her bump was growing daily now. And her breasts were fuller, pushing against the material of her dress. He’d made love with some of the most beautiful women in the world, but not one of them had ever fired him up like this.

  ‘Like consummating this marriage.’

  Lazaro pulled her close. He saw the effect of his arousal on her. The way her cheeks got pink and her eyes widened. Glittering a dark blue. He felt a tremor run through her body, the same kind he was trying to control in his.

  He wanted Skye. Only Skye.

  He shut out all the voices in his head warning him that this was different from every other time. He told himself it was still within his control even as he covered Skye’s mouth with his and knew somewhere very deep and secret that it was different, and that control was fast slipping out of his grasp with every kiss. With every touch.

  * * *

  Skye was afraid to admit how much it meant to her to know that Lazaro hadn’t slept with his ex-fiancée. He wanted her. She could feel it in his kiss.

  She heard a faint catcall from somewhere out on the canal and she couldn’t help smiling against Lazaro’s mouth. But it soon faded as the kiss deepened and became explicit. Lazaro was showing her with his tongue and his hands what he wanted to do to her more intimately.

  She twined her arms around his neck and felt herself being lifted off the ground. He brought her into the glorious opulence of the suite and into the bedroom, which Skye barely noticed.

  She wondered if every time they slept together would be infused with this sense of urgency. Desperation.

  He put her down on her feet by the bed and Skye started opening his shirt buttons, exactly as she’d fantasised doing only a short while before.

  His skin was warm. Vital. She moved down, undoing his shirt buttons, exposing his chest, the curling dark blond hair that covered his pectorals.

  Then he said thickly, ‘You. I want to see you.’

  He gently turned her around and undid the zip at the back of her sheath dress. It fell forward and down, and with a tug over her hips it fell to the floor. Now all Skye wore was a pair of panties and a matching bra, and sheer pull-ups with lace tops.

  She felt suddenly self-conscious—aware that in spite of the circumstances this was effectively her wedding night, even though it wasn’t yet night-time outside. Her belly had grown even in the space of time since she’d seen Lazaro before the wedding. It was forming into a proper bump now.

  He turned her around to face him. She looked down and he tipped her face up with a finger under her chin. He looked at her—all of her. Slowly and thoroughly.

  ‘You are beautiful, Skye.’

  She ducked her head again, bringing her arms up, afraid that he’d seen her insecurity and was just saying platitudes. She hated this new, needy side of herself that she’d never noticed before.

  Then she forced her head back up. This wasn’t her. Shy and insecure. She was now married to this man, pregnant with his child, and she wanted him. And he wanted her.

  She reached around and undid the clasp of her bra, letting it fall open and to the floor.

  Lazaro sucked in a breath.

  Her breasts felt heavier, fuller. He cupped them, rubbing his thumbs across her sensitive nipples until she had to bite her lip to stop herself from moaning out loud.

  Skye was afraid she’d explode there and then, just from being touched. So she dislodged Lazaro’s hands and continued undoing the buttons on his shirt. She spread back the material to take in the magnificence of his perfectly defined muscles.

  She moved her hands across his chest wonderingly, feeling the slightly springy hair under her palms, the warmth of his skin. Grazing the hard nubs of his nipples. On impulse she leant forward, explored with her tongue, swirling it around the hard piece of flesh.

  Lazaro’s hand was in her hair, undoing it and combing his fingers through it, massaging her scalp. He tugged her head back and she looked up at him. She couldn’t escape that glittering green gaze. He looked back at her for a long moment, and then he cupped her face and he was kissing her again. Sliding his tongue along hers in a flagrantly sexual and drugging dance.

  Skye gripped on to him to stay standing, the blood turning to fire in her veins. Her breasts were pressed against his bare chest and she strained to get closer, creating delicious friction.

  He cupped her bottom then, lifting her up against him, and she wound her arms around his neck. If she could have climbed into his skin she would.

  Then she was falling backwards, landing on the soft surface of the bed where Lazaro laid her down.

  She sucked in a breath, dizzy. And watched as he removed his clothing with far more efficiency than she could have managed. He stood before her naked and utterly unselfconscious. His outer layer stripped away, revealing the perfect male specimen underneath.

  And he was majestic. Like every glorious statue she’d ever seen of the male form in dusty Greek museums or Parisian art galleries.

  His erection was thick and heavy, and Skye’s lower body clenched in anticipation.

  He came to her, and with a precision she didn’t want to think about divested her of her panties and pull-ups, throwing them aside. Now she was naked, on the biggest bed in the most opulent bedroom she’d ever been in. Cherubs and angels danced among clouds on the ceiling.

  But she couldn’t have cared less about the celebrated sixteenth-century artist who had created such stunning work.

  Lazaro naked, moving over her with a look of hungry intent in his eyes, was far more impressive.

  His gaze stopped on her breasts, and then between her legs. Skye had never felt so needy. He rested over her on his hands and dipped his head, his mouth finding hers with unerring accuracy. She reached for him, needing contact. Needing to feel him on her. In her.

  His hands were everywhere, moulding the shape of her body as if learning it by touch. Caressing her breasts, cupping one soft full mound and moving his mouth off hers and down so he could surround the taut straining peak with heat and warmth, nipping gently with his teeth.

  He knelt between her legs and pulled them apart. He smoothed his hands up her thighs and then around and underneath her buttocks, kneading her flesh. And then he bent down, pressing kisses first along her inner thighs and then higher, to the epicentre where every nerve was quivering, waiting, aching...

  Her back arched off the bed when he touched her there with his mouth and tongue. Exploring deep inside where she was laid bare in her desire for him. She didn’t care. She was undone... And she came in an intense rush of pleasure, her body spasming for long seconds in the aftermath.

  Skye opened her eyes and saw Lazaro above her, reaching out to brush some hai
r off her face. She was panting...sated and yet hungry for more.

  ‘Okay?’

  His question touched on a vulnerable point inside her. She nodded, unable to speak. He came between her legs and she felt the blunt head of his erection against her sensitised skin. He massaged her there for a moment, with his thumb, and she bit her lip at the sensation. He was arousing her again.

  ‘Ready?’

  She nodded. Lazaro angled his body and with one smooth thrust seated himself deep inside her. She gasped at the sensation, which was almost too much, and then her body relaxed around his...adapting, yielding.

  Lazaro started to move, an inexorable glide in and out, ratcheting up the tension, finding her hand and lacing his fingers with hers over her head. Every sinew in her body pulled taut as they climbed higher and higher, until their tension reached the point of no return and Skye’s body went still for an infinitesimal moment before falling down and down into a vortex of pleasure that eclipsed anything she’d felt before.

  Lazaro’s body stilled. He was so deep inside Skye she felt as if he was touching her heart. A fanciful notion she batted away as soon as it appeared. And then powerful shudders racked his frame as he found his own release. Her body pulsated around him, milking his essence.

  Skye wasn’t aware of Lazaro extricating himself from her embrace... She had fallen into oblivion.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WHEN SKYE WOKE she could hear the sounds of water nearby—a rhythmic lapping against stone. The sound of a horn from a boat roused her completely. She looked around the room at the fantastical ceiling. The gold inlaid décor. The massive, very rumpled bed.

  Heat flooded her body. She turned her head and saw the indentation on the pillow where Lazaro had slept. It was dusk outside, the sky an inky lavender colour.

  Had she dreamt it or had Lazaro tucked her into his body after making love to her and spread a hand across her belly?

  She heard a noise and looked up. Lazaro stepped into the room, hair damp and curling after a shower, wearing black trousers and a snowy white shirt.