Brazilian's Nine Months' Notice. Susan Stephens
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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.’
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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