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Leandro’s cheeks were still flushed, his body was tight, everything between them hung in a state of suspended animation. But the beautiful bubble their passion had created, the bubble that had somehow sucked Skye in and made her think this was all okay, was beginning to pop. Someone was here. At the door to the room.
She yelped, shaking her head a little. “No one can know,” she groaned, and worse, this was a woman’s voice. She knew her own situation, but she had no idea about this man’s. What if he was married? Engaged? Dating someone? The last thing she needed was to get in the middle of someone else’s failing relationship.
“Oh, God,” she lifted a hand to her forehead.
“Stay here,” he commanded, but she shook her head.
“No. No way.”
He reached for his trousers and pulled them up over his bare body, but his arousal made it hard to do the zip. He turned his back a minute, waiting to lose the physical evidence of what they’d been about to do, and Skye took the opportunity to dress as quickly as she could, shoveling her breasts back into the bra, stuffing her arms into the shirt and hoping she fed the right buttons into the adjacent holes. Her underpants were underneath the sofa—she ignored them. There was no time. Leo was already moving towards the door. She yelped again, pulled the skirt up, stuffed her shirt into it, and was conscious of him turning to look at her, his eyes nodding towards the bathroom, indicating she could wait there.
But if she hid, she’d be trapped for as long as this conversation—or whatever—took. So she shook her head tersely, held one finger in the air indicating he should wait, and then pressed her feet into shoes. Her hands were unsteady as she quickly sunk to the carpet, the scene of their almost crime, and found the discarded bottle of chemicals. She sprayed it quickly, her face pale as she worked.
What had she almost just done?
Not the sex part, but the sleeping with a guest of the hotel in the hotel part. Her job meant way too much to her. Not only was it relatively well paid, she got to work with rich celebrities who tipped generously and the tips alone were all going into Harper’s college fund. Her boss was understanding of Skye’s parenting demands, sympathetic to the fact she was a single mother. She liked her job, she liked the conditions. There was no way she could lose it.
She kept her head lowered, patting the carpet gingerly with the towel, watching as the chemicals seemed to be bringing the wine situation under control, doing her level best not to look at the man she’d just been begging to make love to her.
CHAPTER THREE
HIS SISTER EMME HAD always had spectacularly bad timing, and this was no exception. Another five minutes and he would have been buried inside the blonde—Skye? —making love to her until he couldn’t even think about his parents, and how they’d been lying to him.
“What the hell has gotten into you?” she demanded, storming into the room and pausing mid-step when she realized they weren’t alone. Still, they’d gotten used to having an army of servants around the house growing up. But at the sight of his bare chest, her eyes narrowed, and she glanced from Skye to him with a look of dawning comprehension.
No one can know.
He’d promised her.
She’d been so earnest about it, and he wasn’t stupid enough to ignore his relative comfort in life. Where he was beholden to nobody and nothing, the same was very likely not true for a woman working in her kind of position.
He held up a hand to forestall whatever else Emme had been about to say and reached into his pocket for his wallet. It wasn’t there. He’d left it in the kitchen earlier. He crossed to it and withdrew a one hundred dollar bill at the same time he subtly folded it around a business card.
“Don’t worry about the carpet,” he muttered, stalking to Skye, painfully conscious that his cock was at her eye height when she blinked up at him. Damn it, hardness threatened to stir and it took all of Leandro’s willpower to resist it. “Send housekeeping up in the morning,” he said.
“The stain will set.”
“Then it sets.”
Her eyes flicked to Emme. Skye frowned and then nodded.
He held out the money; she glanced at it, paling.
“A tip,” he explained.
Was he imagining the sheen in her eyes? The hurt there too? Dear God, did she think this was some kind of payment for intimacy almost rendered?
His gut twisted and he wished his sister would get the hell out of there so he could explain properly, or better yet, finish what they’d started.
“I’ll leave this here and send housekeeping up in the morning.” She placed the spray on the nearest countertop, moving towards the room service trolley with the same graceful athleticism he’d just been witnessing up close.
“Good evening, sir. Ma’am.”
Emme’s arms were crossed over her chest, and it was only the fact his younger sister was watching him like a hawk that stopped him from staring at Skye’s delectable backside the whole way to the door. She had to back out of it with the trolley, and then it was her breasts he wanted to stare at. They were absolutely beautiful, but it was more than that: he couldn’t bring himself to look at her face and see the recriminations there.
“Tell me you’re not resorting to screwing hotel staff?” Emme muttered, reaching for a chip and chewing on it. “Cristo, Leandro, what’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing,” he snapped the lie. He wasn’t going to tell Emme or Max a damned thing about this until he’d had time to get his thoughts straight. Who he was, where he belonged, whether he still wanted to have anything to do with their damned family business, what he’d do if it wasn’t this?
