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He turned at the door and the cold force of his gaze stopped her in her tracks. ‘Oh, yes—we have. For now. Just remember this: you deserted your son and left him with me. I can make this easy or very, very hard. It’s up to you.’
When he opened the door, Rowan saw the great big hulking shape of a bodyguard just outside and heard a small voice chatter excitedly. ‘Papa—Papa!’
The door closed and she felt the bed at the back of her legs behind her. Hearing that small voice was too much. Her legs crumpled and she slid to the ground. For a long time she sat like that, with her legs tucked under her, stunned by everything. It was only after a few minutes that she realised her cheeks were wet with tears, and she held a fist to her chest as if she could soothe the pain in her heart.
Eventually Rowan got up and went into the bathroom, where she splashed some water on her face. Towelling herself dry, she studied her reflection. Her face was white, her eyes huge. She looked and felt like a deer caught in the headlights. She needed to look in control, not half shocked out of her wits and terrified. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed her bag on the bed. Isandro must have picked it up from where it had fallen when she’d fainted. She wished she had some makeup, but she didn’t have a thing—makeup had been the last thing on her mind for a long time.
She went back into the bedroom and tried pinching her cheeks to restore some colour. Standing at the window, looking out on the view that Isandro had seen only a short time before, she held her body tense. She still couldn’t believe how the fates had brought them together. It was laughable. She’d chosen this hotel primarily because it was close to St Pancras, where she’d gotten off the train from Paris, and because her solicitor’s office was uncomfortably close to Isandro’s London offices. It had been under A on the internet, for Alhambra Hotel. But in the end she would have been safer meeting David Fairclough at his office.
She felt a fleeting moment of ironic humour. She’d counted on being able to gather all her information, had banked on the fact that Isandro would most likely be in Spain. They would contact him by letter to let him know of her wishes, her intentions to get to know her son… But instead here they were. The chance to explain in depth her reasons for leaving that day by the luxury of a letter was gone. Faced with Isandro’s virulent anger, she knew he was in no mood to listen—possibly for some time. And now he believed that he’d caught her in the midst of an afternoon tryst. The worst possible start to any kind of meeting.
And then there was her son. Her baby. Zac. He was so beautiful. Rowan put a hand to the curtain, gripping it tight as she felt weakness flood her, her legs turning to jelly.
Meeting Isandro again was something she’d been somewhat prepared for. But how did you prepare to meet the child you thought you’d never see ever again? Every step of that walk away from him was etched into her memory like a searing brand. She’d woken from nightmares reliving that walk almost every night for the past two years. Her bruised and battered heart beat unsteadily against her chest. That indescribable pain and the lingering joy of seeing him all swirled together, making her feel like crying and laughing at the same time.
Rowan heard the door open behind her. Her hand tightened on the curtain before she released it from her grip. She took a deep breath and turned around. Isandro. His face was so harsh and austere that Rowan sucked in a breath. He hated her. She could feel it tangibly as he came and stood in front of her, head back, looking down at her with heavy-lidded disgust. His blue eyes were like shards of ice.
‘I have some business to attend to here in the hotel. You are by all means free to go if you wish.’
Her mind and heart seized in a painful spasm at his volte face. The thought of being so close to her son and being sent away now was wrenching and unbearable.
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I came back to London to get in touch with you. Believe what you want, but I had no idea you owned this hotel. I’m not leaving now until you agree for me to see Zac.’
His mouth tightened with unmistakable displeasure. He obviously hadn’t expected that. But there was also something she couldn’t put her finger on. A hint of resignation? Did he realise that he couldn’t just dismiss her?
‘Very well. In that case you will remain in this room tonight, and tomorrow morning we may discuss things.’
Rowan looked at him sceptically. She’d expected more of a fight. Why wasn’t he flinging her out on the steps? He was playing with her, a master tactician.
‘No need to look so suspicious, Rowan. You are, after all, my wife—are you not? Naturally I am overjoyed to see you again.’
With a mocking look on his face he backed away before turning and leaving the room. When an outer door shut too, Rowan knew that she was finally quite alone. Hesitantly she opened the door into the outer part of the suite and looked around. Her suitcase had also been transported upstairs. Breathing a little easier for the first time in hours, Rowan went to a couch and sat down. Half distracted, she felt something underneath her and plucked it out. It was a furry toy animal.
Zac. With a shaking hand she brought it close to her face and breathed deep. The well of emotion was rising to consume her again and she couldn’t keep it back. Clutching the small teddy, Rowan curled up on the couch and gave in to the storm.
Much later that night Isandro found himself at the door of the suite just down the hall from his own private rooms. What was he doing here? He opened the door and stepped in. The light was dim, the curtains still open, and it was only as he walked towards the bedroom that he saw the shape on the sofa.
His heart fell. Why couldn’t she have just disappeared?
He knew damn well why.
She was back to get everything her greedy little hands could carry. No doubt including his son. Look at her. He almost laughed out loud when he saw Zac’s toy clenched in one hand, close to her face. She’d come back from whatever rock she’d been hiding under, like an actress poised in the wings of the stage, ready to make her entrance.
Yet, much to his dismay, faced with her benign sleeping form, Isandro was helpless against a rush of memories. The first time he’d seen her across a packed function room where he’d come to meet Alistair Carmichael. Rowan’s father had been a man in dire straits, about to become publicly bankrupt unless Isandro agreed to a mutually beneficial deal. Carmichael had known that Isandro wanted in, and Isandro had known Carmichael needed saving from public humiliation and ruination. In the middle of it all had been Rowan. Part of the deal.
He’d seen her across that crowded room and, like an old cliché, their eyes had met. He’d felt a little poleaxed by their intense shade of dark violet-blue, their seriousness, when so many women looked at him with another expression entirely.
She’d been unbelievably gauche-looking—too gauche, in fact, and he now knew for a fact that it had all been an act. Then he’d spotted her father by her side and he’d put two and two together. This was the daughter the old man wanted to marry off. Carmichael had baited him with the fact that if she married she’d come into her mother’s sizeable inheritance.
He had let Carmichael believe that he might want a bride who came with a dowry, suspecting that the banker had designs on much of his daughter’s inheritance himself. Isandro had had no need for the dowry, of course. But what he had needed, much more importantly, was another level of acceptance. Social acceptance. Without a bona fide English society wife, his taking control of Carmichael’s chair at the bank would be for ever frowned upon. He’d be as socially ostracised as a beggar on the streets. However, if it was a merger of two great families—one Spanish, with links to the formidable banking industry there, the other English—then that was a different story. Acceptance would be immediate, and would consolidate his control over banking in Europe.
Which was exactly what had happened.
His mouth tightened in rejection of the way his thoughts seemed to be defying him, leading him back to a place he never wanted to visit again. What he hadn’t counted on was the place that his meekly unassuming new wife would take in his life. And what it had done to him when he had discovered the true depth of her avaricious and shallow nature. What it had done to him to come back into that hospital room to find her gone. Leaving nothing but a note and her wedding rings. It had made him the biggest fool—because all along, right up until that moment, he’d believed her to be different.
He stepped noiselessly back out of the room and vowed with everything in his body that she would pay for her actions a million times over.
CHAPTER TWO
THE next morning Rowan sat tensely in a chair and watched the door of the suite. She’d woken early, to find herself stiff and uncomfortable on the couch, still holding Zac’s toy. With the arrival of the morning things were clearer in her head. She could not let Isandro intimidate her. She had to make him see that she had rights. She cursed her own lack of foresight. Today was Saturday, and she didn’t have her solicitor’s home or mobile number. She should have rung him yesterday, after Isandro had left…but she’d been feeling so shocked. She knew that it was a mistake that could cost her dearly.
The truth was, she’d only contacted her solicitor in anticipation of the worst-case scenario—that Isandro, on being contacted, would prove intractable and unforgiving. She was still too much of a coward to admit to herself that she had harboured the wish that somehow, despite everything, once he knew, they could be a happy family. A hundred jeering voices mocked her naïve fantasy.
But they had been happy. They had had something. But, she had to concede painfully, that had been before, in the earlier months of their time together. Isandro had been the first man to draw Rowan out of herself, the first man she’d slept with…the first man she’d fallen for. He’d made her feel beautiful, desirable. And, to her shame, she found she was remembering that, and not her discovery of what he’d really felt for her: which was nothing.
That brought her mind back to reality. No doubt Isandro would already have consulted with an army of legal advisors on how best to deal with the reappearance of his wife. His ability to adapt and react to situations had always awed her. This would be no different. She could well imagine that David Fairclough would have been intimidated out of his skin yesterday, faced with Isandro’s wrath.
Suddenly the door opened, taking her by surprise, and Rowan jerked up to stand, all of her clear-sightedness deserting her with the arrival of her husband. Her body was rigid with tension as she took in his dark blond good-looks, his hair slightly tousled, as if he’d been running a hand through it.
Isandro closed the door softly behind him, watching her. Her face was still as pale as alabaster, her eyes like two huge bruises of colour. His own eyes ran up and down her form. She trembled as lightly as a leaf, barely perceptible.
‘I trust you slept well?’ he asked innocuously, with no evidence of the will he was imposing onto his body’s response to seeing her. Anger at this renewal of response surged through him.
‘Very well. The bed was most comfortable.’ Rowan was not going to pretend for a second that she hadn’t had a night of perfect restful sleep.
A fleeting expression that she couldn’t decipher crossed his face as he pushed away from the door and came close. Rowan fought against backing away.
This morning his jacket and tie were gone, shirtsleeves rolled up. She noticed what looked suspiciously like dried food on his shirt. Had he been feeding Zac? An overwhelming urge to see her son again nearly floored her. She needed to see that he was real, that she hadn’t imagined him. That he was as beautiful and healthy as he’d looked…
Isandro folded his arms. Everything about him was forbidding. Rowan forced her swirling emotions down.
‘Your timing is impeccable…but then I guess you’ve proved that already.’
Rowan’s eyes met his cold ones. She ignored his barb. Waited to hear what he would no doubt explain. He brushed past her to the window, as if in deliberate provocation, and Rowan sucked in a betraying breath at the way he took her off guard by coming so close. At the way her skin prickled uncomfortably. His cool and musky scent wrapped around her, and another scent…that baby scent. Her heart lurched in reaction.
He stayed with his back to her for a moment. For some reason he couldn’t trust himself to face her, and he hated that. He spoke in a monotone. ‘Two months from now it will be two years exactly since you walked out of that hospital. You’ve returned now because we can both file for divorce and you can get your hands on the money agreed in the prenup. I see you’ve been careful not to go beyond the two-year desertion mark, which would have biased things against you. It must be killing you to come back and disrupt your plans, but once the divorce is through you’ll be off again.’ He turned around and fixed her with those laser eyes. ‘Yes?’
Rowan struggled through waves of shock at his cool mention of divorce to understand what he’d said. She had no concept of time or legalities. She’d come here now because she was able. Because she was finally well enough…
His arms were folded, every line in his face regal, hard, uncompromising. Her betrayal and his own shaming lack of judgment seared him again now he was faced with her wideeyed act of shock. He laughed briefly, harshly. ‘Come now—even you, with all your guile, hardly expected us to play happy reunited families?’
Rowan shook her head. His words, which committed to dust that childish and secret fantasy, had rendered her momentarily speechless.
His voice assumed a bored tone which did even more damage to her heart. ‘You’ve done me a favour. If you hadn’t turned up now I wouldn’t have been able to seek a divorce without your consent, so you’ve saved me the tedious job of having to track you down.’ His expression changed in an instant, and he moved closer, looking at her assessingly. ‘Let me guess. You’ve run out of your inheritance?’
Rowan blanched, going even paler. The sizeable inheritance from her mother was almost gone, but not for the reasons he’d so obviously guessed. But it was too late. He’d seen her reaction. A hard, triumphant glitter made his eyes icy.
‘As I thought.’ He shook his head. ‘You know, it disappoints me how predictable you women are. But then I don’t know why I’m surprised. I should have known this was on the cards.’ He continued. ‘So now you’re back, seeking to cash in on a prenup which will give you a nice nest egg…although at the rate you got through your mother’s money, I can’t see that mine will last much longer.’
Rowan’s anger built with a white-hot flash. She felt colour bloom in her cheeks and welcomed it. ‘I have no desire for your money, Isandro. The only thing I desire is to see my son.’
He looked bored. ‘I can see how he will be a good pawn for you, but please do not insult my intelligence. Turning up now shows just how deeply your mercenary streak runs. Being the mother of my son is an added insurance, to make sure you get as much as possible. No doubt this was all part of the grand plan.’
The grand plan? If only he knew…
‘Tell me,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘have you already planned your public defence? Are you going to go with postnatal depression, which is what the papers hinted at as being the likely cause of your curious absence from my side?’
Her mouth fell open. ‘Postnatal depression…you mean people don’t know?’ Rowan had feared that the press would have heard how she had deserted her child after she’d gone. She’d been prepared to deal with it, and it was more than surprising to her that Isandro hadn’t leaked the news for maximum benefit… Yet how could she forget that towering Spanish pride?
Isandro’s eyes narrowed on hers. ‘Why are you doing this? Why are you pretending you don’t know?’
‘But… I don’t…’ Rowan felt woolly in the head. For the first six months after her departure she hadn’t seen one newspaper. Or the news. And by the time she’d been exposed to it again she’d never seen any mention of Isandro. She’d fought the urge to go looking, because every time she felt it, the guilt would rise up and overwhelm her. Her husband was the type of man rarely mentioned in tabloids or the common press. His power and astronomical wealth were such that he was effectively removed from such banal speculation or scrutiny. Protected.
However, the papers must have read something into the fact that Isandro Vicario Salazar’s wife had seemed to suddenly disappear from the face of the earth.
He answered her unspoken thoughts. ‘Nobody is aware of the fact that you deserted this marriage. They lost interest when I returned to Spain with Zac, believing that you had simply taken refuge from prying eyes at our…my Seville home.’
Rowan struggled to take it all in. ‘And your family…?’ She remembered his mother’s austere and pain-lined face. The coolness with which she had endured the wedding in London, patently hating every minute of it. Rowan also remembered the equally cold and suspicious face of Isandro’s older sister, Ana. Neither had offered any form of welcome.
‘Oh, they know exactly what happened. Somehow they weren’t surprised.’
Rowan knew she had to sit or else she’d fall. She walked unsteadily to a chair in the corner and sat down. She felt incredibly weary all of a sudden, and the magnitude of the fight she faced was sinking in. She couldn’t let the stark reality that he fully expected them to divorce overwhelm her. He didn’t have to know how little she’d prepared for this, and now she welcomed the prompt which had led her to seek a meeting with her solicitor.
‘All I want is to be able to see my son. That’s why I was meeting Mr Fairclough yesterday. Even I know that as Zac’s mother I will be allowed see him.’
Isandro fought down the anger that rose when she mentioned Zac’s name. He decided to go with his own plan and see how far he got. But he didn’t doubt that Zac was the golden ticket in Rowan’s plan.
‘I can have divorce papers drawn up today.’
Rowan’s heart sank. She was going to be faced with Isandro’s full ammunition.
‘If you agree to divorce proceedings, and agree to the terms I’ll outline for granting you access to Zac, I’ll triple the amount stipulated in the prenuptial agreement and it will be transferred into your account immediately.’
Rowan blanched. That sum of money would keep a small country running for some years. But she had no interest in money.
She stood up from her seat and raised her chin. She had to be strong. She could crumble later. She had to focus on Zac, because to think of anything else right now was too much to bear. ‘No.’
‘No?’ Isandro’s face darkened with anger. He was caught in a bind and he had no doubt that she knew it.
‘I’ll agree to…to…’ To her utter chagrin her mouth and tongue stumbled on the words. She felt herself flushing. ‘To the divorce, by all means. It’s not as if this marriage was ever a love-match. I’m well aware of that. But I will not put my name to anything that signs away my rights to Zac. Those are bullying tactics, Isandro, and I won’t be bullied.’ She folded her arms to conceal their shaking.
Isandro had to admit to feeling slightly flummoxed. He’d never been accused of being a bully before, and it didn’t sit well with him. Bullies acted without intelligence, on frightened instinct, and he had to concede now that he was frightened. Frightened of what she could do to his son. Frightened of a lot more than he cared to name at the moment.
‘He’s my son. I carried him for almost nine months. I gave birth to him. You can’t take that away from me. You can’t—’
Isandro crushed the surprise he felt as she stood up to him so calmly. ‘And yet despite all that you were able to walk away without even a backward glance.’
Rowan’s throat closed over again. She’d put her son first. If she had looked back then she’d never have left, and that would have meant…
She stopped her painful thoughts with effort and controlled herself. ‘I don’t care about your money. I just want to know my son.’
Who was she kidding? He had to stop himself from laughing out loud. This was a woman who had married him to get her hands on her inheritance and had got pregnant in a calculated bid to extract as much money as she could from him. And here was the evidence. Right in front of him. She was wily and canny. He’d give her that. She knew exactly what she was doing by returning just before two years was up. It meant that any claim he made of desertion would be called into question, might be investigated. And even though he had the note she’d left as evidence, he knew that if she were conniving enough she could turn it around to work for her.
The sheer evidence of her premeditation stunned him anew. This wasn’t the meek, shy wallflower he thought he’d married. She’d been a virgin on their wedding night! The ultimate in innocence and purity. She’d even maintained the façade right through her pregnancy—He halted his thoughts with effort and dug his hands deep in the pockets of his trousers, tightening the material across his groin. His shirt, open at the neck, hinted at the dark olive skin underneath, with crisp whorls of hair just visible.
For a second Isandro’s physical presence hit Rowan hard between the eyes, and out of nowhere came a vivid memory of herself underneath him, his naked body pushing down over hers, chest to chest. She remembered taking him into her on a single breath, he’d thrust so deeply that she’d truly believed in that moment that he’d touched her heart.
She shook her head faintly, feeling acutely warm and breathless. The room—it must be the room. It was too hot, she told herself.
Isandro was speaking again. ‘You leave me no option, then.’
‘No option…?’ she repeated stupidly fighting an urge to open her own shirt at the neck and let some air get to her skin. She was feeling constricted.
It utterly galled Isandro that even though she’d behaved reprehensibly as Zac’s mother she could swan back onto the scene like this and have rights. Any court in the world would see the importance of a child being allowed to bond with its mother. His own lawyer had advocated that he should not be seen to stand in the way of reasonable access; it would only damage him down the line. As much as he wanted to turn around, walk away, forget she existed, he couldn’t.
He didn’t know why she wasn’t taking the small fortune he was offering, but thought it could only be because she believed she’d get even more with this charade of belated concern. He had to be seen to give her a chance. But if he was going to do it then it would be on his terms, on his turf. He couldn’t trust that if he left her behind now she wouldn’t try and do something dramatic, using Zac in order to wage a public campaign for custody—and ultimately for the millions she no doubt craved.
‘If you mean what you say about being here purely to see and get to know Zac, then you will return to Seville with us within the hour.’
His words cut through her body’s inexplicable response. She focused on the clear blue of his eyes and felt as if they were impaling her. ‘Go on.’
‘You will come and live in my house for a sufficient amount of time to prove your…good intentions towards Zac. You will be allowed a certain amount of supervised access—’
‘But—’
‘But nothing. These are my terms, Rowan, and you’re not in a position to argue.’
Rowan swallowed as she acknowledged her weak position. ‘I told you—my only concern is being with Zac as much as I possibly can.’
‘Well, then, you can’t possibly have a problem with this.’
Living with him in his house…in such close proximity… her every move watched and monitored…
Rowan looked up at him. ‘I…don’t—I just…couldn’t I stay somewhere nearby?’
Isandro waved an impatient hand. ‘That is not practical. If you are serious about getting to know Zac it’s best to see him in his own environment. I won’t have you coming along, disrupting his routine, taking him out of his home. No way.’
Rowan wrung her hands. ‘Of course I wouldn’t do that. I didn’t mean that, I just…’
‘This is it, Rowan. Take it or leave it. You’re hardly in a position to negotiate.’
He watched the turmoil in her eyes. No wonder she was balking at his suggestion. It proved how false her intentions really were. To go from two years of hedonistic freedom to being holed up in his home in a small town outside Seville—she’d be climbing the walls within weeks, if not days. Not to mention spending time with a small toddler who had the smile of an angel but who would test the patience of a saint.
‘I’ll give you five minutes to think about it.’
Rowan watched, still slightly dumbstruck, as he turned and left the room. The door shut softly behind him, the sound incongruous in a room heavy-laden with atmosphere and tension.
Rowan paced up and down. She had to think fast. Isandro was not used to having to wait for anything or anyone. She knew what she should do was stay in London, meet her solicitor and see what her options were. But that would be next week now. In the meantime this tenuous connection would be broken. Isandro would be back in Spain with Zac. And with his obvious determination to divorce, who knew how hard he’d prove to be to contact once the matter was in his legal team’s hands? It could be months, even longer before she got to see Zac again. She had no doubt that Isandro would do whatever it took to make her look as bad as possible, and she had to concede that wouldn’t be hard at all… How would it look if it emerged that she’d turned down an offer to go and live with her son?
