The Spaniard's Marriage Bargain

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Perhaps that was what he was hoping? That she would shoot herself in the foot…

She had to put aside her feelings for Isandro. Her one priority was Zac. When she’d seen him, touched him yesterday, she’d known him—incredibly. That primal recognition and joy struck her again.

This was the moment she had to let go of the fantasy. The wish that somehow something of before could be salvaged. She’d irretrievably damaged everything. Fate and circumstance had led her down a difficult path. And she had to remind herself that no matter what she’d led herself to believe, to hope for in their marriage, she’d been living in a fantasy all along anyway.

She firmed her mouth. Now was not the time to indulge in old memories. Once she’d unwittingly overheard that conversation with his sister well into her pregnancy she’d known exactly where she stood, how he felt. Their marriage obviously hadn’t become for him what it had become for her, no matter what she’d thought at the time. Or hoped… She’d berated herself for her fanciful notions—what had she known, after all? She’d been a virgin when they’d first slept together. And he… She flushed hotly. Well, he certainly hadn’t. She pressed cool hands against her cheeks to try and stem the heat.

Zac was here. She’d seen him. There was no way she could walk away again. She didn’t have it in her. She didn’t want to be miles away, not knowing, missing even more of his life. She would prove herself to her husband if it was the last thing she did. And then he would have to acknowledge her role in their son’s life.

‘Well?’ Isandro stood at the door, dressed impeccably in jacket and tie again, every inch of him the banking giant whose influence induced fear and awe among adversaries and colleagues alike. Her eye caught that muscle twitching in his hard jaw. The fact that he wasn’t as controlled as he looked was no comfort.

Rowan looked at him steadily and said, very clearly, ‘I’m coming with you.’

After that things happened with scary swiftness. Isandro plucked a phone from his pocket and made a call, unleashing a stream of Spanish that Rowan only understood bits of. Her once fluent command of the language was rusty from lack of use.

He finished the conversation and pocketed the phone. He had an implacable expression on his face, but she could sense the underlying anger and impatience. He did not want her coming with him. She was quite sure that he had most likely been advised by someone that to offer to bring her back to Spain was a good idea. And he had expected her to say no. To be so unwelcome made her feel a little queasy.

‘Where do we need to go to get your things?’

Rowan shook her head. ‘Nowhere. I have everything with me.’

Isandro’s body stilled. He flicked a derisive glance to the tiny case by her side. ‘Everything?’

She nodded. ‘It’s all in there. And I have my passport in my handbag.’

‘You haven’t been living here?’

She shook her head, unbelievably stung by the evidence of his uninterest. He really had taken her note to heart. He hadn’t tried to find her. And while that had been her objective in leaving the provocative note…it still hurt.

He took a step closer as he straightened his cuffs. ‘Care to tell me where you have been living? Or do you expect me to believe you’ve been living out of a suitcase that size for two years?’

Rowan blinked and swallowed painfully. She had, actually. If he looked hard enough he might recognise that it was the case she’d had with her in the hospital, when she’d given birth to Zac…might even recognise that this, her one and only decent suit, was also two years old. But of course he wouldn’t. His questions were cutting far too close to the bone. Literally.

‘It doesn’t matter where I’ve been, Isandro. What matters is that I’m here now.’

His eyes were intensely blue on hers for a long moment. And then he shrugged. ‘Come. It’s time to leave.’

Rowan hitched her bag on her shoulder, and had caught the handle on her suitcase when he surprised her by coming back and leaning close, to take it out of her hand with a brusque movement. Their hands touched. She was so shocked at this contact that she snatched hers back, as if burnt. She could feel her eyes widening, her breath quicken, her heart race, and knew she looked shocked, but couldn’t hide her response.

He stood to his full height and, helpless, Rowan could only gaze up into his eyes. That small physical contact was unleashing a maelstrom of sensations, images, memories, and, as if Isandro knew exactly what was going on inside her, he looked her up and down with studied insolence. His look, when it came to rest on her face again, was remote, utterly cold, and Rowan was in no doubt that he had just read her perfectly and did not welcome her reaction. Rejection flowed from every line of his tautly held body, and she had never felt so humiliated in her life.

By some small miracle he said nothing, merely turned on his heel, carrying the case and walked out of the room, not even checking to see if she was following. She caught up with him at the lift. He was staring resolutely ahead. She still burned.

‘Where…?’ She hated the tentative sound of her voice. ‘Where is Zac?’

The bell pinged and she followed Isandro into the lift. He waited till they were descending and said coolly, ‘Zac has gone on ahead to the plane with his nanny. By the time we get there he should be down for his nap, so will have the minimum of disruption to his schedule.’

‘Oh.’ She was struck, heartened to see how closely attuned to his son’s life he obviously was.

The lift doors pinged again and opened onto the lobby. Isandro strode out. Rowan struggled to keep up. A very attractive woman in a suit hurried over to speak to him, and when he stopped Rowan could see that she wore a manager’s badge. She had huge blue eyes that looked up at Isandro with undisguised appreciation. He smiled down at her easily, and for a second Rowan couldn’t breathe, such was the force of his smile. She’d forgotten just how potent his charm was. Not that he’d ever had to lavish much on her; she’d been a conquest he hadn’t had to woo, after all.

The manager was speaking in an efficient yet slightly breathy tone that grated on Rowan’s nerves. ‘When we get that analysis report you requested I’ll have it sent over to Spain immediately.’

‘Thanks, Carrie.’ Isandro started walking again, with the other woman beside him, effectively shutting Rowan out as if she didn’t exist.

Then they were outside, where a sleek limousine was waiting with doors open. Isandro gestured for her to get in, careful not to touch her, Rowan noticed. When she sat in the car she was slightly out of breath. She watched as they pulled away from the hotel and eased into the morning traffic.

‘I thought you hated London.’ She could remember his irritation when business had kept him tied here after their perfunctory wedding, and then her advancing pregnancy which had precluded moving back to Spain until after the birth.

He flicked her a hard glance. ‘I do.’

‘So why this hotel?’

This time he did turn more fully, and settled back into the seat. Rowan instinctively inched back as far as she could.

‘Why the interest, Rowan? Already adding it as a possible to the portfolio you’re hoping to receive if the money’s not enough? You should have taken me up on my first offer. It won’t come around again.’

She decided to ignore that. ‘I was just wondering, that was all.’

She faced the front. Isandro studied her profile, the straight nose, determined chin. Long sweep of black lashes. Surprisingly full lips…soft and inviting. He despised his unwarranted lack of control, over a woman so completely without morals, despised the fact his desire could not be governed by his intellect. Back in the suite just now, when she’d looked at him with such naked desire, for a second he’d actually forgotten just who she was and had felt his body quicken to a hot response. Exactly as she’d no doubt intended.

He forced his mind away from that. He needed words. To speak. Cut through the images…the memories.

‘I bought the hotel after Zac was born. I can’t ignore the fact that he’s half-English. This is part of his heritage. It’ll serve as an investment for him for the future, should he ever decide he wants to come here.’

Rowan didn’t answer. She was too shocked by the tender feelings his words evoked, the memories of other times when she’d seen that tenderness come through. It had made her fall irrevocably in love with him, the contrast between hard-nosed ruthless businessman and his much more secret side. A side she thought only she had been privy to. A side that she had come to believe in—which she should never have believed in. She welcomed the hardness that settled around her heart. She had to protect herself. To remember.

She cast a quick glance at him. The aquiline line of his nose and full lips gave him a profile that spoke of sensual knowledge and promise. He gave no indication of knowing he was under scrutiny. Then his head turned and those eyes snagged hers. Dead on. Heat flared upwards from the pit of her belly and Rowan turned away. She could almost feel the mocking, knowing smile that curved his lips.

CHAPTER THREE

THAT sensuous profile was mocking her, coming closer and closer. Rowan felt panic rise and struggled to get away from the cruel smile, the icy eyes. She felt someone tugging, pulling her back, and suddenly found herself being jerked back to reality by a very definite and persistent pulling at her skirt.

Rowan opened her eyes. They felt gritty and tired. She was on the plane. She must have fallen asleep. The tugging registered again. She looked down, straight into the huge violetcoloured eyes of her son. Her heart stopped. And started again painfully. He was trailing an old and faded blanket. His cheeks were still sleep-flushed, his hair standing up. And her heart clenched so tight for a second that she felt in serious danger of fainting again. She willed it down.

Hungrily her eyes roved over him, as if checking a newborn for all his fingers and toes. She longed to pull him up and hold him close but didn’t. She knew it might scare him. Just this moment alone was worth everything—put things into perspective. Isandro and his threats faded into the background.

Her voice was husky with emotion. ‘Hi, Zac.’

One chubby hand clung to her leg for support. With his other hand he proudly mimicked her, pointing to himself. ‘Zac!’

Then he put a hand to his head and made a face, obviously making the connection between Rowan and the previous day, when he’d fallen.

‘That’s right—you fell. Did you hurt your head?’

Zac nodded and rubbed his head. Rowan bent down and pretended to feel for a bump, exclaiming and making a fuss as if she’d found one. Her hands shook with the intensity of her emotions. Zac started to giggle.

Just then an older woman in a dark dress came up behind Zac. She looked Spanish. She bent down and took Zac’s hand to lead him away, looking curiously at Rowan.

‘I’m María—Zac’s nanny…’

Rowan held out her hand. ‘I’m Rowan…’ She balked then. What did she say? I’m Zac’s mother? I’m Mrs Salazar?

But the nanny didn’t wait for elaboration. She smiled, shaking Rowan’s hand perfunctorily. ‘Excuse me—he needs to have something to eat.’

Rowan nodded jerkily and waved goodbye to Zac, who was already speeding off, his interest taken by something else. She turned back and looked sightlessly out of the window at the blanket of whiteness. She was too numb for tears and her heart ached. Yet she couldn’t help but feel deep-seated relief at seeing Zac so well and healthy. That had always been her only priority…to see him flourishing so beautifully…it justified her decisions. Not that she’d ever needed justification. She’d acted from day one on a primal instinct that had been so strong she’d had no choice but to follow it. Above all she hadn’t wanted him to suffer a moment’s pain, which a selfishly prolonged departure would undoubtedly have brought. Even for a baby.

The one thing she hadn’t counted on was this. Being in this situation. She wondered if she was being selfish coming back, seeking Zac out…wanting to get to know him. She knew rationally that she wasn’t, but somehow she still didn’t feel deserving of this. This luxury of seeing her son, this happiness. Perhaps she should have stayed away, said nothing. Let them get on with their lives. But with shameful weakness she knew she hadn’t had the strength to do that. As soon as she had known that things were different, that she had a chance…

‘You were hungry?’

Rowan’s head whipped around. She’d been so caught up in her thoughts she hadn’t heard Isandro come and sit down in the seat across the aisle. He was tieless and jacketless again, as if being in a suit even for a short time constrained his vibrant male energy. His shirt was open at the throat, revealing the strong brown column…. What was wrong with her? Although she’d been undeniably attracted to Isandro from the moment she’d first seen him, she couldn’t remember experiencing this carnal level of attraction before.

‘Yes. Starving.’ She glanced at her plate, which was wiped clean of the delicious paella and salad she’d been served.

Isandro frowned as he recalled her curled up figure on the couch last night. There was something defenceless about the image that tugged at him. He ignored it. ‘You didn’t eat at the hotel?’

Rowan flushed and shook her head as his eyes ran up and down her form disparagingly.

‘You’ve lost weight.’

He sounded accusing, and Rowan bristled. ‘I know.’

He didn’t have to spell out with that look just how unappealing she was to him. In that moment a blur of blond launched itself at Isandro, and deftly he plucked Zac up into his arms before he could do some damage or bump into something.

He glanced over to Rowan, showing the first tiny chink of something approximating warmth. ‘As you’ve seen already, he’s at the stage where he hasn’t quite got the ability to stop once he’s started.’

Rowan felt a lump come into her throat as she saw Zac wrap his arms around Isandro’s neck, hugging him close only to just as abruptly squirm his way down Isandro’s body, toddling off again under Isandro’s watchful gaze until his nanny reclaimed him. The easy intimacy between them was a reminder of something she’d once foolishly allowed herself to believe in, and she could see now how potent it was when it was truly lavished on someone else. All she’d experienced however had been the surface emotion. Not the depth.

She couldn’t quite meet his look. ‘You’ve done an amazing job. He’s beautiful.’

‘Surprised?’ came the dry response.

Rowan looked up, her eyes snared by his. She shook her head. ‘No. I had no doubt that you would be a good father—’ She stopped herself abruptly because she’d been about to say My only concern was that you would not make enough time for him… But that would have been revealing too much, and she could lay that fear to rest now. Clearly Isandro thought nothing of taking Zac with him on business trips.

Something in her tone made Isandro’s eyes narrow on her for a second. Her eyes seemed to swirl with something indefinable, and for the first time since seeing her again he saw shadows, depths that hadn’t been there before. Pain?

She looked away for a moment, and when she looked back her eyes were clear. They were so like Zac’s that it took his breath away momentarily. But the ambiguity in their depths had gone. A trick of the light. That’s all it had been.

At that point the hostess came to tell them the plane was preparing to land. When she had moved away, Isandro surprised Rowan by moving swiftly out of his seat to crouch in front of hers, a hand on either arm of her seat, effectively trapping her.

She could feel the heat from his body. Instinctively she pulled back into the seat, feeling claustrophobic. He was looking up at her with such intensity that she had to force herself to speak—‘What? What is it…?’—just to try and veer her mind off the dangerous track of previous experiences… moments when he’d looked at her before with that same intensity.

His eyes held her with all the easy hypnotism of a magician. His voice was deceptively light. His words were anything but.

‘Just this, Rowan. If you come close to doing one thing to endanger, hurt or harm a hair on Zac’s head then, believe me, not a court in this world will grant you custody when we divorce. I won’t hesitate to use the full force of my power, and you’ll be lucky if you even get to read about him in the papers as he grows up.’

He smiled, and it was so cold that Rowan could only stare. Transfixed by this absolute stranger. Then he stood and moved to a seat at the back of the plane with the effortless grace of a panther. Rowan stared at the place where he’d been. She felt cold inside. What would Isandro say if he knew she’d already laid down her life in order to protect Zac? Not much, she guessed bleakly. As he’d said himself, nothing would ever absolve her of that crime in his eyes. Rowan sighed and looked out of the window, just as the plane landed with a bump on Spanish soil.

Their journey to the east of Seville did not take long. Rowan looked out on the rolling plains of La Campina, barely able to take in the surroundings, still struggling to absorb everything that was happening. Isandro drove the Jeep. She was in the front, and María was in the back with Zac in his car seat. The bodyguard, who had been introduced to Rowan as Hernán, followed behind in another vehicle.

She was momentarily diverted when they entered the exquisitely picturesque town of Osuna, Isandro’s birthplace and home.

‘It’s beautiful.’

‘Yes.’ Isandro glanced at her briefly but she didn’t notice, too enthralled with the tiny, winding, climbing streets. He’d been watching her surreptitiously as they’d driven out of Seville, waiting for her reaction of dismay at leaving civilisation behind, but she hadn’t given anything away. If anything she’d seemed uncomfortable with the bustling crowds—jumpy…almost slightly overwhelmed. But then he hadn’t expected her to be so obvious so early.

They were at the top of the town now, overlooking the impressive baroque-style municipal buildings. Isandro took a quiet road which Rowan soon realised was a cul-de-sac. They came to a set of wrought-iron gates, with high walls on either side, overhung with trees. Isandro entered a code into a security pad from the window of the Jeep, the gates swung open and a security guard came out of a hut to greet Isandro, who waved back.

Rowan was not prepared for what appeared around the bend. She’d vaguely expected some kind of hacienda. Instead she saw a huge baroque mansion, emerging like something from a medieval fantasy. Cream-coloured, it seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, windows glinting, a profusion of flowers tumbling from pots along the steps and front of the house. Her jaw dropped. Isandro had parked and was already out of the Jeep, walking around the front to get Zac out of his seat in the back. Zac was bouncing up and down with excitement, having been cooped up for too long and clearly recognising home.

Rowan got out slowly, and the huge front door opened as if by magic, to reveal waiting staff. With trepidation in her breast she followed her husband and son into the house.

After a quick succession of introductions that had left Rowan’s head spinning slightly, Isandro issued a stream of instructions and Rowan found herself being ushered upstairs, the housekeeper following with her bag. Rowan tried to take it from her, but she was having none of it. The chattering of Zac faded behind her as she was shown into her room.

It was a haven of dusky cream and rose. For some reason that she couldn’t quite put her finger on at that moment the colours soothed her. And then it hit her. It wasn’t the dreaded white of her nightmares. Of her recent past.

The housekeeper was showing her where everything was, and she welcomed the distraction from her inner demons. After she’d left, Rowan took a deep, steadying breath and explored for herself. A huge antique four-poster double bed had white muslin drapes caught back with ornate ties. The room had typically floral baroque features which were toned down by the simple colours. She went to the open French doors and took in the sight laid out before her with wide eyes, walking out as if in a trance.

A small stone balcony with ancient steps led down to a private inner courtyard, complete with a small pool inlaid with dark green tiles and glittering mosaics. She moved down the steps slowly, in awe of the stillness and beauty. The pool was surrounded by flowering bushes and olive trees. Scent hung heavy on the air. It was like something out of a dream she’d always had but never realised until now. Turning around in a circle, taking it in, she started when she saw Isandro standing with hands in his pockets outside another set of double doors, just feet from her own, with an identical balcony and steps leading down into the courtyard. His room? Her heart seized at that thought.

He came towards her, every step resonating with barely leashed menace. Rowan couldn’t step back or she’d end up in the pool.

‘You like what you see?’ he asked tightly.

Rowan nodded, barely aware of what he was asking, her mouth suddenly dry at seeing him against this backdrop. He looked golden. Vibrant.

‘Youreallymessedup, you know.’ He took one hand out of his pocket and gestured around them abruptly. ‘You could have had all this the last two years, and now it will never be yours.’

Rowan’s heart twisted in her chest. He thought she wanted this—the material evidence of his wealth. She started to shake her head, but couldn’t get a word out. The sneer on his face stopped her.

‘Just don’t forget, dearest wife, that you are here purely at my behest and on the advice of my lawyers. They think it will serve me well to show how magnanimous I’m being in allowing you to get to know Zac, despite what you did. So don’t get greedy and imagine for a second that you are entitled to a square inch of this place. You will not make a move that isn’t watched and controlled. You will see Zac when and only when I allow it.’

Rowan forced her mouth to work, wanting to stop his words. ‘That’s all I want. I’m not here to take anything from you, Isandro. I don’t have any interest in anything you own. My interest lies purely in Zac.’

He made a small rude sound. ‘And in what you can make from the spoils of a divorce. Give me a break, Rowan. If I’d been less blinkered, less taken in by your innocent act of naivety, I would have realised long ago—’

‘You’d have realised what?’ she interjected bitterly, her emotions bubbling up, ‘That the woman you married purely to raise your own standing in English society was just that—nothing but a trophy wife?’ She’d known her actions when leaving would paint her in the worst possible light, and she knew she was being irrational, but the fact that he so easily believed her to be that kind of person lacerated her insides.

Isandro was momentarily taken aback. Her words brought back all his own humiliation—and he hated to admit it—his disappointment. And yet as she stood here now in front of him, a faint line of perspiration along her upper lip, her arms crossed defensively, pushing her breasts up, all he could think of was the desire pooling low in his abdomen. As much as he wanted to reject her in every way possible, he knew that with each moment spent together desire was growing stronger…

The disturbing arrow of lust he felt firmed his resolve. If he had but known it, he would have realised that the hot passion lying in wait beneath her cool exterior was a sign of things to come. She might have been a virgin on their wedding night, but he’d awoken her, and as soon as she’d been free of her baby she’d run. He’d never planned on their marriage being consummated, but when it had it had felt so right. And then when she’d become pregnant—He cut off his runaway thoughts and let hard ruthlessness rise. This woman in front of him represented his one fatal weakness.