The Spaniard's Marriage Bargain

‘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.