Immediately he jerked back. He looked at her hand suspended in the air as if it were toxic. Couldn’t believe that he’d almost, for one second, responded to her gesture. ‘Don’t come near me. You disgust me.’
With a chilling look he turned and walked from the room.
Rowan couldn’t move. She was locked in stasis. Paralysed by the venom in his expression just now. The very real evidence of his absolute hatred and unforgiveness. Hot tears filled her eyes, splashing down her cheeks. She pulled her hand in and cradled it against her chest as if he had struck it. Because, worse than anything else that had just happened, there was another emotion that she had to acknowledge. And it shamed her beyond belief. It had been jealousy. Jealousy of her own son. Because Isandro loved him so completely, so utterly, that she knew he had the capacity to do what she had done. Lay down his life for his child. And the fact that she represented that level of a threat to him hurt her more than she could bear.
For the last couple of days of Isandro’s week off he had watched Rowan even more closely. Instead of leaving her alone with Zac and María in the afternoons, as he had done before, he joined them. His reluctance to leave Rowan unsupervised with Zac was palpable. It had made something harden inside her. She would not let him scare her. She was stronger than that. He didn’t know how strong she’d had to become. So she endured his company, his looks, his obvious distrust.
Even so, her nerves were stretched to breaking point by the time Sunday night came. They were in the dining room drinking coffee, having finished dinner. Rowan took another sip and closed her eyes to savour the aroma and taste as much as to block Isandro out.
When Julia came in to bid them goodnight, Rowan got up quickly, wanting to leave, to avoid being subjected to more of Isandro’s scathing looks, ascerbic comments. But a hand snaked out of nowhere and caught her wrist, enveloping it in shocking heat. The physical contact threw her so much that she stumbled backwards. If not for Isandro standing to catch her shoulders she would have fallen.
She looked up with startled eyes. His hands were like a brand, burning through the threadbare material of her thin sweater. He seemed to be caught too. His eyes flared. Rowan stopped breathing as the air around them seemed suddenly charged with electricity. It couldn’t be. He despised her. And yet … this was what she’d felt that night. The night of their wedding. And countless nights over the months of her pregnancy. Nights of passion … white-hot consummation. The memories of which had become her fantasies.
In an instant he’d moved even closer, and one hand came off her shoulder to tip her chin upwards. To better see her face. Her neck seemed to be made of elastic as her head fell back.
‘I wonder …’
‘You wonder what …’ Rowan croaked out.
‘What tricks you’ve learnt in the past two years. For no doubt you’ve been busy becoming more experienced.’
CHAPTER FIVE
ISANDRO’S words didn’t make sense at first, and it was only when his mouth was dropping towards hers, his eyes closing, that she realised what he was doing. She felt her body sway towards him, helpless. The sensation of wanting this, wanting him to kiss her, was so overwhelming, so intense that she couldn’t help it.
And when his mouth touched hers softly, and then harder, his lips firming over hers, she gave a little moan of acceptance. Her own mouth opened under his, seeking for closer intimacy. Seeking for his tongue to find hers, seeking for his arms to pull her close and let her feel the strength of his body against hers. She’d craved this for so long. For ever. And had thought she’d never experience it again. She’d stored up her memories of this like a miser with her gold, taking it out every now and then, allowing herself to revel in it … guiltily.
Despite the clarity he’d felt when he’d started this, the reluctant yet insistent desire to prove something to himself, now Isandro’s arms itched to pull her pliant and yielding body even closer. To feel her breasts crushed against his chest. He could feel her soft mouth opening, hesitantly, as if she was unsure … and like a douche of cold water he pulled back, so suddenly and harshly that Rowan stumbled backwards. This time, however, he made no move to steady her. He’d told her just the other day that she disgusted him, and yet he’d just proved otherwise. He hated that she’d made him lose control. Hated to be faced with the evidence that he still wanted her. Badly. In spite of her actions.
Cruelly he wiped a hand across his mouth, as if to wipe the imprint of her lips away. ‘You’ve perfected the art of the virginal act, I see. It might almost lead me to believe that perhaps you were more experienced than I remember. It’s not unknown for a woman to become so practised in the art that she can make every man feel like it’s the first time.’
Rowan gasped, and struggled to contain her wildly seesawing emotions. She was hurt beyond belief at the way he’d wiped away her kiss. Yet her body still hummed, felt raw with desire. How could she have just let him do that to her when his motives couldn’t be anything but transparently hurtful to her? Hadn’t the way he’d looked at her the other day in the drawing room had any effect? The words he’d said?
‘How dare you—?’
She made to get past him, but he caught her arm, swinging her back. His face was harsh, the shadows in the room making his hair look dark. His lips thinning. The evidence of his own monumental lack of judgment where she’d been concerned struck him anew.
‘You married me for no better reason than to secure your inheritance. But you tricked me, Rowan. You went one step too far. In a bid to secure your future for ever you got pregnant as an added insurance. With no intention of ever being there for your child.’
Rowan’s voice shook, and she could barely mask her hurt and pain. ‘You have it so wrong it’s not even funny, Isandro.’ She wanted to say something—anything to cut him down, minimise the hurt—but she had no defence. Because she knew well that even once she’d been pregnant nothing had diminished her passion. If her only aim had been to get pregnant, then why would she have thrown herself at him so ardently night after night?
So she used the only arsenal she could think of to distract him from that glaring anomaly. ‘You’re forgetting the little choice I had in the matter. It was part of the deal, remember? To ensure your social acceptance and save my father’s face I had to marry you.’
He looked her up and down, took in the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. Her words made something jar uncomfortably inside him. Made something inexplicably painful surge upwards.
Rowan finally ripped her arm free. Right at that moment she hated him with an intensity that shook her to the core—but if she was honest she knew it just masked a much scarier emotion. This was exactly what she was protecting herself from. The fear that he would guess for even a second how much he did affect her. And had affected her.
‘Go to hell, Isandro.’
He recovered himself. ‘Not without taking you with me.’
I’ve already been there … The words trembled on her lips but she bit them back.
‘I’m not going anywhere, Isandro. So get used to it.’ And with those parting words she walked on jelly legs out of the room and upstairs.
That night she had the dream again. She was trapped in the white room. Couldn’t get out. But when she woke with wet cheeks and her heart thumping she was alone, and thankful that she hadn’t caused a disturbance as the house was silent.
The next day, as Isandro sat in his office in Seville, he felt an almost overpowering urge to leave, get into his car and go home. She was there, in his house. Alone and unsupervised apart from María and his staff. He could see that María had been confused as to how to treat her. He saw how Rowan had been twisting the other woman around her finger. Was he mad to leave her there? He stood up and ran a hand through his hair.
A call came through. He picked up the phone and barked into it.
‘Good morning to you too.’
‘What is it, Ricardo? I’m busy.’
His lawyer wasn’t stupid. He took the hi
nt. ‘I thought you’d like to know that your wife’s solicitor has instructed us that the papers are good for her to sign. He’s just rung her at the house to inform her of this.’
Isandro sat down into his chair. An immediate heaviness had entered his chest. Which was ridiculous. He should be elated.
‘Fine. They’re still in my study at home. If you can meet me there tonight we’ll sign them.’
‘Of course.’
Isandro let the phone drop.
On the other end his lawyer smiled wryly. He wondered what would have been the reaction if he’d said no, that actually he had a date tonight? He shook his head. Men as powerful as Isandro were never given excuses. So he picked up his phone again and called off the date with his girlfriend.
With Isandro’s disturbing presence out of the house, Rowan felt herself relaxing somewhat for the first time in days. She knew María had been given strict instructions not to allow Rowan any more time with Zac than had been discussed, but the woman bent the rules a little. Rowan was so pathetically grateful, it was ridiculous. Without Isandro looking over her shoulder she could really get to know Zac. She knew well, though, that it was galling for him to know she was there. Every evening when he came back he looked in on Zac, and at her suspiciously, as if she might have done something to him.
Rowan had signed the preliminary divorce papers a couple of evenings ago, and since then a heaviness had weighed her down inside. But she told herself it was only natural to feel pain at the thought that she and Isandro wouldn’t be able to provide Zac with a stable family …
Dinner on Friday evening passed off without incident, and Rowan managed to escape without being detained. Up in her own room, she was too restless to sleep and took confidence in the fact that Isandro would no doubt be in his study, working. She went out into the patioed garden and tipped her head back to see the stars, drinking in the night.
Suddenly weary and feeling very vulnerable, she sank for a moment onto the bottom step and let her head fall back. The warm Andalucian air caressed her. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Until a sound made her head jerk up. She stood hurriedly when she saw a dark shape peel itself from the wall. She knew well who it was. A stranger would have caused less panic.
‘Isandro.’ Thank goodness her voice was steady.
‘Did you think it might be a burglar?’ he asked lightly.
Rowan held onto the wall beside her as he walked down his steps with leonine grace.
She shook her head and smiled tightly, thinking of all the bodyguards. ‘With the security system here?’
He came and stood in front of her. She was still on the bottom step, so she stood slightly taller than him, and in the dark star-filled night she had a sudden urge to put her hands around his face, lower her mouth to his to kiss him and feel him put his arms around her waist.
She shook inwardly with the effort it took to clear her mind of the image.
‘Isandro, what do you want?’
She couldn’t read his face. But his eyes were hard. He opened his mouth to speak and she braced herself for censure but just then a noise sounded from inside Isandro’s room. Someone calling his name. And the panic in that voice was unmistakable. Immediately Rowan recognised it, and hairs rose on the back of her neck. Everything else was forgotten.
‘María …’ she breathed. Instinctively she followed Isandro’s swift return to his room, where María stood wringing her hands, her face as white as snow. Rowan could see that she was in shock and panic, almost about to faint.
Isandro went and took her shoulders, but the woman was incoherent. Rowan tried to get her to calm down.
‘María what is it? Just try to breathe and tell us.’
Rowan could sense Isandro’s swift sideways look of annoyance that she had followed him.
The other woman finally managed to say, ‘Zac—it’s Zac. He’s having some kind of fit—I don’t think he’s breathing.’
Shock slammed into Rowan even as she registered Isandro reacting like lightning and thrusting María aside. No … No! her mind screamed. Not now. Not after everything.
On numb legs she followed Isandro into Zac’s room. She could see that Isandro was dangerously close to panic as well. With an instinct she wasn’t even aware she possessed, she pushed him aside to have a look. María had followed them, clearly verging on full-blown hysteria. Rowan somehow forced herself to remain calm and look at Zac properly.
As she did, she felt an intense burst of relief. He had stopped convulsing and was now rigid on the bed, his skin turning blue. He was unconscious, but breathing. She stepped in front of Isandro and knelt down by the bed, quickly turning Zac towards her and onto his side. Then she loosened his pyjama top. Felt his forehead. He was burning up.
She looked at María and issued a rapid instruction. María just stood there, in shock. Rowan snapped out her name, and it woke María from her trance. She ran into the bathroom. That seemed to wake Isandro too. Rowan felt his hands on her shoulders, as if to pull her back. His voice was hoarse with fear.
‘What are you doing? You’re going to hurt him.’
Rowan shook him off. ‘He’s going to be fine. He’s having a febrile convulsion. Go and call an ambulance or a doctor.’
She looked up at Isandro, who hadn’t moved. He looked so pale that she felt scared. ‘Go—call an ambulance. We have to get him to hospital. He’ll be awake by the time you come back, I promise.’
Her urgency finally penetrated, and he left the room. Rowan had instructed María to get a glass of cool water and a baby paracetamol. By the time Isandro came back Zac was indeed coming round.
Rowan felt shaky with relief. She made sure to keep him in the recovery position and spoke to him softly. He was groggy and disorientated, a little grumpy, which she knew could be expected after a convulsion. When she deemed him to be sufficiently recovered enough to swallow, she gave him the paracetamol María had brought, and made him drink some water.
‘What’s that?’ Isandro stepped forward, his hands clenched by his sides. Rowan read his mood in an instant. He hated being impotent—hated seeing the power that she had just displayed.
‘It’s baby paracetamol. To bring down his temperature.’
Just then they heard banging on the door downstairs, and Rowan breathed a sigh of relief. María ran out. Rowan focused on Zac, making sure she was keeping him cool and comfortable.
When the paramedics arrived she explained what had happened. Isandro had lifted the still sleepy Zac into his arms to bring him downstairs, and they met the doctor, who had also arrived. He quickly checked Zac over and confirmed him safe enough to move.
Rowan stood at the door and watched as they got into the ambulance. She felt weak and limp in the aftermath. At the last minute the doctor looked at her. ‘Aren’t you the child’s mother?’
Rowan stood up straight. ‘Well … yes—yes, I am. But—’
‘Well, you must come with us. The child will want you too, and he’s going to be disorientated enough.’
‘But—’
The doctor was impatient. ‘You must come to tell them what happened so they can determine if it is serious enough to keep him in.’
Rowan’s eyes met Isandro’s, where he sat in the ambulance cradling Zac. His features were tight and drawn. ‘He’s right, Rowan. Get in.’
So she did. They travelled to the small local hospital some ten minutes away, and Rowan didn’t take her eyes off her son. He was recovering rapidly. Rapidly enough so that by the time they had arrived at the hospital he was looking around him with big eyes, although still groggy.
After Zac had been thoroughly examined the doctor deemed that he should stay in overnight, just to be safe. Isandro immediately declared that he was staying with Zac. Rowan said nothing, just walked with María out to the front of the hospital. She’d followed them, with Hernán. The woman was inconsolable.
‘I’m so sorry. I just froze. I got such a shock when I saw him convulsing … I knew what it was, bu
t I’ve never seen it before …’
Rowan put her arm around María’s shoulder. ‘María, don’t worry. You did the best thing by coming to get Isandro.’
María looked at her with something like awe in her eyes. ‘But you knew what to do. You’re his mother.’
‘María, you should go home. And take Rowan with you.’
Rowan looked at Isandro. He had followed them out and he looked exhausted. She wouldn’t fight with him now, but she had no intention of going home. Isandro went back inside, and she saw María out to the Jeep and sent her off. Then she went back inside too. She didn’t go into Zac’s room, where she guessed Isandro was, she just sat on a chair in the corridor. A different bodyguard hovered discreetly nearby. All she wanted was to be close, in case anything happened.
That was when she started to tremble. Uncontrollably. Shock was setting in at what had just happened and where she now sat. A hospital. Just like the clinic. With white walls.
Isandro came out of Zac’s room for a moment, to make a quick call to Hernán and instruct him as to what time to come and pick them up in the morning, and that was when he saw her. He reeled. Rowan was staring straight ahead, her hands shaking in her lap, and she was so pale that he was surprised she was still sitting up. He quashed his immediate reflex to demand to know why she hadn’t left.
‘Rowan …’
No response.
‘Rowan?’
No response. He moved closer and sat down. Eventually took her hands in his.
Rowan felt warmth coming from somewhere. But she was locked in a living nightmare. She knew she wasn’t asleep. She was surrounded by white walls. Eventually something pierced her consciousness.
‘Rowan.’
Someone was pulling her head around. Forcing her eyes to meet … blue ones. The only ones she’d ever dreamt of. The warmth of his hands was seeping through to her chilled bones and body. Like a life-giving force. And with that sanity and reality returned.
His Suitable Bride Page 23