by Abby Green
She’d been the last person he’d expected to see when he’d walked into his study that night, weary from a round of engaging in mind-numbingly boring small-talk. And fending off women who, up until a few months before, would have tempted him. His mind had been full of...her. And then to find her there, stretching up, long legs bare and exposed, the lush curve of her bottom visible under the short robe and the even more provocative curve of her unbound breasts... It was as if she’d walked straight out of his deepest fantasy...
He could still recall the second he’d come to his senses, when he’d realised he was moments away from lifting her up against his shelves and finding explosive release in her willing body, all soft and hot and wet. No other woman had ever caused him to lose it like that. But she’d been his employee. Someone he’d been in a position of power over.
The stark realisation that he was following in his father’s footsteps in spite of every effort he’d made to remove the shadow of that man’s reputation had been sickening. He was no better after all.
He’d been harsh afterwards...angry at his reaction...demanding to know what she was doing there as if it had been her fault. He’d felt like a boor. Little had he known then that she’d obviously been waiting until he got home and had made sure he found her...
It was galling. A sign of weakness. Cruz scowled. Trinity had no power over his emotions. She represented a very fleeting moment in time when he’d forgotten who he was.
The reality of his situation hit him then—in marrying Trinity he was consigning himself to a life with a woman he would never trust. But the sacrifice would be worth it for his nephews’ sake.
At least now she was under his control and his watchful eye.
He’d felt anything but watchful earlier, though, when she’d turned to face him in that sterile register office and everyone had waited for their kiss. He’d had no intention of kissing her—it would show her how it would be between them. And prove that he could control himself around her... But for a split second his gaze had dropped to that lush mouth and every cool, logical intention had scattered, to be replaced with an all too familiar desire just to take one sip, one taste...
So he’d bent his head, seeing the flash of surprise in her eyes, and touched his mouth to hers. And he’d felt her breath whisper over his mouth. It had taken more effort than he liked to admit to pull back and deny himself the need he’d had to take her face in his hands, angle her mouth for better access so he could explore her with a thoroughness that would have made him look a complete fool...
Cruz only became aware that he was being watched when the hairs went up on the back of his neck, and he turned his head from brooding out of the small window. He had to adjust his gaze down to see that one of his nephews—he couldn’t tell which—was standing by his chair with small pudgy hands clutching the armrest.
For a second time was suspended, and his mind went blank. Two huge dark eyes stared up at him guilelessly. Thick, dark tousled hair fell onto a smooth forehead and the child’s cheeks were flushed. Something that looked like mashed carrot was smeared around his mouth. And then he smiled, showing a neat row of baby teeth. Something gripped Cruz tight in his chest, throwing him back in time to when he’d looked at an almost identical child, six years his junior.
‘Matty, don’t disturb your uncle.’
That low, husky voice. Gently chiding. Two slender pale hands came around his nephew to lift him up and away. Trinity held him easily with one arm, against her body. The small face showed surprise, and then started to contort alarmingly just before an ear-splitting screech emerged.
Cruz noted that she looked slightly frayed at the edges. Her hair was coming loose and she had smears of food on her jacket. He looked down and saw pale bare feet, nails painted a delicate shade of coral, and he felt a surge of blood to his groin. Immediately he scowled at his rampant reaction and Trinity backed away.
‘Sorry, I didn’t realise he’d slipped out of his chair.’
She was turning to walk back down the plane when Cruz heard himself calling out, ‘Wait.’
She stopped in her tracks and Cruz saw Mrs Jordan hurrying up the aisle, reaching for Mateo to take him from Trinity. The indignant shouting stopped as the older woman hushed him with soothing tones.
Trinity turned around and Cruz felt something pierce him as he acknowledged that, inconvenient wedding or not, most brides were at least given a meal before being whisked away after their nuptials.
They’d gone straight from his solicitor’s office, where Trinity had signed the pre-nuptial agreement, to the register office and then to the plane. He’d expected her to pore over the pre-nuptial agreement, but she’d just glanced through it and then looked at him and said, ‘If we divorce then I lose all custody of the boys, is that it?’
He’d nodded. Aware of his body humming for her even while they were surrounded by his legal team. She’d just muttered something under her breath like, Never going to happen, and signed. Cruz had had to include some kind of a severance deal for her if they divorced, so Trinity would always be a wealthy woman, but he knew she could have fought him for a better deal.
So why hadn’t she? asked a voice, and Cruz didn’t like the way his conscience smarted. He wasn’t used to being aware of his conscience, never doubting himself in anything—and he wasn’t about to start, he told himself ruthlessly. For all he knew Trinity’s actions thus far were all an act to lull him into a false sense of security.
‘Have you eaten yet?’ he asked abruptly, irritated that she was making him doubt himself.
She looked at him warily and shook her head as she tucked some hair behind her ear. ‘I’ll eat when the boys have eaten.’
Cruz gestured to the seat across the aisle from him. ‘Sit down. I’ll get one of the staff to take your order.’ He pressed the call button.
Trinity looked towards the back of the plane for a moment. Her visible reluctance was not a reaction he was used to where women were concerned.
‘Sit before you fall. They’re fine. And we have some things to discuss.’
She finally sat down, just as an attentive air steward appeared and handed her a menu. Trinity’s head was downbent for a moment as she read, and Cruz found it hard to look away from that bright silky hair.
* * *
When the air steward had left Trinity felt uncomfortable under Cruz’s intense gaze. It was as if he was trying to get into her head and read her every thought. Just the prospect of that made her go clammy—that he might see the effect his very chaste kiss had had on her.
In a bid to defuse the strange tension, she prompted, ‘You said we have things to discuss...?’
Cruz blinked and the intensity diminished. Trinity sucked in a breath to acknowledge how attuned she felt to this man. It was disconcerting—and unwelcome.
‘As soon as you’re settled at the castillo I’ll organise interviews for another nanny to help Mrs Jordan. You’re going to be busy as my wife.’
The castillo. It even sounded intimidating. She said, as coolly as she could, as if this was all completely normal, ‘Maybe this would be a good time for you to let me know exactly what you expect of me as your wife.’
Maybe, crowed a snide voice, it would have been a good idea for you not to get so attached to two babies that aren’t yours in a bid to create the family you never had.
Trinity gritted her jaw.
Cruz said, ‘My calendar is already full for the next three months, and I should warn you that my social events are more corporate-orientated than celebrity-based... I’ll expect you on my arm, looking the part, and not scowling because you’re bored.’
Trinity boiled inside. Clearly he was expecting her to last for about two weeks before she ran for the hills. And he was obviously referring to Rio’s predilection for film premieres or events like the Monte Carlo Grand Prix, which Trinity had
found excruciating—all she could remember of that particular event was the overwhelming diesel fumes and the constant seasickness she’d felt while on some Russian oligarch’s yacht.
Rio had invariably paraded her in public and then promptly dropped her once the paparazzi had left—which had suited her fine. She’d usually been in her own bed, in her own separate room, by the time he’d finished partying around dawn. But she could just imagine telling Cruz that, and how he’d merely shut her down again.
Then she thought of something. ‘What do you mean, “looking the part”?’
He swept an expressive look over her, and at that moment she was aware of every second of sleep she hadn’t got in the past couple of years. And the fact that today was probably the first day she’d worn smart clothes and actually put on make-up in months.
Compounding her insecurity, Cruz said, ‘As my wife you’ll need to project a more...classic image. I’ve already arranged for you to be taken shopping to buy new clothes.’
Trinity tensed at the barb. ‘But I have clothes.’
His lip curled. ‘The kind of clothes you wore around my brother will not be suitable and they’ve been donated to charity.’
Her face grew hot when she recalled seeing Cruz again, for the first time since her marriage to Rio, three months ago. His effect on her had been instantaneous—a rush of liquid heat. And then he’d looked at her as if she was a call girl. How could she blame him? She’d felt like one.
Rio’s sense of style for women had definitely favoured the ‘less is more’ variety. He’d handed her a dress to wear for that party that had been little more than a piece of silk. Skimpier than anything she’d ever worn.
She’d protested, but he’d said curtly, ‘You’re working for me, Trinity. Consider this your uniform.’
It hadn’t been long after their row and her finding out exactly why he’d married her. Rio had been acting more edgily than usual, so Trinity hadn’t fought him on the dress and had assured herself that she’d talk to Cruz that night—seek his help. Except it hadn’t turned out as she’d expected. She’d been a fool to think she could turn to him.
The memory left her feeling raw. She averted her eyes from Cruz’s now and said stiffly, ‘It’s your money—you can spend it as you wish.’
The air steward came back with Trinity’s lunch, and she focused on the food to try and distract herself from a feeling of mounting futile anger and impotence. But the fact that she was destined to dance to the tune of another autocratic De Carrillo man left the food in her mouth tasting of dust.
She gave up trying to pretend she had an appetite and pushed her plate away. Cruz looked up from the small laptop he’d switched his attention to. He frowned with disapproval at how little she’d eaten—it was an expression that was becoming very familiar to Trinity, and one she guessed was likely to become even more familiar.
Her anger rose. ‘Was this marriage really necessary?’ she blurted out, before she could censor her tongue.
A bit late now, whispered that annoying voice.
As if privy to that voice, Cruz mocked, ‘It really is futile to discuss something that’s already done. But by all means, Trinity, feel free to seek a divorce whenever you want.’
And leave Matty and Sancho at this man’s mercy? Never, vowed Trinity.
Just then a plaintive wail came from the back of the plane.
‘Mummy!’
She recognised the overtired tone. Seizing her opportunity to escape, Trinity stood up and tried not to feel self-conscious in her creased dress and bare feet.
‘Excuse me. I should help Mrs Jordan.’
She walked away with as much grace as she could muster and tried her best not to feel as though her whole world was shrinking down to the size of a prison cell—even if it was to be the most luxurious prison cell in the world.
* * *
A few hours later Trinity shivered, in spite of the warm Spanish breeze. They’d driven into a massive circular courtyard and she was holding a silent and wide-eyed Sancho in her arms, thumb stuck firmly in his mouth. Mrs Jordan was holding a similarly quiet Matty. They were still a little groggy after the naps they’d had on the plane.
Her instinct about the castillo being intimidating had been right. It was massive and imposing. A mixture of architecture, with the most dominant influence being distinctly Moorish. Cruz had explained that they were about midway between Seville and a small historic town called El Rocio, which sat on the edge of a national park. But there was nothing around them now except for rolling countryside; he hadn’t been lying about that.
Cruz was greeting some staff who had appeared in the imposing porch area. They were all dressed in black. Trinity caught Mrs Jordan’s eye and was relieved to see that the older woman looked as intimidated as she felt.
Mrs Jordan said brightly, ‘Well, my word, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so grand. I’m sure it’s bright and airy on the inside.’
But when they went in, after a whirlwind of introductions to several staff whose complicated names Trinity struggled to imprint on her brain, it wasn’t bright and airy. It was dark and cool—and not in a refreshing way.
The stone walls were covered with ancient tapestries that all seemed to depict different gruesome battles. Then there were portraits of what had to be Cruz’s ancestors. She could see where he got his austere expression. They all looked fearsome. There was one in particular whose resemblance to Cruz was uncanny.
She hadn’t even noticed that she’d stopped to stare at it for so long until a cool voice from behind her said, ‘That’s Juan Sanchez De Carrillo—my great-great-grandfather.’
Unnerved, in case he might guess why she’d been momentarily captivated by the huge portrait, Trinity desisted from saying that she thought it looked like him. Instead she asked, ‘So is this where you and Rio grew up?’
For a moment he said nothing, and Trinity looked at him. She caught a fleeting expression on his face that she couldn’t read, but then it was gone.
He led her forward, away from the portrait, as he said smoothly, ‘Yes, we were both born in this castillo. But our circumstances couldn’t have been more different.’
‘I know,’ Trinity said cautiously. ‘Rio told me that his mother was a maid here, and that she blackmailed your father for money after their affair and then left Rio behind.’
In spite of everything that had happened, she still felt sympathy. These dark corridors and austere pictures only confirmed that Cruz’s experience couldn’t have been much happier here. That treacherous curiosity to know more rose up again, much to her disgust. She was a soft touch.
But Cruz was clearly not up for conversation. He was moving again, leaving the long corridor, and she had to follow or be left behind. He opened a door to reveal an enclosed open-air courtyard and Trinity automatically sucked in a deep breath, only realising then how truly oppressive the castillo had felt.
They’d lost Mrs Jordan and the other staff somewhere along the way. Afraid that Cruz suspected she was angling for a personal tour, she shifted Sancho’s heavy and now sleeping weight on her shoulder and hurried after his long strides.
‘You don’t have to show me around—there’ll be plenty of time for that.’
A whole lifetime, whispered that wicked voice.
Cruz just said brusquely, ‘This isn’t a tour. We’re just taking another route to your quarters.’
Trinity felt a childish urge to poke her tongue out at his back. Your quarters. She shivered a little.
He led them back into the castillo on the other side of the surprisingly pretty courtyard. The sensation of the walls closing around her again made her realise that this was it. Hers and the boys’ home for the foreseeable future. The prospect was intimidating, to say the least.
Trinity vowed then and there to do everything she could to e
nsure Matty and Sancho’s happiness and security in such a dark and oppressive atmosphere. After all, she’d chosen to be their protector and she had no regrets.
* * *
Cruz helped himself to a shot of whisky from the sideboard in his study on the other side of the castillo. He took a healthy sip, relishing the burn which distracted him from the uncomfortable feeling that lingered after walking away from Trinity, Mrs Jordan and the boys, all looking at him with wide eyes, as if they’d just been transported to Outer Mongolia.
He didn’t like the way his nephews fell silent whenever he approached them, looking at him so warily, clinging on to Trinity. His urge to protect them had grown exponentially since he’d decided marriage was the only option—thanks to which he was now their legal guardian too.
While the jury was still very much out on Trinity—her easy signing of the pre-nup had thrown up questions he wasn’t eager to investigate—he had to admit grudgingly that so far it didn’t look as if his nephews were being adversely affected by her.
Cruz had been surprised to discover that Rio had told her the full extent of his mother’s treachery.
When he and Rio had been younger they’d never been allowed to play together, and on the few occasions Cruz had managed to sneak away from his nanny to find Rio his younger half-brother had always looked at him suspiciously.
One day they had been found together. Cruz’s father had taken Rio into his study, and he could still remember the shouts of humiliation as his father had beaten him. Rio had eventually emerged with tears streaking his red face, holding his behind, glaring at Cruz with a hatred that had been vivid.
Their father had appeared in the doorway and said to Cruz, ‘That’s what’ll happen if you seek him out again. His is not your real brother.’
Cruz had felt so angry, and yet so impotent. That was the moment he’d vowed to ensure that Rio was never denied what was rightfully his...much good it had done his brother in the end.