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.