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.
‘You really messed up, 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.
‘Our marriage was never meant to be anything but a business arrangement. You knew that. I knew that.’
‘Of course it wasn’t. I did know that …’ Rowan gulped miserably, unable to continue for a moment, furious with herself for allowing him to goad her. The last thing she wanted was to draw his attention to her vulnerability to him. Or to the memory of how wanton she’d been during their short-lived marriage. Or to hear him say it had been a mistake. ‘I never expected anything more.’
She felt hot in the afternoon sun as it beat down on her head. Hot and tired. She didn’t have the energy for this. She didn’t have to remind herself how clinical their conversations had been before the wedding. Didn’t have to remind herself of how their marriage had never been meant to turn physical. And yet it had. She’d thrown herself at him. Shame clawed her insides.
In a series of meetings and dinners before they’d married Isandro had made everything crystal-clear. His words were still etched into her brain.