‘I am marrying you so that I can save your father from bankruptcy, and by doing so I will take his position as CEO of Carmichael’s Bank. You are marrying me in order to fulfil the terms of your mother’s will and receive your maternal inheritance. As this won’t be a real marriage, if I take a lover I will do so with the utmost discretion, and I would ask the same of you. In a year we can review things, talk about a divorce. A year with you by my side should be enough to establish my place. By then we will have both got what we wanted and my control of the bank will be assured.’
At the time Rowan had blinked at him slowly, finding it hard to move her gaze from his mouth to his eyes. Eyes which had been cool—cool enough to dampen her silly, girlish ardour. She’d been sitting there daydreaming, imagining him saying … what? That he’d fallen in love with her the minute he’d seen her and known she was the one for him? That he was as overwhelmed with lust for her as she was for him?
She returned to the present and swayed betrayingly as the heat seemed suddenly to intensify. Little had she known just how inconsequential she had been to him—that at no point had he ever entertained the possibility of feelings, no matter what she might have fooled herself into believing …
With an almost rough movement, Isandro took Rowan’s arm and ushered her back up the crumbling steps and into her room. ‘You need to get out of the sun. You’re not used to the heat.’
She stood away from him, feeling better now that she was back inside, and looked at him warily.
He put distance between them, rocking back on his heels, tall and dominant. He laughed harshly. ‘Silly me—how would I know what you’re used to? After all, you could have been anywhere for the last two years.’
Rowan blanched. She knew she would have to tell him sooner or later exactly where she had been. But right now, feeling so rawly vulnerable, coming to terms with everything, was not the time. If she could just stay out of his way for the moment, focus on Zac … When she was feeling more in control of herself and her see-sawing emotions she would tell him then. Because when she did, it was going to invite all sorts of questions. Questions she certainly wasn’t equipped emotionally to answer yet.
He backed away from her to a door she hadn’t noticed in the wall as it was painted the same colour, almost camouflaged. It must be the adjoining door to his room. Her heart stopped and started again painfully. He saw her wide-eyed look. A smile mocked her.
‘No one here expects us to pretend we’re a happily married couple, enjoying the conjugal bed, so rest assured, Rowan. I won’t be knocking on your door at night.’
No, she thought with an alarmingly sharp pain in the region of her heart. No doubt Isandro would have had a string of lovers to keep him company and must have a current one. She didn’t have to remind herself of the disparaging remarks he had made about her to his sister. That conversation was a lane too far to travel down in her memory right now.
She breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind him, shutting away his disturbing presence. She sat on the bed, feeling exhausted, her mind a whirling minefield of memories. She pressed a hand to her chest, as if to slow down her thumping heart. To no avail. He had come to her room on their wedding night when she had least expected it. Had looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. She could still remember the aching longing she’d felt as his blue eyes had looked her up and down. She’d willed him to find her attractive, and she’d watched with bated breath as he’d come closer and closer. She’d known he’d come just to say goodnight, to be polite. But it had been as if her yearning body and heart had spoken out loud. And when, unbelievably, as if hearing her unspoken plea, he’d taken her in his arms … kissed her … he’d aroused a passion within her that still shocked and scared her to this day.
Rowan shook her head, as if she could somehow dislodge the painful images. She’d been so wanton, so full of ardour. With a groan Rowan stood jerkily and started to unpack, busying herself with the mundane task. It worked. Her feverish mind cooled. She gave in to the lure of a long hot shower, and afterwards belted a clean robe about herself and sank into the soft depths of the bed, letting the wave of blackness engulf her. She was with her son again. That was all that mattered. It had to be, because she couldn’t hope for anything more.
She was back in that room. The white room. Two sets of double doors. She knew she had to get out, that if she didn’t get out she’d never leave, never see her baby again. Panic gripped her, making her movements clumsy. She couldn’t seem to get off the bed. She could hear footsteps approach, and knew they were coming to lock her in. Two sets of doors. She tried to scream, but no sound emerged. Her voice was gone. The covers on the bed were hampering her, trapping her. With the scream strangled in her throat Rowan felt salty hot tears fall down her face, and then she was being shaken. Terror froze her limbs …