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.