It was the evening of the first day that Isandro had returned to work. He’d just taken a shower and now strode towards the dining room doors for dinner, knowing that Rowan would be sitting beyond them. Inarticulate rage twinned with something much more disturbing beat in his chest. All day he’d felt a black mood engulfing him, distracting him from his work.
In the last couple of days he’d been feeling so many things, and that fear … the awful bone-numbing terror he’d felt when he’d seen Zac so defenceless … was still potent. And Rowan—the woman who had deserted them—was the one who’d been there, fulfilling her role as mother for all the world as if she’d never left, making Isandro feel blurred and ambiguous.
He came close to the door. She was dangerous. He had to remember that, despite her heroics. She had the power to do so much more harm this time. To Zac. To him. Isandro’s eyes narrowed and his mouth thinned. She didn’t have any power over him, it was Zac he thought of. Not himself. But still the black cloud enveloped him a little more suffocatingly as he opened the door, only to come face to face with his wife on her way out. Her eyes widened, looking up into his, scrambling his thoughts and making the rage burn more fiercely.
Rowan stared up at her husband, the breath still knocked out of her after the suddenness of his arrival. He was looking effortlessly gorgeous in a white shirt, black trousers, his hair still wet from the shower. His scent enveloped her … she fought for breath.
‘Sorry … I was just … I didn’t know if you were …’ She cursed herself and started again, drawing herself up straight. Immediately she knew all was not well as he glowered down at her, and couldn’t begin to wonder what had precipitated it. ‘I was just going to tell Julia I’d eat in the kitchen as I thought it would only be me for dinner …’ She wished she had something to cling onto—and then her eyes slid treacherously to his broad chest, just inches away, and she felt heat flood her cheeks.
Finally he broke the spell and moved past her, gracefully, stealthily. And he drawled, ‘There’s no-one else here, Rowan … Who are you trying to impress?’
Rowan ignored him, and the silly pain in her chest at this evidence of his filthy humour. Like this he was very dangerous. She turned to follow him back into the room. ‘Well, as you’re here, I’ll stay.’
He swept an arm out as he sat down. ‘Oh please—don’t stay on my account. By all means go and eat in the kitchen if you want.’
But just when she would have taken him at his word and left, she heard the door, and Julia arrived with the soup. Rowan knew it would be futile to get into a big long explanation of why she wanted to eat in the kitchen, and she didn’t want to embarrass the other woman, so she sat down and busied herself with her napkin.
For the past couple of days Isandro had been somewhat civil, but that civility had obviously run its course. She avoided his eye and they ate their soup in oppressive silence. Rowan was quite tempted to just pick up her bowl and leave the room, but she was also determined not to show how he affected her.
Julia returned with the main dish, and a bottle of red wine to go along with the beef. Rowan accepted a glass and speared a morsel of the succulent meat. It almost melted on her tongue, and it had been so long since she had had anything so exquisite that she closed her eyes for a second, unconsciously savouring the taste.
When she opened them again she caught Isandro staring at her with a hard look.
‘The beef is delicious.’ She knew she sounded defensive.
‘It’s just beef.’
Rowan took a swift sip of wine. That too begged to be savoured but she stopped herself. They continued to eat in silence, and Rowan did her best not to be aware of his lean brown hands, big but graceful, as he handled his silverware. She saw him take his fork into his left hand to eat and remembered that he was left-handed. She wondered absently if Zac might have inherited that trait.
When they were finished, Isandro put his napkin down by his plate and leaned forward, cradling his wine glass in one big hand. Rowan instinctively sat back into her chair. She couldn’t help but look at him. She knew her eyes were growing big and round, but couldn’t help it. He filled her vision like nothing else she’d ever experienced. She felt as if he could see right through her. As if they’d gone back in time and it was one of the first times she’d seen him all over again.
Isandro watched her intently, and in that moment he felt inexplicably like pushing her, goading her into revealing … something. Anything. Something that would make things easier for him to understand? He quashed the annoying voice, and asked, ‘Why did your father want to marry you off so badly that he made you a part of the deal?’