His Suitable Bride

by Cathy Williams/Abby Green/Kate Walker

  He turned her around again and looked her up and down, not a hint of warmth in his eyes. It helped to cool her pulse a little. That, and her mortification that her nipples must be like two hard pebbles under the material.

  ‘And now if you could return the favour …’

  Rowan looked up at him, dazed. And then she realised that he was talking about his bow tie. Her heart lurched. He’d never been able to do one up, and had always had to ask her. Those moments had been stolen guilty pleasures … She had a sudden intense memory of doing it once, her pregnant belly pressing into his body, feeling his burgeoning arousal. And then they had arrived late to the function. She really didn’t think she could do what he was asking now and stay in one piece.

  ‘Don’t you have a ready-made one?’ she asked with not a little desperation.

  Isandro’s brows snapped together. ‘It’s too much for you to do?’

  He felt absurdly angry. He cursed himself for giving in to the impulse to come in here. He went to turn away but she caught his arm. She was looking up at him, something indefinable in those violet depths thrown into stark relief by the creaminess of her flawless skin and darker cream of her dress. For a second he felt as if he couldn’t breathe.

  ‘Wait. Let me try. It’s just been a while, that’s all.’

  She stood in front of him and reached up to his tie. He lifted his head back automatically to help—and to avert his eyes from her gaze. Her clean, unmanufactured fragrance drifted upwards. She moved closer and Isandro could feel the soft swish of her dress against him, the fleeting glance of her body against his, but she pulled back so sharply when that happened that he looked down swiftly. She apologised.

  And then he couldn’t look away. Her face was flushed, her tongue protruding slightly through small even teeth as she concentrated on his tie. Her lashes were unbelievably thick and dark, so long that they cast half-moon shadows on her cheeks. He could see the dip of cleavage in the dress, the way it had pushed her breasts up slightly. They looked full and voluptuous. Once more she swayed against his body, and he had to clench his jaw so tight that he felt his teeth would snap. His erection was hard and heavy against his underwear, and he hadn’t felt this hot for a woman since—

  ‘There.’ There was more than a little breathless relief in Rowan’s voice as she stepped back. Tying that bow tie and remaining standing had been like her own personal Everest quest. She couldn’t look up. She babbled. ‘I just have to put on my shoes and get my wrap and bag and then I’m ready to—’

  ‘Here—you’re going to need these.’

  Rowan glanced up quickly, and then down to where Isandro was holding her wedding ring and engagement ring in his palm.

  ‘You still have them …’ she breathed. She’d loved those rings. Her wedding band was simple platinum and her engagement ring was an antique. She’d picked it herself, a square green diamond surrounded by tiny clear diamonds in an Art Deco setting. She watched as he took her hand and held it out, efficiently slipping the rings onto her ring finger. She’d lost weight and they were looser.

  ‘I’ll have to get them re-sized.’

  ‘What’s the point?’

  Rowan looked up and willed the sharp pain down. She couldn’t believe she’d just said that. ‘Of course. I wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘I’m going to look in on Zac. See you downstairs.’

  When he left, Rowan took a deep, shuddering breath. That whole experience had taken more out of her than she cared to admit. She looked at the rings glinting on her finger and felt like an impostor. She cursed her big mouth again.

  Checking herself quickly in the mirror, she stopped, and her hand went to touch her hair. What would Isandro’s reaction have been if he’d seen her this time last year? With that thought came the uncomfortable truth. Sooner or later he would know … and what would that do?

  ‘I like Ana-Lucía. I think we’ve made the right choice.’

  Rowan looked at Isandro in surprise across the back of the car as they drove to the function. His helicopter had brought them to a small private airfield just outside the city. His use of ‘we’ had made her heart stop.

  ‘I like her too …’

  When they’d interviewed nannies the other day, for the first time they’d both agreed on something. Neither of them had liked a single one of them. They’d either been too interested in making eyes at Isandro, in the house, or in how much money they would be paid. Rowan could remember the jealous bile that had risen within her when yet another simpering blonde had cooed coquettishly at Isandro.

  Then Julia had told them of a friend of hers who was looking for work. They’d met her and known immediately that she was the one. Rowan much preferred to hire someone local, and Isandro had seemed to agree.

  The car was drawing to a smooth halt outside a huge, impressive Moorish building. Rowan tried to hide her awe, feeling gauche. Isandro followed her look.

  ‘This is the Palacio de Don Pedro. It rivals the Alhambra in Granada in its preservation of drawings and carvings.’

  He stepped out of the car and Rowan saw his hand stretch in to take hers. She had a moment of remembering other occasions like this, how attentive he’d been to her, making her feel secure, at ease. Emotion rose and she struggled to quell it. She took a deep breath and tried to emerge gracefully, taking his hand.

  Once standing with him at the start of a red carpet, she registered the flashing bulbs of the paparazzi, numerous milling crowds, stunningly beautiful women bedecked in the finest fashions and jewels. Handsome men. But none as handsome as the man by her side. She felt momentarily stunned, in awe and fear of the obvious exclusiveness of the event.

  The ball was taking place in the spectacular Salón de Embajadores. Rowan was mesmerised by the ceiling, which was a wooden dome with thousands of star patterns. She was so entranced that she gaped. When she looked down again she caught a couple of women looking at her and laughing slightly behind their hands. Her face burned crimson as the memory came back of overhearing those poisonous women in the bathroom in London. But, she reassured herself, she was different now, stronger.

  ‘Who are they? Do you know them?’

  Rowan heard Isandro’s voice close to her ear and fought the urge to move her stricken eyes. She shook her head. ‘No. I was taken aback by the ceiling, and I’m afraid I must have shown a little too much awe than is appropriate for such a gathering.’

  He slanted a probing look down at her. Rowan looked away and took a sip of her champagne. It slid down her throat like a fizzy starburst. There were so many sensations that kept taking her unawares.

  Isandro took a closer look at the women Rowan had been looking at and his heart sank. One of them was Mercedes Lopez. He hadn’t been entirely honest with Rowan in his reasons for wanting to bring her along. Although it was serving him to have her here, to reaffirm his respectability after she’d made a mockery of their marriage, it was also to deter the advances of the other woman—and he could see Mercedes bearing down on them now.

  They’d been lovers some years before he’d married Rowan, and with the recent notable absence of his wife she’d been agitating to resume the affair. Isandro had hoped that having Rowan by his side might send her a message. He couldn’t say what it was about her that turned him off so completely now, when before she’d appealed to him, but something just did.

  Unconsciously he pulled Rowan closer, and could feel her stiffen in response. It made him angry and he looked down at her, but she was looking at the other woman with wide eyes. Unaccountably, he felt protective.

  Mercedes spoke in rapid and intimate Spanish as soon as she reached them, putting her arms around Isandro’s neck and taking total liberties with the traditional warmth of a normal Spanish greeting. Her kisses on both cheeks lingered for far too long. And far too close to his mouth. She was beautiful, thought Rowan. And undeniably she must be his lover, for there was a wealth of intimacy that couldn’t be manufactured in the woman’s every sinuous movement.

 
She was very seductive. Tall, dark and slim. Flashing brown heavily kohled eyes, her perfect breasts moving and swaying with her dress as she gestured. Lush hips and a tiny waist.

  Rowan’s rising and very fledgling euphoria at being in such a beautiful place with Isandro was about to burst like a cheap balloon. She was transported back in time. The gauche outcast again. But she wouldn’t feel sorry for herself. This was all a game, and she would play it as if her life depended on it. When they were divorced Isandro could do as he pleased, but right now they were married. And, God help her poor battered heart, the jealousy rising within her was about to explode.

  She inserted herself expertly between Isandro and the other woman. She could feel his initial shock and held her breath momentarily. And then let it out as she felt him take her lead, moving behind her and bringing both arms around her waist so that she lay against him.

  Rowan held out a hand and spoke in clipped upper-class English. ‘How do you do? I’m Rowan—Isandro’s wife. I don’t believe we’ve met before?’

  The other woman had to take a step backwards. A fleeting glower transformed her perfect features before it was gone. Rowan almost felt sorry for her.

  ‘Querida, this is Mercedes Lopez—an old friend of mine and head of the biggest PR company in Southern Spain.’

  A knife twisted in Rowan’s heart. Yeah, right. She was glad she couldn’t see Isandro’s face to read what his expression might be. What little secret look he might be giving the other woman. To her intense relief, Mercedes made her excuses and left, clearly taking the hint—or else some indication from Isandro that he would see her again soon.

  ‘Come—there are some people I’d like to introduce to you.’

  And before she could dwell on the other woman, Isandro took Rowan’s hand and led her through the crowd. No doubt this was the object of her role here, to be the dutiful wife, her presence proving that all was well, all was respectable.

  Isandro’s body still pulsed. When she’d made that cute little move to block Mercedes she’d taken him completely by surprise. And turned him on. She’d never shown any proprietary urges before.

  That’s because now she’s back for your money and she’ll do whatever it takes …

  But another voice reminded him that she’d been pregnant before, and unwell for a lot of the time, not able to attend functions, so how would he know how she’d act?

  Rowan found that the people Isandro had taken her to meet were genuinely nice. Other couples, also colleagues from the banking world. And none of the women were looking at Isandro as if they wanted to devour him. She was happy to speak and get used to her Spanish here, and she’d caught a warm glance from Isandro that had made her feel absurdly happy.

  She was tuning in and out of the conversation a little later when one of the women took her arm, and Rowan just got her last few words. ‘… market crash.’

  Rowan frowned apologetically. ‘I’m sorry—what?’

  ‘The European market crash of eighteen months ago … don’t you remember? The absolute carnage that resulted in the economy practically sparked a global recession.’

  Rowan racked her brain feverishly to try and remember if she’d heard anything. ‘I’m sorry … I just don’t recall …’

  Isandro was frowning, giving her an intense look. Conversation had halted around them. She knew well why she hadn’t heard anything. She affected a look of delayed surprise and self-deprecation. She laughed nervously.

  ‘Oh, that crash—of course I do. I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure what you meant.’

  The woman laughed. ‘How could you be married to the man who controls finance in Europe and not remember that? You’d have to have been buried under a rock!’

  Or near enough …

  Rowan smiled weakly and wished the ground would swallow her up. She felt Isandro’s arm tighten on her waist and looked up warily. She met that clear blue gaze tinged with ice again. He clearly hadn’t been fooled by her bad acting.

  And the night wasn’t about to get any easier. Rowan’s heart sank to her shoes when she saw who was approaching them now. Ana. Isandro’s sister. Too late to escape. The crowd melted away and it was just them—and Ana and her husband.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ANA greeted Isandro and then stood back. She shared the same colouring as her brother. The same tall, lean physique. But she had her mother’s eyes. Dark and hard.

  ‘So.’ She looked Rowan up and down. ‘The prodigal wife returns.’

  ‘Ana,’ she heard Isandro say warningly.

  His sister sent him a blistering look. ‘What? You mean to tell me that after what she did to you and to my nephew you’re just letting her waltz back in to clean you out?’

  Rowan felt shaky. She could remember another conversation. One between him and his sister. That very day when she’d come home and known her life was going to change. Ana had travelled all the way from Spain to see him. Rowan had returned to hear them arguing in the sitting room. Their voices had been so raised that she hadn’t been able to help herself stopping. And it was all coming back in lurid detail.

  His sister’s voice had been a strident shriek of indignation. ‘After all the years of pain and humiliation our father put our mother through, put us through with that English whore of his, you take an English wife and now she’s having your baby? You would do that to us?’

  Isandro’s own tone had sent shivers down Rowan’s spine. ‘Ana, nothing has changed. This is a business arrangement. The fact that she is now bearing my child is an unexpected bonus. It will save me the bother of marrying again in order to secure an heir.’

  His sister’s voice had lowered dangerously, reeking of suspicion. ‘Are you in love with her?’

  Isandro had laughed quickly, harshly. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then why did you sleep with her?’

  Isandro’s voice had turned icy. ‘That is none of your business.’

  ‘I can’t imagine it was fun.’ Ana’s voice had been so scathing and so dripping with disdain that Rowan had felt weak. ‘She’s like the original ice queen.’

  Their voices had got lower but no less heated for a minute, and Rowan had been too frozen with horror to move. Too shocked. Too hurt. And then Isandro’s voice had risen again.

  ‘She means nothing more to me than a means to an end. She never did; she never will. I don’t care what our father did. That has no bearing on how I am going to live my life. I will not be dictated to by his misdeameanours, and I will certainly not be dictated to by you. She has more than fulfilled her function as my wife and you will accept that.’

  ‘She’s truly trapped you now, brother dear …’ Ana had finished tauntingly.

  Slowly Rowan became aware of her surroundings again. Ana was still standing there, hissing at Isandro. Her husband looked sheepishly apologetic beside her. Rowan felt clammy and cold.

  And then Isandro was saying to Ana, ‘Bastante!’

  His sister halted in mid-tirade. With a strangled sound she grabbed her husband and stalked off. Rowan felt as though she’d been punched.

  Isandro turned to face her. He was shocked at how pale she looked. Her eyes were wounded. He cursed, and took her over to a quiet corner. When he almost acted on instinct and pulled her into his chest she stepped back jerkily. It made a rush of self-mockery run through him. He was getting that soft?

  Rowan felt very close to the edge. Isandro had reached for her, but she knew that if he touched her she’d dissolve. And the fact that he’d almost offered to comfort her was doing even worse things to her head.

  But then, as if she’d imagined it, Isandro spoke, and his tone was frigid. ‘She had no right to subject you to an attack like that here.’

  It helped Rowan to claw back some equilibrium. She shook her head vaguely, as if to negate what he said. He couldn’t see how badly his sister had affected her. But she’d let her get to her again. She’d thought she’d blocked out that awful conversation, but it was still there like a brand burnt into her memory.
It had been timely, though—she had to remember that. Because if she hadn’t heard it when she had she’d have told him … everything. And that would have lost her the only sliver of pride and dignity she’d managed to retain.

  When he asked abruptly, Are you ready to go back inside?’ Rowan just nodded, hoping that none of the turmoil in her belly was evident on her face or in her eyes.

  ‘Yes, of course. I just … needed a moment … the heat …’

  For the rest of the evening Isandro was attentive but distant. Unbelievably cool. Perhaps seeing his sister had put things back into perspective for him? Reconfirmed his suspicions that Rowan had indeed set out to trap him? Perhaps he regretted bringing Rowan with him? Perhaps he was wishing he was with his lover?

  All the way home he barely said two words to her. Thunder rumbled ominously as they got out of the car, and Rowan looked up to see rolling clouds racing across the sky, the full moon appearing and disappearing. The air was warm, but there was a storm on the horizon. A little shiver of something went down Rowan’s spine. Of foreboding or something—she wasn’t sure what.

  Once inside the house, Isandro yanked his tie free. ‘I’m having a nightcap—care to join me?’

  Rowan shook her head. Not that he was even looking at her. ‘No. Thank you. Goodnight.’

  Something stopped her at the bottom stair and she found herself asking, just before he stepped into the drawing room, ‘Is that woman your mistress?’

  His broad back stopped. He turned slowly, and Rowan could have bitten her tongue. She had no right to know. She couldn’t read the expression on his face.

  ‘Why?’

  She shrugged awkwardly. ‘I was just wondering. You seemed … close.’