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Cruz’s mind deviated then, with irritating predictability, back to his new wife. He’d expected something more from her by now—some show or hint of defiance that would reveal her irritation at having her wings clipped. But there was nothing. Just those big blue eyes, looking at him suspiciously. As if he might take a bite out of her... That thought immediately made him think of sinking his teeth into soft pale flesh.
What the hell was wrong with him? He would not fall into that pit of fire again. She disgusted him.
A little voice jeered at him. She disgusts you so much that your blood simmers every time she’s close?
Cruz shut it down ruthlessly.
Trinity would not tempt him again. This situation was all about containment and control and ensuring his nephews were in his care and safe. That was all that mattered—their legacy. As soon as she realised how limited her life would be she’d be begging for a divorce, and that day couldn’t come soon enough.
CHAPTER FOUR
A WEEK LATER Trinity felt as if she were on a slightly more even keel. She and the boys and Mrs Jordan had finally settled, somewhat, into their palatial rooms. Decorated in light greys and soft pinks and blues, with contemporary furniture and a modern media centre, they made for a more soothing environment than the rest of the dark and brooding castillo, which was not unlike its owner.
Mrs Jordan had an entire apartment to herself, as did Trinity, and they were both connected by the boys’ room, which was light and bright but other than that showed no indication that it was home to two small boys with more energy than a bag of long-life batteries.
They took their meals in a large sunny dining room, not far from their rooms, that led out to a landscaped garden. Trinity and Mrs Jordan spent most of their time running after Matty and Sancho, trying to stop them pulling the very exotic-looking flowers out of the pristine beds.
Trinity sighed now, and pushed some hair behind her ear as she contemplated the two napping toddlers who looked as exhausted as she felt. She’d have to talk to Cruz about modifying their bedroom and installing something more practical outside that would occupy their vast energy and satisfy their need to be stimulated. Otherwise the head gardener was going to be very upset, and the boys were going to grow more and more frustrated.
The staff they’d seen so far—a taciturn housekeeper who spoke no English and a young girl who looked terrified—hardly inspired confidence in it being a happy household where she could get to know people and let the boys run free. It was very obvious that Cruz believed he had corralled them exactly where he wanted them and had now all but washed his hands of her, in spite of his decree that she be available as his social escort.
Mrs Jordan had had the morning off, and was going to keep an eye on the boys this afternoon when they woke, so Trinity took the opportunity to go and see if Cruz had returned from his trip to Madrid yet—she’d managed to ascertain that he’d gone from the shy maid.
She refused to give in to a growing feeling of helplessness but while making her way from their wing of the castillo, back through the pretty courtyard, she could feel her heart-rate increasing. She told herself it was not in anticipation of seeing Cruz after a few days. What was wrong with her? Was she a complete masochist?
As she walked past the stern portraits of the ancestors she didn’t look up, not wanting to see if their eyes would be following her censoriously, judging her silently.
Just at that moment a door opened and a tall hard body stepped out—right in front of Trinity. She found herself slamming straight into the man who so easily dominated her thoughts.
Big hands caught her upper arms to stop her lurching backwards. All her breath seemed to have left her lungs with the impact as she stared up into those tawny eyes.
Somehow she managed to get out the words, ‘You’re back.’
Cruz’s hands tightened almost painfully on Trinity’s arms. ‘I got back late last night.’
Tension was instant between them, and something else much more ambiguous and electric. She tried to move back but she couldn’t.
Panic that he might see her reaction to him spiked. ‘You can let me go.’
Cruz’s eyes widened a fraction, as if he’d been unaware he was holding her, and then suddenly he dropped his hands as if burnt. Trinity stepped back, feeling sick at the expression crossing his face—something between disgust and horror. She’d seen that look before, after he’d kissed her.
She said quickly, ‘I was looking for you, actually.’
After a silent moment Cruz stepped aside and gestured for her to go into the room he’d just left. She stepped inside, still feeling shaky after that sudden physical impact.
Cruz closed the door and walked to his desk, turning around to face her. ‘I’ll call for some coffee—or would you prefer tea?’
‘Tea would be lovely, thank you.’
So polite. As if he hadn’t just dumped her and her stepsons in his remote intimidating home and left them to their own devices. Maybe he thought she would have run screaming by now?
When Cruz turned away to lean over his desk and pick up the phone Trinity had to consciously drag her gaze away from where his thin shirt stretched enticingly over flexed and taut muscles. She looked around the room, which was huge and obviously his home office.
Dark wood panelling and big antique furniture gave it a serious air. Floor-to-ceiling shelves dominated one whole wall, and Trinity felt a wave of heat scorch her from the inside out as the memory of another wall of shelves flashed back, of how it had felt to have Cruz press her against it so passionately.
‘Do you still read?’
Trinity’s head snapped back to Cruz. She hadn’t even noticed that he’d finished the call. She was mortified, and crushed the memory, hoping her cheeks weren’t flaming.
