Cruz was close to reaching boiling point—which wasn’t helped by
the fact that his libido seemed to be reaching boiling point too. He was uncomfortably aware of how Trinity’s breasts pushed against the fabric of her seemingly demure silk shirt. It was buttoned to her neck, but it was the most provocative thing he’d ever seen. It made him want to push aside the desk and rip it open so he could feast his gaze on those firm swells...
Which was an unwelcome reminder of how he’d reacted that night when he’d found her in his study—supposedly looking for a book—testing the very limits of his control in not much more than a vest and sleep shorts, with a flimsy robe belted around her tiny waist.
It had broken the limits of his control, proving that he wasn’t so far removed from his father after all, in spite of his best efforts.
Cruz had had her backed up against the wall of shelves, grinding his achingly hard arousal into her quivering body, his fingers buried deep in slick heat and his mouth latched around a hard nipple, before he’d come to his senses...
Cursing her silently, and reining in his thundering arousal, Cruz said, with a coolness that belied the heat under the surface, ‘Mateo and Sancho will be my heirs, as I have no intention of having any children.’
Trinity shook her head. ‘Why would you say such a thing?’
Already aware that he’d said too much, Cruz clamped down on the curious urge to explain that as soon as he’d heard Rio was having children he’d felt a weight lift off his shoulders, not having been really aware until then that he’d never relished the burden of producing an heir for the sake of the family business.
He’d learnt from a young age what it was to have to stand by helplessly and watch his own half-brother being treated as nothing just because he was the result of an affair. He’d experienced the way parents—the people who were meant to love you the most—sometimes had scant regard for their offspring. Cruz might have been the privileged legitimate heir, but he’d been treated more like an employee than a loved son.
He’d never felt that he had the necessary skills to be a father, and he’d never felt a desire to test that assertion. However, his nephews had changed things. And the fact that Rio was no longer alive really changed things now. And the fact that this woman believed she could control their fate was abominable.
Cruz was aware that he barely knew his nephews—every time he saw them they hid behind Trinity’s legs, or their nanny’s skirts. And until Rio had died he hadn’t felt any great desire to connect with them...not knowing how to, in all honesty. But now an overwhelming instinct to protect them rose up in him and surprised him with its force. It reminded him of when he’d felt so protective of Rio when he’d been much smaller, and the reminder was poignant. And pertinent. He hadn’t been able to protect Rio, but he could protect his nephews.
Perhaps Trinity thought she’d get more out of him like this. He rued the day she’d ever appeared in his life.
Curtly he said, ‘I’ll give you tonight to think it over. Tomorrow, midday, I’ll come to the house—and trust me when I say that if you don’t have your price ready by then, you’ll have to prepare yourself for a legal battle after which you’ll wish that you’d taken what I’m offering.’
CHAPTER TWO
ON THE BUS back to Rio’s house near Regent’s Park—Trinity had never considered it hers—she was still reeling. She felt as if someone had physically punched her. Cruz had...except without using fists...and the reminder that she’d once fancied herself almost in love with him was utterly mortifying now.
The full enormity of his distrust in her was shocking—as was his threat that he would take her to court to get the boys if he had to.
She didn’t need Cruz to tell her that she wouldn’t fare well up against one of the world’s wealthiest and most powerful men. As soon as his lawyers looked into her background and saw that she’d grown up in foster homes, with no family stability to her name, she’d be out of Matty and Sancho’s lives.
It didn’t even occur to her to consider Cruz’s offer—the thought of leaving the twins in his cold and autocratic care was anathema to her.
Being in such close proximity to him again had left her feeling on edge and jittery. Too aware of her body. Sometimes the memory of that cataclysmic night in Cruz’s study came back like a taunt. And, no matter how much she tried to resist it, it was too powerful for her to push down. It was as vivid as if it had just happened. The scene of her spectacular humiliation.
The fact that Cruz obviously hated himself for what had happened was like the lash of a whip every time she saw him. As if she needed to be reminded of his disgust! As if he needed another reason to hate her now! Because that much was crystal-clear. He’d judged her and condemned her—he hadn’t even wanted to hear her defence.
Trinity tried to resist thinking about the past, but the rain beating relentlessly against the bus windows didn’t help. She felt as if she was in a cocoon...
She’d been working as Cruz’s housemaid for approximately six months, and one night, unable to sleep, she’d gone down to the study to find a new book. Cruz had told her to feel welcome to read his books after he’d found her curled up in a chair reading one day.
Trinity had been very aware that she was developing a monumentally pathetic crush on her enigmatic boss—she’d even read about him in one of his discarded copies of the Financial Times.
She’d loved to read the papers, even though she hadn’t understood half of what they talked about, and it had been her ambition to understand it all some day. She’d finally felt as if she was breaking away from her past, and that she could possibly prove that she didn’t have to be limited by the fact that her own parents had abandoned her.
Cruz had epitomised success and keen intelligence, and Trinity had been helplessly impressed and inspired. Needless to say he was the kind of man who would never notice someone like her in a million years, no matter how polite to her he was. Except sometimes she’d look up and find him watching her with a curious expression on his face, and it would make her feel hot and flustered. Self-conscious...
When she’d entered the study that night, she’d done so cautiously, even though she’d known Cruz was out at a function. She’d turned on a dim light and gone straight to the bookshelves, and had spent a happy few minutes looking for something to read among the very broad range he had. She’d been intrigued by the fact that alongside serious tomes on economics there were battered copies of John Le Carré and Agatha Christie. They humanised a very intimidating man.
She’d almost jumped out of her skin when a deep voice had said, with a touch of humour, ‘Good to know it’s not a burglar rifling through my desk.’
Trinity had immediately dropped the book she was looking at and turned to see Cruz in the doorway, breath-takingly gorgeous in a classic tuxedo, his bow tie rakishly undone. And her brain had just...melted.
Eventually, when her wits had returned, she’d bent down to pick up the book, acutely aware of her state of undress, and started gabbling. ‘I’m sorry... I just wanted to get a book...couldn’t sleep...’
She’d held the book in front of her like a shield. As if it might hide her braless breasts, covered only by the flimsiest material. But something in Cruz’s lazy stance changed as his eyes had raked over her, and the air had suddenly been charged. Electric.