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Claimed For The De Carrillo Twins - Эбби Грин - Читать любовный роман онлайн в женской библиотеке LadyLib.Net
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Грин Эбби
Claimed For The De Carrillo Twins
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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.
Her eyes had widened as he’d closed the distance between them. She’d been mesmerised. Glued to the spot. Glued to his face as it was revealed in the shadows of the room, all stark lines and angles. He’d taken the book she was holding out of her hand and looked at it, before putting it back on the shelf. He’d been so close she’d been able to smell his scent, and had wanted to close her eyes to breathe it in even deeper. She’d felt dizzy.
Then he’d reached out and touched her hair, taking a strand between two fingers and letting it run between them. The fact that he’d come so close...was touching her...had been so unlikely that she hadn’t been able to move.
Her lower body had tightened with a kind of need she’d never felt before. She’d cursed her inexperience in that moment—cursed the fact that living in foster homes all her life had made her put up high walls of defence because she’d never been settled anywhere long enough to forge any kind of meaningful relationship.
She’d known she should have moved...that this was ridiculous. That the longer she stood there, in thrall to her gorgeous boss, the sooner he’d step back and she’d be totally exposed. She’d never let anyone affect her like this before, but somehow, without even trying, he’d just slipped under her skin...
But then he’d looked at her with a molten light in his eyes and said, ‘I want you, Trinity Adams. I know I shouldn’t, but I do.’
He’d let her hair go.
His words had shocked her so much that even though she’d known that was the moment to turn and walk out, her bare feet had stayed glued to the floor.
A reckless desire had rushed through her, heady and dangerous, borne out of the impossible reality that Cruz De Carrillo was looking at her like this...saying he wanted her. She was a nobody. She came from nothing. And yet at that moment she’d felt seen in a way she’d never experienced before.
It had come out of her, unbidden, from the deepest part of her. One word. ‘Please...’
Cruz had looked at her for a long moment, and then he’d muttered something in Spanish as he’d taken her arms in his hands and walked her backwards until she’d hit the bookshelves with a soft thunk.
And then he’d kissed her.
But it had been more like a beautifully brutal awakening than a kiss. She’d gone on fire in seconds, and discovered that she was capable of sudden voracious desires and needs.
His kiss had drugged her, taking her deep into herself and a world of new and amazing sensations. The feel of his rough tongue stroking hers had been so intimate and wicked, and yet more addictive than anything she’d ever known. She’d understood it in that moment—what the power of a drug might be.
Then his big hands had touched her waist, belly, breasts, cupping their full weight. They’d been a little rough, unsteady, and she hadn’t expected that of someone who was always so cool. In control.
The thought that she might be doing this to him had been unbelievable.
He’d pulled open her robe so that he could pull down her vest top and take her nipple into his mouth, making Trinity moan and writhe like a wanton under his hands. She remembered panting, opening her legs, sighing with ecstasy when he’d found the naked moist heat of her body and touched her there, rubbing back and forth, exploring with his fingers, making her gasp and twist higher and higher in an inexorable climb as he’d spoken low Spanish words into her ear until she’d broken apart, into a million shards of pleasure so intense that she’d felt emotion leak out of her eyes.
And that was when a cold breeze had skated over her skin. Some foreboding. Cruz had pulled back, but he’d still had one hand between her legs and the other on her bared breast. He’d been breathing as harshly as her, and they’d looked at each other for a long moment.
He’d blinked, as if waking from the sensual spell that had come over them, and at the same time he’d taken his hands off her and said, ‘What the hell...?’
He’d stepped away from her so fast she’d lurched forward and had to steady herself, acutely aware of her clothes in disarray. She’d pulled her robe around herself with shaking hands.
Cruz had wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and Trinity had wanted to disappear—to curl up in a ball and hide away from the dawning realisation and horror on his face.
‘I’m sorry... I—’ Her voice had felt scratchy. She hadn’t even been sure why she was apologising.
He’d cut her off. ‘No. This was my fault. It should never have happened.’
He’d turned icy and distant so quickly that if her body hadn’t still been throbbing with the after-effects of her first orgasm she might have doubted it had even happened—that he’d lost his control for a brief moment and shown her the fire burning under that cool surface.
‘It was an unforgivable breach of trust.’
Miserable, Trinity had said, ‘It was my fault too.’
He’d said nothing, and then, slightly accusingly, ‘Do you usually walk around the house dressed like that?’
Trinity had gone cold again. ‘What exactly are you saying?’
Cruz had dragged his gaze back up. His cheeks had been flushed, hair a little mussed. She’d never seen anyone sexier or more undone and not happy about it.
‘Nothing,’ he’d bitten out. ‘Just...get out of here and forget this ever happened. It was completely inappropriate. I never mix business with pleasure, and I’m not about to start.’ He’d looked away from her, a muscle pulsing in his jaw.
Right then Trinity had never felt so cheap in her life. He obviously couldn’t bear to look at her a moment longer. She’d felt herself closing inwards, aghast that she’d let herself fall into a dream of feeling special so easily. She should have known better. Cruz De Carrillo took beautiful, sophisticated and intelligent women to his bed. He didn’t have sordid fumbles with staff in his library.
The divide between them had yawned open like a huge dark chasm. Her naivety had slapped her across the face.
Without saying another word, she’d fled from the room.
Trinity forcibly pushed the memory back down deep, where it belonged. Her stop came into view and she got up and waited for the bus to come to a halt.
As she walked back to the huge and ostentatious house by Regent’s Park she spied Mrs Jordan in the distance with the double buggy.
Her heart lifted and she half ran, half walked to meet them. The boys jumped up and down in their seats with arms outstretched when they spotted her. She hugged each of them close, revelling in their unique babyish smell, which was already changing as they grew more quickly than she knew how to keep up with them.
Something fierce gripped her inside as she held them tight. She was the only mother they’d ever really known, and she would not abandon them for anything.
When she stood up, Mrs Jordan looked at her with concern. ‘Are you all right, dear? You look very pale.’
Trinity forced a brittle smile. She couldn’t really answer—because what could she say? That Cruz was going to come the next day and turn their world upside down? That lovely Mrs Jordan might be out of a job? That Trinity would be consigned to a scrap heap somewhere?
The boys would be upset and bewildered, facing a whole new world...
A sob made its way up her throat, but she forced it down and said the only thing she could. ‘We need to talk.’
* * *
The following day, at midday on the dot, the doorbell rang. Trinity looked nervously at Mrs Jordan, who was as pale as she had been yesterday. They each held a twin in their arms, and Matty and Sancho were unusually quiet, as if sensing the tension in the air. Trinity had hated worrying the older woman, but it wouldn’t have been fair not to warn her about what Cruz had said...
Mrs Jordan went to open the door, and even though Trinity had steeled herself she still wasn’t prepared to see Cruz’s broad, tall frame filling the doorway, a sleek black chauffeur-driven car just visible in the background. He wore a three-piece suit and an overcoat against the English spring chill. He looked vital and intimidating and gorgeous.
He stepped inside and the boys curled into Trinity and Mrs Jordan. They were always shy around their uncle, whom Matty called ‘the big man’.
‘Mr De Carrillo, how nice to see you,’ Mrs Jordan said, ever the diplomat.
Cruz looked away from Trinity to the older woman. There was only the slightest softening on his face. ‘You too, Mrs Jordan.’
They exchanged pleasantries, and Mrs Jordan asked if he wanted tea or coffee before bustling off to the kitchen with Sancho. Trinity noticed that he’d looked at his nephews warily.
Then he looked at her with narrowed eyes. ‘I presume we can talk alone?’
She wanted to say no, and run with the boys and Mrs Jordan somewhere safe. But she couldn’t.
She nodded jerkily and said, ‘Just let me get the boys set up for lunch and then I’ll be with you.’
Cruz just inclined his head slightly, but he said sotto voce, as she passed him to follow Mrs Jordan to the kitchen, ‘Don’t make me wait, Trinity.’
Once they were out of earshot, Matty said in an awestruck voice. ‘Tha’s the big man!’
Trinity replied as butterflies jumped around her belly. ‘Yes, sweetie. He’s your uncle, remember...?’
‘Unk-el...’ Matty repeated carefully, as if testing out the word.
Trinity delayed as much as she dared, making sure the boys were strapped securely into their high chairs, but then she had to leave.
Mrs Jordan handed her a tray containing the tea and coffee, and looked at her expressively. ‘I’m sure he’ll do what’s right for the boys and you, dear. Don’t worry.’
Trinity felt shame curl through her as she walked to the drawing room with the tray. She’d been too cowardly to tell Mrs Jordan the truth of Cruz’s opinion of her. The woman believed that he only wanted custody of his nephews because he was their last remaining blood relative.
Stopping at the door for a second, she took a breath and wondered if she should have worn something smarter than jeans and a plain long-sleeved jumper. But it was too late. She balanced the tray on her raised knee, then opened the door and went in. Her heart thumped as she saw Cruz, with his overcoat off, standing at the main window that looked out over the opulent gardens at the back of the house.
She avoided looking at him and went over to where a low table sat between two couches. She put the tray down and glanced up. ‘Coffee, wasn’t it?’
Cruz came and sat down on the couch opposite hers. ‘Yes.’
No please. No niceties.
Trinity was very aware of how the fabric of his trousers pulled taut over his powerful thighs. She handed over the coffee in a cup, grateful that this time her hands were fairly steady. She sipped at her own tea, as if that might fortify her, and wished it was something slightly stronger.
After a strained moment Trinity knew she couldn’t avoid him for ever. She looked at him and blurted out, ‘Why are you doing this now? If you’re so sure I’m...what you say I am...why didn’t you just step in after Rio’s death?’
Cruz took a lazy sip of his coffee and put the cup down, for all the world as if this was a cordial visit. He looked at her. ‘I, unlike you, grieved my brother’s death—’
‘That’s not fair,’ Trinity breathed.
Okay, so Rio had made her angry—especially at the end—and theirs hadn’t been a real marriage, but she had felt a certain kinship with him. They hadn’t been so different, as he’d told her—both abandoned by their parents. But then he’d betrayed her trust and her loyalty.
Cruz continued as if she’d said nothing. ‘Once the state of Rio’s finances became apparent, there was a lot of fire-fighting to be done. Deals he’d been involved in had to be tied up. I had to search for his mother to let her know what had happened—’
‘Did you find her?’ Trinity’s heart squeezed as she thought of the impossible dream she never let herself indulge in: that some day she’d find her mother.
Cruz shook his head. ‘No—and yes. She died some years ago, of a drug overdose.’
‘Oh,’ she said, feeling sad.
‘I knew when the reading of the will would be taking place, and I wanted to see your face when you realised that there was nothing for you. And I’d been keeping an eye on you, so I knew what you were up to and how my nephews were.’
Trinity gasped. ‘You had us followed?’
Cruz shrugged minutely. ‘I couldn’t be sure you wouldn’t try to disappear. And you’re the very public widow of a man most people still believe was a millionaire, with two small vulnerable children in your care. It was for your protection as much as my surveillance.’
Before she could fully absorb that, he went on, with palpable impatience.
‘Look, I really don’t have time for small talk, Trinity. Tell me how much you want so that I can get on with making the necessary arrangements to have my custody of my nephews legalised.’
His words were like a red rag to a bull—having it confirmed that he’d just been biding his time. That she’d never really registered on his radar as anyone worth giving the benefit of the doubt to.
She put her cup down with a clatter on the tray and glared at him. ‘How dare you? Do you really think it’s that simple? They are not pawns, Cruz. They are two small human beings who depend on structure and routine, who have lost both their parents at a very vulnerable age. Mrs Jordan and I are the most consistent people in their lives and you want to rip them away from that?’
She stood up then, too agitated to keep sitting down. Cruz stood too, and Trinity immediately felt intimidated.
He bit out, ‘I want to take them away from a malignant influence. You. Are you seriously telling me you’re prepared to go up against me? You know what’ll happen if you do. You’ll lose.’
‘No!’ Trinity cried passionately. ‘The twins will lose. Do you know they’ve only just stopped asking for their papa every night? Because that’s usually when he came to see them, to say goodnight. Their world has been turned upside down and you want to do it again. Who will be their primary carer? Don’t tell me it’s going to be you.’ Trinity would never normally be so blunt or so cruel, but she felt desperate. ‘Have you noticed how they look at you? They’re intimidated by you. They hardly know who you are.’
Clearly unaccustomed to having anyone speak to him like this, Cruz flashed his eyes in disapproval. ‘If anyone has been these boys’ primary carer, I’d wager it’s been Mrs Jordan. There’s no reason why she can’t remain as their nanny. But you have no claim on these boys beyond the legal guardianship you seduced out of Rio in a bid to protect your own future.’
Trinity’s hands balled into fists. Her nails cut into her palms but she barely noticed. She wondered how she’d ever felt remotely tender about this man. ‘That is not true. I love these boys as if they were my own.’
Cruz let out a curt laugh. ‘I know that’s not true.’
His smile faded, and his face became sterner than she’d ever seen it.
‘And do you know why? Because Rio and I both learned that the people who are meant to love you the most don’t. There’s no such thing as an unbreakable bond.’
The fire left Trinity’s belly. She felt shaky after the rush of adrenalin. Rio had told her about the way he’d been treated like an unwelcome guest in his own father’s home. How his mother had abandoned him. It had played on all her sympathies. Now she wondered about Cruz’s experience, and hated herself for this evidence that he still got to her.
‘Not all parents were like yours or Rio’s.’
Cruz arched a brow. ‘And you know this from personal experience, when you grew up in a series of foster homes? Your experience wasn’t too far removed from ours, was it, Trinity? So tell me how you know something I don’t.’
Trinity went very still. ‘How do you know that?’
He watched her assessingly. ‘I run background checks on all my staff.’ His lip curled. ‘To think I actually felt some admiration for you—abandoned by your parents, brought up in care, but clearly ambitious and determined to make something of yourself. I seriously underestimated how little you were actually prepared to work to that end.’
The unfairness of his assessment winded her when she thought of the back-breaking work she’d done, first as a chambermaid in a hotel, then as a maid in his house, before becoming nanny to two demanding babies. And then Rio’s wife.
Feeling seriously vulnerable upon finding out that Cruz had known about her past all this time and had mentioned it so casually, she said, ‘My experience has nothing to do with this.’
Liar, said a voice. It did, but not in the way Cruz believed.
‘I love Matty and Sancho and I will do anything to protect them.’
Cruz was like an immovable force. ‘You have some nerve to mention love. Are you seriously trying to tell me you loved Rio?’
Feeling desperate, she said, ‘I told you—it wasn’t like that.’
He glared at her. ‘No, it wasn’t. At least you’re being honest about that.’
Trinity shivered under his look. His anger was palpable now. She said then, ‘I did care for him.’
Before Cruz could respond to that there was a commotion outside, and Mrs Jordan appeared in the doorway with a wailing Sancho, who was leaning out of her arms towards Trinity, saying pitifully, ‘Mummy...’
Everything suddenly forgotten, she rushed forward and took him into her arms, rubbing his back and soothing him.
Mrs Jordan said apologetically, ‘Matty hit him over the head with his plastic cup. It’s nothing serious, but he’s fractious after not sleeping well again last night.’
Trinity nodded and Mrs Jordan left to go back to Matty. She was walking up and down, soothing a now hiccupping Sancho, when she realised Cruz was staring at her with an angry look on his face.
He said almost accusingly, ‘What’s wrong with him?’
Suddenly Trinity was incredibly weary. ‘Nothing much. He had a bug and he hasn’t been sleeping, so he’s in bad form. Matty just wound him up.’ When Cruz didn’t look appeased she said, ‘Really, it’s nothing.’ She felt exposed under Cruz’s judgemental look. ‘Let me settle him down for a nap. That’s all he needs.’
* * *
Cruz watched Trinity walk out of the room with Sancho in her arms, his nephew’s small, chubby ones wrapped tight around her neck, his flushed face buried in her neck as if it was a habitual reflex for seeking comfort. He had stopped crying almost as soon as he’d gone into her arms.
Cruz had felt a totally uncharacteristic sense of helplessness seeing his nephew like that. It reminded him uncomfortably of his own childhood, hearing Rio cry but being unable to do anything to help him—either because Rio would glare at him with simmering resentment or his father would hold him back with a cruel hand.
Sancho’s cries hadn’t fazed Trinity, though. In fact she’d looked remarkably capable.
Feeling angry all over again, and this time for a reason he couldn’t really pinpoint, Cruz turned back to the window. He ran a hand through his hair and then loosened his tie, feeling constricted. And he felt even more constricted in another area of his anatomy when he recalled how his gaze had immediately dropped to take in the provocative swell of Trinity’s bottom as she’d walked away, her long legs encased in those faded jeans that clung like a second skin.
Damn her.
Witnessing this little incident was forcing Cruz to stop and think about what he was doing here. It was obvious that not only had Trinity seduced Rio for her own ends, she’d also ensured that the boys would depend on her...in case of this very scenario?
Cruz thought of pursuing his plans to take Trinity to court to fight her for custody, but he’d already seen what a good actress she was. If someone were to come to the house and see her interacting with his nephews they wouldn’t be able to help being swayed by her apparent love and concern. As he had just been.
And did he really want to court a PR frenzy by pitting himself against the grieving widow of his brother? He knew she wasn’t grieving—she wasn’t even pretending. But no one else would see that. They’d only see him, a ruthless billionaire, protecting his family fortune.
It had taken him since his father’s death to change the perception his father had left behind of a failing and archaic bank, blighted by his father’s numerous high-profile affairs. Did he really want to jeopardise all that hard work?
Something hardened inside him as he had to acknowledge how neatly Trinity had protected herself. She was potentially even worse than he’d thought—using his nephews like this, manipulating them to need her.
She’d lived a quiet life since Rio’s death—she’d only moved between the house, the local shops and the nearby park. No shopping on Bond Street or high-profile social events.
When she’d been with Rio, Cruz had seen countless pictures of them at parties and premieres, so she had to be approaching the end of her boredom threshold.
He thought again of her assertion that she loved the boys... He couldn’t countenance for a second that she loved these children who weren’t even her own flesh and blood.
A memory of his own mother came back with startling clarity—he’d been a young teenager and he’d confronted her one day, incensed on her behalf that his father had been photographed in the papers with his latest mistress.
She’d just looked at him and said witheringly, ‘The only mistake he made, Cruz, was getting caught. This is how our world works.’ She’d laughed then—nastily. ‘Dios mio, please tell me you’re not so naive as to believe we married because we actually had feelings for one another?’
He’d looked at his mother in shock. No, he’d never laboured under the misapprehension that any such thing as affection existed between his parents, but he’d realised in that moment that some tiny part of him that hadn’t been obliterated after years of only the most perfunctory parenting had still harboured a kernel of hope that something meaningful existed... Shame had engulfed him for being so naive.
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