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Claimed For The De Carrillo Twins
ABBY GREEN


She’d just whispered one word, ‘Please.’Cruz De Carrillo cannot forget the searing kiss he shared with his shy maid, Trinity Adams. For the moment the Spanish billionaire walked away, horrified at losing his legendary control, Trinity quickly moved on – to become nanny, guardian and step-mother to his brother’s sons!Now Cruz must protect his orphaned nephews. When Trinity refuses to leave them, he knows there is one solution – a ring on her finger! It’s the only way Cruz can keep her in his castillo, under his watchful eye, and finish what he started – this time in his bed!







She’d just whispered one word. “Please.”

Cruz De Carrillo cannot forget the searing kiss he shared with his shy maid, Trinity Adams. For the moment the Spanish billionaire walked away, horrified at losing his legendary control, Trinity quickly moved on—to become nanny, guardian and stepmother to his brother’s sons!

Now Cruz must protect his orphaned nephews. When Trinity refuses to leave them, he knows there is one solution—a ring on her finger! It’s the only way Cruz can keep her in his castillo, under his watchful eye, and finish what he started—this time in his bed!


Cruz only had a second of seeing Trinity’s eyes widen with shock before his mouth crashed down onto hers.

For a long moment nothing existed except this pure, spiking shard of lust—so strong that he had no option but to move his mouth and haul her even closer, until he could feel every luscious curve pressed against him.

And it was only in that moment, when their mouths were fused and he could feel her heart clamouring against his chest, that he could finally recognise the truth: he’d been aching for this moment since the night he’d kissed her for the first time.


Wedlocked! (#uac26a3de-0806-5935-aa85-5d681109255b)

Conveniently wedded, passionately bedded!

Whether there’s a debt to be paid, a will to be obeyed or a business to be saved…

She’s got no choice but to say, ‘I do!’

But these billionaire bridegrooms have got another think coming if they think marriage will be that easy…

Soon their convenient brides become the object of an inconvenient desire!

Find out what happens after the vows in

The Billionaire’s Defiant Acquisition

by Sharon Kendrick

One Night to Wedding Vows

by Kim Lawrence

Wedded, Bedded, Betrayed

by Michelle Smart

Expecting a Royal Scandal

by Caitlin Crews

Trapped by Vialli’s Vows

by Chantelle Shaw

A Diamond for Del Rio’s Housekeeper

by Susan Stephens

Baby of His Revenge

by Jennie Lucas

Bound by His Desert Diamond

by Andie Brock

Bride by Royal Decree

by Caitlin Crews

Look out for more Wedlocked! stories coming soon!


Claimed for the De Carrillo Twins

Abby Green






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Irish author Abby Green threw in a very glamorous career in film and TV—which really consisted of a lot of standing in the rain outside actors’ trailers—to pursue her love of romance. After she’d bombarded Mills & Boon with manuscripts they kindly accepted one, and an author was born. She lives in Dublin, Ireland, and loves any excuse for distraction. Visit abby-green.com (http://abby-green.com/) or e-mail abbygreenauthor@gmail.com (mailto:abbygreenauthor@gmail.com).

Books by Abby Green

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

Awakened by Her Desert Captor

Forgiven but Not Forgotten?

Exquisite Revenge

One Night With The Enemy

The Legend of De Marco

The Call of the Desert

The Sultan’s Choice

Secrets of the Oasis

In Christofides’ Keeping

Brides for Billionaires

Married for the Tycoon’s Empire

One Night With Consequences

An Heir Fit for a King

An Heir to Make a Marriage

Billionaire Brothers

Fonseca’s Fury

The Bride Fonseca Needs

Blood Brothers

When Falcone’s World Stops Turning

When Christakos Meets His Match

When Da Silva Breaks the Rules

Visit the Author Profile page at

millsandboon.co.uk (http://millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.


I’d like to thank Heidi Rice, Sharon Kendrick and Iona Grey for all their cheerleading, Kate Meader, who provided counsel over cocktails in the Shelbourne, and Annie West, who always provides serene and insightful advice. And of course my editor, Sheila, who has proved beyond doubt that she believes me capable of anything, apart from perhaps AWAVMOT!

Thank you all!


Contents

Cover (#u78c06d21-0251-5af7-8c4a-fa816e2f1d6d)

Back Cover Text (#u82d3fc0d-cc53-5741-9f7e-2827a26a945d)

Introduction (#ud0849cdf-864e-5a6b-b806-cb5235ee8ee6)

Wedlocked (#ue414c560-1862-50e2-a64f-295ec0b495ce)

Title Page (#ua758cc30-8dec-5b1a-8009-cd16423e44b1)

About the Author (#u82026a4c-cb8c-5367-8975-eb674248bc97)

Dedication (#u86816847-3c17-553d-b269-9b478f2b957a)

PROLOGUE (#u2997e8c3-9ef2-5aff-aff3-2d30606a2528)

CHAPTER ONE (#u0b1ba781-dd62-5918-946f-0a2bdf890a8e)

CHAPTER TWO (#u01f128d7-95e2-50a6-9b18-19aa178f326a)

CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


PROLOGUE (#uac26a3de-0806-5935-aa85-5d681109255b)

CRUZ DE CARRILLO SURVEYED the thronged reception room in his London home, filled with a veritable who’s who of London’s most powerful players and beautiful people, all there to celebrate his return to Europe.

He felt no sense of accomplishment, though, to be riding high on the crest of his stratospheric success in North America, having tripled his eponymous bank’s fortunes in less than a year, because he knew his zealous focus on work had more to do with avoiding this than the burning ambition he’d harboured for years to turn his family bank’s fortune and reputation around.

And it killed him to admit it.

This was standing just feet away from him now—tall and slender, yet with generous curves. Pale skin. Too much pale skin. Exposed in a dress that left far too little to the imagination. Cruz’s mouth compressed with distaste even as his blood ran hot, mocking him for the desire which time hadn’t diminished—much to his intense irritation. It was unwelcome and completely inappropriate. Now more than ever. She was his sister-in-law.

Her blonde hair was up in a sleek chignon and a chain of glittering gold trailed tantalisingly down her naked back, bared in a daring royal blue backless dress. She turned slightly in Cruz’s direction and he had to tense every muscle to stave off the surge of fresh desire when he saw the provocative curves of her high full breasts, barely disguised by the thin draped satin.

She looked almost vulnerable, set apart from the crowd slightly, but he knew that was just a mirage.

He cursed her. And he cursed himself. If he hadn’t been so weak he wouldn’t know how incendiary it felt to have those curves pressed against his body. He wouldn’t remember the way her eyes had turned a stormy dark blue as he’d plundered the sweetness she’d offered up to him that fateful night almost eighteen months ago, in this very house, when she’d worked for him as a housemaid.

He wouldn’t still hear her soft, breathy moans in his dreams, forcing him awake, sweating, with his hand wrapped around himself and every part of him straining for release...aching to know the intimate clasp of her body, milking him into sweet oblivion.

Sweet. That was just it. There was nothing sweet about this woman. He might have thought so at one time—she’d used to blush if he so much as glanced at her—but it had all been an elaborate artifice. Because his younger half-brother, Rio, had told him the truth about what she really was, and she was no innocent.

Her seduction of Cruz had obviously been far more calculated than he’d believed, and when that hadn’t worked she’d diverted her sights onto Rio, his illegitimate half-brother, with whom Cruz had a complicated relationship—to put it mildly.

A chasm had been forged between the brothers when they were children—when Cruz had been afforded every privilege as the legitimate heir to the De Carrillo fortune, and Rio, who had been born to a housemaid of the family castillo, had been afforded nothing. Not even the De Carrillo name.

But Cruz had never felt that Rio should be punished for their charismatic and far too handsome father’s inability to control his base appetites. So he had done everything in his power after their father had died some ten years previously to make amends—going against their father’s will, which had left Rio nothing, by becoming his guardian, giving him his rightful paternalistic name and paying for him to complete his education.

Then, when he had come of age, Cruz had given him a fair share of his inheritance and a job—first in the De Carrillo bank in Madrid, and now in London, much to the conservative board’s displeasure.

At the age of twenty-one Rio had become one of Europe’s newest millionaires, the centre of feverish media attention with his dark good looks and mysterious past. And he had lapped it up, displaying an appetite for the kind of playboy lifestyle Cruz had never indulged in, quickly marrying one of the world’s top supermodels in a lavish wedding that had gone on for days—only for it to end in tragedy nearly a year later, when she’d died in an accident shortly after giving birth to twin boys.

And yet, much as Rio’s full-throttle existence had unnerved Cruz, could he begrudge him that after being denied his heritage?

Cruz’s conscience pricked. By giving Rio his due inheritance and his rightful name perhaps he’d made his brother a target for gold-diggers? Rio’s first wife had certainly revelled in her husband’s luxurious lifestyle, and it would appear as if nothing had changed with his second wife.

As if sensing his intense regard, his sister-in-law turned now and saw him. Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. Cruz’s anger spiked. She could still turn it on. Even now. When he knew her real capabilities.

She faced him in that provocative dress and her luscious body filled his vision and made his blood thrum with need. He hated her for it. She moved towards him almost hesitantly, the slippery satin material moving sinuously around her long legs.

He called on every atom of control he had and schooled his body not to respond to her proximity even as her tantalising scent tickled his nostrils, threatening to weaken him all over again. It was all at once innocent, yet seductive. As if he needed reminding that she presented one face to the world while hiding another, far more mercenary one.

‘Trinity.’ His voice sounded unbearably curt to his ears, and he tried to ignore the striking light blue eyes. To ignore how lush her mouth was, adding a distinctly sensual edge to her pale blonde innocence.

An innocence that was skin-deep.

‘Cruz...it’s nice to see you again.’

Her voice was husky, reminding him vividly of how it had sounded in his ear that night. ‘Please...’

His dry tone disguised his banked rage. ‘You’ve come up in the world since we last met.’

She swallowed, the long, delicate column of her pale throat moving. ‘Wh-what do you mean?’

Cruz’s jaw tightened at the faux innocence. ‘I’m talking about your rapid ascent from the position of nanny to wife and stepmother to my nephews.’

That brought back the unwelcome reminder that he’d only been informed about the low-key wedding in a text from Rio.

I have you to thank for sending this beautiful woman into my life. I hope you’ll be very happy for us, brother.

The news had precipitated shock, and something much darker into Cruz’s gut. And yet he hadn’t had any reason at that point not to believe it was a good idea—in spite of his own previous experience with Trinity, which he’d blamed himself for. Rio had been a widower, and he and Trinity had obviously forged a bond based on caring for his nephews. Cruz had believed that she was a million light years away from Rio’s glamorous hedonistic first wife. Then.

The fact that he’d had dreams for weeks afterwards, of being held back and forced to watch a faceless blonde woman making love to countless men, was something that made him burn inwardly with shame even now.

Trinity looked pale. Hesitant. ‘I was looking for you, actually. Could we have a private word?’

Cruz crushed the unwelcome memory and arched a brow. ‘A private word?’

He flicked a glance at the crowd behind her and then looked back to her, wondering what the hell she was up to. Surely she wouldn’t have the gall to try and seduce him under the same roof she had before, with her husband just feet away?

‘We’re private enough here. No one is listening.’

She flushed and then glanced behind her and back, clearly reluctant. ‘Perhaps this isn’t the best time or place...’

So he’d been right. Disgust settled in his belly. ‘Spit it out, Trinity. Unless it’s not talking you’re interested in.’

She blanched, and that delicate flush disappeared. Once her ability to display emotions had intrigued him. Now it incensed him.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know very well what I mean. You tried to seduce me in this very house, and when it didn’t work you transferred your attentions to my brother. He obviously proved to be more susceptible to your wiles.’

She shook her head and frowned, a visibly trembling hand coming up to her chest as if to contain shock, disbelief. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about...’

Disgust filled Cruz that she could stand here and so blatantly lie while her enormous rock of an engagement ring glinted at him mockingly. All he could see was her and her treachery. But he had to crush the recriminations that rose up inside him—it was too late for them now.

Rio had revealed to Cruz on his return to the UK a few days before that he was on the verge of bankruptcy—his huge inheritance all but wiped out. And Trinity De Carrillo’s name was all over nearly every receipt and docket that had led his brother further and further into the mire. The extent of how badly Cruz had misread her was galling.

An insidious thought occurred to him and it made his blood boil. ‘Your innocent act is past its sell-by date. I might not have realised what you were up to—more fool me—but I know now. Rio has told me how you’ve single-handedly run through almost every cent he has to his name in a bid to satisfy your greedy nature. Now you’re realising his fortune isn’t a bottomless pit, perhaps you’re looking for a way out, or even a new benefactor?’

Before she could respond he continued in a low, bitter voice.

‘I underestimated your capacity to play the long game, Trinity. You lulled Rio into a false sense of trust by manipulating his biggest vulnerability—his sons. I’m very well aware of how my actions pushed you in the direction of my brother, and that is not something I will ever forgive myself for. Needless to say if he requires financial help he will receive it, but your days of bankrupting him are over. If you’re hoping to bargain your way out of this predicament then think again. You’ll get no sympathy from me.’

Trinity was so white now Cruz fancied he could see the blood vessels under her skin. A part of him wished she would break out of character and get angry with him for confronting her with who she really was.

Her hand dropped back to her side and she shook her head. ‘You have it all wrong.’

‘That’s the best you can come up with?’ he sneered. ‘I have it all wrong? If I “have it all wrong” then, please, tell me what you want to discuss.’

Cruz could see the pulse at the base of her neck beating hectically. His own pulse-rate doubled.

‘I wanted to talk to you about Rio...about his behaviour. It’s been growing more and more erratic... I’m worried about the boys.’

Cruz let out a short, incredulous laugh. ‘Worried about the boys? You’re really trying to play the concerned stepmother card in a bid to deflect attention from the fact that you’re more concerned about your lavish lifestyle coming to an end?’

Bitterness filled Cruz. He knew better than most how the biological bond of a parent and child didn’t guarantee love and security. Far from it.

‘You’re not even related to them—you’ve just used them as pawns to manipulate your way into my brother’s bed and get a ring on your finger.’

Trinity took a step back, her eyes wide with feigned shock. He had to hand it to her. She was a good actress.

Almost as if she was talking to herself now, she said, ‘I should have known he’d protect himself somehow...of course you’d believe him over me.’

A sliver of unease pierced Cruz’s anger but he pushed it aside. ‘I’ve known Rio all of his twenty-five years. I think it’s safe to say I’d trust my own flesh and blood over a conniving gold-digger any day of the week.’

Heated colour came back into Trinity’s cheeks. She looked at him, big blue eyes beseeching him with commendable authenticity.

‘I’m not a gold-digger. You don’t understand. Everything you’re saying is all wrong—my marriage with Rio is not what you—’

‘There you are, darling. I’ve been looking for you. Charlotte Lacey wants to talk to you about next week’s charity function.’

Cruz blanched. He hadn’t even noticed Rio joining them. He’d been consumed with the woman in front of him, whose arm was now being taken firmly in her husband’s hand. Rio’s dark brown eyes met Cruz’s over Trinity’s head. They were hard. Trinity had gone even paler, if that was possible.

‘If you don’t mind, brother, I need to steal my wife away.’

Cruz could see it in Rio’s eyes then—a familiar resentment. And shame and anger. Futility choked him. There was nothing he could do. He knew Rio would already be despising the fact that he’d allowed Cruz to see him brought so low at this woman’s greedy hands.

He watched as they walked back into the crowd, and it wasn’t long before they left for the evening—without saying goodbye. Rio might have shown Cruz a chink of vulnerability by revealing his financial problems, but if anything that only demonstrated how much Trinity had got to him—because he’d never before allowed his brother to see a moment’s weakness. Cruz’s sense that his determination to see Rio treated fairly had been futile rose up again—he had never truly bridged the gap between them.

Cruz stood at the window in his drawing room and watched his brother handing Trinity into the passenger seat of a dark Jeep in the forecourt outside the house, before he got into the driver’s seat himself.

He felt grim. All he could do now was be there to pick up the pieces of Rio’s financial meltdown and do his best to ensure that Rio got a chance to start again—and that his wife didn’t get her grasping hands on another cent.

At the last second, as if hearing his thoughts, Trinity turned her head to look at Cruz through the ground-floor window. For a fleeting moment their eyes met, and he could have sworn he saw hers shimmer with moisture, even from this distance.

He told himself they had to be tears of anger now that she knew she’d been found out. She was trapped in a situation of her own making. It should have filled Cruz with a sense of satisfaction, but instead all he felt was a heavy weight in his chest.

Rio’s Jeep took off with a spurt of gravel.

Cruz didn’t realise it then, but it would be the last time he saw his brother alive.


CHAPTER ONE (#uac26a3de-0806-5935-aa85-5d681109255b)

Three months later. Solicitor’s office.

TRINITY’S HEART STOPPED and her mouth dried. ‘Mr De Carrillo is joining us?’

The solicitor glanced at her distractedly, looking for a paper on his overcrowded desktop. ‘Yes—he is the executor of his brother’s will, and we are in his building,’ he pointed out redundantly.

She’d been acutely aware that she was in the impressive De Carrillo building in London’s bustling financial zone, but it hadn’t actually occurred to her that Cruz himself would be here.

To her shame, her first instinct was to check her appearance—which of course she couldn’t do, but she was glad of the choice of clothing she’d made: dark loose trousers and a grey silk shirt. She’d tied her long hair back in a braid, as much out of habit when dealing with small energetic boys than for any other reason. She hadn’t put on any make-up and regretted that now, fearing she must look about eighteen.

Just then there was a light knock on the door and it opened. She heard Mr Drew’s assistant saying in a suspiciously breathless and awestruck voice, ‘Mr De Carrillo, sir.’

The solicitor stood up, immediately obsequious, greeting Cruz De Carrillo effusively and leading him to a seat beside Trinity’s on the other side of his desk.

Every nerve came to immediate and tingling life. The tiny hairs on her arms stood up, quivering. She lamented her uncontrollable reaction—would she ever not react to him?

She sensed him come to stand near her, tall and effortlessly intimidating. Childishly, she wanted to avoid looking at him. His scent was a tantalising mix of musk and something earthy and masculine. It was his scent now that sent her hurtling back to that cataclysmic evening in his house three months ago, when she’d realised just how badly Rio had betrayed her.

The shock of knowing that Rio obviously hadn’t told him the truth about their marriage was still palpable, even now. And the fact that Cruz had so readily believed the worst of her hurt far worse than it should.

It had hurt almost as much as when he’d looked at her with dawning horror and self-disgust after kissing her to within an inch of her life. It was an experience still seared onto her brain, so deeply embedded inside her that she sometimes woke from X-rated dreams, tangled amongst her sheets and sweating. Almost two years later it was beyond humiliating.

Trinity dragged her mind away from that disturbing labyrinth of memories. She had more important things to deal with now. Because three months ago, while she and Rio had been driving home from Cruz’s house, they’d been involved in a car crash and Rio had tragically died.

Since that day she’d become lone step-parent to Mateo and Sancho, Rio’s two-and-a-half-year-old twins. Miraculously, she’d escaped from the accident with only cuts and bruises and a badly sprained ankle. She had no memory of the actual accident—only recalled waking in the hospital feeling battered all over and learning of her husband’s death from a grim and ashen-faced Cruz.

Gathering her composure, she stood up to face him, steeling herself against his effect. Which was useless. As soon as she looked at him it was like a blow to her solar plexus.

She’d seen him since the night of the accident—at the funeral, of course, and then when he’d called at the house for brief perfunctory visits to check that she and his nephews had everything they needed. He hadn’t engaged with her beyond that. Her skin prickled now with foreboding. She had a sense that he’d merely been biding his time.

She forced herself to say, as calmly as she could, ‘Cruz.’

‘Trinity.’

His voice reverberated deep inside her, even as he oozed his habitual icy control.

The solicitor had gone back around his desk and said now, ‘Espresso, wasn’t it, Mr De Carrillo?’

Trinity blinked and looked to see the older gentleman holding out a small cup and saucer. Instinctively, because she was closer and because it was good manners, she reached for it to hand it to Cruz, only belatedly realising that her hand was trembling.

She prayed he wouldn’t notice the tremor as she held out the delicate china to him. His hand was masculine and square. Strong. Long fingers...short, functional nails. At that moment she had a flash of remembering how his hand had felt between her legs, stroking her intimately...

Just before he took the cup and saucer there was a tiny clatter of porcelain on porcelain, evidence of her frayed nerves. Damn.

When he had the cup she sat down again quickly, before she made a complete fool of herself, and took a quick fortifying sip of her own cup of tea. He sat down too, and she was aware of his powerful body taking up a lot of space.

While Mr. Drew engaged Cruz De Carrillo in light conversation, before they started discussing the terms of Rio’s will, Trinity risked another glance at the man just a couple of feet to her left.

Short dark blond hair gave more than a hint of his supremely controlled nature. Controlled except for that momentary lapse...an undoubtedly rare moment of heated insanity with someone he’d seen as far beneath him.

Trinity crushed the spike of emotion. She couldn’t afford it.

Despite the urbane uniform of a three-piece suit, his impressive build was apparent. Muscles pushed at the fabric in a way that said he couldn’t be contained, no matter how civilised he might look.

His face was a stunning portrait of masculine beauty, all hard lines and an aquiline profile that spoke of a pure and powerful bloodline. He had deep-set eyes and a mouth that on anyone else would have looked ridiculously sensual. Right now though, it looked stern. Disapproving.

Trinity realised that she was staring at him, and when he turned to look at her she went puce. She quickly turned back to the solicitor, who had stopped talking and was now looking from her to Cruz nervously, as if he could sense the tension in the room.

He cleared his throat. ‘As you’re both here now, I see no reason not to start.’

‘If you would be so kind.’

Trinity shivered at the barely veiled impatience in Cruz’s voice. She could recall only too well how this man had reduced grown men and women to quivering wrecks with just a disdainful look from those glittering dark amber eyes.

The half-brothers hadn’t been very alike—where Rio had been dark, with obsidian eyes and dark hair, Cruz possessed a cold, tawny beauty that had always made Trinity think of dark ice over simmering heat. She shivered...she’d felt that heat.

‘Mrs De Carrillo...?’

Trinity blinked and flushed at being caught out again. The solicitor’s impatient expression came into focus. He was holding out a sheaf of papers and she reached for them.

‘I’m sorry.’ It still felt weird to be called Mrs De Carrillo—it wasn’t as if she’d ever really been Rio’s wife.

She quickly read the heading: Last will and testament of Rio De Carrillo. Her heart squeezed as she thought of the fact that Mateo and Sancho had now lost both their parents, too prematurely.

As bitter as her experience had been with Rio in the end, after Trinity had been sickened to realise just how manipulative he’d been, and how naive she’d been, she’d never in a million years have wished him gone.

She’d felt a level of grief that had surprised her, considering the fact that their marriage had been in name only—for the convenience of having a steady mother figure for the boys and because Rio had wanted to promote a more settled image to further his own ambitions.

Trinity had agreed to the union for those and myriad other reasons—the most compelling of which had to do with her bond with the twins, which had been forged almost as soon as she’d seen them. Two one-year-old cherubs, with dark hair, dark mischievous eyes and heart-stopping smiles.

Her heart had gone out to them because they were motherless, as she had been since she was a baby, and they’d latched on to her with a ferocity that she hadn’t been able to resist, even though she’d known it would be more professional to try and keep some distance.

She’d also agreed because Rio’s sad personal story—he had been all but abandoned by his own parents—had again chimed with echoes of her own. And because he’d agreed to help her fulfil her deepest ambitions—to go to university and get a degree, thereby putting her in a position to forge her own future, free of the stain of her ignominious past.

Rio hadn’t revealed the full extent of his ambitions until shortly before the accident—and that was when she’d realised why he’d taken such perverse pleasure in marrying her. It had had far more to do with his long-held simmering resentment towards his older half-brother than any real desire to forge a sense of security for his sons, or to shake off his playboy moniker...

The solicitor was speaking. ‘As you’ll see, it’s a relatively short document. There’s really no need to read through it all now. Suffice to say that Mr De Carrillo bequeathed everything to his sons, Mateo and Sancho, and he named you their legal guardian, Trinity.’

She looked up. She’d known that Rio had named her guardian. Any concerns she’d had at the time, contemplating such a huge responsibility had been eclipsed by the overwhelmingly protective instinct she’d felt for the twins. And in all honesty the prospect of one day becoming their guardian hadn’t felt remotely possible.

She realised that she hadn’t really considered what this meant for her own future now. It was something she’d been good at blocking out in the last three months, after the shock of the accident and Rio’s death, not to mention getting over her own injuries and caring for two highly precocious and energetic boys. It was as if she was afraid to let the enormity of it all sink in.

The solicitor looked at Cruz for a moment, and then he looked back to Trinity with something distinctly uncomfortable in his expression. She tensed.

‘I’m not sure how aware you are of the state of Mr De Carrillo’s finances when he died?’

Trinity immediately felt the scrutiny of the man to her left, as if his gaze was boring into her. His accusatory words came back to her: ‘You’ve single-handedly run through almost every cent my brother has to his name in a bid to satisfy your greedy nature. Now you’re realising Rio’s fortune isn’t a bottomless pit...’

She felt breathless, as if a vice was squeezing her chest. Until the evening of Cruz’s party she hadn’t been aware of any such financial difficulty. She’d only been aware that Rio was growing more and more irrational and erratic. When she’d confronted him about his behaviour, they’d had a huge argument, in which the truth of exactly why he’d married her had been made very apparent. Along with his real agenda.

That was why Trinity had wanted to talk to Cruz—to share her concerns. However, he’d comprehensively shut that down.

She said carefully now, ‘I was aware that things weren’t...good. But I didn’t know that it was linked to his financial situation.’

Mr. Drew looked grim. ‘Well, it most probably was. The truth is that Rio was bankrupt. In these last three months the sheer extent and scale of his financial collapse has become evident, and it’s comprehensive. I’m afraid that all he left behind him are debts. There is nothing to bequeath to his children. Or you.’

Trinity hadn’t married Rio for his money, so this news didn’t have any great impact on her. What did impact her, though, was the realisation that Cruz must have been putting money into the account that she used for day-to-day necessities for her and the boys and Mrs Jordan—the nanny Rio had hired once Trinity had married him, when her job had changed and she’d been expected to accompany him to social functions. Something she’d never felt comfortable doing...

The solicitor said, ‘I’m sorry to deliver this news, Mrs De Carrillo, but even the house will have to be sold to cover his debts.’

Before she could absorb that, Cruz was standing up and saying, in a coolly authoritative tone, ‘If you could leave us now, Mr. Drew, I’ll go over the rest with my sister-in-law.’

The solicitor clearly had no issue with being summarily dismissed from his own office. He gathered some papers and left, shutting the door softly behind him.

Trinity’s mind was reeling, as she tried to take everything in, and revolving with a sickening sense of growing panic as to how she was going to manage caring for the boys when she didn’t have a job. How could she afford to keep Mrs Jordan on?

Cruz walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the large desk, showcasing an impressive view of London’s skyline.

For a long moment he said nothing, and she could only look helplessly at his broad shoulders and back. Then he turned around and a sense of déjà-vu nearly knocked her off her chair. It was so reminiscent of when she’d first met him—when she’d gone to his house in Holland Park for an interview, applying for the position of maid in his household.

She’d never met such an intimidating man in her life. Nor such a blatantly masculine man. Based on his reputation as one of the world’s wealthiest bankers, she had assumed him to be older, somewhat soft... But he’d been young. And gorgeous. His tall, powerful body had looked as if it was hewn from pure granite and steel. His eyes had been disconcertingly unreadable...

‘Miss Adams...did you hear my question?’

She was back in time, caught in the glare of those mesmerising eyes, his brows drawn into a frown of impatience. His Spanish accent had been barely noticeable, just the slightest intriguing inflection. She’d felt light-headed, even though she was sitting down.

‘I’m sorry...what?’

Those eyes had flashed with irritation. ‘I asked how old you are?’

She’d swallowed. ‘I’m twenty-two. Since last week.’

Then she’d felt silly for mentioning that detail—as if one of the richest men in the world cared when her birthday was! Not that she even knew when her birthday was for sure...

But she’d survived four rounds of intense interviews to be there to meet the man himself—evidence of how he oversaw every tiny detail of his life—so Trinity had gathered her fraying wits, drawn her shoulders back and reminded herself that she had hopes and dreams, and that if she got this job she’d be well on her way to achieving a life for herself...

‘I have to hand it to you—you’re as good an actress as you were three months ago when you first feigned ignorance of Rio’s financial situation. But you must have known what was coming down the tracks. After all, you helped divest my brother of a small fortune.’

The past and present meshed for a moment, and then Trinity realised what Cruz had just said.

She clasped her hands tight together on her lap. ‘But I didn’t know.’

‘Did the accident affect your memory, Trinity?’ His voice held more than a note of disdain. ‘Do you not recall that illuminating conversation we had before you left my house on that fateful night?’

She flushed, remembering it all too well. ‘I don’t have any memory of the accident, but, yes, I do recall what you said to me. You’re referring to your accusation that I was responsible for Rio’s financial problems.’

Cruz’s mouth compressed. ‘I think ruin would be a more accurate word.’

Trinity stood up, too agitated to stay seated. ‘You’re wrong. It’s true that Rio spent money on me, yes, but it was for the purposes of—’

Cruz held up a hand, a distinct sneer on his face now. ‘Spare me the details. I looked into Rio’s accounts after he died. I know all about the personal stylist, the VIP seats to every fashion show, the haute couture dresses, private jet travel, the best hotels in the world... The list is endless. I curse the day that I hired you to work for me—because, believe me, I blame myself as much as you for ruining my brother.’

At that damning pronouncement Trinity felt something deep inside her shrivel up to protect itself. She had not been prepared for Cruz’s vitriolic attack.

But then, this was the man who had wiped her taste off his mouth and looked at her with disgust when he’d realised that he’d lowered himself to the level of kissing his own maid.

Trinity bitterly recalled the intimate dinner party he’d hosted the following evening—when the gaping chasm between them had been all too apparent.

Cruz had welcomed a tall and stunningly beautiful brunette, kissing her warmly on both cheeks. As the woman had passed her fur coat to Trinity, not even glancing in her direction, Trinity had caught an expressive look from Cruz that had spoken volumes—telling her to forget what had happened. Telling her that this woman was the kind of woman he consorted with, and whatever had happened between them must be consigned to some sordid memory box, never to be taken out and examined again.

That was when she’d been unable to hold her emotions in, utterly ashamed that she’d let her crush grow to such gargantuan proportions that she’d let him actually hurt her. And that was when Rio, Cruz’s half-brother, who had also been a guest that night, had found her outside, in a hidden corner of the garden, weeping pathetically.

He’d come outside to smoke and had sat down beside her, telling her to relax when she’d tried to rush back inside, mortified. And somehow...she still wasn’t sure how...he’d managed to get her to open up, to reveal what had happened. She hadn’t told him of her burgeoning feelings for Cruz, but she probably hadn’t had to. It must have been emblazoned all over her tearstained face.

‘Tell me what your price is for signing away your guardianship of my nephews?’

Trinity blinked and the painful memory faded.

As she focused on his words she went cold all over. ‘What did you just say?’

Cruz snapped his fingers, displeasure oozing from his tall, hard body. ‘You heard me—how much will it take, Trinity, for you to get out of my nephews’ lives, because I don’t doubt you have a price.’

Horror curdled her insides at the thought of being removed from Mateo and Sancho. Only that morning Sancho had thrown his arms around her and said, ‘I love you, Mummy...’

She shook her head now, something much hotter replacing the horror. ‘There is no price you could pay me to leave the boys.’

‘I am their blood relation.’

‘You’ve only met them a handful of times!’

Cruz snorted. ‘Are you trying to tell me that you could care for them more than their own flesh and blood? You’ve just been using them as a meal ticket. And now that Rio’s left nothing behind they’re your only hope of keeping your nest feathered—presumably by extorting money out of me.’

Trinity gasped. ‘I would never—’

Cruz lifted a hand. ‘Spare me.’

Trinity’s mouth closed as she struggled to process this. All her protective hackles were raised high now, at the suggestion that she would use her stepchildren for her own ends. She would never leave them at the mercy of a cold-hearted billionaire who didn’t even really know them, in spite of that flesh and blood relationship.

Impulsively she asked, ‘What qualifications could you possibly have for taking on two toddlers? Have you ever even held a baby? Changed a nappy?’

Cruz’s jaw clenched. ‘I do not need qualifications. I’m their uncle. I will hire the best possible staff to attend to their every need.’

His gaze narrowed on her so intently she fought against squirming under it.

‘What possible qualifications could you have? When you came to work for me you’d left school after your A-levels with not much work experience.’

His remark went right to the heart of her and stung—badly. It stung because of the way she’d longed to impress this man at one time, and had yearned to catch his attention. It stung because of the very private dreams she’d harboured to further her education. And it stung because in all the foster homes where she’d lived through her formative years she’d instinctively found herself mothering any younger foster children, as if drawn to create what she didn’t have: a family.

She pushed down the hurt at Cruz’s sneering disdain now, cursing her naivety, and lifted her chin. ‘I’ve been caring for them since they were a year old. No one is qualified to be a parent until they become one. From the moment I married Rio I became their step-parent, and I would never turn my back on them.’

‘Very noble indeed. But forgive me if I don’t believe you. Now, we can continue to go around in these tiresome circles, or you can just tell me how much it’ll take.’

He gestured to the table and she looked down to see a chequebook.

‘I will write a cheque for whatever you want, Trinity, so let’s stop playing games. You’ve done it. Your impressive act of caring for children that aren’t your own is over. You can get on with your life.’

The sheer ease with which Cruz revealed his astounding cynicism angered Trinity as much as it shocked her.

She balled her hands into fists by her sides. ‘I am not playing games. And those boys are as much mine as if I’d given birth to them myself.’ It hit her then—the enormity of the love she felt for them. She’d always known she loved them, but right now she’d lay her life down for them.

The thought of Cruz taking the boys and washing his hands of them the way Rio had done—abdicating all responsibility to some faceless nanny—made her feel desperate. She had to try and make him believe her.

She took a deep breath. ‘Please listen to me, Cruz. The marriage wasn’t what you think... The truth is that it was a marriage of convenience. The twins were primarily the reason I agreed to it. I wanted to protect them.’

Trinity could feel her heart thumping. Tension snapped between them.

Then, showing not a hint of expression, Cruz said, ‘Oh, I can imagine that it was very convenient. For you. And I have no doubt that my nephews were front and centre of your machinations. I know my brother was no saint—believe me, I’m under no illusions about that. But, based on his first choice of wife, it stretches the bounds of my credulity that he would turn around and marry a mere nanny, for convenience’s sake. He was a passionate man, Trinity. You are a beautiful woman. I can only imagine that you used every trick in the book to take it beyond an affair between boss and employee. After all, I have personal experience of your methods. But, believe me, the only “convenience” I see here is the way you so conveniently seduced your way into his bed and then into a registry office, making sure you’d be set for life.’

Trinity ignored Cruz’s ‘you’re a beautiful woman’ because it hadn’t sounded remotely complimentary. She longed to reveal that no such affair had taken place, but she felt suddenly vulnerable under that blistering gaze, all her anger draining away to be replaced with the humiliation she’d felt after that ‘personal experience’ he’d spoken of.

She found the words to inform him that Rio hadn’t been remotely interested in her lodging in her throat. The reality was that one brother had rejected her and another had used her for his own ends. And the fact that she was letting this get to her now was even more galling. She should be thinking of Mateo and Sancho, not her own deep insecurities.

She stood tall against the biggest threat she’d ever faced. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I am their legal guardian.’

Cruz folded his arms. ‘I won’t hesitate to take you to court to fight for their custody if I have to. Do you really want that to happen? Who do you think the courts will favour? Their flesh-and-blood uncle, who has nothing but their best interests at heart and the means to set them up for life, or their opportunistic stepmother who systematically spent her way through her husband’s wealth? Needless to say if you force this route then you will receive nothing.’

Trinity felt her blood rush south so quickly that she swayed on her feet, but she sucked in a quick breath to regain her composure before he could see it. ‘You can’t threaten me like this,’ she said, as firmly as she could. ‘I’m their legal guardian, as per Rio’s wishes.’

Cruz bit out, ‘I told you before—I’m not interested in playing games.’

‘Neither am I!’ Trinity almost wailed. ‘But I’m not letting you bully me into handing over custody of Matty and Sancho.’

Cruz looked disgusted. ‘Matty? What on earth is that?’

Trinity put her hands on her hips. ‘It’s what Sancho has called him ever since he started talking.’

Cruz waved a hand dismissively. ‘It’s a ridiculous name for an heir to the De Carrillo fortune.’

Trinity went still. ‘What do you mean, heir? Surely any children you have will be the heirs...’

* * *

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 (#uac26a3de-0806-5935-aa85-5d681109255b)

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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