Page 83 of Modern Romance Collection March 2025 (1-4)

‘You need to relax,’ he chided. ‘The girls are fine.’

Easy for him to say. She’d never had a meal without them being in the room with her before. Not a proper meal. Snatched slices of toast or bowls of cereal wolfed down in the rare moments both girls were asleep at the same time didn’t count.

She’d never shared a meal alone with Diaz before either, and it was tying her in knots to know her inability to relax had little to do with the girls’ being upstairs, fast asleep under the supervision of the on-shift nannies.

Her inability to relax was entirely down to Diaz, who’d been coolly polishing off his courses and drinking his wine as if they’d dined alone together a hundred times.

His impeccable politeness wasn’t helping either. If anything, it was increasing her tension. The more amiable Diaz was towards her, the louder the alarm in her head rang about his motivations for bringing her here.

The best analogy she could come up with to explain how she was feeling was as someone being played by a kid-glove-wearing puppet master…

Andthat’swhat felt so wrong, she realised with a start. In all the years she’d known him, Diaz had never hidden his feelings towards her, and she’d taken the full spectrum of them. Hate. Desire. Fury. Passion…

Whatever he was feeling and whatever was going on in his head, the man who never masked his emotions was hiding behind a smooth façade that rang so false she could scream.

She could scream, too, at how desperately aware she was of him wrapping his fingers around his wine glass, and she stabbed her fork into a roasted baby tomato and said the first thing that came into her head. ‘Why four nannies?’

He answered as if he’d been waiting all evening for that very question. ‘Two each working in shift patterns.’

‘I get that but I don’t get why it’s necessary.’

‘It gives you options if you want them. At some point when you are less exhausted, you will want to reclaim part of your life for yourself, even if it is just a trip to the shopping boulevard.’

‘If I want to go shopping, I’ll take them with me.’

‘This gives you the option to leave them behind if you wish. And as we are discussing shopping, I was thinking we should go out tomorrow and buy you some clothes.’

And have to travel in a car with him? It was bad enough sharing a meal in this magnificent dining room with staff discreetly bustling around them, and trying to stop her needy stare from falling onto him for longer than a second, never mind being stuck in a confined space with him. ‘No, thank you. I’ll find some stuff online. Give me your address and I’ll get it delivered.’

‘Forward your choices to me and I’ll arrange it all—and I’m paying,’ he added firmly.

A wave of tiredness washed through her and she shrugged, covering a yawn. If he wanted to pay, then fine. It was his fault she didn’t have enough clothes with her. ‘How long are we staying here for?’

‘We’ve only just arrived and already you are looking to go back?’

‘I just want to know how many T-shirts and stuff I should have delivered.’

‘My parents are planning a visit at the weekend so I would suggest adding a cocktail dress to your list—as I’m sure you remember, they are great enthusiasts for dining formally.’

Her gaze finally landed on his. ‘Your parents are coming?’

Green eyes holding hers, he raised his glass of white wine and gave an ironic smile. ‘They are keen to meet their grandchildren.’

‘Still?’

A glimmer of amusement passed between them, both remembering how his parents’ eagerness to meet the twins had been booked to coincide with London Fashion Week, only for them to bypass travelling to Devon due to an ‘invitation they couldn’t refuse’, a Hollywood hell-raising movie legend’s eightieth birthday party. Their busy schedule meant it had been ‘impossible’ for them to fly over and meet their grandchildren since. They had, however, got their lawyers to set up incredibly generous trust funds for the girls.

At least the glamorous Martinezes were true to form, Rose thought with a pang, remembering how sad she used to feel for Rosaria that she spent such little time with her parents. Sad for Diaz too, when she’d had enough weeks away from his loathing for her own loathing to have become diluted, and as their gazes held, a stray fragment of memory floated into her senses before she could snatch hold of it and squash it into oblivion, a memory so vivid she could feel the caress of his lips against her mouth as if he were kissing her now.

The beats of her heart accelerated and, suddenly terrified he could see the memory reflecting in her eyes, she dropped her stare back to her half-full plate and shoved her knife and fork together on it.

‘Excuse me but I’m shattered,’ she mumbled, pushing her chair back. ‘Please give my apologies to the chef.’

He gave an easy shrug but the heat of his stare intensified. ‘No apology needed. Your appetite will return when you are no longer sleep deprived. If you find yourself hungry at any time, put a call to the kitchen. They will make whatever you like.’

Clutching the baby monitor, she had to stop her feet from running out of the dining room door.

She felt his eyes follow her every step.

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