The Balfour Legacy

MIA’S SCANDAL – Michelle Reid KAT’S PRIDE – Sharon Kendrick EMILY’S INNOCENCE – India Grey SOPHIE’S SEDUCTION – Kim Lawrence ZOE’S LESSON – Kate Hewitt ANNIE’S SECRET – Carole Mortimer BELLA’S DISGRACE – Sarah Morgan OLIVIA’S AWAKENING – Margaret Way

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Right Sisters, Right Scandalously Seductive Stories

Scandal on the night of the world-famous one hundredth Balfour Charity Ball has left the Balfour family in disarray! Proud patriarch Oscar Balfour knows that something must be done. His only option is to cut his daughters off from their lavish lifestyles and send them out into the real world to stand on their own two feet. So he dusts off the Balfour family rules and uses his powerful contacts to place each girl in a situation that will challenge her particular personality. He is determined that each of his daughters should learn that money will not buy happiness—integrity, decorum, strength, trust…and love are everything!

Each month Mills & Boon is delighted to bring you an exciting new instalment from The Balfour Legacy.

You won’t want to miss out!

Mia’s Scandal

Michelle Reid grew up on the southern edges of Manchester, the youngest in a family of five lively children. Now she lives in the beautiful county of Cheshire, with her busy executive husband and two grown-up daughters. She loves reading, the ballet and playing tennis when she gets the chance. She hates cooking, cleaning and despises ironing! Sleep she can do without and produces some of her best written work during the early hours of the morning.

For Imelda, my wonderful mother, who is currently enjoying her ninety-ninth year.

Thanks, Mum, for gifting me with my love of reading and encouraging me to dare to write.

Prologue

MIA stood poised between two great stone gateposts on top of which stood a matching pair of fierce golden griffins perched as if ready to swoop.

A fine shiver ran down her taut backbone. She had to drag her eyes away from their watchful presence in case they glared her into losing her nerve. Part eagle, part lion, she recognised the two fearsome creatures from the Balfour family crest she’d seen emblazoned on the Balfour website along with the family motto Validus, Superbus quod Fidelis…

Powerful, Proud and Loyal…

‘Dio,’ she breathed in a soft shaken whisper, so intimidated by the sheer opulent grandeur of the stately entrance that the butterflies already playing havoc in her stomach went wild.

Behind her, the sound of the taxicab that had brought her here from the airport was slowly fading into the distance, leaving her alone in the weak February sunlight filtering down through the bare branches of the overhanging trees.

It felt strange to think that only one short week ago she had been living her life with her aunt in rural Tuscany, completely unaware that there was a rich and glamorous English family called Balfour, never mind that she could be connected to the glorious name.

She would still be unaware of it if that coldly distant person who was supposed to be her mother had not ignored her pleas to let her come and visit her, making Tia Giulia decide it was time to reveal a dark secret she had been keeping to herself for twenty long years.

Now here she stood on the very brink of meeting Oscar Balfour. Proud head of the house of Balfour. Powerful businessman and billionaire. Husband to three very different wives and father to seven—seven—beautiful daughters.

Eight daughters, Mia adjusted, and it made her tummy flip over.

Would a man who had already been blessed with seven daughters want another one?

It was the question she had come all this way to ask him. She needed to face Oscar Balfour and take his reaction to her existence square on her vulnerable chin. If he refused to acknowledge her, then what had she lost but a little bit more of her heart? The cold rejection of her mother had clawed out another huge chunk of it, so his rejection could not be any more hurtful, could it?

And anyway, there was that chance that he might be prepared to welcome her.

Biting down on her full soft trembling lip, Mia reached down to grasp the handle of her suitcase, then straightened. Setting her narrow shoulders inside her soft woven jacket she tipped the case onto its wheels. Her heart was going pitter-patter, she noticed, feeling a tightening across her chest that made it almost impossible for her to breathe. As she stepped out and placed her weight on her leading foot, tiny pinpricks of tension tingled up her leg to her spine. For a second she felt slightly dizzy. For a second she had to close her eyes.

When she opened them again she found she was staring down a long stretch of driveway lined either side by an avenue of old trees. She could not see the house from here because of a dip in the land ahead, but she knew it was out there defending its privacy in its own secluded valley, because it had said so on the Balfour website.

Now all she had to do was walk between those two lines of trees towards it, she told herself, aware as she made herself start walking that her insides were truly quailing with dread at what she was doing, and yet also aware of a quivering, tumbling sense of excitement that danced like fire in her blood.

Nikos Theakis was not a man who suffered emotional excesses. In fact, he prided himself on his cold, calm businesslike approach to most facets of his life. But as he drove away from his breakfast meeting with Oscar that morning, there was nothing calm or businesslike about what he was taking away with him.

He was in shock. The whole Balfour family was in shock, the only one of them seemingly managing to cope being Lillian Balfour herself.

A soft curse broke free from his throat as the pale frail image of Oscar’s beautiful wife swam up in front of him, smiling bravely as she’d bid him a painfully final farewell.

Emotion swooped down through his body, sending his foot down hard on the accelerator as if the angry burst of speed would take the alien feeling away. The powerful car leapt forward, up and out of the valley, taking him beneath the canopy of tangling bare branches that lined his route away from the Balfour estate.

But he wasn’t concentrating. Nikos knew that even as he saw her standing there, directly in his way. For a few chilling seconds he was so sure he was seeing some ghostly apparition dressed all in black that he forgot to slam his foot on the brakes.

He had never experienced anything like it. In those few stark, stunning split seconds it took him to connect with his wits, his shocked gaze had absorbed every long luscious inch of her, from her glossy black hair framing an exquisite heart-shaped face to the lush shape of her body enclosed inside a fitted jacket and a skirt that followed every long sinuous line of her curving hips, long slender thighs and shapely calves. And she was wearing boots, he noticed for some crazy reason. Little black leather ankle boots with heels like lethal spikes.

Then reality hit like a stinging shot of electricity to his wits and biting out a string of thick curses he slammed his foot down hard on the brakes.

Mia stood frozen as the low silver monster hurtled towards her, filling the air with a tire-burning, ear-piercing screech as the long silver bonnet came closer and closer until finally it slithered to a grit-spitting halt two tiny centimetres from her shins.

The engine hissed; the silver bonnet shuddered—silence returned like a numbing blow to the head. Pushing back into his seat, Nikos stared out at her with his heart pounding like a hammer and his fingers still clamped to the wheel. He had not believed he was going to stop in time. He wasn’t even sure that he had. He continued to sit in a state of near-total shutdown, waiting for her to give him a clue by making some kind of movement—by stepping back to show he hadn’t hit her or to drop down to the ground in a smashed heap!

Theos, she’s beautiful, his stupefied brain fed to him, then compounded the observation by feeding a rush of hot blood down his front. It gathered in his loins like a neat shot of testosterone. Reacting to it with an explosive force of anger he thrust open the car door and threw himself out.

‘What the hell do you think you are playing at!’ he raked out in full blistering fury. ‘Do you have a death wish or something? Why the hell didn’t you move out of my way—?’

It took every bit of Mia’s numbed strength just to breathe in and out. Her eyelashes finally gave a flutter of life and she managed to raise her eyes up from the car to focus on him instead. It came as a second shock to find she was staring at the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life.

And he was striding towards her like a gladiator going to war. Only this gladiator had a black overcoat hanging from his impressive wide shoulders and wore a frighteningly elegant steelgrey three-piece suit beneath. His shirt was white, his tie a silky slither of smoke down his front.

Reaching the corner of the car he stopped to rake a downward glance at how close he had come to her fragile legs. Fire lit his eyes just before he reached out, clamped his hands around her waist and bodily plucked her off the ground. He was so intent on what he was doing he didn’t seem to hear her sharp gasp of shock, or the heavy thud as her suitcase dropped from her taut fingers and hit the ground. The next thing Mia knew she was up close and staring directly into a pair of deep dark polished-mahogany eyes beneath startlingly straight thick eyebrows as black as the hair on his head.

‘You stupid fool,’ he roughed out, skin the same rich gold tones as ripening olives stripped so pale it accentuated his strong jaw set as hard as a clenched fist. ‘Say something, for God’s sake. Are you all right?’

Like a plastic doll jerked by hidden strings, Mia gave a shaky nod of her head. ‘You—you almost killed me,’ she whispered.

‘I avoided trying to kill you,’ he corrected. ‘You should be thanking me for my fast reactions and skill.’

‘You think it is skilful to drive like a lunatic, signor?’

‘You think it is clever to stand stockstill in the middle of a private driveway while a car hurtles towards you, signorina?’ he shot right back.

As if only just realising he had hold of her, he muttered something, then twisted around before dumping her back on solid ground away from the lethal bumper of his car. The sheer unexpectedness of the whole shocking incident jolted Mia’s paralysed reflexes into action by forcing her to make a grab at his arms to steady herself when she almost toppled off the high heels of her boots. He braced his arms. Mia stared down at the amount of solid muscle and mighty male strength her fingers were clutching at and snatched them away again.

Feeling her legs go strangely hollow she turned away from him, saw her suitcase lying like a battered victim on the ground a few feet away from them and went to straighten it up.

Pushing his hands into the pockets in his overcoat, Nikos watched her stoop to catch hold of the handle in her trembling fingers and could not stop his eyes from surveying the attractive shape of her derrière moulded to the fabric of her skirt.

Nice, he thought, then frowned darkly as another rush of heat shot down his front. Spinning away, Nikos took a frowning glance at his wristwatch. He was late, he saw. He had a plane to catch. He had just come away from one of the worst situations he had ever had to deal with, and he was standing around here admiring the rear view of the woman he’d almost just flattened into the ground with his car!

A sound of self-disgust escaped him. ‘Try walking down the side of the drive from here,’ he said loftily, then strode back the length of his car. ‘And just for the record,’ he added as he opened the door. ‘If you’re the new housekeeper they’re all anxiously awaiting at the house, I think I should warn you you’ve gone over the top with the get-up.’

Straightening up from dusting off her suitcase, Mia blinked. Housekeeper…Get-up…Over the top…? She needed time to translate what he’d said so it would make some sense to her.

Then it did make sense. He thought she had come here to Balfour Manor dressed like this to take up the position of housekeeper.

Hurt gathered like a tight ball in her stomach. In all her life she had never felt hit so hard or so low. With the chilling cast of wounded dignity freezing her composure, she turned and walked herself and her suitcase around the bonnet of his fancy over-the-top supercar without bothering to offer him a single glance.

Housekeeper…Mia pushed out a strained bitter laugh. She’d learnt to speak English while housekeeping for an ancient English professor who’d owned a villa not far from her home. He had paid her to keep his house clean and cook for him, and he had let her use his library and his computer so long as she typed up the pages of his endlessly long and boring tome. The English language course had been thrown in free of charge. Then she would walk the two kilometres back home and work on her school studies before spending the evening assisting Tia Giulia with the sewing she took in to help subsidise the meagre income Tia made growing cut flowers to sell in the nearest market town.

She usually wore sensible flat shoes and faded old jeans or one of the couple of dresses she had for the hot Tuscan summers. For the first time in her life she was wearing something new, not handmade out of a cheap bit of fabric she’d bought from a market stall. And that horrid man in his elegant silver car and his elegant silver suit and his elegant grooming which put him right at home here on the Balfour estate shattered her hard-worked-for self-confidence with just a few words.

Nikos narrowed his eyes as he watched her walk off down the driveway—hogging the middle of it like a defiance aimed exclusively at him. His lips gave a wry twitch. Instead of getting in his car and driving off, he stood and watched her for a few more seconds, drawn to do so by the graceful movement of her long curving figure, and her spark of spirit and the lingering echo of her throaty accent—Italian by the fire in it, he mused.

And young, he tagged on.

As in too young to be anyone’s housekeeper?

The first seeds of doubt began to scratch at his conscience. Had he got it wrong and just insulted one of Oscar’s daughter’s friends?

Then it hit him what he was doing, and his frown came back as he climbed into his car and drove off down the drive. Whoever she was, he hoped she knew what she was walking into at Balfour Manor or she was in for one hell of a shock when she arrived.

Mia was already in shock because she’d just caught her first glimpse of Balfour Manor.

Nothing she’d read or seen on the Internet had prepared her for the sheer beauty of what she was looking at. Nestling in its own shallow valley, the stone-built house was at least ten times bigger than she had envisioned it to be, with row upon row of long casement windows glinting in the pale sunlight.

Trepidation began to fizz through the fine layers of her skin as she followed the driveway down into the valley and around the side of a pretty lake sheened like frosted glass. The closer she came to the house, the more intimidated she felt by it. It was huge. A grand stately home with tall palladium columns supporting a circular-shaped entrance, which dwarfed her courage along with her height as she walked between them and set her suitcase aside by a wall by the door.

Well, it was now or never, she told herself, and felt real trepidation clutch at her chest as she stepped in front of the heavy oak door.

Was she really certain she wanted to do this?

No, she wasn’t any longer, but to turn away now, she knew she would regret it for the rest of her life because she would never find the courage to do this a second time.

On that stark piece of counselling, Mia reached out and gripped the old-fashioned bell pull and gave it a wary tug, her fingers lowering to her side again where they curled into her palms as she waited for someone to answer the door.

Nothing in her entire life had ever felt as frightening as this did.

Nothing had ever been as important to her as this.

Tense, trembling, eyes wide and wary as she watched the door start to open, the very last person she expected to see appear in its aperture was Oscar Balfour himself.

Taller and so much more dauntingly striking than she had envisaged him with his snow-white hair and neat goatee beard. When he frowned down he looked so terribly grim and austere she almost turned and ran. If he asked her if she was the new housekeeper she would run—she would, she decided.

But he didn’t say it. He said, ‘Hello, young lady,’ and offered her a smile.

It was a nice smile, a kind smile which reached deep into the blue of his eyes.

Eyes the same colour blue as her own.

Eyes to which Mia clung. ‘Bon…bon giorno, s-signor…’ Too nervous to stop herself from greeting him in Italian, she gulped and switched to stammering English. ‘I don’t know if y-you know about m-me but my name is Mia Bianchi? I have been told that you are my father…’

Chapter One

FOR the first time in three long hard-travelled months, Nikos Theakis strode in through the doors belonging to his London offices and instantly claimed the full attention of every person present in the slick modern granite-and-glass foyer.

Tall and dark, blessed with the kind of lean, hard, powerful body of a peak trained athlete, the air around him positively vibrated with excess energy as he moved, bringing forth a flurry of, ‘Good morning, Nikos,’ that sounded breathless and charged.

That he had the same effect everywhere he went said a lot about the man’s personality. He was sharp, smooth, determined and driven. Working for him was like catching a ride on a rocket ship to the stars. Exciting, breathtaking, teeth-chatteringly scary sometimes because he took major risks others shied right away from. He was committed and focused and famously never, ever wrong.

Today he was frowning, the two straight black bars of his eyebrows drawn together across the bridge of his arrogantly straight nose. The lean golden cut of his classical Greek features locked in concentration on the conversation he was involved in via his mobile telephone. His acknowledgement to the greetings therefore consisted of a series of distracted nods of his glossy dark head as his long stride took him across the foyer and into one of the waiting lifts.

‘In the name of Theos, Oscar,’ he swore softly, ‘What kind of game are you trying to set me up with here?’

‘No game,’ Oscar Balfour insisted. ‘I’ve thought this through carefully, now I am asking you for your support.’

‘Asking?’ Nikos pounced on the word with lethal satire.

‘Unless you’re too big and important now to help out an old friend…’

Stabbing a long finger at the top-floor button, Nikos shrugged back the brilliant white shirt cuff so he could check the time on his wafer-thin multifunction platinum watch, then bit back the desire to curse. He had been back in the country for less than an hour after spending weeks flying around the world like a damn satellite, putting together a rescue package for a crisis-embattled multiconglomerate which did not deserve to go under because its international investors had turned chicken and pulled the plug on their loans. He was tired, hungry and seriously jet-lagged but upstairs in his boardroom awaited a group of anxious people desperate to hear the final results of his toils.

‘Stop trying to pull my strings,’ he flicked out impatiently.

‘I’m flattered that you think I still can,’ Oscar drawled.

‘And stick to the point,’ he added, well aware that Oscar was the ruthless, cunning cut-throat king of manipulation so using that kind of invert flattery on him was wasted. ‘Instead, tell me what in hell’s name you expect me to do with one of your spoiled-to-death daughters?’

‘Not bed her anyway.’

About to stride out of the lift into the hushed luxury of the top-floor corridor, that short cool evenly delivered statement froze Nikos to the spot for a second, the acid-bite affront hoisting up his proud dark head.

‘That was not even remotely funny,’ he denounced with icy cold dignity. ‘I have never rested so much as a suggestive finger on any one of your daughters. It would be—’

‘Disrespectful to me—?’

‘Yes!’ Nikos incised, for no one knew better than Nikos himself how much he owed to Oscar for turning him into the person he was today. Maintaining a respectful distance between himself and Oscar’s beautiful daughters was a simple matter of paying honour to that debt.

‘Thank you,’ Oscar murmured.

‘I don’t want your thanks,’ Nikos dismissed, and started moving again, covering the length of the corridor with the elegant grace of his long restless stride. ‘And neither do I want one of your decorative daughters cluttering up my offices pretending to be a proficient PA just to please you,’ he tagged on. ‘Why this sudden decision to put them to work anyway?’ he asked curiously as he pushed open the door to his own suite of offices.

His secretary, Fiona, glanced up from her computer screen and beamed him a welcome-back smile. Indicating to his mobile, Nikos gave a series of instructions via a long-fingered hand which the experienced Fiona showed she understood with a nod of her curly blonde head, leaving him free to shut himself inside his own office knowing the group of people waiting for him in the boardroom would be informed of his delay.

It was only as he shut the door behind him that he picked up the silence hanging heavy on the phone. It made him frown again because Oscar Balfour possessed a brain which functioned at the speed of light so silences of any nature were unusual enough to cause Nikos a pang of concern.

‘Are you all right, Oscar?’ he questioned cautiously.

The older man released a sigh, ‘Actually, I feel like hell,’ he admitted. ‘I have started to wonder what the past thirty years of my life have been about.’

Picturing this big tough larger-than-life investment tycoon with his snow-white hair and neat goatee beard and the pride of his long aristocratic heritage stamped onto every facet of him—

‘You’re missing Lillian,’ Nikos murmured.

‘Every minute of every hour of every day,’ Oscar confirmed. ‘I go to sleep thinking about her and spend the night dreaming about her, and I wake up in the morning searching for her warm body next to mine in the bed.’

‘I’m—sorry.’ It was a grossly inadequate response to offer, Nikos knew that, for Oscar Balfour was still grieving the recent loss of his wife. ‘It’s been a tough time for all of you…’

‘With one death and two raging scandals following hard on the back of a world financial crisis which threatened to turn us all into beggars?’ Oscar let out a dry laugh. ‘Tough doesn’t cover it.’

Since Lillian Balfour’s swift and untimely death three months ago, the great Balfour name had been rocked by scandal after scandal. From the moment Oscar took it upon himself to announce that he had a twenty-year-old daughter no one previously knew about, anyone with an axe to grind on a Balfour had come creeping out of the woodwork to air any grievance they might have. In short, Nikos mused, for the past few months the Balfours had been featuring in their very own no-holds-barred fly-on-the-wall documentary. It might not have been by consent but it had been scandalously spicy.

‘You survived the crisis pretty well intact,’ Nikos went for a positive note.

‘So I did,’ agreed Oscar. ‘As you did.’

About to walk to his desk, Nikos found himself diverting across the room to go and stand in front of the large framed photograph of his home city he had mounted on the wall. If he narrowed his eyes he could just make out the murky dark spot down in the bottom corner, which represented the slum area of Athens where he’d spent the first twenty years of his life living by his wits from hand to mouth.

A nerve twitched along his hard jaw line, the rich colour of his eyes shadowing with his thoughts. Being street poor was as good an incentive he could come up with for working like a dog to ensure he would never be poor again, he pondered bleakly. And without the good fortune of an accidental meeting with Oscar, he would probably still be down there, living that same hand-to-mouth existence—with the odd spell in prison thrown in for good measure, he tagged on with a stark honesty that made him grimace.

This one man, this brilliant and shrewd, cunning-as-a-wily-fox Englishman had seen something in the arrogant young fool he had been back then, gone with his instincts and given him the chance to pull himself free of that life.

Made suddenly aware of the fine silk expense of his Italian suiting and his handmade shirt and shoes, Nikos turned to walk over to the plate of glass which gave his spacious top-floor office its famous London city views. He owned several other office buildings just like this one in the major capitals, along with the homes to complement his high-status lifestyle. He had the private yacht, the private plane, the personal investment portfolio to rival any out there…

The poor boy done good, Nikos quoted silently from a recent article an Athens newspaper had written about him.

Shame, he thought, about the scars he kept so deeply hidden inside even Oscar knew nothing about them.

‘However, my daughters did not have a clue that there even was a world banking crisis,’ Oscar’s voice arrived in his ear once again. ‘You’re right, Nikos, I’ve spoiled them. I indulged their pampered princess lifestyles to a point of parental abandonment, and now I’m reaping the rewards for my neglect. I intend to put that right.’

‘By cutting them off from your money and sending them out into the big bad world to sink or swim on their own—?’ Despite the gravity in the conversation Nikos released a dry laugh. ‘Trust me, Oscar, that’s overkill.’

‘Are you questioning my judgement?’

Yes, Nikos thought. ‘No,’ he deferred to the deep respect he held for this man, ‘of course not.’

‘Good,’ Oscar said. ‘Because I want you to take Mia under your wing and teach her everything she needs to know to survive as a Balfour.’

‘Mia—?’ Nikos repeated, needing a moment to connect with the unfamiliar name. ‘Is she the—’ He bit his teeth together, but too late.

‘Is Mia—what?’ Oscar demanded.

‘The—new one,’ Nikos described with what he thought was credible diplomacy considering the sensational way she had been outed as a Balfour.

‘You can use the term illegitimate without offending me, Nikos,’ drawled Oscar. ‘Though I cannot be certain that Mia will feel the same way. She’s—different than my other daughters…To put it bluntly,’ Oscar sighed out, ‘Mia just is not coping well as a Balfour. I think living in London and working alongside you will be good for her—teach her some self-confidence and toughen her up.’

‘No way, my friend,’ Nikos refused coolly.

‘You can escort her to a few functions,’ Oscar continued as if Nikos had not spoken. ‘Show her how to play the social scene.’

‘If she isn’t coping within the safety of Balfour Manor, then what you’re suggesting is the same thing as throwing her to the wolves,’ Nikos pointed out. ‘Take my advice and send her to one of the many matronly widows you know in London and let them teach her how to cope as a Balfour. I am a lone wolf, Oscar,’ Nikos stressed. ‘I always work alone and I eat the vulnerable.’

Another short silence sang down the phone line, only this one did not carry the heavy weight of grief like the last one had done. This one carried the stark chilling coldness of Oscar’s sudden change of mood.

‘I thought,’ he said, ‘we had already established that you don’t eat my daughters.’

‘I was not referring to—’

‘Don’t make me remind you that you owe me this, Nikos,’ Oscar interrupted. ‘Now I’m calling in the debt.’

Recognising the outright challenge which effectively pinned him to the floor with lead weights, Nikos tried for a last-ditch appeal. ‘Oscar…’

‘Are you going to refuse to do this favour for me?’ Oscar cut in.

‘No,’ Nikos sighed out in heavy surrender. ‘Of course I’m not refusing you.’

As Oscar had pointed out, he owed him—big time.

‘Good. Then it’s settled.’ Oscar sounded warm again. ‘And I thought that since you don’t like live-in staff invading your private space, she could use the staff apartment attached to your London penthouse.’

Like a cornered animal Nikos thundered out, ‘You mean you want me to babysit her as well as give her a job?’

‘She will be with you tomorrow—be nice.’

Be nice, Nikos mocked as he tossed his mobile phone down on the top of his desk with more violence than the essential piece of equipment deserved, then turned to sink his lean hips onto the desk’s polished edge.

In the act of honouring a moral debt he owed to Oscar, he had just agreed to compromise his own business values. A growl of bubbling frustration vibrated against his chest at the same moment a knock at his door heralded Fiona’s appearance as she stepped into the room.

‘Sorry to disturb you,’ she murmured quickly, seeing the glowering frown pushing his flat black eyebrows together. ‘But one of the Miss Balfours is down in reception asking to see you…She mentioned something about needing a spare set of keys to your apartment—?’

Nikos froze, as for the first time in his adult life he felt the rising tide of a hot blush try to destroy his legendary cool. What Fiona was really saying was that Oscar’s new, shy, not-coping-very-well cuckoo had just strolled into his reception and made an announcement which effectively placed them in an intimate relationship!

She was not even supposed to arrive here until tomorrow. He had not even met her yet! Now the foolish woman had just set this whole damn building alive with hot and spicy speculation about the two of them!

Miss damn Balfour wasn’t just foolish, she was outright dangerous!

Nikos leapt upright. To hell with being nice, he thought furiously as he strode right past the very curious Fiona and back down the corridor. In his experience you were not nice to a dangerous substance. What you did was treat it with cold hard respect while you carefully disposed of it.

Mia was standing by the reception desk already locked tautly into regret for blurting out what she had said in the way she had said it, when she saw the doors to one of the lifts slide open and a tall, dark, screamingly familiar man stride out.

Surprise closed her brain down for a second. She actually trembled on a moment of pure skin-tingling shock. His height, his colouring, his long hard body locked inside a crushingly elegant designer-cut business suit—it was the man who had almost run her over on the driveway of Balfour Manor on the day she had first arrived. Even the way he was coming towards her like a man on the war path screamed shocked recognition at her and filled her with the cowardly urge to start backing off.

‘Oh, Dio,’ she was unable to stop herself from gasping when he came to a stop an arm’s length from her. ‘It’s you.’

His sentiments exactly, Nikos thought grimly. For he was suffering from the same stark shattering shock of recognition he could see written on her face, though he possessed the self-control to keep his shock under wraps. Still, he did not seem able to prevent his eyes from making a thorough sweep of her tumbling-loose glossy-black hair and her simple white T-shirt with a short pale blue skirt. And she was wearing flat shoes, he noticed without wanting to. A pair of soft gold leather pumps which reduced her in height but did nothing to spoil the length of her fabulously long golden legs.

With barely a flicker of a silky black eyelash to say he’d understood what her shaken gasp represented, he questioned, ‘Miss Balfour?’ with clear cool polite formality. ‘Since we have not met before, I am Nikos Theakis. It is a pleasure to meet you at last.’

He offered up a long-fingered hand for Mia to take. Skin-peelingly aware of the listening receptionist and all the other people in the foyer who were standing curiously about, Mia got the cold message his greeting conveyed to her and wanted to curl up and die where she stood. For someone who shied away from being placed in the spotlight, like a bat needed the cover of darkness just to live, she could not believe that she had made such a stupid error as to speak her reason for being here in a public domain like this.

Be brave had been the last words of encouragement her father had offered her just before his car had swept her away, she remembered. But being brave had absolutely nothing to do with what she was feeling right now as she forced her hand to lift up and settle warily against his.

‘Bon—bon giorno,’ she managed to respond while her eyes anxiously tried to convey an apology to him.

If he saw it he did not acknowledge it. If anything his lean hard-boned expression froze up all the more. ‘I was not expecting you here until tomorrow,’ he announced. ‘However, I believe you have a domestic problem we need to sort out?’

‘I…Yes,’ Mia breathed in response.

Trying to ignore the sudden shot of electricity that stung through his palm when their hands touched, Nikos reclaimed his hand and took a quick glance at his watch. ‘I have a meeting to attend,’ he informed her briskly, ‘but if you come with me, my secretary will deal with any problems you have.’

With that he turned and strode back across the foyer, with his thoroughly subdued new charge trailing in his wake. Throughout the whole thing he had not acknowledged the interested throng loitering in his foyer but his razor-sharp instincts were telling him he had successfully killed any juicy speculation as to why Mia Balfour was here.

Grimly pleased with himself for achieving that, at least, it was the only thing he was pleased about as he strode into the lift, then waited for her to join him.

‘I am truly sorry!’ she burst into anxious speech the moment the doors shut them in.

‘You are a damn fool.’ Nikos was not in the least bit impressed with her apology. ‘If you’re going to work with me, Miss Balfour, I suggest you learn the art of discretion quickly or you are not going to last a day.’

‘I just did not think! Oscar told me to—’

‘Let’s leave your father out of this.’ His dark eyes flashed her a look of contempt. ‘When Oscar persuaded me to do this favour for him, I am convinced he would have established your agreement beforehand, which makes you responsible for your own actions, Miss Balfour. So, rule number one…you had better learn fast—don’t ever embarrass me like that again.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Mia breathed for a second time, declining to try and add that it was Oscar who’d sent her here with the instruction to ask at reception for the keys to her new apartment. ‘But a courier is due to arrive at your—m-my new address with my things and I n-need to be able to get in.’

‘Try using a phone next time.’

Mia decided right there and then that she disliked Nikos Theakis.

‘And to make a point, in case you have not yet realised it,’ he continued with bite, ‘you are here under sufferance. I don’t work with fools. You will rise or fall on your own merits and if you don’t pull your weight you’re out. Got that?’

Beginning to feel just a bit annoyed now by his icy form of censure, Mia felt an unexpected urge to snap back at him. She had not deliberately set out to embarrass him after all. Why would she want to?

Tossing her head back, she looked at him standing there tall and erect with his contempt wafting over her in waves. He looked like what he was, a cold hard angry businessman, a thoroughly gorgeous, frighteningly successful arrogant Greek tycoon.

‘And let’s get one more thing straight before we leave this lift,’ he went on. ‘I am not into nepotism. I believe that everyone must work as hard as the next person to earn their place in the world.’ One of the reasons Nikos knew he commanded so much respect from his employees was because he encouraged each one of them to explore their own potential no matter where they stood in the employment ranks. ‘So you will pull your weight around here or you’re out, got that?’ he iced out.

‘You think I am a useless freeloader,’ Mia realised.

‘Is a freeloader one step up from a housekeeper or one step down?’ he threw back quick as a flash.

An angry flush bloomed in her cheeks. ‘The housekeeper assumption was your mistake, not mine.’

‘To which you took offence and flounced off like a fully fledged prima donna,’ he threw back. ‘I find it really curious to discover, three months later, that the day we met you were on your way to throw the whole Balfour family into a flat spin—as if they did not have enough to contend with at the time.’

Her moment of defiance crushed by that reminder, Mia pulled her guilty eyes away from his. He was referring to Oscar’s poor wife, Lillian, Mia realised, and the way her unexpected arrival had caused so much trouble the after-effects were still rippling throughout the whole family today.

‘I did not know that Lillian was ill,’ she murmured defensively.

‘But if I had known what you were up to that morning, I would have stopped you from going anywhere near them. Think about it,’ he advised. ‘If you’d lost the flounce and tried offering up an explanation to me, your arrival at Balfour Manor would not have been so badly timed because I could have stopped it from taking place, and the ensuing rush of shocks and scandals could possibly have been avoided.’

Could it really have been that simple? Mia wondered bleakly. Could a split-second decision made at a highly charged and very tense moment redirect the hand of fate as easily as that?

Ripples on a pond, she likened as the lift doors slid open and Nikos Theakis strode out, leaving her standing there feeling as if he’d just used her to wipe the floor with.

‘I s-suppose you think it would have been better for everyone if you had just run me over.’ She threaded after him.

Nikos paused five strides down the corridor, and turned around on the heels of his shoes. She was standing framed by the open lift doors with her hair flowing free around her shoulders and her beautiful face washed pale.

Young, he heard himself reiterate an observation he’d first made on the Balfour driveway. Guilty, vulnerable, hurt. In his anger he had just dumped full responsibility for the actions of the whole Balfour family upon her tense shoulders. Did he feel good about doing that?

No, he didn’t. His punishment did not fit her crime.

And there was another element of this he had been trying hard not to focus on but he did so now by allowing his eyes to make a sweeping scan of her body and was instantly rewarded by a rush of heat down his front. It was the same rush of heat he’d experienced the first time he had seen her—the same one he’d been suffering every time he’d let his mind take him back to that moment on the Balfour’s drive.

He was attracted to her. He’d been thinking about her on and off ever since. If he had been able to get back to the UK in the past months he would have been travelling down to Balfour Manor to try and find out who she was.

Now he knew.

She was a Balfour, which put her so out of bounds it effectively slammed shut the door to his attraction in his face.

So it went without saying that he did not want her invading his work place. He did not want her anywhere near him at all, threatening to mess up his nice calm business environment with her long lush figure and her soft sensual mouth and the promise of hot passion he could see gleaming behind the hurt blue of her eyes.

He took the cruel option and did not bother to answer her remark but instead turned away and strode on. He was behaving like a cold ruthless bastard and he knew it but it was the only way to protect himself.

He was about to give her one week—two, at most—before his cold hard critical assault on her vulnerable self-confidence sent her running back to Oscar in Buckinghamshire, Nikos told himself as he left Mia Balfour in the care of Fiona and went to chair his delayed meeting.

Chapter Two

TWO long hard stubborn weeks later, Mia stood a good four paces back from the desk and sizzled inside with grim defiant patience while she waited for Nikos to acknowledge her presence.

She was wearing a simple-cut cream linen dress today, cinched in at her waist by a mustard-yellow leather belt, and on her feet she wore a pair of matching shoes. The whole outfit would have cost her full annual salary to buy new but as hand-me-downs went, Mia did not complain.

Would not dream of complaining. She was more horrified by the exorbitant price tags her half-sisters thought nothing of paying for the wear-once-and-discard clothes they crammed into the closets back at Balfour Manor. Hanging from a dress rail in the spare bedroom in her little apartment was a whole range of fabulous hand-me-downs just waiting for her eager fingers to unstitch and rework.

But this particular outfit had been picked off the rail with only one purpose in mind—to challenge Nikos Theakis to find anything objectionable about it.

He could frame a thousand criticisms with one sweeping glance from his cold dark eyes. And yesterday’s objection had been aimed at the short pearl-grey skirt she had worn with a delicious plum-coloured silk georgette blouse. His sweeping glance of disapproval had taken in the length of leg she had on show and glittered with ice at the see-through fabric of the blouse even though she wore a matching camisole underneath it. So today she’d covered up in a dress with a hem that finished primly two inches below her knees. And she’d scraped back her hair into such a tight bun the skin framing her face felt tight, because yesterday he’d also snapped at her when she had to keep pushing the heavy weight of glossy black waves away from her face each time she’d looked down at her work.

And she was absolutely certain that he was deliberately making her wait like this to string out the tension by keeping his chair swung facing the window so all she could see of him was the top of his dark head.

It was all part of the war of attrition he was waging against her, because he hated having her working here as much as she hated having to be here. He was never going to forgive her for walking into a job she had not worked hard to earn, and she was not going to give up and run away from it because, for Oscar’s sake and only Oscar’s sake, she was determined to stick this thing out and learn to be the person her father wanted her to be even if it killed her in the process.

Or she killed Nikos Theakis.

Nikos was wondering if she had a single clue that he could read her thoughts through the back of his head. The trouble with Mia Balfour was that she was too young to have learnt the art of masking her feelings, and too Italian to want to do so if she could.

Murmuring a response to Petros, his Athens-based second in command, Nikos kept his brooding dark gaze fixed on the plate of tinted glass set between him and the view of London beyond, though he did not see the view. His attention was focused on the smoked glass itself, onto which Mia’s image was stamped like a poorly exposed photograph, visible but misted by the daylight filtering in from outside.

There but not there, he likened. He preferred her like that, out of focus and out of reach so he could pretend that whatever else kept on charging up between them wasn’t there either.

His call to Petros concluded, Nikos shut down his mobile phone, took in a deep mental breath, then swung his chair around. An instant surge of testosterone-charged heat took a leap down his front to gather like a flaming knife in his groin.

The provocative witch, he thought, letting his eyes shutter out the telling gleam he felt spark to life in them while, at the same time, taking in every smooth sleek inch. The dress was a classy work of formal modesty, the pulled-back hair an insult to its fabulous long and waving length. Everything, even the length of her skirt, was telling him she’d corrected each criticism he’d aimed at her—spoken or unspoken.

His jaw line flexed. She missed damn well nothing.

Mia read the flexing tension as yet another display of criticism which threatened to crucify her self-confidence as much as it made her blood start to burn. She wished she could adopt the same physical indifference to him that he dealt out to her but she’d tried and she couldn’t. Even though she hated him she could not stop herself from responding—inwardly, at least—to the pure male animal magnetism that poured out of him in such hot sinful waves. He made her feel breathless and snarled up by self-awareness she neither understood, nor could control.

‘So, what have you got there for me?’ he broke the silence, and even the rich deep tones of his voice made her insides quiver as she walked forward to place the file she was holding down on his desk.

‘The information you wanted on Lassiter-Brunel,’ she supplied.

Nikos glanced down at the bulky file, then back to Mia again, his lengthy black eyelashes flickering in surprise. ‘That was quick.’ Reaching forward he slid the file towards him. ‘Did you stay up all night?’

‘You said you wanted it by this morning,’ Mia reminded him.

‘So I did.’ Lowering his gaze again, Nikos experienced a pang of guilt as he scanned through the sheets of information she’d compiled. He had a whole department of experts employed specifically to compile information like this which, he accepted uncomfortably, had made the work she had clearly put in here a complete waste of her time.

Then something unusual caught his attention. Sliding a slip of paper out from the rest he relaxed back in his chair to read.

Recognising what that something was made Mia tense, ready to be told that reading an old press piece she’d unearthed on the Internet describing Anton Brunel’s less-than-nice reputation with the opposite sex was not what he expected to see in a business report.

One of his sleek black eyebrows rose upwards. ‘You think this is appropriate information to include in here?’ he made the predicted enquiry.

‘It says he paid a lot of money to silence a female work colleague he had been—seeing.’ Mia couldn’t quite bring herself to say the descriptive words the article used.

‘It alleges he paid hush money,’ Nikos corrected.

‘Sí.’ Mia nodded to accept the correction. ‘As you can see though, the lady in question filed sexual harassment charges which were then quickly dropped. If you look at the next document, you will find that on checking her out I discovered she had a child eight months later, a boy she named Anthony.’

‘And your point?’

Mia tried not to pull in a deep breath. ‘If a man is willing to abuse his position of power by seducing an employee, then pay her to keep silent about it, he is not reputable.’

‘In your opinion,’ Nikos pointed out.

‘In my opinion,’ Mia allowed.

‘And if the—affair had been a mutual and amicable agreement, would that alter your opinion?’ her interrogator enquired.

‘He is married with children—’

‘That was not my question.’

Mia shifted restively. ‘The article says—’

‘Alleges…’

‘Alleges,’ she echoed with the barest hint of a snap. ‘She was quite distressed at the time she made the charges and she wore bruises on her arms and her face…There are photographs.’ Mia pointed towards the file.

Allowing the lush curve of his eyelashes to droop again, Nikos looked at the photographs, the twist of his mouth showing his distaste before he used long fingers to slide the images aside.

‘This article says that Brunel denied all knowledge as to how the lady acquired her bruises. He claims she set him up.’

‘For what purpose would she do that?’ Mia stared at him in bafflement.

‘For the purpose of receiving the nice hefty pay-off she eventually got?’

‘What about the baby?’

‘Could be anyone’s baby,’ Nikos said with an indifferent shrug.

‘But that is such a cynical way to view the situation,’ Mia immediately flared up. ‘You cannot know that for a fact, and—’

‘You cannot know for a fact that Brunel’s version isn’t the truth,’ Nikos cut in with incisive logic. ‘I suspect the truth probably sits somewhere in the middle of both story versions, but since it was never proven either way I suppose we will never know.’ Casting the sheet of paper aside he looked up at her. ‘So tell me again why you included this in your report?’

Mia shifted from one foot to the other, not really wanting to answer that question. ‘I—I don’t like him,’ she finally contrived to push out.

This time both sleek eyebrows rose upwards. ‘But you’ve only met him once, the other day over lunch.’

‘He has an—uncomfortable manner…’

Nikos suddenly lurched forward, his calm demeanour gone in a single sharp blink of his eyes. ‘Explain that,’ he commanded.

‘I…No.’ Feeling her cheeks start to heat, Mia lowered her gaze.

‘You damn well will, Mia,’ he countered harshly. ‘And you will do it right now!’

‘Why are you angry with me?’ she queried hotly. ‘You instructed me to find out everything I could about Lassiter-Brunel. I found these articles. You prefer that I pretended I did not?’

She was trying to divert the subject, Nikos recognised, narrowing his eyes as he swung his mind back to the working lunch they’d shared earlier this week with John Lassiter and Anton Brunel. The two men were good-looking, arrogantly confident cut-throat businessmen—nothing wrong with any of those characteristics in people that strove for success.

However, his PA had been wearing a sexy red summer dress that fitted tightly beneath the voluptuous thrust of her breasts. The little black shrug thing she’d worn with it helped to cover nothing which mattered, and her hair had been drawn loosely back from her face in a big red clip. She’d looked like an exotic flower in a room packed with staid dark suits. Each time she let her big blue eyes drift across the lunch table the other two men lost the plot as to what they were talking about. Lush red lipstick, Nikos remembered. The warm and throaty tones of her Italian accent whenever she found the courage to speak.

Something he did not want to feel brought him to his feet with the smooth graceful movement of a leaping big cat. ‘I want to know why you’ve decided you don’t like Anton Brunel,’ he insisted. ‘Did he say something to offend you?’ he quizzed sharply. ‘Did he make a pass?’

Wishing now that she had not started this by including that article, Mia shifted uncomfortably. ‘No—’

‘What then—?’ he shot at her.

‘It was n-nothing!’ Her eyes widened in alarm when he came striding around the side of the desk and pulled to a stop only when he towered right over her. Intimidated by the whole macho physicality of his stance, Mia took a wary step back. ‘W-what is the matter with you?’ she husked out.

‘Just answer the question.’ Nikos stepped in close again, halting her next backward step by catching hold of her arms to make her stay where she was.

Feeling the pressure of his fingers slither a streak of heat over her shoulders, Mia hurriedly tried to bury the sensation in a rush of speech. ‘He—he said something I took offence to when—when we were leaving and you were talking to John Lassiter.’

‘What did he say? And look at me when you talk to me,’ Nikos rasped in annoyance. ‘It infuriates me when you hide your eyes from me like that.’

Pulling in a tense breath, Mia did as he bade her, found herself clashing with a pair of polished-mahogany eyes, a flame in their depths she had never seen there before. For a second she forgot what they were talking about while she absorbed this fascinating new discovery and—

‘Speak,’ Nikos commanded.

Mia blinked, elaborately long soot-black eyelashes a trembling framework around the startling rich blue of her eyes. ‘He—he claimed I was m-making the big eyes at him, then made a—a personal remark about you and me,’ she enlightened. ‘It’s your own fault, Nikos!’ she then flared up before he could react. ‘You make me follow you about like a pet dog on a leash! You glare at me if I move. You glare at me if I smile. You touch my hair, my arm, my fingers if I rest them on the table. You slide your hand around my waist when we walk! Look at you now,’ Mia charged up heatedly. ‘You are holding me here in front of you as if you have some special right to do so! That horrible man must have misread the signals you were giving, and dared to tell me he would like to enjoy a little slice of what y-you were getting from me!’

Nikos snapped his fingers from her arms as if she’d burned him. Mia almost staggered off the heels of her shoes in shock. The stunned expression on his face made her wring out a little laugh. ‘You don’t know you do it, do you?’ she choked out unsteadily. ‘You have no clue at all that you do any of the things I said! Well, you do, and he assumed from your behaviour towards me that we are—intimate.’ The word struggled to leave her throat. ‘And—and he asked me if I would like to meet with him one afternoon when you were unavailable.’

Nikos turned to stone in front of her. Shaken up by what she had just said to him, Mia tried to tug in a strained breath. In the two weeks she’d been working with him, Nikos had been treating her more like his lowly slave than his personal assistant. He’d dragged her out to every business luncheon he had attended. He’d brought her tumbling out of bed at ungodly hours of the morning to accompany him to working breakfasts too. If she spoke he didn’t like it; if she smiled he didn’t like it. If she let her attention drift to take in her surroundings he touched her hand to bring her gaze back to him, then frowned at her as if she had committed a mortal sin. Then he dumped her back at her apartment in the evenings and left her there alone—to recover, she presumed, while he went out and—did whatever it was he did in the evenings with whoever it was he did it with!

‘So we drop the Lassiter-Brunel deal.’

Tuning in too late to catch what he’d said, Mia saw that he’d moved back round his desk and lowered himself back into his chair again.

‘See to it,’ he instructed, pushing the now-closed folder back across the desk.

‘S-see to wh-what?’ she stammered out warily.

He lifted eyes to look at her. It was like being pinned to the wall by shards of black glass. Whatever it was that had exploded inside of him was gone now and the cold hard ruthlessly controlled animal was back.

‘I’m s-sorry,’ she felt compelled to apologise. ‘But I did not catch w-what you s-said to me.’

‘My command of the English language is that poor?’ he mocked.

‘N-no.’ She hated him. ‘I 1-lost concentration f-for a m-moment…’

Nikos wondered what she’d do if he asked her to use that delightfully husky stammer she’d just developed, tonight while lying naked beneath him in his bed?

Theos! The silent curse burned its way around his head in protest for letting his imagination go in that direction. Two damn long weeks of this and she was still here driving him crazy.

Did he really do all of those things she had listed or was she just out to pull his strings—?

A curse locked in his throat. His new PA might not like him, but she lusted after him with a fever she was too inept to keep hidden, though he was equally certain that she was not aware that she was so transparent.

And that was the reason Anton Brunel had picked up on the sexual vibrations at the lunch table, he determined. Her fault, not his fault. And as for all that touching stuff she’d accused him of—it only happened inside her overimag-inative head.

She made him think of a living, breathing sexual grenade with the pin dangling halfway out—half precocious woman, half infuriating child—and she might heat him up like no women had ever done, but he did not want her in his bed!

Oscar would never forgive him.

On that final sense-cooling reminder, Nikos made a grab at the thread of this discussion. ‘Call John Lassiter,’ he instructed. ‘Tell him I’m no longer interested in doing business with them.’

‘Me—?’ Mia gasped. ‘But I don’t want—’

‘And bring me some coffee,’ he cut over her scared protest and sat forward to pick up his pen.

If this didn’t teach her to keep her provocative ways in check, then nothing would. The Lassiter-Brunel deal was worth several million on paper. The innately frugal Mia Bianchi-Balfour was going to gag at the loss of such a lucrative deal. ‘And remind Fiona I will be out for two hours at lunch.’

‘But…Nikos please,’ Mia murmured painfully. ‘I don’t know how to do what you said!’

‘Make coffee?’ he incised with a cruelty he actually enjoyed inflicting.

‘Tell somebody a deal is to be broken!’

‘Then you are about to ride yet another steep learning curve,’ he relayed without a hint of care. ‘And just for the record, I don’t approve of office affairs, romances or even friendships. So stop taking swipes at me by the way you dress, or the way you look at me, or the way you put that Lassiter-Brunel file in front of me, expecting me to find that article and question your motives so you could tell me what Brunel presumed about us. It was irritating and juvenile. There is no us. The rest of what you said lives only in your head. Now I have some calls to make.’

Dismissed, appalled, devastated—whipped by his cold assassination—Mia spun away and walked across his office on legs that shook.

Irritating and juvenile….

‘I hate him,’ Mia whispered once she was on the other side of the door.

‘Did you say something?’ Fiona glanced up from her work.

Wishing she was dead or at least far, far away from this place, Mia stumbled across the room to sink down in the chair behind her desk before her trembling legs crumbled altogether. ‘He’s in a very bad mood today and I hate him.’

‘Don’t we all, darlin’,’ Fiona responded dryly. ‘Our gorgeous boss is pure sex on legs but as cold as ice. It’s such a waste of good male flesh.’ Sitting back from her computer console, Fiona’s floppy blonde curls bounced on her head as she gave Mia’s pale face the once-over. ‘Bit your head off, did he?’

More than just my head, Mia thought tragically. ‘I don’t know how you have put up with him for as long as you have.’

‘I’m immune.’ Fiona waggled her left hand at Mia, showing off the three sparkling rings she wore on her marriage finger. ‘I’ve got my own sexy brute to go home to each evening, and he’s never cold.’

‘He wants me to cancel the Lassiter-Brunel deal’.

Fiona went still. ‘So you told him.’

Mia pressed her trembling lips together and nodded. ‘He didn’t believe me.’

‘Then why is he pulling out of the deal?’ the secretary quizzed with a frown.

‘To—to punish me,’ Mia answered. ‘He knows I don’t know how to do such a thing so he’s making me do it to teach me a lesson about the consequences of making up stories.’

‘Nikos Theakis is throwing away a lucrative deal just to teach you a lesson?’ Fiona laughed. ‘I don’t believe it. There has to be more to his reasoning than that.’

There was, Mia thought bleakly. She had told him some other things he had not wanted to hear about. ‘And he’s not taking me with him to his lunch today…’

And that harsh rebuff was striking her as hard as everything else. It was like being cut off from the main lifeline which kept her functioning. She might hate him but she revelled in being around him.

Why had she told him he constantly touched her? Why hadn’t she kept her big mouth shut?

‘Perhaps that’s a good thing,’ Fiona said gently.

Blinking her ridiculously long eyelashes Mia brought her gaze into focus on the other woman, read her sympathetic expression and went hot.

‘He wants coffee.’ Looking away she stood and walked across the office to the coffee machine to prepare a small tray, then on impulse she begged Fiona, ‘Will you take it in? I don’t think I can stand another visit in there right now.’

‘Sure…’ Always relaxed, always sunny, Fiona came to take the tray from her, then paused. ‘Mia…’ she posed gently, ‘take a bit of advice from someone older and wiser than you are…get yourself a man.’

Glancing up, she groaned, ‘Oh, Dio. Am I so obvious?’

Fiona’s sympathetic smile said it all. ‘You know, when you first arrived here everyone in the building was more than ready to dislike you for who you are and how you came by this job. It took you just a week to win us all over. You’re hard-working, sweet and nice, but he isn’t nice—to women.’

Mia started despising herself for bringing this lecture on.

‘He uses them, Mia,’ Fiona pressed on her. ‘He does not respect them.’

‘As they use him.’ She felt some crazy need to defend Nikos Theakis even though he did not deserve it.

‘Yes.’ Fiona couldn’t argue with that. ‘Especially Miss Supermodel Lucy Clayton who received her farewell gift by special messenger last week. By next week another woman just like her will have been put in her place. It’s the way he works. The way he likes to keep it,’ Fiona stressed. ‘He’s an amazing risk taker in the business arena. An absolute financial genius everybody admires and respects, and he’s com-mendably honest and committed to any promises he makes—in business—but in his personal life?’ Fiona shook her head. ‘He’s a smooth, cool, bone-meltingly gorgeous sexual predator. He does not connect sex with his emotions—if he has any—the jury is still out on that. So take my advice and don’t go there. Don’t even want to go there because if he decides to take you he will spoil you for ever. So get yourself a man,’ she repeated, ‘and wean yourself off him while you still can.’

‘Where is my coffee?’ the sexual predator demanded.

Chapter Three

BOTH women jumped guiltily and turned to see Nikos Theakis standing in his office doorway. By his closed expression there was no way they could tell if he’d overheard them talking about him, but for the first time since she’d started working here, Mia saw two hot coins of guilt hit Fiona’s creamy cheekbones and knew her own cheeks wore the same hot sting.

Good, Nikos thought, tamping down hard on his anger for the second time this morning as he strode across the room to take the tray from his blushing secretary, then strode back into his office with it without uttering another word.

Get yourself a man…His lips compressed into a tight line as he set down the tray. Why had he not thought of offering his PA the same piece of advice?

The answer to that question was not a nice one. But then, as his secretary had just pointed out to Mia, he wasn’t nice.

It rankled—the not-nice part and the man part.

Throwing himself down in his chair Nikos swung it around to face the window. So I don’t respect women. A flash of irritation shot across his face. He did respect them or why the hell did he restrict himself to the kind that preferred to play the game the way he liked to play it? He wasn’t looking for love. He was not looking for marriage, so he steered well clear of the kind of women looking for either or both.

And that was respecting them, he determined. It would have been nice if Fiona had recognised that.

Vaguely surprised that there was a dose of hurt rolling round inside him, Nikos frowned. He was good to his staff, fair—generous, as Fiona had pointed out. He’d believed he had their respect. His secretary had shocked him with her view of him. It angered him that she’d felt it necessary to warn Mia off.

He rested a long forefinger along the line of his mouth where the smooth skin covering his lips felt tightly stretched, his eyes narrowed by an unwanted feeling of distaste at the idea of Mia turning all of that untapped passion on for some other man.

What if she took Fiona’s advice—?

‘Damn,’ he muttered, not liking what was rattling around inside him. Where was the guy who focused purely on business? The guy who barely noticed a woman unless she was stretched out naked on a bed?

Perhaps that was it. He needed a woman. Sex, he named it. A long night of seething hot passion with the kind of woman who could appreciate what he could do for her without expecting the whole heavy emotional bit by return. He was not possessive. He was not even mildly demonstrative like Mia had dared to suggest. If he touched her like she said he did, it was done with attention to polite good manners and respect. She was the one who’d misread the signals.

John Lassiter was at first stunned by Nikos Theakis’s decision to pull out of negotiations, then he grew increasingly more angry by Mia’s apologetic inability to give him answers as to why they were being dumped. Within minutes of her finally managing to put the phone down on the uncomfortable conversation, Fiona’s telephone was ringing and Anton Brunel was demanding to speak to Nikos.

With a telling glance at each other, Fiona put the call through to their boss. Ten minutes later he was striding out of his office with his too-handsome face locked into an iron-hard mask of contempt. He did not speak as he crossed their office; he did not cast them a glance. The dismissive tension he left behind him cloyed on Mia.

In the end, she couldn’t stand it, and she took herself off to the café around the corner to buy herself some lunch. While she sat at one of the small tables trying to eat a sandwich her tense throat did not want to swallow, a man from the accounts department came in to the café. Seeing her sitting on her own he brought his sandwich to her table and joined her.

After a shy start to her unexpected company Mia surprised herself by warming to his easygoing brand of friendly humour and began to relax and enjoy herself. They walked back to the office building together and lingered to finish their conversation in the foyer for a minute or two. It was all warm and nice and friendly and fun.

Striding into his plush grey-and-black marble foyer, Nikos caught sight of his PA standing there, talking with someone from his accounts team.

Shock almost brought him to a halt.

She looked young and beautiful and relaxed and alive. Something hard and hot grabbed hold of his chest and hung on. Without knowing he was about to do it, he parted his grim lips to snap out her name, only to clamp them shut again when her ‘pet dog on a leash’ accusation leapt into his head.

He kept himself moving towards the bank of lifts and refused to look at the cosy duo again. Once he’d gained the privacy of his luxurious office, he went straight on the offensive and took out his mobile phone to start flicking through his address book. Five minutes later he had arranged dinner for that evening with the beautiful and very eager Lois Mansell and was feeling much better about himself. Lois was just what he needed. She was a cool smooth banking executive practiced in the art of sex just for sex. Young and irritatingly naive brunettes with more than a hint of Italian fire in their bellies, and with virgin territory stamped all over them, did not and never would do it for him.

Get yourself a man…Mia considered this as she sat alone in her flat that same evening, reworking a designer suit to look less high fashion and more office friendly so she could wear it to work next week.

Weaning herself off Nikos Theakis was making good sense the more she thought about it. He did not want her. Dio, he had gone into great detail to make it clear how much he did not want her!

Irritating and juvenile…

Putting her sewing aside she stood with a tense jerk and paced restlessly over to the window to look out. It was dark outside, the London night skyline twinkling with lights. It was Friday night and most people of her age would be out there enjoying themselves, but here was she alone in her flat with her hair stuck in a ponytail, wearing a pair of faded jeans and an old top, and no plans to go anywhere, or anyone to call upon if she did want to go out!

Right now she would kill to have a man ring her doorbell, or to be getting ready to go out to meet with him.

Fiona was right. It was time she weaned herself off this infatuation she suffered for Nikos Theakis. It was time for her to throw off the shy little country girl and make good use of the opportunity her father had given her to grow into herself.

A man…a man…How did one go about attracting a man?

Well, not by standing alone here in her flat, that was certain. Could she have enticed the man she’d shared lunch with today to ask her out, if she’d put her mind to it?

Her isolated life in Tuscany had not taught her anything about being a young independent woman living on her own in a big city. She’d lived all of her life with her aunt on a small hill farm five kilometres from the nearest village. She’d attended a tiny convent school for girls, and money had been so tight that even meeting her school friends in the nearest town on a Saturday to go shopping together had been beyond her meagre cash reserves.

In her life to date, she’d had just two abiding influences. A wonderfully caring but ageing aunt she adored, and an even older man she kept house and cooked for who lived very much in a world of his own. And the worst part was that no matter how hard Oscar and his daughters had tried to bring her out of herself, she was still that quiet, shy and isolated country girl on the inside.

She sighed, turning to face the room again with its bland walls and bland modern furniture and its television playing softly in the corner for company.

I’m going to go out.

The decision sparked out of nothing. It just hit her like a fever in her head and, before she knew it, Mia was striding out of the sitting room and into the bedroom. Ten minutes later she returned, dressed in a short dusky-lilac silk dress with a dipping neckline and tiny lace-cap sleeves. A hunt along the rail of hand-me-downs had uncovered a fashionably complicated fitted black satin jacket she pulled on over the dress as she walked.

And most important of all, her resolve to just get out there and do something was burning like a fire in her blood. Gathering up her purse she let herself out of her flat and crossed the plush creamy oval-shaped foyer to press the button to call the lift up to the top floor.

She was going to find a restaurant and eat out for a change. Lots of cool independent people in London dined alone. She’d seen them doing it at the lunches Nikos had taken her to so why not go and do it herself?

Brave Mia, she mocked, feeling tense tingles play havoc with her insides in direct opposition to the adventure she was about to embark upon. Because she wasn’t brave. Never had been. And if the lift didn’t arrive soon she was going to—

The sound of a door opening behind her had her spinning about. Instantly her tingling insides crashed to a fizzing burn when she found herself staring at Nikos.

It just was not fair that he had to pick this moment to leave his apartment, she decided as she stared at him in dismayed shock.

He was wearing a formal black dinner suit that sat smoothly on his long powerful frame. A black silk bow tie sat perfectly symmetrical across the butterfly collar of his dress shirt. And his hair was still damp, as if he’d dressed quickly after showering now the hint of curls lay black and thick and glossy on the top of his well-shaped head. Every single inch of him looked strong and sleek and formidably exclusive. Her mouth ran dry and her heart started beating too fast as she flickered her gaze up to stare at his recently shaved jaw, then the sensual shape of his unsmiling mouth. And finally—finally she made contact with his eyes.

He was looking back at her as if this accidental meeting had disconcerted him as much as it had done to her. Defensive tension stiffened her stance.

‘On your way out?’ he spoke first, smooth and cool and, Mia suspected, carefully pleasant.

‘Sí,’ she managed, unaware that her hands had clenched into fists on the ends of her arms held straight like sticks at her sides.

He nodded, the floating veil of his eyelashes sweeping downwards before he turned to pull the door to his apartment shut.

Fortunately the lift arrived then, giving Mia a good reason to drag her eyes away from him, though it made little difference, she realised a few seconds later, when the lift’s mirrored walls allowed her to watch him stride across the lobby and join her inside. The small space instantly grew even smaller, crammed by his superior height and that overpowering sense of presence he always carried around with him.

But then, the mirrors were giving her two or three or even four different views of him. That was a lot of Nikos Theakis to contend with in a confined space. Her breath caught again when he leant across her to hit the button to take them down to the ground floor. The subtle tangy scent of him assailed her nostrils. As his sleeve brushed against her arm she took a step back. So did he, straightening to his full formidable height.

‘Anywhere nice?’ he enquired casually.

Keeping her eyes glued to her own reflection, Mia nodded and watched her hair move against the black satin jacket. ‘Dinner,’ she said, watching her lightly glossed lips part to form the response.

When she looked into her eyes she had no choice but to acknowledge the lurking darkness of deep uncertainty at her impulsive decision to go out like this. Was she mad? Was she stupid? What did she know about surviving in this huge metropolis? She didn’t even know whether to turn to the left or to the right when she reached the street. The left led downtown where the more refined restaurants were situated. The right led to the local high street with its trendy bistros and café bars she passed on the occasions she caught the tube home and walked the rest of the way back here.

Left or right? Refined or trendy?

‘You?’ she asked because she felt she should do.

‘Same.’

She looked up—not wanting to—and wished she had not when she found him checking out the set of his black bow tie in one of the mirrors, chin thrust upwards, beautifully black-framed eyes as dark as night. Sensation sprinkled like static between fine layers of her skin and she looked away again quickly, back to the stranger she saw herself as, dressed in a dusky-lilac shift dress and a black satin jacket, with a lot of long leg showing and her ankles elevated by the four-inch heels on her shoes.

Irritating and juvenile…

Was he on his way to meet the new replacement for Lucy Clayton as Fiona had predicted? Was she tall and blonde and heart-stoppingly beautiful and screamingly intelligent and sophisticated? Was he planning to bring her back here to his apartment to make wildly passionate love with her while Mia lay alone in her bed next door and—

‘Where—?’

Her small chin jerked up and their eyes clashed in a mirror; tiny prickles of attraction attacked her flesh. ‘Scusi?’ she murmured blankly.

‘I was asking where you are going for dinner,’ Nikos enlightened dryly—in English.

‘Oh. I don’t know,’ Mia let slip before she could think about it, watched his eyebrows arch, felt a deep inner niggle at the slip, then thankfully her pride came to her rescue with what she thought was a truly inspirational lie. ‘I am meeting someone,’ she claimed. ‘I don’t know where he is taking me to eat.’

Fortunately the lift stopped and the doors slid open then, giving her the opportunity to escape. Her shiny black heels tapped on cream marble as she crossed the ground-floor lobby in her urgency to get away as fast as she could.

Nikos still reached the door in time to open it for her, then offered a cool nod in acknowledgement of her muffled murmur of thanks.

It must have been raining. Outside the ground was covered in a shiny layer of wet. Striding out across the private car park, Mia was aware that he had diverted over to where his silver car was parked.

What she did not know was the way Nikos stood watching her pause uncertainly once she’d hit the street, as if she was unsure which way to go next.

Dinner with a man…

Something hard gave him a kick in his gut.

Was she meeting the tall blond clean-cut guy from accounts he had seen her with today?

If she was, the damn jerk needed to learn some manners. What kind of man let a young and beautiful stranger to this city find her own way to their chosen venue?

She looked lost already. And the weirdest kind of tingling sensation was skittering down his torso and legs.

She struck off to the right, disappearing out of his sight in seconds. Nikos held his stance for a few seconds longer, then he muttered, ‘Damn it,’ giving in to what the tingling represented and slid his hand into his pocket to exchange his car keys for his mobile phone.

Ten minutes later, Mia was hovering outside one of the bistros. She was pretending to read the menu list stuck on the window but really she was checking out the busy interior, and the bravado that had brought her this far was now lying dead at her feet.

She could not go in there. She did not know why she had ever come up with the crazy idea that she could! And the evening was chilly, the black satin jacket doing nothing to keep the chill at bay and—

‘Been stood up…?’

Hearing that deeply accented, mildly sardonic and crushingly familiar voice arrive from somewhere behind her caused a sudden burn of weak tears to flood her eyes. It took every bit of self-control she had to blink the tears away again, then lift up her chin and turn to look at him.

He was standing across the busy pavement, leaning against the side of his silver supercar with his hands resting inside his trouser pockets, his jacket pushed back from his bright white shirt. Tall, dark and so very sexily sophisticated, Mia observed helplessly. The overhead lights shining amber onto the wet pavement also honeyed the skin of his too-perfect face. It was no wonder most of the women passing across the gap between them stared at him, Mia thought as a whole clutch of them went by with their eyes glued to his long, lean, supremely elegant stance.

If he noticed he did not show it. He did not take his eyes from her face. His mouth was wearing a kind of half-mocking smile that stung her pride and made her wish that some other tall, dark, handsome man would just walk up to her and pull her into his embrace.

Irritating and juvenile…

‘No,’ she answered his question. ‘He’s just a few minutes late.’

With the ease of a man used to doing everything with grace, she watched him tilt his dark head down and, without removing his hand from his pocket, twist his wrist, shrug back his shirt cuff and somehow manage to display his watch.

‘This is not the kind of place a man keeps a woman waiting out on the pavement, cara,’ he said when he looked back at her again.

‘Well, you should know since you seem to be doing the same thing to your date,’ Mia fired back.

‘I pick my dates up at their door.’

‘Then please go and do so,’ she invited and turned back to the bistro window.

The seconds ticked by. Her ears pricked and her senses went on the alert for the sound of his car driving away. She found the space around her suddenly swamped by a group of people who wanted to check out the menu too. By the time they’d moved on she was wishing she’d had the foresight to tag on to them.

Because he was still there. She could feel his silent presence like some dark force trying to drag her back round to face him. After another second or two she heard him sigh, then the sound of his footsteps bringing him close. Tension zinged down her backbone and remained there stinging like an electric charge. A second later he was standing right behind her—she could feel his body heat along her back.

‘Will you go away,’ she snapped. ‘You are making me feel stupid!’

‘Once your date arrives,’ he agreed. ‘Who is he anyway?’

Keeping her eyes fixed rigidly on the bistro window, she said, ‘That is none of your business.’

‘No?’ A hand moved against her spine like a finely brushed admonishment. ‘I’m the guy who’s been placed in charge of your care, so that makes it my business.’

‘I do not need a babysitter.’

‘Nor do you need a man who plans to sit you down to dine in a place like this. It’s a bog standard pizza place, Mia, with a cheap and fast turnaround.’

Was it—? Mia stared at the menu, still none the wiser having never eaten at such an establishment. Until Nikos had taken her with him to his working lunches she had never eaten in a restaurant at all!

‘You will be outside again before you know you’ve eaten,’ he predicted. ‘What happens, then? An hour or so in one of the pubs dotted down the street to soften you up with a couple of glasses of cheap wine, or will he be expecting to go straight back to your place to finish off the evening in the comfort of your bed?’

‘Well, you should know since you are fabled for your fast turnaround,’ she swung round to fling at him and was very pleased to see that likening his dating skills to a fast pizza restaurant made his chiselled jaw clench.

‘That was not what I—’

‘Grazie, for your wise advice,’ Mia cut him off midsentence. ‘When my date arrives I will be certain to ask him what his intentions are.’

‘Or I will’.

Sparking up like a firework she gasped out, ‘No you will not!’

‘And he’s not only unforgivably late he’s unfit to date a Balfour.’

Half unwilling to believe they were even having this conversation, Mia stared up at him. ‘And you believe you have the right to make that judgement?’

‘In your father’s place—yes.’

In other words she was a duty he felt compelled to oversee! ‘Well, you are not my father—or my idea of what a father figure should be! And in case you have forgotten,’ she added stiffly. ‘You went out of your way to tell me to back off from irritating you, so now I am telling you to do the same thing for me, Nikos, and just go away!’

With that she turned to walk off down the high street. His long fingers curling around one of her shoulders held her still.

‘Mia, this is stupid,’ he sighed out heavily.

Or irritating and juvenile…Why was that cutting remark still stinging her as badly as this? Mia asked herself.

She did not know. She did not understand what she was feeling or even what she was doing any more.

‘Please let go of me…’ She tried to move away from him.

His fingers tightened gently. ‘No,’ he refused. ‘Look…’ he said, ‘I’m—sorry if I sounded…insensitive to your feelings but—’

‘Sounded it?’ she threw out.

‘Was insensitive, then,’ he altered, the chiselled line of his jaw clenching. ‘But it does not change the fact that your so-called date has either stood you up or is only too happy to leave you to stand around here like a fool!’

‘And that is your sensitive side talking?’ So close to tears now, she had to push a hand up between them so she could cover her trembling mouth.

A soft curse rattled from him. I will take you to dinner,’ he offered, sounding so driven to say it that Mia almost snapped the hand up higher to slap his face!

But she didn’t because it would be irritating and juvenile of her to do it! ‘I can provide my own dinner,’ she told him stiffly. ‘And you already have a date.’

‘I did have a date until—’ Nikos stopped, compressing his lips, then dealt her a glinting glimmer of a look ‘—until I was stood up too,’ he finished dryly.

‘You—?’ It was like discovering he had a chink in his impenetrable armour. Mia was so intrigued by the phenomenon she stopped fighting his grip to stare up at him instead.

‘It happens to the best of us,’ Nikos compounded on his quick-thinking masterpiece of deception. ‘So shall we find somewhere quieter than this to—commiserate with each other while we eat?’

Like a lamb to the slaughter, he mocked, feeling his conscience pinch him when his beautiful PA dealt him a sympathetic look.

But at least the deal was done.

Chapter Four

TWENTY minutes later they were being shown to a table in a very exclusive restaurant and the waiter was taking away her jacket while Mia glanced around.

If this was the kind of place Nikos tended to frequent, then she was willing to be impressed by its softly lit ambience.

‘Have I been here before?’ she asked.

‘Not to my knowledge.’

Surprising him with a sudden grin she told him, ‘If you have not brought me here for one of your business lunches, Nikos, then I have not been here. These kinds of places all have a similar look to them, don’t they?’

‘Do they?’ He glanced around their plush, hushed award-winning surroundings. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

Mia nodded. ‘They probably look different in the daylight when they are filled with sharp-suited men and women looking serious and intelligent instead of…’ Her voice trailed off, even white teeth pressing down into her lower lip to halt the potentially provocative word she had been going to use.

‘Intimate.’ Nikos was not so sensitive. ‘It’s called good business sense,’ he enlightened. ‘Not the people but the restaurants,’ he explained what he’d meant. ‘They change their mood with the mood of the city. By day they provide the sharp suits like me with a place to work while we eat.’ A dryness entered his voice. ‘By night they soften their appearance to provide a more relaxed ambience for their more sociable clientele. I love the dress…’

‘Oh.’ Startled by the sudden and totally unexpected compliment Mia blushed as she glanced down at the lilac silk dress. ‘It used to belong to my sister Bella.’ Critical fingers plucked at the dress’s dipping cleavage. ‘There used to be a strip of lace here but I unpicked it because I thought it looked less fussy without it.’

‘Oscar has not provided you with your own wardrobe?’

His eyes were slow to rise to catch her brief shrug. ‘He offered. But I did not see the need to buy more new clothes when the closets at Balfour were stuffed full of things no one else wanted to wear.’

A young waiter arrived to offer them menus then. Mia winged him a warm smile and when she realised he was Italian she fell into conversation with him. Veiling his eyes Nikos observed the change in her as she talked. Her voice had taken on a warm and earthy vibrancy Nikos had not heard before. The young waiter fell in love with her as Nikos watched. She had no idea of the power she was wielding, had not even noticed the waiter’s darkened eyes and the raised colour in his face. When her slender hands joined in the conversation the waiter was hooked, his eyes fixed on the creamy cleavage on show behind the expressive fingers.

And Nikos felt a sudden blistering urge to punch the young fool! Perhaps he moved, he wasn’t sure, but something made the waiter glance his way. The next second he was rushing out an apology and moving away at lightning speed.

‘He comes from San Marcello,’ Mia enlightened him as if his Italian was not good enough to follow their conversation, and with no clue at all what had made the waiter take flight as if someone had set fire to his heels.

Nikos knew. He could still feel the trails of it lingering behind his veiling eyelids. ‘A neighbour, then,’ he murmured.

‘Sí, by a hilltop or two.’ Settling back into her seat she shook the silky fall of her hair back from her face, then picked up her menu.

When he continued to sit there doing and saying nothing she glanced up at him and frowned, then followed it up with a sigh. ‘OK, what have I done to annoy you this time?’ she demanded. ‘Have I broken some very important rule of dining that is likely to earn me a plate of cold food?’

‘Brunel would call it breaking the rules anyway,’ he responded impassively.

‘Brunel…? What has he got to do with…’

Enlightenment dawned. Mia flicked a look across the restaurant to where the friendly waiter now stood to attention, striving to keep his eyes away from this corner of the room.

‘You are accusing me of flirting,’ she said in a hushed breath of stunned disbelief.

Nikos picked up his menu and opened it. ‘You tied him in knots. For a few interesting seconds I thought he was going to pull out a chair and join us.’

‘We were just talking about Italy!’ Mia impressed upon him in self-defence.

‘I got this really bad feeling that I was about to be sidelined. Not good for my ego at all.’ Nikos smiled. ‘Lesson one in the use of social skills, cara, concentrate solely on the man you are dining with.’

Not quite sure if she was supposed to laugh at the ridiculous image Nikos had constructed of the waiter muscling in on him, he diverted her with, ‘What would you like to eat?’

Mia dutifully buried her attention on the menu. A different waiter arrived to take their order. Nikos delivered it in the clipped cool tone that did not encourage the waiter to linger.

‘Talk to me,’ he said abruptly once they were alone again.

Lifting up her face she asked, ‘What about?’

‘Anything—the wine.’ He indicated to her glass.

Dutifully picking up her wine glass Mia sipped. ‘Nice,’ she said.

‘Is that it?’

‘Is this another lesson in social dining?’ she dared.

‘No.’ He almost let a smile catch hold of his mouth. ‘It is simply a request for you to extend your answer. You are Italian. I cannot believe you don’t have a better opinion about wine than just nice.’

Be interesting, in other words. Well, OK, she could try to do that, Mia decided, relaxing back into her seat. ‘Tia Giulia and I make our own wine from our own grapes,’ she announced. ‘It’s just a hobby really, but our wine tastes easily as good as this very expensive wine…’ she said with a wave of her glass. ‘We pick and tread the grapes in the traditional manner with our skirts held up like so—’ she gestured, unaware how entirely she had captured her audience ‘—and we laugh a lot—it is supposed to be good for the taste. If it is a good year, our neighbours will come to exchange other produce for bottles of our wine. Tia has some really wonderful old oak barrels in the cellar…’

Their first course arrived and Mia kept talking through it, taking a small forkful of sea bass laced with a delicious sauce she had never tasted before.

‘Your life in Tuscany was very different from the one you’re living now,’ Nikos observed when she paused for a breath.

Mia nodded, eyes shadowing as she sat forward to pick up her glass. ‘Do you miss Greece when you are away from it?’

‘Not particularly,’ he said. ‘I fly in and out of Athens too often to miss it.’

‘Family, then,’ she probed.

‘None.’ The way he carefully veiled his eyes made Mia frown because she was almost certain she’d just hit a raw nerve. ‘Tell me why you left it so long to contact Oscar.’ As neatly as that he turned the conversation away from him and back on to her.

‘Because I only discovered I had a father this year—on my twenty-first birthday to be exact…’

She went on to explain about discovering Oscar, in between savouring forkfuls of food. She didn’t notice that Nikos barely touched the food on his plate, or that he rarely removed his dark eyes from her face. She was not aware that he kept filling up her wine glass or that her tongue was loosening the more that she drank. By the time their dessert arrived she was feeling so mellow she even reached across the table to spoon up a sample of his untouched dessert and teased him with her laughing eyes as she placed the stolen morsel in her mouth.

‘I have a sweet tooth.’

‘Among other things,’ he murmured oddly.

About to ask him what he meant by that—

‘Do you want coffee?’ he got in before her.

‘And spoil the taste of the wine? Grazie, no,’ she refused.

‘Then if you’ve finished do you mind if we leave now?’

‘Oh…’ Mia tensed, her slender spine arching up on the sudden realisation that she’d talked his socks off all the way through the meal! It was no wonder he was wearing that blank expression on his face. ‘I had lost track of how long we have been here…’

‘And the restaurant has emptied,’ Nikos pointed out dryly. ‘We’re the last ones here…’

Flickering a surprised glance around the empty tables she noticed the restaurant staff standing around, trying hard not to look impatient for them to leave. ‘Why didn’t you say something sooner?’ she whispered from the depths of a sinking embarrassment.

‘You were enjoying your meal. There was no need to rush.’ With the merest glance in the waiter’s direction he brought him rushing to his side. ‘My companion’s jacket,’ he instructed, handing over a credit card. ‘You have time to finish your wine,’ he indicated smoothly to Mia, as if she would dare to take another sip!

‘No.’ She stood. ‘I think I’ve had enough.’ A flush of hot colour was burning her cheeks.

She wanted to die where she stood—deflate like a balloon and disappear altogether. She almost snatched her jacket from the waiter when he arrived with it, so eager to remove herself from here now that she could barely stop herself from doing it at a run.

The waiter was handing Nikos his credit card. Mia fumbled in her urgency to drag her jacket on and missed slotting her arm in the sleeve.

‘Allow me…’

She froze as Nikos took the garment from her and politely held it open, ready for her to slip it on. Her hair became trapped inside the black satin and she used the need to release it as an excuse to keep her head lowered so no one could see how hot her face had gone.

Outside the cool night air hit her like an icy slap in the face and she shivered. Nikos placed a hand against her lower back to walk her towards his waiting car. A beep sounded as the locks sprang free and his hand guided her into her seat.

The car growled into life. It moved away from the curb with the sleek prowling grace of a hunting panther. As her gaze was drawn downwards to watch as his long fingers moved the car through its gears, she saw something that caught her breath in her throat.

‘What—?’ Nikos asked, so sharp he obviously did not miss anything.

‘Nothing.’ Dragging her eyes away from the black-and-gold insignia she’d spied on the dash, she tried to pretend that she had not seen it. Then, without any warning at all, she choked, ‘I feel sick.’

The stunned silence which followed her announcement held for a second or two, then the car ground to a jerking halt. Nikos was out of it and striding round to yank her door open before Mia could do it for herself. Out in the night air again, she began to shiver so badly he must have felt compelled to offer a supporting arm around her shaking shoulders while she stood fighting a battle with nausea that had nothing to do with the amount of wine she had drunk.

Nikos did not know that though. He was cursing himself. He wished the hell he knew what he had been playing at back there, feeding her wine by the glassful to draw her out of her shell. What had he hoped to gain from it? An insight into what made his PA tick, or had his motives been fixed somewhere else?

‘It’s usually better to throw up and get it over with than to fight it,’ he advised, trying to recall the last time he’d deliberately set out to get a woman drunk.

There had never been another time. He had never sunk this low before. She got to him and he didn’t like it. She made him think, do and want things he did not want to think, do or want.

‘I’m all r-right.’ Making an effort to pull herself together, Mia stepped away from his supporting arm to stand by herself.

Letting his arm drop to his side he sighed, ‘I’m—sorry.’

He was sorry? ‘What for?’

‘I should not have let you drink all that wine.’

‘I can take my wine, Nikos Theakis,’ Mia threw back. ‘I am Italian. I grew up drinking wine. It was your car that made me feel sick. I hate it. I will walk the rest of the way—’

‘What do you mean, my car made you sick?’ Grabbing her arm as she went to walk away from him he pulled her to a halt.

Mia shivered. ‘It is a Mario Mattea production car.’

‘A limited edition,’ Nikos confirmed. ‘Only twenty of them were built. Most people would—’

‘One for each year Mario Mattea has been married to my mother,’ Mia whispered, then had to press her lips together as the nausea threatened to come back.

She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed the world-famous insignia before now! The two stylishly entwined gold letter M’s appeared on a million luxury products—on Mario Mattea’s main claim to fame—his world-championship-class formula-one racing cars!

A glance at the low silver bonnet and a thick laugh broke from her throat. Wouldn’t Mario just love it if he knew that one of his cars had almost ploughed her into the ground a few months ago!

Pushing off Nikos’s hand, she started walking, needing to get as far away from that car as fast as she could. The nausea was churning up her stomach and her arms had wrapped themselves tight around her ribs. She’d lived twenty-one years in Italy and not once seen a Mattea car. Then she arrives in England, and on the very first day she’d almost had one toss her over its bonnet without realising the insult she would have been paying to herself!

‘Explain.’ Nikos caught up with her.

‘Oscar slept with my mother, Gabriella, the night before he married Lillian,’ she supplied in a cold, clipped voice. ‘She returned to Italy—to her fiancé Mario Mattea and eventually married him.’

Nikos breathed what Mia assumed was the Greek way of expressing shock. ‘So your mother is Gabriella Mattea…’

‘Don’t bother to fixate on it,’ Mia sparked out. ‘I do not recognise her as my mother. We do not communicate.’

‘Slow down before you twist off those ridiculous high shoes,’ he instructed impatiently, curling a set of long fingers around her arm.

‘You have forgotten your car,’ she muttered in the hopes that he would take the hint and leave her to walk home alone.

‘And you’ve forgotten the rules of dating again,’ Nikos responded coolly. ‘I see mine to their door.’

‘We did not have a date,’ Mia denied. ‘You hijacked me in the street.’

‘Same rules apply.’ Still holding on to her, his attention had diverted to the two streams of traffic moving up and down the street. He spotted a gap. His fingers tightened. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s cross while we can.’

Finding herself being hustled across the road, Mia was instinctively drawn to glancing both ways to check out the pace of the traffic for herself. Her eyes rested on his silver car standing abandoned against the curb a hundred metres away and she shivered, dragging her eyes away from it again. She hated the long, sleek, glossy power statement it made—the whole high-profile sparkle of the Mattea name. In Italy it meant glittering celebrity and untold wealth—much like the Balfour name did here, she likened, suddenly hating all of it.

‘I’m surprised the press here hasn’t picked up who your mother is,’ Nikos murmured once they were safely on the opposite pavement.

‘Oscar has been careful not to make the connection,’ she revealed. ‘Gabriella was still a Bianchi when he—knew her.’ Bianchi being the only name Gabriella had ever allowed Mia to own. Did she care? No, she told herself. It was bad enough that everyone knew she was the result of a sordid one-night stand of one decadent parent, Oscar Balfour, without being linked to her other notoriously decadent parent, Gabriella Mattea, as well. ‘Bianchi is a common name in Italy.’

They turned into the street on which their apartment block was situated. Once again Nikos slowed their pace. ‘Why aren’t you a Mattea?’

He just couldn’t leave it alone! ‘Why the sudden interest in my sleazy past?’

‘It’s not your sleaze, Mia, it’s theirs,’ Nikos pointed out.

Only slightly mollified by that response, Mia pulled in a tense breath. ‘When Gabriella found out she was pregnant with me she tried to pass me off as Mario’s child but she badly miscalculated,’ she explained. ‘Mario cannot have children apparently, and he certainly did not want some other man’s child cluttering up his life, so he set her an ultimatum. She kept me and lost him, or she gave me up and kept him. You know the rest,’ she concluded, tightening her grip on her ribcage as if trying to hug her bitter feelings in.

‘The isolated farm in Tuscany,’ Nikos confirmed, ‘an aunt barely scratching out a living for you both, while your filthy-rich parents live their lavish lives…It has all the ingredients for a seventeenth-century costume drama about the underbelly of two glittering royal houses,’ he described.

Mia pulled to a stop and swung on him. ‘You would make a really good member of the paparazzi to listen to you,’ she fired at him hotly, ‘and you would probably enjoy it!’

To her rising fury his mouth twitched out the beginnings of a smile.

‘You think my life is amusing?’

‘I think it’s priceless.’ The smile became a full white-toothed grin. ‘So should you.’

Tossing her hair back, Mia glared up at him. His lean dark face was so disgustingly gorgeous she—‘I don’t want to talk any more about it.’ She swung away again, hating the hot sexual tension she could feel working away at her insides.

She set off walking. Nikos kept pace at her side. ‘If you want my opinion, Mia…’

‘I do not,’ she clipped out.

‘You should talk about it more often,’ he continued anyway. ‘You take yourself too seriously—and stop this!’ He sighed, turning her back round to face him, then grimly prizing her arms away from her ribs and down to her sides, where her hands clenched into white-knuckle fists.

Nikos viewed them with exasperation. ‘Body language is worth a thousand words,’ he sighed out. ‘Has it not occurred to you that if you don’t care where you came from, then no one else will care?’

‘Be brazen about it, you mean?’

‘It’s got to be better than clutching it to you like a grudge. Wake up and smell reality, Mia. Stop pitying yourself. You have a colourful past. So what? Without it you would not be here at all!’

Pitying herself? She wanted to say—how do you know what it feels like to be me? But that would be self-pitying so she pressed her lips together and said nothing and simmered a furious glare at him instead. His eyes were almost black in the darkness, flamed by the gold from the pooling street light. The same with the warm olive skin covering the taut beauty of his cheekbones, his nose, the darker shaded contours of his smooth, wide sensual mouth.

Something new charged up the atmosphere. It began with a small flicker of his long eyelashes as he dropped his gaze to her mouth. He wanted to kiss her. Mia knew it with an instinct older than time itself. Her heart stopped beating, then started up again at a faster pace because—Dio, she wanted him too—so much.

He knew he was going to do it. He knew he just couldn’t hold back. She was beautiful, a warm, soft, achingly desirable creature with passion in her eyes and on her softly pulsing mouth.

Sliding his fingers into her hair, he stroked a fingertip along the smoothness of her extended throat. The blue of her eyes deepened to purple and her lips parted. He felt the growing rush of her blood flow into his own. She swayed even closer, a willing recipient of what was about to happen. Feeling like a man controlled by a magnet, Nikos kept totally still as she brought her mouth closer and closer to his.

A car drove past them sounding its horn noisily and they sprang apart like two tightly coiled springs breaking free from their restraints.

Dizzied by the pressure that had built up inside her, Mia stumbled backward a few steps at the same time that Nikos broke the grip he still held on one of her arms. Staring at him, feeling a sinking sense of confusion assail her, it all suddenly changed to a sense-crawling horror when she realised that she had been the one about to kiss him.

She spun away in a shaken, horrified need to escape what she’d almost done. The apartment’s car park was only a few metres away. Walking across it, she was so anxious to punch in her security PIN so she could get inside before he could reach the doors that she keyed the numbers in the wrong order and had to cancel to begin the sequence again. His arm reaching across her shoulder to do the job for her drew sparks from her muscles as they pulled taut.

The door swung open. They stepped inside the lobby. Neither said another word to each other as the lift took them up to the top floor. Refusing to look into the mirrors, Mia glued her eyes to the lift’s marble floor. She could feel his presence though, like a fierce wave of energy battering into her and her insides were fizzing so badly she could not even breathe.

The moment the doors opened she darted out of the lift to escape. ‘Wait a minute, Mia.’ His quiet voice pulled her to a stop halfway across the lobby. ‘You’ve forgotten something.’

Narrow shoulders snapping with tension, she did not want to turn around but stiff pride made her do it. He was standing near the lift, his broad-shouldered posture somehow deceptively passive because, even with her nonexistent experience, Mia was able to detect the prowling sexual pulse beat emanating from him. Wild butterflies were beating their wings in her stomach. Without being aware she was doing it, she brought her fingers together across her front in an anxious defensive pleat.

‘What?’ she prompted warily, and not for the life of her could she look at his face…

Nikos wondered how she would react if he offered to finish what they had started down in the street. She looked so damn beautiful standing there, trying hard not to show she was upset. And her innocence pounded at him like a bloody great barrier. It made him want to crash through it and just—

Just what?

Desire was one hell of an aphrodisiac when someone else was feeling it for you, he thought heavily. One unguarded look, the tempting thought of those anxious fingers touching his body, the sensual promise her lush parted mouth had offered him down in the car park…All it would take was a loosening of his self-control and the conflagration would happen and they might both gain some relief.

Shame Oscar stopped him from carrying through.

‘Your manners,’ he responded finally. ‘It is usual to thank the guy that bought you dinner.’

It was like he’d reached out and cut her throat. So cool, so sardonic, he was even still in lecture mode. Mia drew her eyes shut as the whole wretched agony of the way he was treating her exploded like a firework of needle-hot sparks which turned to ice as they embedded themselves in her flesh.

‘Thank you,’ she delivered with stiff obedience, ‘for such—a pleasant evening, signor.’

‘My pleasure, signorina,’ he returned, and even the supercontrolled Nikos Theakis could not stop the rueful twitch that took hold of his mouth.

He caught a glimpse of some of Oscar’s arrogance in the way she nodded her head at him before she spun away on the heels of her ridiculously high shoes. Her chin was high, her shoulders back, her hair a glossy black stream of loose waves down her taut back. Not a single tremor showed in her body as she walked up to her door, keyed in her security code, then pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The door shut with an impressively controlled soft thud behind her. As if it was a sign that he could drop his guard—or whatever it was that was holding him—Nikos let his shoulders fall back against the wall behind him and closed his eyes.

Mia Bianchi was fast becoming the kind of recreational drug he never indulged in. The kind you only took on if you were looking for total loss of control of your life.

He needed a woman, Nikos decided grimly. He should not have blown off the one he could have been seeing tonight, in favour of chasing after the one he could not have.

Opening his eyes on that lowering confession, mouth turned down at the corners as he dragged himself free of the wall, he speared a final glance at her closed door, then turned to stride back into the lift and stabbed a long finger at the button which would take him back to the ground floor.

Mia watched from her bedroom window as Nikos crossed the car park with the long loose-limbed stride of a man eager to depart. Duty done, she thought miserably. Annoying responsibility returned safely home, now he was going out to catch up on his real life. And he had his mobile phone clamped to his ear to find out where that life happened to be situated right now.

A woman?

Of course a woman, she told herself, reaching out to snap the blind shut so she could not see him any more.

Chapter Five

THE sound of her mobile chiming out its jingle brought Mia swimming up from the dark depths of the heavy sleep she had eventually tumbled into after tossing about restlessly for half of the night.

Stretching out a hand and groping the bedside table to make contact with the flat black contraption, she tucked her arm back beneath the duvet and pushed the phone to her ear before mumbling, ‘Ciao.’

‘It’s Nikos,’ he announced with his usual impatience. ‘I have to go down to Hampshire and you’re coming with me.’

Sitting up with a jolt, her sleepy eyes opened wide as saucers. ‘Hampshire?’ Mia echoed. ‘W-what is in Hampshire—?’

‘Work,’ came the sardonic answer. ‘Of the socialising kind.’

Still trying to cast off the heavy mists of sleep, Mia pushed the tumble of ebony curls off her face. ‘But it’s Saturday,’ she remembered. ‘I am supposed to be meeting—’

‘I don’t recall promising you would get your weekends free when you came to work for me,’ Nikos rode roughshod over what she had been about to say. ‘So whatever it is you have planned get out of it. I have to go out for a few hours but when I get back I will expect you to be ready to leave. You will need a dress—something formal.’

‘Formal,’ Mia repeated, stunned by the way he had just discarded her plans. ‘H-how formal?’

‘Bella-at-her-red-carpet-best formal,’ he delivered dryly, referring to her wildly beautiful and glamorous supermodel half-sister. ‘Do you have something like that to wear?’ he then thought to ask.

Dragging herself to the edge of the bed and standing, Mia sent her mind’s eye sweeping down the packed dress rail in the other bedroom. ‘Sí, I think so,’ she mumbled. ‘But—Nikos, I am not very good at these formal occasions,’ she threw in anxiously. ‘I don’t think—’

‘This is at Oscar’s command, not mine,’ he informed her with the cool thrust of a murderer plunging a knife into her chest. ‘He wants you there to represent the family because no one else is available to attend. Do you want to call and tell him you’re not up to taking on the responsibility—?’

Dio. ‘No,’ Mia surrendered heavily. ‘I will come.’

‘Good,’ he approved. ‘Pack an overnight bag because we will be staying. See you at one o’clock.’

He cut the connection before she could find the necessary brain cells to ask any questions. Sinking heavily back onto the bed, her fuzzy brain listed: Hampshire, a formal evening dress, an overnight bag. Be ready to go by one o’clock…

Then she was suddenly lurching into panic mode and using her mobile phone to ring her half-sister Sophie.

‘What is happening this evening in Hampshire?’ she wrung out urgently.

‘Hampshire?’ Sophie Balfour repeated. ‘Oh, my…’

‘What does this oh my mean?’ Mia demanded, already feeling the chill of alarm skate down her spine.

‘Is Nikos taking you there?’

‘Sí.’

‘Then take a brave pill before you go, sweetie,’ her half-sister advised her. ‘If you thought attending the Balfour Charity Ball was major-nervous-breakdown stuff, then you’re in for a shock because Hampshire is huge.’

‘Huge…’ Mia whispered, grappling with the complicated idiosyncrasies of the English language when spoken with sarcasm like this. ‘You will have to explain this huge to me too,’ she begged.

‘Ever heard of the D’Lassio brothers?’

‘No.’ Mia frowned. ‘Should I have heard of them?’

‘What kind of Italian are you that you’ve never heard of the two sexiest Italian tycoons out there?’ Sophie sounded shocked. ‘Santino D’Lassio is married to the absolutely gorgeous Nina Francis and works out of London. Alessandro D’Lassio is so single it’s mind-boggling and works out of Milan. Each year they stage a cross-continent charity event to top all charity events. One takes place on their fabulous country estate in Hampshire, the other at their magnificent ancestry pile situated on the banks of Lake Como. The two events will be linked by satellite. Television stations and the paparazzi will be out in force. Pop stars, royalty, the megarich and the superfamous will be attending—you’re going to love it like a bullet in the head,’ Sophie predicted. ‘And I bet Lois Mansell is pretty miffed that Nikos is taking you instead of her,’ Sophie said.

As if someone had thrust an icy rod down her backbone, Mia tensed up. ‘Who—who is Lois Mansell?’

‘Check out this morning’s paper,’ her half-sister advised. ‘She’s the fabulous blonde captured wrapped around Nikos as they left a nightclub together last night.’

At one o’clock to the absolute second, Mia presented herself in the top-floor oval lobby with her weekend bag as per instructions, and the dress she had decided to wear this evening draped over her arm in a cream silk dress bag. She was wearing faded designer denims, a thigh-hugging black Vive La Rock T-shirt and fiercely high black designer shoes. She’d confined her hair loosely to her nape with a big shiny black clip and her make-up was light.

For casual, cool and in strict control of her emotions were the absolute keys to her standing here at all. Indeed she’d been a breath away from using the flu bug excuse right up until the moment she’d stepped out of her apartment door.

His apartment door opened and her heart gave a single heavy little thump as Nikos stepped out. He was dressed more casually than she’d ever seen him, in pale chinos and a dove-grey V-neck sweater worn over a pale blue-and-grey-checked shirt. Big, lean, dark and classy, Mia listed, and had to bite back a bitter grimace when her head gave her another image of him, dressed in a black dinner suit leaving a famous nightclub with a leggy blonde clinging like a blood-sucking limpet to his side.

Their eyes met for a second. Her throat felt so thick Mia found she needed to swallow but wouldn’t allow herself the relief. Their murmured greetings crossed over each other. She was the one to break the eye contact, lowering her eyelashes and feeling like the ice woman inside.

‘Here, let me take your bag…’

As he stooped to lift her canvas holdall from where it sat at her feet, Mia found herself staring at the top of his head where the black silky thickness of his hair was glossed by the hint of curls.

Curls Lois Mansell had no doubt enjoyed running her long limpet fingers through last night, Mia tormented herself with the image she’d evoked.

‘Do you want me to take your dress bag…?’

‘No—thank you,’ she managed politely.

The lift arrived and, determined to maintain a professional detachment if it killed her to do it, Mia walked into it, then stood with her chin tilted down so she did not have to look at him as they travelled to the ground floor.

The tabloid newspaper which printed the photograph had headlined it with:

Is this the new blonde Greek billionaire Nikos Theakis has chosen to replace Lucy Clayton?

As for the rest of the article, which highlighted his penchant for leggy blondes and his low attention threshold, it had said it all as far as Mia was concerned. She’d finally acknowledged that it was time for her to learn to get over him, and if that meant not looking at him, then she was not going to look at him.

‘Something wrong?’ his deep voice drawled.

‘Nothing,’ she responded.

‘If you’re worrying about tonight, then—’

‘I am not worrying about anything.’ She walked out of the lift before he could say anything else.

It was only as he forged ahead of her to open the door that she noticed he carried no weekend bag for himself. Presuming he must have already put it in his car, Mia walked past him and out into the bright sunlight…only to go still when she saw a brand-new shiny red sports car—that only a total hermit would not recognise for what it was—waiting in the place of his silver Mattea.

Her icy cool started to falter. ‘Y-you’ve changed your car.’

‘I prefer not to put my passengers through mental torture,’ he relayed drily.

As Mia walked up to the door he was holding open for her she caught a gleam in his eyes which told her he was waiting for her to make some kind of positive response because he had gone to this much trouble exclusively for her.

When she said nothing, he grimaced. ‘You can thank me later,’ he murmured, ‘once you’ve recovered from your sulk because I spoiled your plans for today.’

It took Mia a minute to grasp that he was referring to her plans to meet with Sophie. They’d planned to go shopping and take in a movie but Nikos had not given her a chance to tell him that during his phone call this morning. Opening her mouth to tell him, she snapped it shut again. Let him think what the heck he liked. What she did with her free time was none of his business—as his was not any of hers.

‘Seat belt,’ he issued as he climbed in next to her, and the pleasant tone had disappeared from his voice, Mia noticed.

A few minutes later they were driving across the river towards Battersea. Mia tried not to watch the way he controlled his new car as if he had been driving it for years. It must be in his blood to know instinctively what to do in any given situation. She’d seen him at work too often not to be impressed with the way he could control most things with an ease that was so breathtakingly natural even those he was controlling did not notice he was doing it.

It was no wonder he was arrogant sometimes, a bit of a bully when he felt he needed to be. Incisive, decisive, he was used to being right so why not expect other people to just fall in line to his bidding?

After attempting to kick-start several conversation subjects to which she replied in crushing monotones, he issued a driven sigh. ‘Quit the chilly sulk, Mia,’ he told her, ‘or I will turn this car around and take you back home again.’

Mia straightened in her seat. ‘I am not sulking.’

‘No?’ Stopping at a set of traffic lights he turned to look at her—deep brown eyes, feathered with flashes of glinting gold, spun nerve ends alive across her taut profile. ‘You remind me of a feral cat I once tried to befriend as a kid. One minute she was soft and coquettish and brushing her sleek body up against me, the next minute she had her claws in my neck and was spitting at me.’

‘I have never brushed up against you!’ she denied, then felt her cheeks flame when she recalled the way she’d moved towards him last night. ‘Nor have I drawn my claws,’ she added as a quick cover-up. ‘And if I remind you of your friend the feral cat, then you remind me of our donkey,’ she threw back, sparked into defending herself.

‘Your—what?’ he raked out.

‘Tulio, our donkey,’ she supplied. ‘One minute he is beautifully relaxed and amenable, the next he acts as if he does not occupy the same planet as everyone else.’

‘You’re accusing me of being moody?’ Nikos delivered across the gap separating them.

Mia fixed her gaze on the traffic lights. ‘I cannot predict how you are going to speak to me from one minute to another. Tulio is the same. Only he does not speak—he just gives me the evil eye to say I don’t feel like being nice to you any longer, and so he isn’t.’ She added a self-explanatory shrug. ‘The lights have changed colour,’ she pointed out.

‘A donkey,’ he breathed, steering the car into a right turn, then accelerating up the street. ‘Grazie, cara,’ he said with grim sarcasm, and swung the car off the street into a small car park by the banks of the river, killed the car engine and climbed out.

Mia hugged a pleased smile to herself as she watched him stride around the car bonnet with his golden good looks pronounced by the savage look on his face.

So she’d just insulted him and ruined his day.

Good, she thought, because he had ruined hers too with his nocturnal activities splashed all over the papers!

Did she have the right to be angry about that?

She did not care if she had no right—she just did!

She hated him. She hoped Lois Mansell was the worst lover he had ever bothered to bed. And she was not jealous! she told herself furiously, she was just—

He pulled open her door for her with more angry strength than the beautifully designed piece of equipment required. As she carefully manoeuvred her high-heeled shoes over the sill of the car, his grim impatience with her transferred to the long fingers he clamped around her arm to help straighten her up. Arriving in front of him with more impulse than was necessary, she ended up almost flattened against him, which shocked her enough into glancing up.

Their eyes clashed—his slightly narrowed and glinting golden warning shots for her to take care what she did or said next, hers sparking with bright blue defiance which dared him to make one of his cold, cutting comments gauged to knock her back down to size.

But he went for a different kind of attack. He relaxed the corners of his hard, clipped mouth, slid a hand around her exposed nape, then lowered his head and captured her mouth with a hard, hot, plundering kiss!

Astonishment thrilled through Mia. It was so shockingly unexpected and so shockingly intimate she was unable to do anything but just let him explore the contours of her mouth with a sensual fluency that glued her to the spot.

Knocked completely for six she staggered dizzily when he lifted his head again. Breathless and shaking and unable to focus on anything, she just stared up at him through a thick misty glaze.

‘Different mood, cara,’ he purred down at her like his very own feral cat. ‘I sincerely hope that Tulio is not so adventurous.’

His meaning shocked a gasp from Mia. As if he felt he deserved her reaction Nikos nodded his dark head, then let go of her and turned abruptly to glare at the young man who had approached them without her being aware of it.

‘Get the bags out of the boot and give them to my pilot, then take the car back,’ he instructed, tossing the keys at the other man.

Still much too stunned to take in the bit about his pilot, Mia slung a swift glance at whoever it was Nikos was talking to, saw it was the man from accounts she had lunched with yesterday and also saw that his eyes were standing out in shock.

Heat poured into her face like a scorching flame. It was bright sunny daylight, and Nikos Theakis had just kissed her full on her mouth in front of another member of his staff!

‘You—you did that on purpose!’ she hissed at him shakenly.

Nikos claimed one of her hands and walked her away from the car. ‘He needed showing where he stands with you.’

‘Stands with me?’ Mia gasped out. ‘I don’t understand this stands with me,’ she told him, having to hurry to keep up with his long stride.

‘He was the date that stood you up last night.’

‘He was not my date!’

‘He was your date,’ he insisted. ‘And I have just made my point.’

‘Will you please explain what it is you are talking about?’ Tugging hard on her captured hand she pulled them both to a stubborn standstill in front of a white building with glass entrance doors. Hot, mortified, her kissed lips burning and feeling shockingly pumped up, still she made herself glare up at him.

He looked down at her, as cold and haughty-looking as she had ever seen him. And his lips were not burning! ‘I saw you talking with him in my foyer yesterday at lunch,’ Nikos confessed. ‘By the time he comes out of his shock far enough to read the message I’ve just given him, he will understand that you are out of bounds from now on if he wants to keep his job.’

Sent totally, utterly breathless by the ruthless steel trap his mind must be, Mia could not get another single word out. She twisted her head to look towards the red sports car where, sure enough, the man from accounts was still standing next to as if in shock.

Her insides shuddered. ‘You—you set me up for that kiss in front of him,’ she whispered, finally beginning to catch on as to why that particular employee of his had been roped in to deal with his car.

‘No, Tulio did that. Until Tulio put in an appearance I’d decided that merely seeing you going off to spend a weekend with me was going to be enough to put him off thinking he could try coming on to you again. Tulio upped the ante.’

Tugging her into motion again he sent the glass doors swinging open and walked them into the building, then kept her anchored to his side as he spoke to a receptionist standing behind the desk. Fizzing with fury Mia wanted so badly to deny what he’d assumed, but she knew that she could not do that without exposing the real reason why she had gone out last night, and nothing was ever going to make her admit the truth to him now!

So she stood simmering beside him with her eyes on a level with his wide muscular shoulder, and only began to take notice of her surroundings when she happened to focus through a window and saw the helicopter glinting in the bright sunlight on what looked like a concrete jetty jutting out into the Thames.

Her fingernails bit tense crescents into Nikos’s palm. She had never travelled in a helicopter before, and she was not sure she wanted to travel in one now.

Nikos tried not to wince as her fingernails bit into his flesh as he signed the necessary documents and felt alive for the first time in two long miserable weeks. A fire was burning deep down in his abdomen. He didn’t know how she had managed to do this to him, this black-haired, long-legged, curvy fiery witch, but she did do it to him. If he had been standing in the middle of a wilderness he would be howling now like a mating wolf.

He’d warned Oscar. He’d warned Mia. He’d even warned himself. But it had taken a donkey named Tulio to set his natural hunting instinct free from the restraints he had placed around them. Turning back to the glass doors he trailed his captive outside again. His new sports car was nowhere to be seen now. Grimacing at the delight he could imagine its young driver was enjoying—the young fool’s damn consolation prize—Nikos turned them towards the jetty on which his helicopter was awaiting them.

Mia was forced to endure his help as he helped her up the steps into the plush cream leather interior, with the bristling impatience of a man who believed he had the right to hustle her around.

The impression stung like acid through the layers of her skin as she chose a seat on the other side of the cabin and sat down. She refused to look at him as he folded his long frame into the seat farthest away from her. If two people wished to announce they were at war, then their seating choices flagged the battle line.

The door slid shut. Rotor blades began to move. The angry butterflies playing havoc with her insides altered to anxious tingles as she felt the contraption lift off the ground. As her heart dipped alarmingly she watched with wide eyes and, in what felt like only seconds, she found herself staring down at the river which looked like a silver ribbon glinting in the sun.

He did not speak. She did not speak. But she could feel the fierce heat of his mood reaching out towards her across the empty gap.

And her lips were still burning so hotly from the kiss she found she just had to try to cool them with the moist tip of her tongue. Her mouth suddenly came alive with the taste of him. Shocked that a kiss could leave such an intimate residue behind, she slammed her tongue against the back of her teeth and refused to let it move again.

‘Drink—?’

Mia forced herself to look at him, only to feel a strange heavy weight descend across her chest. He looked different again—as in dangerously different. His lounging posture in the corner of the plush leather seat, with his long legs stretched out in front of him, yelled cool, calm arrogance at her, yet his half-narrowed eyes and the glint emitting from them warned of something new lurking around inside him, as if he’d flung on yet another change of mood.

Passion-desire, she named it, without knowing how she recognised either thing. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, his wide sensual mouth. Could he taste her as she could still taste him—?

Mia shook her head and turned to look at the horizon where the built-up city had begun to thin out and the earth below them was slowly turned into a thousand shades of green as they flew over countryside.

Across the cabin, Nikos was talking on his mobile phone. In front of her, hidden behind a bulkhead, some invisible person was flying them to—she knew not where because she had forgotten to ask where they were staying.

A short while later they began to sink downwards. Mia saw a series of slated rooftops forming the shape of a large country house standing in the centre of sweeping clipped green lawns sloping down to a tiny lake.

As they settled on the grass a short walk away from the creamy painted walls of the house, she assumed that it must be a hotel. And only realised her mistake when Nikos led the way in through the front door and she heard him greet a smartly dressed man with thick greying hair, before strolling over to a side table to begin sifting through the small pile of letters she could see waiting there.

‘This is a house,’ she murmured, pausing to look around the light and airy hallway.

Nikos threw her a glance. ‘What did you think it was?’

‘A hotel.’

His smile was more of a grimace. ‘This is my home—or the one I use at weekends if I’m in England.’

‘Sophie did not mention it.’

‘Why would she?’

Eyelashes flickering away from the sturdy staircase built of rich golden oak which took up central position, Mia looked at him, then away again.

‘No reason,’ she said, except that Sophie always seemed to know everything, so the fact that she did not know Nikos had a country house in Hampshire seemed—odd. ‘How many homes do you have?’ she asked curiously.

‘Too many, probably,’ he mocked. ‘I don’t like hotels,’ he explained. ‘I prefer my own space.’

There was something in the way that he’d said that, which made Mia frown as she studied his face. It told her nothing, and he appeared completely relaxed, yet—

Someone came in through the open front door then, making her turn about. It was the man Nikos had greeted as they’d arrived here and he was carrying her holdall and dress bag.

‘This is Lukas.’ Nikos made the introductions. ‘Lukas keeps the house running smoothly. If you need anything while you’re here, Lukas can usually provide it. Miss Balfour, Lukas,’ he said.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Balfour,’ Lukas greeted her politely. ‘I will take your things up to your room, then organise some refreshment.’

He strode off towards the stairs, leaving Mia chewing her bottom lip as she watched him go. It was all very easy, very polite. Very much as she’d become used to at Balfour Manor, yet it was contrarily nothing like that estate. Balfour Manor was vast in comparison to this house, with masses of heavy panelling, and long galleried walkways steeped in priceless works of art and stunning antiques. This place had soft cream walls and a gentle, more classical feel to it.

She liked it.

‘Take a look around while I finish reading through these,’ Nikos invited, his attention back on his stack of mail.

Wandering off, Mia discovered that all the doors stood open already as if in invitation for her to step into each room. The first one she chose turned out to be a beautiful living room with squashy gold velvet sofas and chairs. A grand piano stood in front of a pair of French windows situated at one end of the room.

‘Do you play?’ she asked Nikos as she walked out of the room again.

‘I used to. I don’t have much time these days.’

Wondering why he sounded so indifferent to possessing such a wonderful gift, she crossed the hall to the other side and discovered a creamy book-lined study with a large desk filling the window and olive-green furnishings.

Stepping out again she saw that Nikos had finished with his letters and was now studying her. A frisson ran down through her body. Conscious suddenly that they appeared to be alone here apart from Lukas, Mia wasn’t sure if she was comfortable with the arrangement, though she tried not to show it.

‘How—how far are we away from the D’Lassios’ place?’ she asked him.

‘Five minutes by helicopter, twenty minutes by car. Do you want to see the rest of the house or are you ready for something to eat and drink?’

She didn’t know what she wanted to do. Her fingers were restlessly pleating together and unpleating again, and for some reason she felt very unsure of her ground where his mood was concerned right now. He was relaxed, yes. He was being very pleasant. But there was something different about him that made her want to—

What—?

Back off? Run?

He was not offering to show her to her room, which was usually the first thing people did with a guest who was staying overnight. Not that she wanted him to show her to her room, Mia told herself quickly. But—

But what?

Exasperated with herself, she decided her best choice while she was feeling so unsettled was, ‘I think I would like to look around some more.’

With a nod of his dark head he led the way towards the back of the house. Half an hour later she’d been shown an all-purpose gym and an indoor swimming pool, a very elegant dining room, two more less formal sitting rooms and a huge rear garden that was a blaze of colour from the early summer flowering bulbs. Not once did Nikos rest so much as a hand on her, yet she quivered inwardly all the time as if he was threatening to do it.

It was the fault of the kiss, she told herself. The knowledge that he had come at her out of nowhere with it and so could easily come at her out of nowhere with something else.

He was volatile—unpredictable. The kind of man who was a law to himself. He fascinated and unnerved her in equal measures, and her awareness of his close proximity played like a bow across the taut string of her nerves, which in turn kept every sense she possessed honed on him.

‘It’s a very big house for just Lukas to look after,’ she remarked eventually. ‘You have no other staff?’ She hadn’t seen a single other person.

‘Plenty, but they know not to be around when I’m here,’ Nikos said.

Because, as he’d already said, he liked his own space—which should not surprise her since she was able to live in the service flat at his London apartment because he usually kept it empty.

His mobile phone rang then and, after taking the call, he murmured, ‘Excuse me, I have to deal with this,’ and strode off towards his study, talking in Greek.

It was like being let off for good behaviour. Mia felt herself almost deflate with relief. Working closely with him was taxing. Fighting with him was taxing! But being treated to a whole hour of his graciously polite side had worn her out!

How did he manage to switch his moods on and off like a light switch? How did he go from impatient boss to hot, angry kisser with serious possessive tendencies that made her insides flip over to amiable companion?

Passionate, pre-calculating, domineering and dangerous, she listed, quivering despite not wanting to react at all.

What mood was he going to treat her to next? The urban sophisticate wearing his social mask while a Balfour hung on his arm?

He was tying her emotions in knots with his quick-change mood swings. She needed something to do to take her mind off him.

Fortunately Lukas appeared as if by magic to offer her the promised refreshment. ‘It’s such a beautiful day, perhaps you would enjoy sitting out on the terrace? I’m sure Mr Nikos will not be long.’

Mr Nikos could take as long as he liked, Mia thought as she followed Lukas across one of the rear sitting rooms and outside. The moment she relaxed into a cushioned chair and the warmth of the sun touched her face, she felt homesick for Tuscany and Tia Giulia’s peeling pink farmhouse and the rickety wooden furniture they used like an extension of the old-fashioned kitchen throughout the long summer months.

Lukas unfurled a huge canvas umbrella, suddenly dousing her in shade. She knew he’d meant well but she’d been happier to close her eyes and bake for a little while, something she had not had the opportunity to do since she’d arrived in England.

Just something else she missed about Tuscany.

‘Something cool to drink or would you prefer coffee or tea?’ enquired Lukas.

A sudden imp inside her made her want to demand a large shot of vodka, just to see how Lukas would react. She had never, ever tasted vodka but the house, Lukas and all of this polite care and attention did not fit with the cool, tough, impersonal if-I-can-do-it-myself-I-will nature of Nikos Theakis.

‘Something cool,’ she said meekly, smiling wryly to herself.

‘Coffee for me, Lukas,’ a third voice instructed.

Nikos strode out of the house and into the sunshine, then paused for second, lifting up his face as if he’d missed the sun too. His sweater had gone and he’d rolled back the sleeves of his checked shirt, revealing strong muscled forearms smattered lightly with fine black hair that made his skin look deeply tanned.

For a timeless moment Mia was held transfixed by his sheer bronzed beauty. A telling little flame flickered into life low down.

Then he tilted his chin down again and she dragged her eyes from him, feeling shaken inside and momentarily defenceless against these surges of attraction she kept on experiencing.

‘They’re going to slap a no-fly zone over the D’Lassio estate for the evening to stop the uninvited press from flying overhead,’ he was telling Lukas, ‘so can you make sure my pilot knows we need to leave to arrive before seven o’clock?’

With a nod Lukas left them alone on the terrace. Mia fixed her eyes on the garden where an elegant Greek goddess stood gently pouring water from an urn into a circular pond. So tranquil, she thought, when there was nothing tranquil about the man who must have had the pool and the goddess positioned there.

‘So, what do you think?’ He came to take the seat beside her, lazed back and stretched out his long legs.

‘About the house? You must already know that it’s very beautiful.’

‘I purchased it last year from a business acquaintance, who needed some heavy cash fast,’ he imparted casually. ‘The idea was to sell it on but the current housing market made me decide to hang on to it for a while.’

‘That explains it, then,’ Mia murmured.

He turned his head to look at her. ‘Explains what?’

‘Did Lukas come with the house?’ she responded with a question of her own.

‘Yes,’ he confirmed, and she nodded her head.

‘The decor and the furnishings?’

His eyes started to narrow, and Mia felt that needling spark of electricity filter into the air. She had to moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue before she could go on. ‘Your—stamp is not visible here.’

‘Stamp,’ he prompted.

‘This is a—how do you say it…quintessential—? Sí, this is a quintessential model of an Englishman’s country home.’

‘What do you know about quintessential Englishmen?’ Nikos laughed. ‘You’re a Tuscan farm girl with a donkey called Tulio for a best friend.’

‘I have half-English blood,’ Mia defended that comment.

‘For all you know I might have half-English blood too,’ Nikos tossed back.

Widening her blue eyes, she asked, ‘Do you—?’

‘No,’ he conceded. ‘But you couldn’t know that. You’re making assumptions about me without being in possession of all the facts. That’s dangerous around me, cara.’

And Mia knew he was right. Then again, everything felt as if it had a dangerous element to it since she’d woken up this morning.

And when she could not manage to break eye contact with him, Mia knew it was getting worse.

Chapter Six

MIA turned to look at herself in the full-length mirror and felt the now almost-permanent quiver going on low in her stomach quicken like mad.

The dress had once belonged to Bella. She’d spent half the morning shortening the long flow of its near-sheer iced-blue silk skirt. But it was the rest of the dress that made her senses quicken. The strapless style of the bodice draped lovingly around the thrusting shape of her breasts, then went on to hug each slender curve of her body with band after band of exquisitely intricate pleating all the way down to her thighs before the sheer silk flowed to her feet, elevated by the daintiest pair of crystal-studded high-heeled mules.

‘Oh, my,’ she breathed, stealing the expression Sophie had used on the phone that morning because it suddenly made a whole lot of sense.

Sparkling crystal droplets danced amongst the tight pleating, accentuating the shape of her body when she moved or even as she breathed. She’d coiled her hair into a loose pleat at her nape and her skin glowed smooth gold against the pale blue of the gown. A fabulous teardrop diamond necklace, given to her by Oscar, rested on its fine gold chain just above the sloping fullness of her breasts, and matching earrings sparkled at her ears. She had hoped to look elegant and sleek and sophisticated but what she’d seemed to have achieved was—alluringly sensual. She even felt sensual, in places she did not dare think about in case she made herself blush.

But she was chewing on her rose-coloured lip gloss and frowning uncertainly because she was just discovering that it was one thing to imagine herself dressing like this to impress a certain man, but it was quite a different sensation to realise she was seriously shocking herself.

Nikos was standing in the hall talking into his mobile phone when Mia appeared at the top of the staircase. As he glanced up and caught sight of her, the deep base tones of his voice stopped midsentence and he froze, his dark eyes flaring momentarily before he hooded them over with his long eyelashes, his gaze running in a slow sweep that allowed him to take in every sleek curvaceous inch.

Theos, I’m in trouble, was the only thought he was able to register as a familiar heat flared low in his groin and somehow managed to mess with his breathing at the same time.

Then he became aware that he still held his phone to his ear and he turned his back on her while he finished the call and, at the same time, grabbed a tight mental grip on his rampaging libido.

This weekend is about work, he reminded himself.

Yeah, tell that to the kiss you can still taste.

Just watching the way he’d shut down his expression and how his strong jaw had clenched before he turned away was enough to tighten the knot of anxiety toying with Mia’s stomach. He’d done it again, and beaten her up with his silent criticism. She didn’t know whether to get angry or to weep.

She’d reached the last step before he turned around again, wearing his cool urban face. ‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘Something urgent Petros needed to discuss with me before we left.’

He was walking towards her as he spoke, the absolute epitome of gorgeous handsome man about town in a formal dinner suit again.

‘You look fabulous,’ he delivered lightly. ‘Love the dress.’

Mia managed a small tense smile in response.

‘Do you have no coat, a shawl or something?’

Offering a shake of her head, she answered, ‘The evening is quite warm.’

In truth, she had forgotten to bring anything like a shawl with her, but she was not going to admit that to this man who was floating a final glance over her before he gave a curt nod of his sleek dark head.

‘Let’s get going, then.’

Brisk, businesslike, firing on all pistons, Mia described as she walked beside him towards the front door. He did not need to say it out loud to remind her that this was all about work. Networking the social scene while pretending to enjoy themselves. Putting the Theakis name out there where it would be remembered, and remembering people he thought might be useful to him at some future date.

She wanted to ask him if she got paid overtime rates, but decided against setting the evening with a sarcasm that was bound to annoy him.

As they circled down over the D’Lassio estate, Mia was genuinely stunned by its palatial splendour, even with Balfour Manor to use for comparison. Balfour was built on more traditional lines with the patina of age to soften its sturdy grey stone walls, whereas this house was designed to look more like a Roman villa with a central courtyard and formal gardens fanning out from three sides of the house. The front of the house was mainly rolling green parkland split by a long sweeping drive. A makeshift car park to one side of the drive was already glinting due to the dying sun on the lines of cars.

Mia counted six helicopters parked up on the other side of the driveway and, as they swooped lower, she caught sight of two swimming pools, one outdoors and one contained beneath a dome of glass. Two television crews, and what felt like a thousand photographers, waited to record their arrival. The moment she saw them her heart started beating way too fast.

‘Switch the Balfour smile on, glikia mou,’ Nikos instructed softly as he helped her down the helicopter steps.

Obediently Mia switched on her smile. Camera shutters began clicking wildly and flashbulbs lit up the fading light. Nikos maintained his grip on one of her hands as they walked the media gauntlet on a thoughtfully laid carpet of artificial grass. Behind them the helicopter set its rotor blades moving again. A flurry of questions were being called out and a microphone was pushed into her face.

‘Good evening, Miss Balfour, would you tell us which designer made your gown?’

Surprised to find herself staring directly into the lens of a television camera, Mia answered without thinking until it was too late to wonder if the world-famous Italian designer wanted his name given to this particular gown since it was at least twelve months old.

‘Buona sera, signorina.’ The sound of her native tongue calling out to her sent Mia’s head swinging the other way, directly into a second television camera. ‘Signor Valencia knows how to make the most out of a sensational figure, heh?’ The interviewer had already picked up the dress designer’s name. ‘Will you take a moment to tell Italy what it is like for a Tuscan farm girl to discover she is the daughter of such a wealthy Englishman?’

The question came without warning. The camera zoned close on her face. Her fingers tensed, stretched, then pleated tightly in between Nikos’s long fingers, and a warm flush of self-consciousness spread across her face while he just stood there beside her, smiling coolly, waiting for her to give a response.

It was a test, yet another lesson for her that he was letting her learn how to handle. Tutor and pupil at work in the classroom of life.

‘Sì…Grazie…Buona sera, Italia…’ Somehow she managed to keep her smile in place and come up with a reasonably intelligent comment about the differences between her old life and her new life.

‘Love your voice, Mia!’ someone else tossed at her in English. ‘Very sexy. I could listen to you all night! What do you think, Nikos?’

Nikos just smiled and started them moving, thinking sexy did not begin to describe those dark throaty earth tones she used whenever she conversed in her natural language.

Dipping his dark head he murmured, ‘You handled that well. Now let’s see if we can get you through the rest of the evening without you making a bolt for the kitchens.’

‘Non capisco,’ Mia responded coolly, refusing to acknowledge the taunt about her well-documented bolt into the bowels of the kitchens the night of the Balfour Charity Ball.

Nikos gave a soft laugh and swapped his grip on her hand for an arm strapped across her back so he could hustle her in front of him into the house.

The next half an hour passed by in a whirl of first-time introductions that more camera crews recorded moment by moment. By the time she was given a chance to draw in a proper breath again, Mia was feeling dazed.

‘You could have warned me,’ she complained to Nikos.

‘Forewarned, there was a chance you might do a runner,’ he said, catching up two glasses of champagne and handing one to her.

‘This place is amazing,’ she changed the subject, glancing up at a high vaulted ceiling around which a cantilevered glass walkway seemed to stay up there by will alone.

‘Santino likes to impress us with his structural engineering skills,’ Nikos murmured dryly.

‘I thought the D’Lassios were media moguls.’ Mia frowned.

‘Been doing your homework?’

Lifting her chin, she said, ‘To improve my education is the reason why I am here with you, is it not?’

The direct challenge. Nikos arched an eyebrow because he had not expected her to make it. Like a fool playing a very dangerous game he held on to her deep blue eyes and piled the pressure on the constant tug of sexual awareness that was always present between them now.

She looked away first.

‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s move on to where the real action is.’

The work angle of action, Mia saw the moment they stepped inside a vast reception room already crammed with high-end glittering people. The networking started almost straight away. Nikos kept her at his side as he walked the room, rarely needing to make an effort to gain attention because people were more eager to meet him. It was the quality of the man and his billionaire kudos, his entrepreneurial brilliance, his stunning good looks and his casually presented charm. He handled people with a low-key edginess that made them work all the harder to earn themselves an impressed glance or an approving smile.

Smooth, Mia described as she soaked him in like the rest of them.

Then he ruined it for her when he turned to her and said, ‘OK, this is where I leave you on your own for a while.’

Like a kick in the gut she instantly turned as white as parchment. Nikos released a sigh, catching her by the shoulders and turning her to face him.

‘All you have to do is circulate and listen. If you know what they’re talking about, join in. If you don’t know what they’re talking about, then ask questions,’ he relayed as if it was really that simple. ‘People don’t mind being asked questions. In fact, they like to show off their knowledge. What they don’t like is someone pretending to know what they’re talking about when they don’t. OK?’

Pressing the tremor out of her lips Mia nodded.

‘And you’re a Balfour,’ he reminded her. ‘The people here know you are a Balfour and they’re going to just love to welcome you into their group on the strength of your name alone. In fact it’s going to be them hoping to impress you so you will remember them to Oscar.’

‘Not to you?’

‘To me too,’ Nikos agreed. ‘If they ask you anything too personal shoot them down the way you like to do to me,’ he went on. ‘You have spirit, Mia, use it to your advantage. Always be polite. Always be aware of how much you’re drinking. I will come and find you in, say, half an hour when we are due to go into dinner.’

Glancing down at the fine silver watch circling her wrist which Tia Giulia had bought her for her last birthday, she said, ‘OK,’ with only a tiny scared tremor showing in her voice.

Nikos heard it though and released a sigh.

‘It’s OK—really,’ she said and straightened her shoulders. ‘This is work—yes? I have to treat it that way.’

Still he hesitated, giving her the impression he wanted to say something else, and for some reason Mia found herself holding her breath.

Then he instructed, ‘Don’t bolt,’ and walked away.

For the next half-hour Mia braved the sharp jaws of socialising. Like Nikos had said, it was easier than she expected because people did recognise her instantly and it tended to be them drawing her into their conversation rather than her needing to butt in.

Nikos wished he’d found it easy to walk away from her but he hadn’t. He felt as if he’d abandoned a puppy on the fast lane of a motorway. But he needed to speak to some people about Lassiter-Brunel. During Mia’s research exercise she had—admittedly unwittingly—exposed some business issues that were bothering him. OK, he reasoned, so he had pulled out of the deal they were trying to broker, but he’d done that for personal reasons. It was only this morning when he had gone back to the office to look through Mia’s file that he had picked up on other things that troubled him.

She was good at ferreting, he acknowledged with an inner smile. But other colleagues in the same business might not have a ferret that looked so beautiful Brunel would let his professional guard slip to the point anyone would question whether he was as reputable as he made out.

Hearing himself using Mia’s choice of word made Nikos grimace at the same moment that a set of slender long fingers coiled around his arm. ‘So you’ve been landed with Oscar’s little cuckoo,’ a mocking voice purred.

Glancing down Nikos found a smile for the beautiful but dangerous socialite-cum-gossip-columnist Diana Fischer who’d sidled up against him.

‘Who would have believed Oscar could be such a deliciously secretive dark horse,’ she went on. ‘Perhaps it’s as well that the scandal broke after poor Lillian departed to the afterlife. Imagine her horror if she’d been here to discover that the man she had been married to for twenty years had still been busy sowing his wild oats right up to and beyond their marriage.’

She was fishing for knowledge, timing details, that Nikos was not going to reveal. Setting his teeth together behind the relaxed line of his mouth, he drawled, ‘Still enjoying playing the heartless bitch, Diana?’

‘I’m heartless?’ Her lovely green eyes opened wide. ‘Tell me, Nikos, how many hearts have you broken since you became sexually active?’

‘I was referring to your lack of respect for the dead.’

‘I adored Lillian,’ Diana declared. ‘Everybody did. I thought I was being sympathetic towards her.’ She pouted up at him. ‘After all, who would want to find out that her husband had been laying into another woman?’

‘Remind me,’ Nikos murmured, ‘why is Lance in the process of divorcing you?’

‘Oh.’ The luscious pout became pronounced. ‘That was so below the belt, Nikos.’

Nikos released a dry laugh. Diana was a bitch and a brazen one but at least she never pretended to be anything else. He liked that about her—so long as she kept her barbs out of Oscar and his daughters.

Or one particular daughter, he amended, unable to stop himself from glancing across the room to hunt her down. He caught sight of her dark head in amongst a group of younger people and wasn’t sure he liked the odd stinging sensation that ran down his front.

‘The cuckoo is different from the other seven, isn’t she,’ Diana prodded lightly, following his gaze. ‘She’s so shy and reserved—just look at the way she’s blushing at whatever Joel Symons is saying to her…’

Nikos was looking.

‘She doesn’t have a clue how to deal with people like us.’

‘Like us?’ Nikos was curious enough to pick up on the comment.

‘Well, we’ve already established that I’m a heartless bitch and you’re a ruthless heart-breaker. And there is a room full of both those types here tonight. Elegant, bored, social spinners,’ she extended candidly. ‘Men with their egos in their wallets and their pants, and women with theirs in the exact same two places—and I meant in the men’s,’ she made clear. ‘The cuckoo stares at us all as if we are aliens and I don’t really blame her. Think what it must have been like for her to be launched like a bomb into Balfour society after spending all of her life halfway up a mountain, growing plants.’

‘And perhaps she recognises that she’s sauce for tongues like yours,’ Nikos offered up.

And realised suddenly that he was right. Mia was not overwhelmed by the greatness of the elevated company her new life had thrown her into the midst of; she was overwhelmed by her own notoriety as Oscar Balfour’s shockingly exposed illegitimate child.

‘Do me a favour, Diana,’ he said quietly. ‘Keep your barbs out of Mia.’

‘And you will do what for me?’ she shot back.

Leaning down Nikos brushed a light kiss to one of her smooth cheeks. ‘Respect you,’ he murmured and walked away.

Mia saw the kiss and wondered what the name of that particular blonde was. He had beautiful blondes coming out of his pockets, she decided acidly, thinking of Lois Mansell, who he had been with just last night.

She pitied the one he’d just kissed and walked away from, she decided as she turned and strode off in the opposite direction. For there was one lesson Nikos had already taught her which stopped her short of being jealous of the new blonde and the kiss—he left with the woman he arrived with and saw her safely back to her own front door.

Or her bedroom door in her case tonight.

Or inside the bedroom door if it was anyone else.

A hand caught her wrist as she was about to continue through the open doors onto the pool terrace. For a brief second she thought it was Nikos and a wry smile curved her mouth as she turned her head with the intention of telling him the half an hour was not yet up.

But the smile died along with her sinking heart when she found herself staring into the cold silver eyes of Anton Brunel.

‘I want words with you,’ he informed her thinly.

‘I don’t think so.’ Trying to pull free from his grip, her wrist hurt when he tightened his hold on it. ‘Let go of me!’ She frowned at him in contemptuous surprise.

‘Not until I get some answers from you.’

Pulling her away from the doorway, he swung her into a corner of the room behind a giant palm plant. ‘Right,’ he said, pushing his handsome face up close to hers. ‘You owe me a bloody explanation as to what the hell you think you’re playing at, telling lies about me to Theakis!’

‘I did not lie about you,’ Mia denied, wincing when his hard fingers crunched the tender bones in her wrist.

‘You spent that whole lunch turning me on with your sexy-eyed promises, then you told him it was me coming on to you!’

‘You live in a strange place in your head, signor, if you truly believe what you just said,’ Mia retorted scornfully, still trying to get away from him and glancing over the top of his blocking shoulder to see if anyone had noticed the way he’d cornered her like this.

It came as a shock to realise that he’d chosen his spot carefully because the palm plant virtually sealed them off from view.

Then she gasped when he pushed in on her, his body pressing her back against the wall. ‘Listen to me,’ he rasped. ‘I want you to tell that jealous bastard the truth! You came on to me! You offered yourself up over the damn lunch table, and if I took the bait, he only has you to blame. I don’t see why I should take the flack and lose the best investment deal I had going for my company because you like to play sex games across a table!’

His face was so close to hers that she was breathing in the alcohol from his angry breath.

‘I would not play sex games across anything with you,’ Mia whipped back, shuddering with distaste. ‘And if you don’t release me from this corner I will start shouting for help!’

‘No, you won’t,’ he jeered. ‘You’re a Balfour, and too damn scared of making a scene here. Theakis won’t like it. Darling daddy won’t like it.’

‘But I am not making the scene—you are! Now—let—me—go!’

With an angry tug she managed to yank her wrist free. As he went to grab hold of her again, she pushed at his body with her two clenched fists and enough angry strength to make him stagger back a small step, giving her just enough space to slither around him and get away.

Shaking inside with anger and reaction, she hurried out onto the pool terrace. Scared that he might be following her but determined not to look back and check, she made for the first group of people she saw standing by the swimming pool, and with a deep breath to calm her unsteady breathing, she ventured close enough for them to notice her, and smiled gratefully when they widened the circle to invite her to join in.

Did she do the things Anton Brunel had accused her of doing? Her eyes glazed with the agonised knowledge that she might have done without knowing she was even doing it. But did not knowing make her any less guilty? Hadn’t Nikos accused her of doing the same thing to the waiter at the restaurant last night?

What was she, some kind of unwitting man-teaser?

And her wrist was hurting, she noticed, carefully rubbing the place where Anton Brunel had dug into her bones. Someone offered her a glass of champagne. She smiled as she took it, and hoped the thoughtful person could not see the strain in her eyes.

She did not want to be a man-teaser. She did not like what it meant.

She thought about taking a sip from her glass but she knew she would not be able to swallow. Her throat felt thick and her nerves were still jangling like mad. It was dark outside now and the air was cooler than it had been earlier. Soft lighting had been switched on to light the way to the marquee set up in the garden and the pool glittered a soft aqua blue.

She caught the smooth deep tones of Nikos’s voice and turned to watch him appear in the doorway leading back into the main reception room. He was flanked either side by Santino D’Lassio and Nina, his beautiful flame-haired wife. All three of them were smiling, relaxed—friends by their easy manner with one another.

Someone called out, ‘Hey, Nina! When are you going to feed us?’

And Nina D’Lassio’s light laughter filled the terrace, making Mia find a small smile too because the laughter was contagious. Then a hand arrived in the centre of her back and pushed, propelling her forward. For a moment she teetered like a ballerina on the tips of her toes, fighting the momentum trying to pitch her forwards, her eyes wide as she stared into the lit blue depths of the swimming pool.

Then she lost the battle and the next thing she knew she was falling, her sharp cry of shock the last thing she remembered before she sank beneath the depths of the cool blue waters.

Nikos was grabbing her arms even as she broke through the surface again, winded and gasping for breath. It was his fiercely clenched face she first focused on, his blazing black eyes, as he hauled her up and out of the water like a quivering, shivering, dripping wet rag.

Camera bulbs flashed in the stunning silence that hung over the pool terrace. Still too shocked to care right now, her fingers clutched at the bunched muscles in Nikos’s forearms in an effort to remain standing upright. Her legs had turned to jelly and she’d lost her shoes in the tumble. Her hair had come loose and now it was dripping all over her face, and stinging hot tears were hurting her eyes.

‘What happened?’ Nikos roughed out harshly.

‘I would swear someone gave her a push,’ a disembodied voice claimed, and hearing someone say it out loud like that sent the air choking from her lungs on a broken sob.

Cursing softly Nikos tried to fold her into the shelter of his arms but she held back. ‘I will wet you.’

‘Do you think I care about that?’

A large warm towel arrived around her shoulders and she huddled into it gratefully, shivering badly now as the cool evening air struck deep into her wet skin.

‘Are you all right, Mia—?’ It was only when she heard Nina D’Lassio’s anxious question that she realised it must be her hostess who’d been so quick to produce the towel she was huddling into. ‘Are you hurt anywhere?’

With a shake of her head Mia made an effort to pull herself together, found the strength to push her wet hair from her face and discovered that her wrist was still hurting.

‘I’m OK,’ she shivered out, fighting to slow the pounding pump of her heartbeat. She managed to let out a small shrill laugh. ‘I don’t know how that h-happened but I will not be offended if you believe I am drunk!’

An appreciative ripple of laughter ran around the terrace. After that, people began to relax and talk again, giving her a chance to try and take stock of what she must look like. Staring down she saw that her dress was ruined, her bare toes curling into the cold white tiling in between the solid plant of Nikos’s black shoes.

‘Let me take care of her, Nikos,’ their hostess said quietly. ‘She needs to get out of those wet clothes.’

It was only then that Mia became aware of the way he was still holding her and of the fierce tension gripping him. Lifting her face up to look at him she discovered that without her shoes she had a long way to look up. Tall, dark, heart-shakingly gorgeous, it was like looking at the gladiator she’d first seen on the driveway of Balfour Manor, the flashing eyes, the fiercely clenched angular jaw, the tightly flattened mouth.

Feeling her looking at him, his black eyelashes flickering, he tilted his dark head to look down at her with a simmering shot of barely suppressed fury that made her suck in an unsteady breath.

‘I’m—OK,’ she said again, feeling the strangest need to reassure him. ‘It was just such a sh-shock to hit the water like that.’

‘Were you pushed?’ Quiet though his voice sounded Mia still recognised the danger it attempted to suppress.

A careful glance to her left and to her right told her that some people were still standing around staring at them. The odd flashbulb reminded her that the whole incident had probably been caught on camera a hundred times over. Nina and Santino D’Lassio stood close by, and like Nikos they too were waiting to hear her response.

Moistening her trembling lips, she lowered her eyes while she tried to decide how to answer. Did she lie and say she did not know how it happened, or did she tell the truth and admit she suspected that Anton Brunel had pushed her into the pool?

‘Perhaps I slipped.’ She went for the least sensational option, then frowned in confusion as Nikos increased the tension in the grip he still held her in.

‘Come on, Mia.’ Nina D’Lassio sounded relieved though, as her arm came to rest across her shivering shoulders. ‘Let’s get you dry and find you something to wear…’

‘I’ll call for the helicopter,’ Nikos said.

‘No, you will not!’ Mia reacted hotly. ‘I have no wish for people to think that I am a wimp as well as Oscar’s guilty mistake! Madre di Dio,’ she breathed fiercely, unaware that their host and hostess were staring in surprise at her hot, hushed flare of temper. ‘I am wet and bedraggled and I saw the camera bulbs flashing. Tomorrow I will be plastered all over the papers looking like this, and you wish to turn me into a bigger joke by hauling me away?’

‘Santino will deal with the press, Mia,’ Nina assured her quickly. ‘Oh, do let go of her, Nikos, she is not going to fall apart if you do!’

The fact that both Mia and Nina had snapped at him seemed to wake Nikos up from wherever he had gone off to since he’d pulled her out of the pool. With a final flexing of impressive clenched muscles he dropped his arms away and took a step back, allowing Nina to lead her away.

‘My security people are checking film footage to find out what happened,’ Santino D’Lassio informed him quietly. ‘Fortunately we have a five-minute delay on what’s transmitted on television, so the incident will not go up on the screens.’

‘So you think she was pushed,’ Nikos said grimly.

‘You saw the way she went in there, Nikos,’ Santino responded. ‘She either jumped or she was pushed. Which do you think it was?’

Santino moved away, then began ushering his guests down to the marquee, leaving Nikos to mull over his sardonic question with his angry eyes shuttered while he replayed the moment in his head. The crush around the pool had been heavy but he’d picked Mia out of the crowd the moment he stepped outside. She’d been looking at him; he could see the way her anxious blue eyes lit up the moment they connected with his. He could feel them doing it, followed by the sudden jerk of her body and the look of horror and shock before she began to topple over into the pool.

What he could not see was who had been standing close enough to her to propel her into the damn pool because his full attention had been fixed exclusively on her.

‘So the cuckoo almost drowned and I missed it,’ a disappointed voice drawled beside him. ‘What a shame.’

In no mood for Diana’s Fischer’s twisted kind of humour Nikos intoned flatly, ‘You lead a sad life, Diana,’ then walked away, over to the almost deserted pool bar and ordered a drink while he awaited Mia’s return.

By the time the two women walked out of the house again he was the only person left on the terrace. As a foil for each other Mia’s darkness next to Nina’s flame was pretty much as good as it could get, Nikos observed. Then his full attention had welded on Mia’s transformation from wet and bedraggled to long and curvaceous, a seriously slinky siren which almost blew his edgy control to bits.

She was wearing a figure-hugging strapless black tube of a dress that was nothing short of mind-stopping. For a few seconds he was thrown back to the moment he’d first seen her on the Balfour Manor driveway.

Heat poured into his body. Desire so fierce he did not know how he kept it from showing on his face. Her wet hair had been slicked back and her makeup barely there except for a fresh touch of gloss to her soft full mouth. Her natural beauty just shone out of her, warm, dark—exotic—exquisite.

But as they came closer he saw she looked deathly pale and he knew somehow—instinct—that she was more shaken up by the incident than she was trying to let on. Then he noticed the way she was holding her right wrist in the palm of her other hand and his raging libido altered to raging anger that stung like a blister trying to burn a hole in his gut.

Mia was responding with a smile to something Nina was saying when she saw Nikos slowly straighten his leaning posture from the bar. Her footsteps faltered and her eyes just clung.

‘See, delivered back to you all in one piece,’ Nina said teasingly. ‘All you have to do, Nikos, is stop glaring like an angry bear and perhaps we can join the others and get something to eat!’

And he was glaring, Mia noticed—glaring directly at her! If he said one small word, offered up one single criticism about how she looked, she thought fiercely, then he would be the next one to land in the pool!

‘Why are you holding your wrist like that—?’ he launched at her.

Chapter Seven

SLANCING down, Mia was surprised to discover that she was indeed cupping her wrist in the palm of her other hand, ‘I—I think I hurt it as I fell into the water,’ she lied.

Nina let out a surprised gasp. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

‘Too many other things to think about,’ Mia said ruefully. ‘And it does not hurt as much as I am obviously making it look!’

She dropped the wrist to her side to prove her claim. Nina did not look convinced and neither did Nikos. He was still glowering at her, the tension in his jaw enough to crush rocks in his teeth. Mia frowned at him, transmitting a message that had his lush black eyelashes veiling his anger and his lips pressing together over whatever he had been about to say.

‘I’m starving,’ Mia said brightly in an attempt to divert attention. In truth she knew she was going to struggle to eat a single thing, and her wrist was really throbbing where it hung limp fingered at her side.

The three of them walked together down the path and into the marquee. People clapped when they saw them arrive, making Mia blush as she offered up a shy smile.

A quick murmured thanks to her hostess and Nina was rushing off to join her husband. Nikos’s hand arriving against her lower back made her arch it slightly at the electric shock contact. If he noticed her reaction he said nothing, guiding her between a series of large round tables towards their allotted table. And he maintained that disturbing contact with her back right up until he had seen her into her seat.

Tension zipped back and forth between them, though Mia did not quite follow why it did. Whatever the reason, it made her respond over-brightly to the curiosity and interest which flipped backwards and forwards across the table because people were eager to know what had happened to her. She made light of their questions while Nikos lounged in the chair beside her with a polite smile strapped to his lips and his dark eyes hidden beneath his lowered eyelids.

When she could not contain a wince as she picked up her wine glass he did not know how he stopped himself from reaching out and taking the glass from her. A curse rattled around inside him because he recognised that his self-control where she was concerned was on a hair trigger. He wanted to catch hold of her injured wrist so he could inspect the damage. He wanted to brush that stray lock of damp hair from her pale cheek. He remembered what she’d said about him always touching her and the stinging tension of grim acceptance to that charge held him trapped like a prisoner, because he was becoming more and more aware of just how much and how often he wanted to touch her.

Giving his restless fingers something to do he picked up his own glass and gulped down a large slug of the rich ruby wine. She was driving him to drink, he mused bleakly.

She was driving him to many places, he extended on that, not even hearing that someone had just spoken to him. It was Mia who brought his attention back to where it should be by lightly touching his jacket sleeve. A tight sting of awareness shot up his arm and, lifting his eyelids, he looked directly into her eyes. For a second—a finely split millisecond—he visualised leaning forward to lay claim to her mouth with a soft, hot kiss.

Her eyelashes trembled and she looked away from him. She knew what he had been thinking, and the tension inside him mushroomed while he forced himself to take note of the people sharing their table. Forced himself to join in.

She was playing this out a hell of a lot better than he was, he conceded as the infernal meal dragged on and on. She only picked at the dishes set in front of her. So did he. Eventually Santino stood to give a witty speech of thanks to everyone for attending, but Nikos found it difficult to raise a smile.

And he watched Mia dip her head a little, exposing the vulnerable length of her slender nape. Tension gripped him, sexual tension. When she lifted a hand to rub at her brow, he watched her fingers tremble, saw as she lowered the hand again that her pallor seemed ten times more pronounced.

And he’d had enough. The decision came to him that quickly. People were starting to stand and move around the room now, so he used the moment to rise to his feet.

Mia was startled when he cupped her elbow and drew her to her feet but she did not protest when he just turned with her and headed out of the marquee without saying a word to anyone. There was a charity auction to follow the banquet, then music and dancing and a cabaret show put on by attending celebrities, which was to be transmitted to the Lake Como party by satellite link.

He did not seem to give a damn. He ignored the clicking rush of camera shutters and the TV cameras recording their departure, his long loose stride tempered to suit her smaller steps in Nina’s borrowed shoes, and his hand was in possession of the curving indent of her waist.

They walked the path up to the house in taut trammelling silence. As they passed by the pool Mia could not control a small shiver and he reacted to it by drawing her in closer to his side. He was using his mobile to speak to his pilot as they stepped into the house. By the time they stepped out of it again by the front door she could see the helicopter coming in to settle on the same patch of lawn it had dropped them off on when they arrived.

A few minutes later and she subsided gratefully into her seat. Her wrist was aching and a tension headache was tugging at the backs of her eyes.

‘OK,’ he said the moment they were airborne. ‘Tell me what happened.’

Casting a glance in his direction, Mia saw that his mood did not look good at all. He was sitting with his long legs stretched out in front of him and a black-suited elbow rested on the window’s narrow ledge. A set of long fingers supported the golden jut of his jaw while one finger lay across the thin stretch of his mouth.

And his dark eyes glittered.

‘I don’t know what happened,’ she answered, keeping to her decision to play the whole incident down.

‘If you’re lying to me I will find out,’ he warned her quietly. ‘Santino’s staff is checking film footage as we speak. I saw you fall, and I believe you were pushed. I want to know who you think did that to you and why you believe that they did.’

‘It could just have been an accident,’ Mia sighed out. ‘I don’t understand why you are obsessing on it.’

For an answer he dipped his hand into his pocket and drew out his mobile. She knew without having to ask that he was going to call Santino and get the information he wanted from him.

‘You are such a bully—put your phone away,’ she snapped, adding another sigh of weary surrender this time when he continued to hold the phone at the ready, eyes fixed like stubborn black lasers on her pale face.

‘I think it was Anton Brunel that pushed me,’ she admitted.

‘Brunel?’ Nikos fired a sharp frown at her. ‘He was there tonight?’

Moistening her taut lips Mia nodded. ‘He—approached me as I was about to go outside…’ Her eyes darkened with anger when she recalled the way he had grabbed her and hustled her into that corner. ‘He caught hold of me and began throwing all kinds of wild accusations at me. He—he claimed I had lied to you. That I had been flirting with him.’ She just could not bring herself to use Anton Brunel’s shameful term.

‘And were you—flirting with him?’

‘How dare you say that? How dare you ask me that?’ Mia turned on him furiously. ‘We have had this conversation before and I was not pleased with your attitude then!’ she heaved out in an offended rush.

‘You used him to pull my strings with that dossier and your description of what happened between the two of you that day.’ Nikos tossed out a broad-shouldered shrug. ‘How do I know you did not start your string-pulling campaign with a bit of flirtation across the lunch table with him?’

‘So I am a dreadful flirt and a cunning manipulator—is that what you’re saying?’ Mia was stunned by the level of both men’s conceit! But most of all she was horrified that they might be right! ‘I suppose you also think I deserved all I got when I landed in the pool!’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘But you implied it!’ So upset now, she pushed up her chin and looked away from him, fighting the tears trying to burn in her eyes. ‘He bruised my wrist too but I suppose I should apologise for not allowing him to throttle me at the same time!’ she shook out thickly. ‘Perhaps you could—W-what are you doing—?’ she broke off to choke out.

He’d undone his seat belt and arrived across the gap separating them with the speed of an attacking snake! Now he was picking up her bruised wrist and inspecting it, the curses that flooded from him in several different languages should have turned the dark night air bright blue.

‘I will kill him,’ he rasped, going pale with fury when he saw the livid purple fingerprints marking her delicate skin.

Mia snatched her wrist back, hurting it in the bargain, but she just did not care. ‘You…men—you are all the same, ready to parade your macho strength when you feel like it,’ she shook out in burning contempt. ‘Yet you are quick to play the victims when a woman so much as looks at you! No, don’t touch me.’ She jerked away when he tried to capture her bruised wrist again. ‘I am angry with you!’

‘I can see that,’ Nikos said quietly.

Her face flushed, the tears daring to press against the muscles in her throat now. ‘I behaved myself tonight—for your benefit! I did not do anything to earn your contempt! It was not my f-fault that a nasty p-person like Anton Brunel wished to push me in the pool—and you are not my hero just because you happened to pull me out of it!’

The helicopter had come to a standstill without either of them noticing. Mia undid her seat belt and stepped over Nikos, just needing to get out of there before she did something really stupid like bursting into a flood of hot tears!

She was already halfway to the house by the time Nikos had stepped onto the darkened lawn. With a growl of frustration he strode after her and entered the house in time to watch her fly up the stairs. And even in flight the sensual flow of her lush black-clad figure reacted on him with all the gut-grinding promise of a—

‘Theos,’ he breathed.

He wanted her.

His hand snaked up to grab hold of the back of his neck.

He was not her hero, but he had this angry desire to charge up those damn stairs after her and at least be her lover!

He remained standing like that for the next thirty control-clutching seconds—until he heard her bedroom door close with a thud. Then with a violent swing of his body he strode off towards the back of the house, discarding his clothes as he went. By the time he reached the door which led into his all-purpose gym he was almost naked but for a pair of black cotton undergarments that moulded his fiercest problem with no conscience at all.

He used the gym as if it was his own personal war zone, pounding his body through a series of physical drills that did nothing to ease what was really driving him. Giving up on that form of torture he slammed through another door and dived into the glistening blue waters of his indoor swimming pool. Fifty hard laps later and he was climbing out again and heading back through the house, grimly gathering up his discarded clothes as he went.

The moment he reached his bedroom he headed for the bathroom. The heat of the shower made his glistening skin sweat and his chest was heaving from his recent exertions, but one part of him still dominated everything else. Cursing he switched the shower to cold and punished himself by letting the icy water dowse his entire frame. By the time he came out of the bathroom covered by a white towelling robe he thought he was finally beginning to get a grip.

Then a soft knock sounded on his bedroom door and he knew, even as he walked barefoot across the room, that no matter how hard he’d worked at it, he’d controlled nothing at all. For there was only one person in this house who could be knocking on his door and she was naive enough and blind enough not to know what she was tempting by doing it.

And there she stood in a short ivory silk robe with her recently shampooed hair a pagan swathe of glossy damp waves around her beautiful face. Her blue eyes looked anxious. A set of even white teeth were pressing into her full bottom lip.

‘I’m s-sorry to disturb you,’ she stammered out, ‘but I n-need…’

The stammer did it; the big blue eyes staring up at him did it, the pearly white teeth worrying her lip. She’d been disturbing him for too many frustrating hours and days and weeks, and he just reached for her and pulled her into his arms, then drove his hungry mouth down onto hers.

And the hell of it was, she let him. Next thing he knew he was stepping back with her trapped against him and kicking the door shut so he could press her back against it to indulge in the kind of hot sensual embrace that said goodbye to his self-control.

Mia fell into the kiss like a starving woman. It was so much what she wanted there wasn’t a single second when she thought to pull free. Her arms had already wrapped around his neck to fasten tightly and she was kissing him back so deep and hotly she did not recognise herself. The feel of his strong hard masculine body pressing against her felt glorious, the flood tide of pleasure that went rushing through her made her gasp and groan and quiver feverishly as he explored her mouth with a deep hot knowing intimacy which had her lips open wider in search for more.

Her reward was a lusty masculine growl that excited her dreadfully. Tightening his arms around her he lifted her up against him and fed her legs around his waist, then just stood there with her clamped against him, their parted mouths fused together and the intimacy taking place with their tongues a shattering mimic of something else he was doing to her.

His hands were splayed across her silk-covered buttocks, the fiercely bold evidence of how he was feeling shocked and excited her in equal amounts. When she moved voluptuously against him she felt his shudder that blew the last of his common sense to bits.

Turning to walk with her over to the bed, as they landed on the mattress in a tangle of clinging limbs, he pulled his head back. ‘What did you come here for?’ he rasped out.

Having to fight to try and understand the question, Mia opened her eyes and just stared blankly up at him. His mouth was barely an inch away, his warm breath scoring her face. She could feel the pounding pump of his heart against her tightening breasts as he waited for her to give him a response. To tell him she had come here to ask for a couple of headache pills was just not going to leave her warm moist swollen tongue. This was more important. She no longer even had a headache!

When she didn’t say anything, with a softly grated curse he repeated the question, watched her blink slowly, watched her teeth press down into that hot plump lower lip—and lost patience.

‘Well, I’m in no mood to stop now,’ he groaned thickly. ‘So if you decide that you do want to stop you’re going to have to say it loud and clear.’

But Mia did not want to stop. And she proved it by running her fingers into his thick black wet silken curls on his head and drew his mouth back to hers. She could not explain it, did not want to try and explain it. All she knew was that, tough as he was, and hard and cold and dangerous as he was, Nikos Theakis had grabbed something from her that day on Oscar’s driveway and deposited this terrible need for more of him in its place.

The kiss drove out any need for more talking; it was hungry and it was deep. And he was so practiced at this she barely felt his weight on top of her or the deft way that he undid her robe belt. The burning pleasure when she felt their naked bodies come together was just about the most overwhelming sensation she had ever felt.

He knew what he was doing, so she just hung on and followed where he led, revelling in each new and exciting experience. He knew just where to touch her, knew just when to break their mouths apart so he could drive her frantic with slow moist kisses down the length of her body. He splayed long fingers around one firm tender breast and teased its shy sensitive bud to flower and tighten, then caught his prize in his mouth.

Wild pleasure took her over, her body arching and her thighs trembling as she gasped out his name. His fingers stroked her ribcage, trailing a path of fire down to her stomach and, finally, shocking her into complete stillness when he made that first sweep between the thighs.

Her breathless stillness brought his head up, eyes drugged and blackened by passion honing on to her face. Her hair flowed across the pillow; her hands still held his head. Her eyes were closed, her soft lips parted, and she was quivering—flesh, muscles, bones all vibrating in unison at the first exploratory caress he made. She did not seem to have any control over what she was feeling. Control, Nikos realised, belonged exclusively to him.

When her restless fingers trailed his nape, then slithered down his burning chest, he groaned as his body responded violently.

She shaped the bunched muscles in his wide shoulders as her slender hips arched into his. She held nothing back, and he felt so intoxicated by her he sunk them both down—down into the dark heat of passion until it was all she could do to cling to him and let him dictate the rest.

It was like being lost, floating on a rocky sea of building pleasure, Mia likened hazily. When he reared back from her to remove his towel, her heavy eyes drank in the powerful beauty of his body—coveted it, reached out and touched the whirl of dark hair between his bulging pectoral muscles and made him shudder as she scored him with her fingernails.

He came back to her on a hiss of hunger, lay over her, letting her feel the glorious heat of his naked flesh against her own once again. It was power versus weakness, hard versus soft. He nibbled at the corner of her mouth until she twisted her head and anxiously demanded the full onslaught of his mouth.

Passion, desire, overrode everything. He made love to her slowly and erotically and intensely, his sensual caresses moving her closer and closer to a place she had never been before. Her fingers plucked restlessly at his flesh, her teeth fastened on to his throat. He was hot, a film of salty male sweat tasting on her tongue. She could not keep still and she could feel the tense state of his erection pushing against her thigh.

‘Nikos,’ she whimpered over and over for some dizzyingly important reason she could not understand.

He understood though.

She felt her first spark of self-consciousness when she suddenly remembered that she was nothing like the long slender blondes he was used to looking at like this. She had curves. She had a waist and hips and full real breasts, not fakes. As if he was thinking along similar lines an odd twist of a smile curved his lips as his gaze flickered down to that other difference she was suddenly acutely aware of, the triangle of ebony curls nestling at the juncture with her thighs.

Then he bent down and kissed her navel; it was so shockingly unexpected, her muscles jerked violently in response. One of his hands stretched out, grabbing hold of her hand as it went instinctively to push him away from her, long fingers closing around her fingers as he repeated the kiss with a slow and sensual glide of his tongue lower and lower.

‘Nikos, no,’ she groaned out.

He ignored her protest and was so ruthless about his intentions that she surrendered to the silky waves of pleasure he was making her feel, her eyelids folding downwards as he traced each moist, hot, swollen part of her. Within seconds he was carrying her way beyond sense, drugging her with the newness of one sensation laid on top of another. The way he used his tongue to pleasure her, the way he continued to clasp her hand. The way her limbs had gone boneless and restless, the way there was a slow languorous drag of her breathing. He knew exactly what he was doing to her as he moved up her body to the flat of her stomach, the curve of her ribs, the tight tender peaks of her breasts and finally, with a hungry moulding of his lips, to her mouth.

And with a single lithe move he arrived on top of her, his narrow hips pressing between her trembling thighs and at last she experienced the sense-spinning intimacy of his bold erection sliding into her like hot smooth silk.

‘Madre di Dio,’ she breathed, ‘non posso più,’ as she shot right over the pleasure threshold.

And still he held one of her hands captive, still he ravaged her mouth. She was wild, she was scared, she could not keep her legs still. Her free hand was clawing at his bronzed damp flesh, the breath leaving her in short tense little bursts. Pleasure was lighting her up from the inside, bright hot shimmering pleasure she had no control over as it built and built. And he was hot—burning, murmuring things to her she could not understand, though some instinct inside her recognised that he was urging her on and on.

‘Non posso più,’ she whispered a second time.

‘Sì, you can stand it,’ he responded thickly. ‘Hold on to me, Mia. There’s a lot more to come.’

And he was right, there was so much more of it and on so many levels she just couldn’t keep up. Her dizzy world went misty, she was held enthralled by how acutely she could feel every centimetre of him as he slowly filled her up.

He was hot and trembling, so lost in the sheer power of what he was generating between them he forgot just what kind of creature it was he was holding in his arms. He was only aware of the desire, the hunger, the passion, raging through both of them. He felt it, fed it and eventually surrendered to it, and with a heavy groan drove home with a final deep stabbing thrust.

Mia had forgotten to expect it. So the sharp spasm of pain locked her muscles in shock. She could not breathe, she could not think. Nikos had frozen on top of her, his eyes like black caverns blazing down into her stark staring blue eyes already swimming with tears.

He started cursing and she started sobbing, hitting out at him with her tightly clenched fists. He eased back a little, cursing all over again, his eyes closing as her tense muscles unwittingly clung to him sending waves of pleasure rippling his powerful frame.

‘It’s OK.’ He tried to look for sanity, his hands gently capturing her two clenched fists. ‘It’s OK, agape mou,’ he repeated, though he knew nothing had ever been less OK, because he was already hungrily moulding her lips to his. He managed to hold the pressure back. He managed to control his rampant needy senses long enough to give her chance to adjust.

And she felt wonderful, narrow and tight and so deliciously hot. His breathing was hectic, hers was the same, the two of them fighting for breath in panting urgency around the clinging darting heat of the tongue. He felt her clenched fists relax their tension, then her taut slender body slowly ease from its crucifying arch. Their hearts were beating like crazy hammers, sending tremor after tremor rippling across their flesh. Slowly, carefully, he released her fingers and groaned in relief when she instantly ran them into his hair. He fed his hands beneath her to support her and with the flickering passion of his tongue against her tongue, he just lost it altogether and let his hips surge forward, thrusting him deep.

It was as if a whole tidal wave of pleasure rushed through her, hot as lava and sweet as melting honey. Caught in its thrall Mia raised her hips to take him in farther and sent a thick moaning cry into his mouth. Dragging her pulsing lips free she whispered, ‘Again,’ and felt him draw back, then thrust again. It was the sweet—sweet—sweetest torment. ‘Oh, again,’ she gasped out.

Feeling drunk on her greedy pleasure, Nikos caught her mouth and ravished its soft swollen fullness and set the deep and fluid motion of loving with a rampant erotic thoroughness that emptied his head of all else but her and this and what he could feel was building between them. Never in his long sexual experience had he ever felt anything so intensely as this. She moved with him with an innate sensuality born of instinct. She clung to him with her arms and her legs. When the final madness began to accelerate them towards their climaxes, he could feel that she was with him every blindingly glorious step of the way.

And it went on and on, like time never ending. Mouths separate now, Mia felt every single sense she possessed sing to a pleasure that just grew and grew.

‘Nikos,’ she whispered, floating up her heavy eyelids to look at him. Her eyes clung to his eyes where the sheer power of his feelings burned, naked and exposed. The first jolt of blinding pleasure brought forth a sharp cry from her throat, followed by another one, and he plunged deeper, catching her up to him in his strong arms and holding her, the rasping race of his breathing something she only understood when he joined her in the exquisite pleasure of hot drowning release.

Afterwards was almost as good as the climax to this first loving Mia had ever experienced. The slow sensual reactionary quivers that brought her downwards slowly, the awareness of his hot skin against hers. The size and weight of him, the strength and the power of his wonderful masculine magnificence crushing her down into the bed.

And the way he still held her, close, so close. ‘Bello—bello,’ she breathed on a fragile wisp of a murmur.

Easing her of his weight, Nikos slid onto his side, taking her with him. Content to remain lost in the hazy aftermath of sweet pleasure, it was all she could do to curl against the man who had just made her first experience so wildly beautiful and gloriously passionate.

While Mia floated, Nikos felt as if he’d just come down to earth with a thud after enjoying one of the most exciting releases of his life. Payback, he named it, staring over the top of her tumbled raven locks into the stark face of what he had just done.

He had just broken his own cardinal rule and taken an innocent, and what’s more she was a Balfour innocent. He could already hear the wedding bells ringing, could feel the noose closing around his throat. As the chilling face of reality spread its icy fingers out across his flesh he sensed her drifting into sleep. She was curled lovingly against him, warm and soft and so damn trusting with her cheek resting against the unsteady thump of his heartbeat and her fingers gently stroking the whorls of damp dark hair on his chest.

But she didn’t know him. Even Oscar, who knew him better than anyone, did not know who the real Nikos Theakis was. It was safer not to know him, safer to keep himself crushed so deep inside he would never rear his head. If that meant he had to crush the more human emotions at the same time, then that was the way it had to be.

People looked at him and saw the smooth billionaire entrepreneur, ruthlessly focused on his career. They saw the cool sophisticated male who turned out for elite functions like the one they’d attended this evening, or the good-looking guy with a trail of beautiful well-satisfied women drifting behind him in his wake.

They did not know that he needed to shower four times a day—more often if he had the opportunity, or that there were no locks on any doors in any of his homes except for the locks on main entrances.

They did not know that he always—always—slept alone. That this beautiful creature sleeping curled around him now was actually receiving a twisted kind of honour, because he had not already shaken her awake and sent her packing back to her own room to sleep.

As if she could sense what he was thinking she moved against him, a soft sigh escaping her parted lips as she stretched, then relaxed again, the movement so fluid and naturally sensual Nikos had to clench his body to stop it from responding to it. One of her long silken legs lay warm across his, her fingers lay buried in the whorls of dark hair on his chest.

She murmured something—ti’amo, he thought she said, and felt its emotive impact like a violent crash to his chest. Ti’amo, I love you. Ti’amo, I so belong to you now it’s a done deal, he translated with harsh mocking bitterness.

And like a man making a dangerous bid for escape, he eased himself free of her clinging shape and gave her a pillow to hug instead of him. She curled around it like some beautiful dark sensual siren clinging on to her latest victim, and with no idea that the cold ruthless side to his nature was busily rearing its awesome head.

Chapter Eight

A SOUND awoke Mia as the quiet light of dawn was drifting in through the window. She continued to lie there for a few seconds, grappling to make sense of her unfamiliar surroundings, then she remembered and her heart gave a thump. Twisting her head on the pillow she saw that the place beside her in the bed was empty, and she sat up with a jerk, a hand going up to push her tumbled hair from her face. The sound came again and she focused on Nikos, who was standing with his back to her on the other side of the room.

He was already dressed in one of the dark business suits he favoured, and was snapping his paper-thin watch to his wrist. He looked so breathtakingly handsome that tender muscles deep in her abdomen responded with a pulse of awareness at the same moment she picked up the clean male scents permeating the room which told her he had recently showered.

The sheer novel intimacy in their situation suddenly engulfed her in a rosy hue of shyness. Realising she was also very naked beneath the thin sheet had her clutching at its fine linen edge and drawing it up to her chin before she could fight a drowning wash of self-consciousness to speak.

‘What—what time is it?’ she asked huskily.

The way his wide shoulders tensed at the sound of her voice sent her teeth biting down into her soft lower lip. Perhaps he was not quite comfortable with their new situation yet either, she allowed.

‘Five o’clock,’ he answered without turning. ‘Go back to sleep—it’s too early for you to get up.’

‘You are up,’ Mia pointed out to him.

He said nothing, his long fingers reaching out to pick up his mobile phone, which he placed in his jacket pocket, followed by some other bits and pieces Mia followed without really registering what they were. Beginning to frown now, it was slowly dawning on her that he did not want to look at her. That the tension gripping his wide shoulders also repeated itself in the sharp movements of his fingers, and from the small amount of his profile she could see, the muscle that angled his strong jaw was clenched.

‘I am about to leave,’ he announced suddenly, making Mia blink slowly. ‘I have business to attend to in Rome. My plane is on standby. Enjoy the rest of your day here if you wish. When you are ready to go back to London, let Lukas know and he will have my helicopter come and collect you.’

Every word, every cool flat businesslike word, arriving like the cold tip of a knife’s blade forced Mia to recognise what he was doing. He had taken her to his bed; now he was distancing himself. In true Nikos Theakis tried-and-tested tradition he was letting her know without needing to say the words that this—this soulless departure in the pale hours of the morning marked the end of what they had shared!

Beginning to tremble, Mia shut her eyes, struggling with a nauseating sense of hurt that made her burst forth with the shaken words, ‘Don’t do this to me, Nikos.’

He moved, twisting the long length of his body to lance her a brief shuttered glance. ‘Don’t beg, Mia. It’s unbecoming.’

Beg—? Her eyes flicked open in time to watch him turn away again, every lean hard elegant inch of him so contained she began to feel dizzy now as well as sick.

‘I am not begging,’ she denied on a wounded choke. ‘We—we just slept together!’

‘A—mistake. It should not have happened.’

‘But it did happen.’

‘True.’ He seemed to be inordinately interested in what was inside his wallet now. ‘However, it will not be happening again.’

‘Just like that?’ Beginning to squirm with self-loathing for even trying to discuss this with him, Mia folded her arms around her knees and crushed them to her chest. ‘You—you make love to me, then just—just throw me aside as if my feelings do not count?’

‘Theos! We did not make love, we had sex!’ He spun on her angrily. ‘We had wild hot amazing sex—Mia!’ he repeated harshly. ‘Where was the love in what we did in that bed last night? I did not bring it there! And if you did, then you were—’

His nostrils flared as he snapped his lips together, drawing back from what he had been about to say next. His dark eyes blazed at her frozen expression of horror, then with a muttered curse he turned his back to her again.

‘I was w-what?’ she prompted sickly, feeling like someone living a nightmare she could not wake up from. She found she could not let him stop there even if the rest was going to break her in two. ‘Naive? Stupid? Ready for it? Begging you for it?’

His lean profile clenched. ‘I was not going to say any of that.’

‘Then what were you going to say!’ she fired out.

‘Nothing.’

The liar, the cruel wicked liar!

‘I hate you so much now I will never forgive you for doing this to me,’ she whispered. ‘No doubt you are relieved and pleased to hear me say it!’

‘Actually, I’m not—’ his voice remained cool ‘—I…care about you, Mia. But I’m a loner. I always have been. I don’t do the kind of relationship you are going to expect. You will not believe this right now but I’m doing you a big favour calling a halt now—’

‘As you do with all the other women who have shared this bed with you?’ she flung out. ‘Take w-what you want from them, then toss them to one side like yesterday’s rubbish?’

‘Exactly like that,’ he confirmed.

Stunned that he had dared to admit it as coolly at he had, Mia stared at him for a second, then pushed her face into her knees and hugged self-loathing to her like it was her closest friend. She’d never felt so cheap, so used and discarded. And whatever it was he had tried not to say, the real truth crucifying her right now was she had been asking for it—begging him for it—for weeks before he gave in!

Now here she sat in the middle of his rumpled bed consigned to the low ranks of a one-night stand.

Which was probably her just deserts for being such an easy tramp!

‘Why don’t you just go,’ she whispered when she sensed him still hovering.

‘I…need to know you are going to be all right.’

So he wanted reassurance now? ‘I’m all right.’ She gave it to him with the taste of bitterness in her mouth.

And still he hovered! Why—? Was he going to ask for a litre or two of her blood next?

‘Look…’ he said heavily. ‘I’m—sorry I let this happen.’ He actually sounded it too. ‘It was all my fault. I should not have given in to what was happening between us. You’re young and inexperienced in these things but I am not, and I should have…’

‘Say anything else m-more disgusting to me and I will be sick!’ Mia wrenched out.

‘It was wrong!’ he lashed out suddenly. ‘I dishonoured you and I dishonoured your father—’

That brought her head flying upwards. ‘Don’t you dare bring Oscar into this!’ she lashed back, dizzy at the unexpected hot flare of awareness she experienced when she looked at him. ‘How dare you stand there and speak his name to me as if you have some right to hold him up against me!’

His taut profile paled. ‘I did not mean—’

‘I do not care what you did not mean! I do not care that you feel guilty now that you’ve had Oscar’s daughter in this bed! I gave myself to you willingly and freely. It is you who finds this a shameful thing, not me!’

Standing rigid with shock, he looked as if he’d been turned into rock, and Mia decided she’d had taken enough of this. With an infuriatingly uncontrollable sob, she coiled her fingers around the sheet and snaked off the bed, dragging the sheet with her as she went.

‘Mia…’

‘No,’ she husked out. ‘Don’t speak another word to me. I hate you. I will hate you for ever.’

Those black feelings vented, she ran into his bathroom and slammed the door shut, then just sank in a puddle of white linen to the floor.

Go away and learn to honour yourself, Oscar had said to her. Well, she had shot that ideal in the foot, for where had her sense of honour been when she had lusted after Nikos Theakis? Where was it in recognising that she had just turned into the one person she had always vowed she would never turn into—her high-class whoring mother!

And she would never forgive Nikos for making her aware that this was what she had done to herself.

She heard the telltale sound of the helicopter lifting off the ground as she still sat in her huddle on the bathroom floor.

He’d gone. Her aching heart turned over. He had not bothered to hang around for a second longer than he absolutely had to and she hated him for doing that too.

A few minutes after she had been delivered back to her apartment via helicopter, then a chauffeured limousine, which left her feeling cynically unimpressed, Sophie called her.

‘Have you seen the papers today? Someone had an interesting time last night,’ she teased. ‘Did you go skinny dipping in the D’Lassios’ pool because you were hot?’

Mia sank into the nearest chair and closed her weary eyes. So, despite assurances from Santino, her trip into the pool had found its way into the press.

‘Explain this skinny dipping,’ she requested.

‘Self-explicit turn of phrase,’ Sophie said. ‘OK, so you had all your clothes on,’ she conceded, ‘but the photo of the great and gorgeous Nikos hauling you out of the pool without so much as splashing himself looks impressive, while you looked kind of—wet and helpless and cute.’

Cute. Mia pressed her lips together because they wanted to tremble.

‘What happened?’

‘I—slipped in the crush,’ she lied. ‘Is there anything else in the papers I should know about?’ she then asked.

‘Only this amazing picture of you leaving later wearing the sexiest dress I’ve ever seen on you. Was it Nina’s?’

‘Sì.’

‘She has fabulous taste,’ Sophie gushed. ‘You went from fairy princess in floating blue silk chiffon to wet and helpless to dramatically slinky all in one evening. I wish I could wear a dress like that,’ she sighed out wistfully.

‘You could if you only stopped trying to hide your lovely figure under metres of fabric,’ Mia murmured impatiently.

‘Oh, come on, Mia. I’m five foot three inches high to your five-eight,’ Sophie pointed out. ‘Long and slinky I am not and never will be. Besides the unplanned dip, did you enjoy the rest of the evening or did you need to take the courage pill halfway through?’

Just like that her half-sister guided the subject away from herself as she always did, Mia noticed. Then she felt her insides curl up and sink because the rest of the evening did not bear thinking about.

‘The rest of the evening was—OK,’ she mumbled.

‘You’re distinctly unimpressed, then, that Nikos spent a cool half-million at the auction on a diamond bracelet.’

He did? Mia blinked. They had left before the auction had even started! He must have placed his bid before they left, she decided, murmuring out loud and cynically, ‘Perhaps he collects them to give out to his one-night stands as they leave.’

‘Oh, wow,’ Sophie murmured. ‘Now that sounded bitter.’

Mia was glad to hear it confirmed. She hoped to build on the bitterness she felt towards Nikos Theakis until it had successfully wiped out these other feelings of hopeless, useless love and hate and hard, crushing hurt.

Pride alone made her turn in for work on Monday morning to find herself the sinecure for a battery of wary glances and terribly reserved smiles. It was only then that she remembered the bruising kiss in a sunny car park which she discovered was now the property of every employer in the building and had effectively wiped out all the natural friendliness she had been gifted with in the preceding weeks.

‘What did you expect?’ Fiona asked her. ‘You can’t indulge in a relationship with the boss and expect everyone to continue to treat you like one of them. You’re a Balfour. He’s a billionaire. You’ve confirmed their original expectations of you and now they feel duped.’

What could she say in her own defence? That the kiss had been a form of punishment because she’d likened him to a donkey called Tulio? Or that he’d used the kiss to warn off the guy from accounts because Nikos believed he’d stood her up on a date? The first was really stupid and unbelievable in the cold light of a new day. And the second excuse exposed her own lie to Nikos in the first place.

By the end of the week she’d closed herself off inside a steel case of protection so that nothing else could threaten her very shaky composure. Nikos had not returned to London and she had stopped eating. In truth she felt too wounded and raw to eat. Fiona was constantly sending her worried glances. Even her aunt noticed the difference in her voice when they talked on the phone.

‘Is something wrong, Mia?’ she asked her.

‘I’m missing you,’ she said, and it was the truth. She was missing Tia and Tuscany, and the quiet calm simplicity of the life she’d led there.

‘But otherwise you are happy with your exciting new life?’

Tia Giulia wanted her to say yes. She needed to be reassured that she had not made a big mistake telling Mia about Oscar. So Mia gave her that assurance and tried after that to sound much brighter when she phoned.

On Saturday, she bumped into one of Kat Balfour’s friends in the street. Bethany was a bright, beautiful, lively creature much like her half-sister Kat. They chatted about the D’Lassio party for a while, which Bethany had been unable to attend for some reason Mia could not recall two minutes after she’d had it explained to her. Her mind was like that right now, unable to sustain any thoughts that did not contain the name Nikos Theakis in them. Bethany invited her to join her and a few other friends for a drink that night and Mia thought emptily, why not?

When she arrived at the Chelsea wine bar the place was so crowded she almost chickened out and went away again, but Bethany saw her and waved her over. Bathany’s group of friends were lively and noisy and Mia was surprised an hour later to discover that she was almost—almost—enjoying herself. Most of them were going on to dinner, then a nightclub, but the thought of eating anything made her stomach go queasy so she declined with a smile and some excuse that was something else she could not recall minutes afterwards.

The following Wednesday, she climbed out of bed and immediately had to run to the bathroom where she was sick. When the same thing happened the next few mornings, she decided it was time to start eating proper, regular meals again.

Monday, she still felt so nauseous Fiona noticed her sickly pallor.

‘I think I’ve caught a bug,’ she confessed and explained that she’d been sick on and off for days.

Fiona sent her home. Not wanting to go because being stuck in her apartment all day was only marginally worse than being stuck here waiting for Nikos to put in an appearance. He called daily but he only spoke to Fiona. In the time he had been away he’d called from Rome, Athens, New York and Busan. Understanding just where Busan was put him a long, long way away, which suited her, Mia told herself.

It did.

Wednesday, Fiona showed her an article from the financial pages of a broadsheet. It was about Lassiter-Brunel. Apparently the company had a new anonymous backer to bail them out of trouble. Good, she thought. Perhaps Anton Brunel will stop being angry with her for ruining his deal with Nikos.

Thursday she stood up from her desk too quickly and went so dizzy she almost passed out. Angry and concerned, Fiona insisted she go to see a doctor because the stomach bug was lingering too long. Having never needed to consult a doctor in her entire life before, she had no idea how to find one in London. So she had to call Sophie, who wanted to know what was wrong. After explaining, her half-sister directed her to the family physician. She took a taxi there. The moment she stepped into his private rooms, she knew she did not want to be there. Something—instinct maybe—filled her with a stark feeling of dread. Half an hour later she walked out again, so shocked and dazed she almost walked straight under the wheels of a car. She did not go back to the office. She did not go back to her apartment. She just walked and walked and walked, until eventually thirst and exhaustion forced her to hail a taxi and go home.

The mirrored walls in the lift showed her deathly colour. A trembling weakness in her legs had forced her to lean into the corner of the car.

‘Incinta…’ She watched her lips form a word that was still refusing to make proper sense to her.

She even tried mouthing the same thing in English but could not seem to remember the translation and her eyes looked like two sunken dark pools in her wan face. A fresh clutch of nausea was building, drying up her mouth and flattening her hands to her stomach in an effort to stop it from getting any worse.

The lift stopped and the doors slid open. Reeling her way out of it like a dizzy drunk she almost cannoned right into the big man himself. Dressed in a dark grey suit with a gold tie knotted against his bright white shirt, he looked staggeringly elegant, shatteringly attractive and felt so solidly real that Mia just lost it completely, and every shocked, scared, raw emotion she had been struggling with throughout the afternoon just exploded from her in a fit of helpless rage.

She hit out at him, managing to land a salvo of blows on his chest before he caught firm hold of her fists to hold them still. Stopped from venting her feelings that way and panting in her fury she went for the jugular with the only other weapon left.

‘What are you doing here?’ She speared up at his surprised, disgustingly healthy-looking handsome dark face. ‘You should be feeling too ashamed to show your face!’

‘Mia—’

‘Don’t you dare say my name to me!’ she choked, yanking like a crazy woman at her imprisoned fists. ‘You turned me into my mother and I hate you for it! I will hate you for doing that to me for the rest of my life!’

With a final tug he let go of her, and the moment he did so she slithered round him, too engrossed in her own raw feelings to notice that, other than capturing her fists, he had been totally still throughout her attack.

Her legs felt wobbly when she tried to walk on them; the queasy feeling in her stomach had now reached her throat. She wasn’t really surprised that when she tried to focus on her apartment door, the oval-shaped walls of the lobby began to sway in and out. Reaching out for the nearest solid thing in an effort to steady herself, her trembling fingers closed around the hard-muscled strength of a silk-suited arm instead.

Mia tilted her head back, glazed blue eyes darkened by confusion staring at his fiercely frowning expression. She had not heard him move. Perhaps he had not moved at all and it was just an optical illusion like the moving walls and the swaying floor beneath her feet.

Then it all began to close in on her. ‘Nikos,’ she whispered just before she began to sink.

When she came around she was lying on a long soft leather sofa. Nikos was squatting down beside it, lancing Greek into his mobile phone while he held one of her hands trapped inside a tightly clenched grip.

He looked clenched all over, Mia observed dimly, gliding an unwilling glance over his taut profile and the fierce set of his shoulders inside his jacket. Nor did he look as elegantly turned out as he had done. He’d dragged the knot to his tie loose and undone two buttons of his shirt. Those two buttons looked as if they’d been yanked open to reveal a triangle of brown skin. There was tension in his strong neck muscles and his clenched jaw line. And as he bit out another line of Greek she noticed his blanched pallor and the lines of stress spoiling the shape of his wide sensual lips.

How long had she been out? Frowning, it took her several seconds to recall the full drama she had enacted before she’d swooned away at his feet. She’d attacked him like a madwoman. She had not even given him a chance to speak. She recalled his stunned frozen face when she’d vented her anger on him.

Then she remembered why she had reacted like that and a tiny sob escaped her lips.

His conversation stopped. He swung his dark head around to look at her. Fierce dark eyes that glittered with the oddest expression settled on hers and the fingers he had closed around her fingers tightened their grip.

‘You fainted,’ he told her as if she was too dense to work it out for herself.

Mia said nothing. Looking at him should be hurting by now and she was waiting for the pain to kick in.

‘You are in my apartment,’ he added after making a wary foray of her pale unresponsive countenance. ‘I carried you in here. You—scared me.’

Scared him? He did not know the meaning of scared, Mia thought dismally. Scared was what had made her attack him the way that she did.

As he was going to find out soon enough when she broke the news to him.

If she told him.

‘So I’ve called in a doctor.’

Mia snaked her fingers free. ‘That was not necessary.’

‘It was to me.’

Sitting up carefully in case she set off her fragile stomach again, she made a move with her legs that gave him no choice but to stand if he did not want her to unbalance him. Her head was still swimming and, pushing a set of fingers up to her brow, she was forced to remain sitting on his sofa when really she would have loved to just get up and walk out without speaking another word to him.

Pregnant…

At last the English translation had come to her. For some incomprehensible reason it had more impact in English. A hard word, abrupt—pregnant—no softness or sentimentality in it at all, unlike the so-much-gentler incinta…

‘You’ve lost weight.’

Lowering her hand she looked up and found he was standing several feet away, tall as a tree and blocking out most of the light from the window behind him, placing his face in shadow so she could not read his expression.

But she did not need light to feel the tension emanating from him.

‘You might as well call the doctor back and tell him not to bother because I will not see him,’ she said, looking away again because she could feel the first quivering beginning of hurt kicking in.

‘I am not ill.’ To prove it she made herself stand. ‘I am simply hungry because I forgot to eat today.’

‘And the day before that and the day before that,’ Nikos threw in. ‘There is hardly anything left of you and you are swaying where you stand. If you try to take a step you will probably hit the floor again—unless I catch you as I did before, of course, which is up for question right now because I am bloody angry with you, Mia. So angry I could give you a shake.’

‘You are angry—with me?’ Lifting up her chin her eyes sparked incredulous blue. ‘What do you think gives you the right to be anything where I am concerned?’

Ignoring that he said, ‘I’ve spoken to Fiona. You have been feeling unwell all week—’

Only for a week? Mia almost laughed at the understatement.

‘And you’ve been—going out drinking.’

Starting to wonder if she really had fainted again and not come around yet, Mia stared at his stiff censorious stance and waited to find out what her delirious imagination was going to make him say next!

‘With friends of Kat’s,’ he provided.

‘Fiona told you all of this?’ Even in her imagination she could not envisage his secretary would have offered up this kind of information about her.

‘No.’ He made a tense move with one broad shoulder. ‘I had—other sources.’

Other sources…‘What other sources?’

‘I think you should sit down—’

‘I don’t want to sit down!’ Mia exploded. ‘I want to know what business it is of yours what I’ve been doing! And why you believe you can stand there like a disapproving father, censuring me!’

The moment she finished screeching at him she ruined it all by swaying when her dizzy head protested at the pressure she’d placed on it.

‘Sit down!’ he barked at her.

‘No!’ she fired back.

Only to release a groan that turned into a frustrated whimper when her stomach began to heave. Her hand went to cover it, her other hand lifting to hold her dizzy head. She heard Nikos mutter something not very polite about stubborn females, then felt his hands cup her elbows and she was being forcibly guided back down onto the sofa.

Then the doorbell went.

‘Stay right there,’ Nikos instructed—as if she was in a fit state to go anywhere!—and strode off.

Two minutes later he was back again, walking into the room with a middle-aged man carrying a doctor’s bag following in his wake, and Mia was back on her feet again, trying her best to look as if she was bursting with robust health.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Balfour,’ the doctor greeted briskly. ‘How may I help you?’

‘I really don’t—’

‘She is suffering from nausea and extreme spells of dizziness,’ Nikos took over with smooth, grim efficiency, then added with all the gracious cool of someone happy to toss a fizzing bomb down at her feet, ‘She is also in the early stages of pregnancy.’

Chapter Nine

SHE should have fainted again, Mia thought later. It would have been the easiest way to get out of what took place next.

But she didn’t faint.

Instead she was forced to endure a second consultation in one day, plus a gentle lecture on consuming the right healthy diet and taking the right kind of rest, exercise and sleep.

Having presented his bomb, Nikos had withdrawn to the window again. Long back presented to the room, jacket shoved back, hands thrust into his trouser pockets. He stood like that, signalling his retreat from proceedings, and Mia could not drag her eyes away from him, the shock he had so neatly delivered on her was so great.

The doctor began a speech about the variances of early pregnancy, though she barely heard a word that he said. And even he was feeling the strain in the atmosphere because it was so suffocatingly tense. He kept on glancing at Nikos, then back to Mia’s frozen profile while she stared at Nikos too. It had to be obvious that they were not a joyously expecting couple, overexcited and overanxious about becoming parents.

As he prepared to leave, he expressed one final message. ‘The nurturing of a new life is a precious gift that should be cherished. Anything less is an offence to the child itself.’

By then even Nikos was showing cracks in his unyielding demeanour when he turned round and moved to show the doctor out.

And he did not come back.

Mia continued to sit on the sofa, still too stunned to do more than take in the fact that Nikos had somehow managed to grab complete control of the situation before she’d even had a chance to grasp it for herself.

He knew she was pregnant. His other sources had been reporting her every move back to him, and by the amount he’d already indicated she had not taken a single step anywhere during the past two weeks without it being carefully tracked.

What was she supposed to make of that?

Suddenly wondering why she was still sitting here like some cowed fool waiting for him to deign to put in an appearance, Mia shot to her feet. Her mouth felt unnaturally dry and her stomach was still not happy but she discovered that she could walk without making the walls and floor move about.

Stepping out of the living room she discovered that the apartment was a lot bigger than she’d expected it to be. A wide central hallway fed right down its middle, with doors leading off from either side of it, most of them thrown open like the doors in his house in Hampshire.

Shivering she turned in the direction of the only closed door—the door out of here. She was going to escape while she had the chance. She needed to use the loo and she desperately needed a drink of something long and cool and thirst quenching. She did not need—

‘Don’t even think about it,’ his deep voice arrived with a quiet, seriously threatening undertone to it.

Pulses leaping like mad, Mia pressed her dry lips together and closed her eyes for a second, then opened them again and, folding her arms across her front, turned to look at him.

He was poised half in, half out of a room farther down the hallway. Her guarded blue eyes connected briefly with the narrowed glint reflecting from his, then dropped almost of their own volition down the length of his long lean stance.

He’d removed his suit jacket and his shirtsleeves had been folded up his forearms. He held what looked like a tea towel in one long-fingered hand. It came to her that she was seeing yet another side to this complicated man, this one being his domesticated side.

Did it distract from the raw sexual male she’d been so fascinated by for so long? No, she admitted helplessly as her tummy flipped for a different reason. Without knowing she was doing it she covered it with a hand.

Lowering his gaze to watch the revealing gesture, Nikos had to fight not to grind his teeth together as anger erupted inside. She was barely managing to stand upright. She looked the colour of paste. She’d lost weight—too much weight going by the way her pale blue cotton dress was hanging on her. And she looked so beautiful and fragile and vulnerable he wanted to leap on her and carry her off to the nearest bed!

Where the hell had he got the idea he could just brush her off like the others?

The clue was in the question, Nikos told himself grimly. She wasn’t like the others.

She was open, emotional, temperamental and feisty, he listed. Extraordinarily beautiful and soul-destroyingly sexy without knowing that she was. Even now while she stood there trying to maintain an upright position, all he could think about was stripping off that sack of a dress so he could see how much damage two weeks of barely eating had done to her fabulous shape.

And she was pregnant with his child, he tagged on finally. What the hell was sexy about knowing she was pregnant with his child? He had never wanted children. The knowledge of one nestling somewhere inside her should be bringing him out in a cold sweat, but it wasn’t.

He had to veil his eyes so she would not see how the powerful stuff pounding around inside him was almost knocking him over while he stood here trying to play it cool.

‘I’m preparing something to eat as per doctor’s orders,’ he relayed evenly. ‘If you can walk this far without collapsing, come and join me.’

For a second, for a pin-piercing, nerve-tripping second, he thought she was going to launch a second verbal attack on him. She drew in a breath, her chin shot up, her fabulous blue eyes sparked, her gorgeously soft, full, vulnerable mouth parted and the scent for the fight filled his body with a sizzling hot charge that would have only one outlet.

And that was the reason why he must have been mad to believe he could brush her off like the others. She fired him up even when he did not want firing up. She fired him up without even knowing she was doing it! She challenged him, fascinated him—annoyed the hell out of him.

‘I need to use a bathroom,’ she said.

It was like coming down from a drug-induced high. Long fingers gripping the tea towel like it was some kind of lethal weapon, he waved it at a door to her right. ‘Second door down,’ he indicated.

With that he stepped back into the kitchen and vented some of what was gripping him by tossing the tea towel across the room the moment he knew she couldn’t see him do it.

Mia collapsed against the closed bathroom door. She had absolutely no idea what had been going on just now but she felt as if she’d just survived an attack from invisible aliens. Every nerve end she possessed was standing on end and tingling with alarm. He had not moved. He had not said anything particularly contentious. He had not been anything but absolutely casual and cool.

It was her, she told herself. She was so uptight about these other sources she was sensing things about him that just were not there. Trying to pull herself together she turned to lock the door, only to frown when she discovered there wasn’t a lock there. Since when did multimil-lion-pound apartments come with no locks on the bathroom doors?

She was washing her hands when she recalled that the bathroom attached to her bedroom in Hampshire had no lock and neither had the bedroom door. And all of the doors there had been standing wide open, as if the sheer pace of restless energy Nikos always generated meant he needed to move around his homes without the irritating restriction of having to pause to fling open doors.

And that was it, Mia recognised suddenly. All those strange sensations she had been picking up on out there just now had been the sparking trails of his restless energy screaming around the walls, trying to get out, because he had to be feeling so constrained by the appalling discovery that she was carrying his child.

He was slicing a knife through a fresh crisp salad sandwich when she presented herself in the doorway. Her unpredictable stomach immediately reacted to the delicious smell with a hungry growl.

Glimpsing her hovering there Nikos indicated with the knife to one of the high stools set by a marble-topped eating bar. ‘Sit down,’ he invited.

Reluctant to move any closer to him but too hungry to stay where she was, Mia hitched herself onto the stool.

‘Drink,’ he said, setting a tall glass of sparkling fresh orange down in front of her. Half the sandwich arrived while she was drinking thirstily from the glass.

‘I don’t know what you like so I’ve piled everything in there. Just take out what you don’t want to eat.’

In other words, eating nothing was not an option, Mia interpreted. Not that she was thinking of causing a fight about it. She was too hungry.

‘I thought you were in Busan,’ she said as she set down her glass.

‘I flew back overnight.’ Lifting up a boiling kettle he poured the water into a stainless-steel cafetière, infusing the room with the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee.

About to pick up the sandwich, her fingers stilled. ‘Because you found out I was pregnant,’ she prompted.

‘Even I cannot see into the future, agape mou. You only found out during your visit to your GP this morning.’ He sent her a wry glance. ‘Though I will admit I suspected it might be the reason for your stomach bug when Fiona relayed her concerns to me about it.’

Mia stared at him. ‘Why would you come up with such a suspicion?’ She had not thought of it so why should he?

He offered up a shrug. ‘I did not use anything.’

Did not use anything? ‘Explain this—did not use anything,’ she demanded.

To her surprise he let out a short dry laugh. ‘Innocent to the last skin cell,’ he mocked, turning around to send her a sardonic glance. ‘Protection,’ he delivered, accentuating each syllable like he was talking to an idiot. ‘Contraception,’ he added in the same mocking way. ‘The protective use of a condom, if you need me to spell it out clearer for you.’

‘I do not.’ Cheeks heating because she could not believe she had walked herself into that totally embarrassing explanation, she fired at him, ‘Why did you not use anything? Or do you treat all your one-night stands as cavalierly as you did me?’

‘No.’ Veiling his eyes, his answer was that short and gruff.

‘Then why take such liberties with my body?’

For some reason his mouth moved into a rueful twist. ‘Freudian slip,’ he said, as if that should make sense to her.

Well, it didn’t. ‘Grazie, then, for the care you took with me!’

Nikos said nothing, he just turned back to what he was doing, leaving her anger to bounce off his back. Mia sizzled where she sat for a few seconds longer, unable to absorb that a man like him could take such irresponsible risks! Then she recalled the powerful grip of their mutual passion, and she shifted restlessly on her seat. She had been too busy enjoying herself to give a thought to protection either. She could not pile the entire blame on to him.

‘The smell of that coffee is upsetting my stomach,’ she announced, and enjoyed watching his disconcerted start before he leapt to snap on an air-extractor fan, then proceeded to flush his preferred beverage down the sink.

Mia bit into her sandwich with relish, having paid him back for his crucifying explanation for not using anything. He was always way too arrogantly sure of himself. Discovering he had faults to pick at made her feel much better.

Pouring chilled water into a glass from a bottle he’d removed from the fridge, he came to sit down on the stool next to hers. That brought him too close. Tensing her spine Mia put down the sandwich.

‘So who are the other sources you referred to?’

‘Security team.’ Reaching across to pick up the discarded sandwich, he almost threatened to feed it to her until she took it from his long stubborn fingers. ‘You’ve been under discreet surveillance since the Anton Brunel incident,’ he enlightened. ‘A precaution both Oscar and I decided was necessary to your—’

‘Oscar—?’ She swung a horrified blue stare at him. ‘You have told Oscar what happened to me?’

‘I’m responsible for your safety—’

‘Sì.’ Mia heaved in taut breath. ‘I am the duty you took on at Oscar’s request. You do not have to spell that part out.’

‘Why are you angry? We were working in your best interests—’

‘By spying on me without telling me you were doing it—and I did not even notice, did I?’

‘If you had noticed, then the security team would not have been doing their job properly,’ Nikos drawled smoothly.

‘Have you been reporting back to Oscar about everything I say and do?’ Mia speared at him suddenly. ‘Do you have a special tick list for when I perform up to Balfour standards and another one for crosses when I fail to reach the required level of your expectations?’

His brown eyes cooled. ‘That wasn’t funny, Mia.’

She so agreed with him there! Had he been colluding with Oscar over every step that she took? She hoped not, thinking about the intimacy they shared that had put her in the situation she was in now.

She felt like a curiosity in a zoo, watched and discussed and picked over. ‘I wish I had never come to England now,’ she breathed, a tremor of hurt tensing her mouth. ‘I wish I had never met you.’

‘Too late for both wishes,’ Nikos said, then let out a short sigh. ‘Before you spin me into the manipulative villain here, Oscar called me. Santino D’Lassio succeeded in keeping your unplanned dip off the television screens but he was not so successful with the press. Oscar read about it and called me.’

As Sophie had called her, Mia remembered, simmering down a little.

‘Together we decided that Brunel could become—a nuisance to you, so I employed a team to watch over you in case the nasty piece of work decided to try something again—and that was all Oscar and I discussed.’

‘Oh,’ she quivered. ‘I…th-thank you.’

‘I don’t need thanking,’ Nikos discarded with frowning annoyance. ‘It was deemed necessary to your safety so it was done. Of course, I did not expect to find out you were living it up until all hours with Kat Balfour’s crazy friends!’

‘They are not crazy, and it was only one night!’ Mia fired up all over again. ‘And what business of yours is it who I see or what I do with my free time? You blew me off. You told me I was a very big mistake!’

‘For your own good.’

‘It is a very big shame it did not run to contraception too!’ Mia threw out with simmering sarcasm.

He straightened his broad shoulders. ‘Fair point,’ he acknowledged.

Mia wanted to get up and hit him! Instead she heaved in a deep breath, let it out again slowly, then put down the sandwich. ‘I can’t eat this now,’ she sighed.

‘My fault again?’ He sighed too. ‘But at least try to eat it. I promise I won’t say another word while you do…doctor’s orders,’ he reminded her.

Doctor’s orders…Because of the baby, he meant. Reluctantly she picked up the sandwich. True to his word, he did not utter another word while she ate. When she’d finished he pushed her glass towards her in a silent command for her to finish that too.

‘Tulio has nothing on you,’ she sniped, snatching up the glass.

To her surprise he husked out a soft laugh. ‘I’m beginning to like Tulio,’ he confided. ‘He sounds like my kind of guy. I’ll look forward to meeting him when we go to visit your aunt…’

Mia looked at him, deeply suspicious as to where he was leading her with that cool statement. The moment she made contact with his rich dark eyes and saw a golden light burning there, it made her shift tensely on the stool.

What was he up to—what was he thinking? Why was she reading the glint as the burn of promised complete and total possession in those eyes—so much so that she began to feel threatened?

Mia moistened her lips and felt them tingle when he lowered his eyes to watch the careful little gesture.

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘You are not going anywhere near Tia Giulia.’

He took his time bringing his eyes back up to hers. ‘Why not?’ he asked softly.

A sizzling fizz of heat began to fire deep down in her body. That there was something else going on here as well as the conversation they were involved in, made her flicker a wary scan of his face. He was leading her somewhere and she did not want to look at where that might be.

How did a man so famous for his cool self-control manage to transmit so much sexual tension without seeming to try—?

‘I would be too ashamed to present you to her,’ she said.

And hit a raw nerve. Mia watched that warm possessive golden light turn off like a switch. He leant back on the stool. It was like watching a dangerous animal take a serious blow it had not been prepared for, and she suddenly felt really bad for saying what she did.

‘Tia is going to be ashamed of me too,’ she added in what was a huskily spoken soother to the wounded beast. ‘And—and anyway, there is no reason why the two of you should m-meet.’

‘No,’ she thought she heard him utter from the deep dark recesses of his taut throat.

The atmosphere in the kitchen had suddenly gone somewhere Mia knew she did not want to follow. In fact, she decided without rhyme or reason as to why it hit her at this particular moment, she just knew she did not want to be here with him any longer.

Her slender fingers gripping the glass, she downed the rest of her orange, then put the glass down and slid off the stool. Nikos still was not moving and she was feeling distinctly threatened as she took a wary step towards the kitchen door.

‘Going somewhere?’ his deep voice questioned.

‘T-to my own apartment…’ She took another step.

‘We still have a lot to talk about,’ Nikos drawled.

Not if she could avoid it. ‘I’m—too tired to talk to you any more today,’ she said coolly. ‘We—we can talk again tomorrow.’

‘Too late then. We have plans to make before tomorrow.’

Mia nipped in a taut breath, then spun around. He’d recovered quickly enough from his wounds, was the first observation that leapt out at her, though he did still look strained around his mouth.

‘I don’t know what is the matter with you,’ she said, adding a flick of a hand to convey her helpless bewilderment. ‘What is the planning you speak about? We don’t have to plan anything! And you should be drowning your sorrows somewhere in a bottle of whisky instead of playing this silly game with me!’

‘No game,’ he denied.

‘Then where exactly do you think you are going with this?’ she burst out, asking the question she had been trying to run away from.

‘I know exactly where I’m going with it, cara,’ Nikos responded grimly. ‘Even with the crushing knock-back,’ he added with a twist of his taut mouth, ‘I am simply waiting for you to catch up with me.’

He was still seated on the stool with his long legs stretched out in front of him, looking for the world now like he was set to stay there like that for the rest of the day. But it was all just a big deception. Mia could still see that telling gleam in his eyes, a burn which reminded her of—

She took a step backwards. ‘S-stop looking at me like that—’

He arched one of his flat black eyebrows. ‘Like what?’

‘Like you…’ Running out of words she dragged in a tense breath of air and looked away.

‘Like I’m considering—other options to help you to catch up with me?’

He was thinking sex, Mia saw, though she did not want to. In the space of a few short minutes he’d gone from domestic animal to wounded animal, and now he was displaying the sexual animal.

‘This is an—improper conversation to be having in—in the middle of a crisis,’ Mia said primly.

‘I’m having improper urges,’ he came back quick as a flash.

Shocked by it, Mia gasped, her eyes widening and her pulse accelerating as he came to his feet.

‘Don’t you dare to come near me!’ She took another jerky step backwards and her spine made painful contact with the corner of the door frame. ‘Ouch,’ she jerked out.

‘Now look what you’ve done,’ Nikos murmured, walking forward to reach out to draw her towards him while Mia made a weak flailing attempt to ward him off. ‘You’re so fevered and flustered you hurt yourself. Much safer here,’ he said, folding her in against his warm hard frame.

A single night of passion with him had not prepared her for the shockingly patent physical evidence of his aroused state pressing against her. Surprised by the inner surge of heat which poured from her towards that contact, she swayed her hips away from him in sheer self-defence.

He used the flat of his hand to bring her back to him again, and smiled at her stifled gasp. ‘At last you’ve caught me up.’

‘N-no,’ she denied it.

He bent his dark head and touched the tip of his tongue to the corner of her trembling mouth. It was Mia who turned that teasing touch into a full-on kiss. It was she who pressed the already stinging tips of her breasts into his chest and floated her arms up around his neck.

His arms banded her to him. He prized her mouth open and ruthlessly deepened the kiss. If she had a single ounce of pride she would be fighting him like crazy, but hectic little whimpers of pleasure were rolling from her instead.

‘I am not going to bed with you!’ she shrilled up at him during a moment of separation when he reached up to drag her hair free of its clip.

‘The floor will do for me, amore mia,’ he countered huskily, helping her hair to tumble over his fingers. ‘The wall, the sofa, the kitchen table, even the door behind you.’

‘And stop talking to me in Italian,’ she shook out, shocked by his cool declaration and terribly excited by it at the same time.

‘You understand Italian better when you’re out of your head with pleasure,’ he confided, flaming her a hot mocking look. ‘I spent several very passionate hours loving you in Italian and you did not notice my testing efforts, did you? Shame on you, Mia. This time I will make love to you in Greek and you will wish by the time I have finished that you had bothered to learn my language!’

‘You’re mad. W-we can’t do this—’

‘Why not?’

‘I’m s-sick—’

‘With pining for me,’ he agreed. ‘Well, you’re pining is over, agapita.’ Something soft hit the backs of her knees and she collapsed onto a bed. She did not know how they’d even got here! Her arms jerked up around his shoulders on a startled shriek. ‘That’s right,’ he encouraged. ‘Cling to me, you are going to need me to keep you this close to stop from drowning.’

Her eyes fluttered open. ‘Why are you doing this?’

Lifting his dark head, Nikos looked down at her, eyes as black as midnight in his taut face. ‘Because you’ve got me, cara, even if you’re ashamed of me. Now I’m going to love you senseless before I take you somewhere and marry you.’

Marriage—did he say marriage—? ‘I’m not marrying you!’ she cried out shockingly. ‘No way!’

He took her lips with a hot driving hunger that devoured her ability to protest any more. Mia tried to hang on to her sanity but he robbed her of it as he explored her mouth with the sensuous force of a ruthless raider. She felt as if she was being consumed by his desire. She should be fighting him. She knew she should be fighting him, but the only urge flowing through her was the urge to rake her fingers through his hair and to apply pressure to his head to stop him from breaking the hot deep hungry kiss.

She didn’t even know where it had all come from. One minute they were fighting, the next minute eating, the next they were here on his bed making love with the kind of fever that should be shocking her stupid, but instead she was revelling in it. For days now she had walked around like a car accident, stunned by the way he’d enthralled her with his passion, then dumped her without a single qualm. Now here she lay being enthralled again as if all the hurt and rejection meant nothing at all!

He skimmed a restless hand down her body and located a silken slender thigh exposed because her dress had ridden up to her waist. The feather-light brush of his caress set her squirming against him and he muttered something hard and impatient, used his other hand to lift her up towards him, then without breaking the passionate seal of their lips, he ran down the zip of her dress. Cool air hit her skin and she shivered. In the next second she was breaking her mouth free on a cry of protest as he wrenched the pale blue cotton downwards, forcing her to let go of him so he could free it from her slender arms as it was trailed away.

Her lacy white bra drew the heat of his attention, and with breathtaking economy it sprang free and it too was being trailed away, revealing the firm fullness of her breasts with their twin tight peaks posing like shameless provocateurs.

‘Oh,’ Mia groaned and closed her eyes as he lowered his dark head and took one straining tip into his mouth, her fingers clawing at his shoulders when she just went wild.

As if her clutching fingers reminded him he was still wearing his clothes, he muttered something and reared back, wrenching impatiently at his shirt. Buttons flew in all directions. Opening her eyes she was shocked to see the amount of angry hot furious tension clenched in the muscles in his face.

‘Why are you so angry?’ she whispered.

‘I messed up with you,’ he answered harshly. ‘I don’t mess up.’

Rolling off the bed he stood so he could rid himself of the rest of his clothes.

‘Marriage was not on my agenda, nor were children,’ he muttered, raking his trousers off his body to display the astonishing beauty of his long tanned physique presented in its fully aroused state.

Mia touched the trembling tip of her tongue to her upper lip in sheer siren hunger. ‘I have not placed marriage on your agenda, Nikos.’

‘If I’m stuck with it, then you’re stuck with it. Theos,’ he groaned, coming back down to her. ‘I’ve been aching to do this again.’

It was like being handed a gift she had not been expecting, so Mia rewarded him with a passionate kiss. He’d wanted her. He’d flown around the world and ached for her. She was so exhilarated by that confession she forgot to continue the other subject.

The marriage subject.

Instead she let him sink her down into a deep dark well shored up with pure sensation. His touch was sheer tormenting pleasure. Clever and light, so sensually expert at driving her towards that screaming-pitch peak.

She raked his back with her fingernails. He set her sobbing with his mouth on her breasts. He made her touch him. He fed her hand down the length of his long body in a stirring trail that followed the virile line of dark curls to the velvet hard shock of his erection. He taught her how to send shudders of pleasure raking through him. When he made that first silken thrust inside her she felt the leash he had placed on himself shake his entire frame. He was hot, his skin moist with sweat, his lips trembling against hers and she clung to him, clung like she was in danger of drowning if she ever let go.

Now what? Mia wondered as she lay curled on her side, watching him move about the room. Another ruthless slap down in case she got romantic ideas about his feelings? Another grim demand for marriage she neither wanted nor was about to accept?

He had already showered but had not yet bothered to dress. A small towel rested low on his waist, hiding his tight narrow buttocks and clashing wonderfully with his deep bronzed skin.

‘When you’ve rested, you need to go and pack a bag,’ he said, lifting clean underwear out of a drawer.

‘Why,’ she asked warily. ‘Where am I going?’

‘Athens,’ he answered. ‘It’s time you saw how we run things from my main base.’

And that was it? No—go and buy a wedding dress? No return to the marriage subject at all? Curving a hand beneath her cheek, Mia said nothing, her eyelashes resting low across her eyes as she watched him move to a bank of wardrobes.

‘And it’s time you met the guy whose job you filched,’ he continued evenly, pulling a striped blue-and-white shirt on over his fabulous torso and making Mia pull a disappointed face. ‘Fortunately for Petros, he’s enjoyed staying behind in Athens, taking my place while I’ve been elsewhere.’

‘So he is not likely to want to beat me up.’

Fastening the top button on the shirt, he turned a glance on her. Belissimo, Mia thought. Sexy, she thought. Those lazy satiated love-darkened eyes should be censored—or kept right here in the bedroom with me.

‘You look like a long sleek golden cat lying there.’ He smiled at her.

Her heart tippled over, then gave a soft squeeze because he was not being cold with her, and the way he had not been looking at her while he talked had made her expect his cool detachment.

‘My hair is black,’ she pointed out.

‘I wasn’t referring to your hair, agape mou.’

Mia did not know she could blush all the way from her toes, but that was what she did. Nikos saw it and laughed as he strode across the room to the bed. He leant over her, smelling clean of soap and Nikos, and his slow intimate kiss tasted of mint.

‘No,’ he husked when she reached for him as he went to straighten again. ‘We haven’t got time for what you want us to do, little cat.’ Bending down he picked up her dress and dropped it on her. ‘You have an hour to get ready before we have to leave.’

Ignoring her disappointed pout he strode back to the wardrobes to select the pants to a navy suit. As he drew them up his legs and Mia sat up with all the reluctance of someone who did not want to go anywhere, he murmured, ‘And you will need to give me your birth certificate. Do you have it with you here?’

‘Yes, with my passport, but—’ she frowned ‘—I don’t understand why you need it.’

‘Marriage licence,’ he responded as cool as anything. ‘We will be married in Athens next week. Petros is already seeing to the arrangements.’

Chapter Ten

‘DON’T sulk,’ her tormentor chided coolly.

Mia unclenched her tightly clenched teeth. ‘I have told you before, I do not sulk,’ she denied stiffly.

‘Then look at me.’

Twisting her face around, Mia did as he commanded, only to feel the unwanted pull of his sexual magnetism descend on her like a stifling hot weight. He was just so—bello, she thought helplessly, his luxurious black hair, his liquid dark eyes, his firm sensually moulded mouth. The barely leashed power of his fiercely masculine physique clothed in a sense-stirringly casual iron-grey silk lounge suit and gorgeously body-moulding black T-shirt.

How was she supposed to continue to fight with him when even his long lounging posture in the plush leather limo seat next to her wound up her sexual cravings for him to the extent she hardly dare breathe in case she gave herself away.

‘Well,’ she said. ‘I am looking. Say what it is you want to say so I can look away again.’

His sensual mouth moved to a slow mocking tilt. ‘Why, when you love looking at me?’

The pounding throb of her stubborn refusal to take up that goading remark sparked from her blue eyes like electricity. She’d maintained the same stance since they left London. Now they were driving across Athens on their way to dinner at some fancy restaurant when she would much rather have locked herself away in her bedroom.

Only Nikos’s Athens apartment had no locks on the bedroom doors, did it? Mia thought as she seethed.

They’d maintained an armed truce while they’d dressed to go out again—she shut away in her allotted bedroom, Nikos shut away in his. And that arrangement in itself made a complete laughing mockery of what it was they were warring about.

The marriage thing, being the bone of contention. He refused to take no for an answer and she refused to say yes.

‘Will you just explain to me why you are being so stubborn about this,’ he demanded heavily.

Mia had at least a dozen reasons why, but the only one she was prepared to give him right now needed just two words. ‘Lois Mansell,’ she said, and waited for him to squirm.

But he did not squirm. He did not do anything other than to sustain steady eye contact with her like a smooth rat caught in a trap who arrogantly did not believe he had anything to squirm about!

‘Lois has nothing to do with us,’ he dismissed that line of argument.

‘The newspapers told it differently.’

‘You know all about newspapers, cara. They lie—or at the very least they tamper with the truth.’

‘You left that nightclub with her clinging to you like a limpet.’ Mia was unimpressed by his line of defence.

‘I delivered her home. I did not sleep with her.’

‘The way I see it, Nikos, you don’t sleep with any of your women.’

As a stab at their current sleeping arrangements Mia knew she’d hit her mark when his dark eyes shuttered and his mouth went tight.

‘No response?’ she sniped at him. ‘No smart comeback aimed to put me in my place?’

‘No,’ he murmured, looking away from her altogether.

‘Well, there you are, then.’ She looked away too. ‘You and I do not have the same view as to what marriage is supposed to be about.’

‘You’re pregnant with my child,’ he clipped out. ‘Such an event does not require mutual insight, it requires damage control.’

‘Damage control—?’ So hurt by that comment, she could not hold in her choked gasp. ‘And you wonder why I won’t say yes to you when you can come out with a cold statement like that?’

‘I’m trying to be practical—’

‘As you have been with our sleeping arrangements?’ She could not resist saying it, then yanked in a tight breath. ‘You get me pregnant. You expect me to marry you. But you don’t want to sleep in the same bed as me,’ she shook out. ‘I suppose you will also expect to continue to live your life as you have always done while I sit at home alone getting fat!’

‘So what do you want?’ he angled back at her.

A man who wants to marry me because he cannot live without me! Mia screamed inside her head. ‘Not a man who thinks of marriage as damage control,’ she muttered. ‘I would rather return to Italy and bring my child up alone than throw my life away on a man like that.’

‘Our child,’ he gritted out. ‘And you are going nowhere with or without the marriage. I will bring up my own child, Mia,’ he stated very grimly. ‘I will not let your silly stubborn truculence push me out of the frame over some—crazy issues you have about the quality of my commitment.’

The problem was there was no quality about it! Hurt tears clogged her throat. ‘Can we go back?’ she husked. ‘I don’t think I can eat anything.’

His growling sigh was driven. ‘You are such damn high maintenance—!’ he raked out.

Mia widened her blue eyes in simmering astonishment. ‘I don’t believe that you dared to say that!’ she choked. ‘I have cost you nothing! Not even the price of accommodation since the flat I used in London was yours anyway and was already standing vacant!’

‘I did not mean—’

‘Shut up!’ she heaved out. ‘You know what you are, Nikos?’ she hit back at him shakily. ‘You are an arrogant, selfish—cheapskate!’ Almost tumbling over the word because she was not certain she had said it correctly, she knew she’d hit the word exactly right when he tensed like a board and pushed up his aggressive chin.

‘So I f-fancied you—big deal,’ she railed on an angry high now. ‘So you condescended to take what I was putting on offer—Great, thank you, grazie tanto, amore mia—not! For what did it cost you? A reasonably priced dinner and a few hours of listening to me bore you to death, followed by a posh party and a swift bit of pleasure in your bed before you turned on me like an ice man and threw me out! If that makes me high maintenance, then may God forgive you for what you usually shower on to your women! No wonder they say beware of Greeks bearing gifts!’

‘Have you finished?’ the ice man delivered from between his clenched white teeth. ‘If so, then may I finish what I was about to say before you blew my head off? Yes? Sì? Ne?’ His sarcasm ripped like a razor through Mia’s trembling flesh. ‘I was about to add emotionally,’ he incised with deliberate precision. ‘High maintenance emotionally,’ he repeated. ‘And a bloody irritating pain in the neck!’

‘Don’t forget juvenile!’ Mia tagged on for herself.

The car came to a standstill. Without uttering another word Nikos opened his door and threw himself out. Mia continued to sit, simmering in silence, while she waited for him to come around and open her door. She could have got out under her own steam but she did not want to. If she had been given a choice—and he had allowed her very few choices over the past twelve hours—she would be staying right where she was!

‘Leave the temper in the car,’ he rasped as she arrived in front of him.

Refusing to give such a command mind space, Mia tossed her hair back from her face with an icy defiance that made Nikos grit his teeth.

Women were an absolute blast, he thought angrily as they walked together across the pavement towards one of the most exclusive eating establishments in town. They did not know when to behave themselves—or when a man had taken enough of their unbelievably volatile and inconsistent nonsense! She had not been so argumentative when he’d brought her down to straddle him during the flight over here and kissed her snappy mouth.

And, Theos, this was not the time to be recalling what they’d done next, when she was already firing him up again, because she looked nothing short of dazzling in full angry flow! Her eyes were alight, her mouth pumped and pouting because he’d cornered her just before they left his apartment and tried to kiss her out of her stubbornness. The kiss had been yet another ground-shaking experience—without the satisfying follow-up because her stubborn shell remained fixed in place.

But her sensational mouth still wore his kiss on it in defiance—and he wanted to kiss it again, right now!

‘Take care,’ he husked, taking hold of her arm as she went to negotiate the shallow step in front of the restaurant entrance.

She was wearing the usual lethal high heels and he made a silent promise to himself that he was going to chuck them all out the first opportunity he got! She was pregnant, for God’s sake. Carrying his baby. One accidental stumble off those ridiculous heels and it could all be over—

Something shockingly like panic struck down through his body, pulling him to a shuddering halt. Mia glanced up at him in frowning surprise and his heart made a weird kind of dive down to his toes.

‘What?’ she asked, glaring at him as if she was expecting yet another row to erupt.

‘Nothing,’ he said, pulling himself together. ‘I just remembered something I should have done before we left,’ he lied, feeling strangely light-headed as he reached around her to open the restaurant door.

She walked ahead of him into the foyer with a curvaceous glide of purple satin, short and fitted and fashionably edgy, her fabulous hair a silken stream of black waves that brushed her tense narrow back.

Purple for poison or purple for passion, he mused grimly. Tonight she was both.

The owner of the restaurant came hurrying up to greet him. He had to pull on his social face when he did not want to, smiling pleasantly while Mia stood beside him, thankfully donning her social smile too. So he’d taught her something, Nikos thought with bleak satire.

They were about to move on through to the restaurant proper when the door flew open and a group of newcomers came in. It was instinct that made him turn to send them a fleeting glance.

Nikos froze as an icy shaft of instant recognition locked up his muscles. No, he thought, this cannot be happening. He tried to deflect Mia’s attention when she turned to see where he was looking, but he was too late and she froze too.

‘We will leave,’ he husked, already reaching out to draw her protectively towards him.

‘No.’ Feeling as if the ground beneath her feet was trembling, Mia let him hold her for a moment.

But it wasn’t the ground, it was she who was trembling, shivery chills of shock tingling up and down her spine.

Gabriella.

Gabriella was right here in this place, in this city, standing a short metre away from her. Her mother, looking so agonizingly familiar to her because she saw that face in the mirror each time she looked at herself.

Her heart began to thump out of kilter. She felt Nikos trying his best to block her view with the long length of his body and his wide shoulders. And she knew he was doing it because she must have turned the colour of milk.

‘I’m going to speak to her,’ she whispered. The decision came without her even knowing she wanted to do such a thing.

‘No—Mia, don’t,’ Nikos advised gruffly. ‘You—’

But she was already stepping round him on legs that did not feel like they belonged to her any more. Mario Mattea glanced at her and he knew—that quickly he knew who it was he was looking at.

Tall and lean, strikingly attractive for a man in his sixtieth year, he touched his wife’s arm to gain her attention. ‘Gabriella,’ he murmured in a low warning voice.

Gabriella Mattea turned her luxurious dark head and looked into the pale face of the daughter she had not set eyes on in ten long years.

Silence poured into the gap between them. Mia felt her heart take on a thick pounding beat in her ears. Somewhere in the hazy distance she was aware of Nikos’s tension and of Mario’s. There were other people around them but they were invisible; she only saw her mother’s face.

Feeling as vulnerable as the small child she had been when she last stood this close to her mother, she whispered tremulously, ‘Ciao, M-Mama.’

Eyes like black glass looked her over. Mia watched the beautiful face in front of her freeze. ‘For goodness’ sake, will someone get this person away from me?’ Gabriella drawled out in cold Italian. ‘Is it impossible to eat out without being set upon by strangers these days?’

A stunning silence fell around the foyer. In the middle of it Mia slowly died. Then Nikos’s arm was a fierce brace across her shoulders. And Mario was bursting into speech.

‘Nikos,’ he greeted tensely. ‘I did not expect to see you—’

‘Excuse us,’ Nikos cut in coldly and walked them to the door.

The restaurant owner leapt to open it for them, murmuring apologies in a shocked anxious voice. They made it onto the pavement. So coldly furious he could hit something, Nikos speared a glance up the street, looking for where his driver had parked.

Turning his shaking frozen package towards him he wrapped her in one supporting arm, pressing her close against his body, while he located his mobile phone. Keeping his anger in check cost him control of his voice as he ordered his driver to come and get them.

‘Nikos, please.’ Mario appeared on the pavement beside them. ‘Let me explain to you why that unfortunate scene happened,’ he begged urgently. ‘My wife—’

‘An explanation is not required,’ Nikos sliced through the other man, his arm banding Mia all the tighter to him. ‘It happened because you gave Gabriella a choice and she chose you, your wealth and your lifestyle over her own child.’ As Nikos spoke, Mia quivered in fresh hurt as he outlined the stark cold truth of it. ‘It happened,’ he continued, ‘because you and your wife are soulless, with a soulless marriage, which in my view makes you well suited. Mia might not appreciate this right now but she has been better off without knowing either of you.’

‘Because she has Balfour to turn to now?’ Mario’s sudden harsh derision cut into Mia like a knife.

‘No,’ Nikos countered. ‘Because she has me.’

The car swept to a stop beside them, and Nikos reached out to open the rear door. There was a new atmosphere rocking the silence which hung in the warm evening, but Mia was too upset to work out why it was there. She let Nikos guide her into the limousine, and tried very hard to get a grip on herself. In truth she should not be feeling this bad, she told herself. After all, she was the one at fault for thinking she could approach a woman who had never shown the slightest hint that she cared about her.

The two men were still standing on the pavement. From the low grind of their voices Mia could tell their conversation was not nice. A quick glance showed her that Nikos’s whole body was rigid with aggression and icy as hell. Mario seemed to be pressing some urgent point and looked very pale, though she did not know the wealthy formula-one mogul to know he did not always look that shade.

She looked away again, down at her trembling fingers where they lay locked together on her lap. Nikos was right—who needed a mother like that? she told herself dimly, and felt tears press hard at the back of her throat.

Nikos climbed into the car and tapped on the partition glass to tell their driver to go. As he sank back into the seat he did not glance at Mia. He couldn’t right now. He was too busy grappling with something he’d said to Mario in his initial volley of contempt that was still knocking him almost senseless.

Soulless marriage…

Isn’t that what he had been offering Mia? A soulless marriage with great sex and separate bedrooms afterwards?

Nikos shuddered in disgust. She possessed more integrity than her lousy mother by refusing what he was fast accepting had been a filthy insult of an offer. If Gabriella had held out against Mario Mattea, would she have won her man and kept her child—?

And even the thought was insultingly arrogant. For what would Mia be winning by getting him? Nothing more than he had been prepared to give her, which turned out to be nothing in the cold light of his new insight.

He should be getting down on his knees and thanking her for loving this cold and soulless bastard—

Love…Nikos backtracked, experiencing a fresh numbing clench of shock. She loved him. How long had he known that without allowing himself to acknowledge it? Desire, obsession, infatuation—he’d named it any other word he could grab. But she did—love him. And he did not deserve such an honour.

‘You know him,’ the silent figure beside him broke into the shattering train of his thoughts.

‘Sorry?’ he turned a questioning look on her and took the full weight of her importance to him like a blow to his gut.

‘You know Mario Mattea,’ she repeated, her blue eyes dull and dark in her pale face. ‘Why have you never said?’

Shot down but still functioning, Nikos recognised ruefully as her question pushed him out of one stark blinding revelation straight into the horror of another one. Did he tell her the truth or did he try to pass it off with a flippant comment. Lie, in other words.

He veiled his eyes and went for the halftruth. ‘I know a lot of business people,’ he said with a shrug.

‘Have you met my—Gabriella before?’

‘No.’ And that was honest, Nikos mocked grimly. If he had met Gabriella Mattea before he would have recognised the cold bitch in her and perhaps been able to save Mia from what just took place. As it was, Nikos knew, right down to his seething twisting gut, he was in trouble here.

‘He’s here in Athens to set up a series of meetings with high-end financiers.’ He chickened out of telling the full truth. ‘The credit crunch has bitten hard into the car industry. Mario is desperate for someone to finance his business and his formula-one team before both sink without a trace.’

‘You mean he’s here for a series of meetings with you, don’t you?’

Nikos let his tense mouth stretch into a brief rueful smile. ‘I’m—one of his best bets to cough up the money.’

‘Are you going to?’

He sent her a glinting look. ‘What do you think?’

‘Because of me?’

‘Yes, because of you.’ And that was the full damn truth.

‘But you can’t do that!’ Surprising him by turning an aghast stare on him, she said, ‘They will know you turned away from them because of what happened tonight and they will blame me for it!’

His grim face toughened. ‘They should have considered that angle when they humiliated my future wife.’

‘I am not going to be your wife!’

‘What are you planning to be, then,’ he struck back, ‘the next Balfour scandal?’

Chapter Eleven

WRONG thing to say. Nikos knew it the moment the smart shot left his mouth.

‘I am not a Balfour,’ Mia denied, hating him for saying that—hating everyone. ‘For why would I want to be a Bianchi or a Balfour?’

‘Then don’t be,’ he persisted. ‘Be a Theakis instead.’

‘So that you can treat me like an unwelcome interloper into your life too?’

‘You would not be an unwelcome interloper.’

Mia released a soft bitter laugh. ‘I am a figure of pity to you right now. Tomorrow I will be a chain tied around your neck. Do you think I don’t know the way that it goes? Gabriella handed me over to my aunt, then walked away from me. She visited once a year for the first ten years of my life. She stopped visiting me when I asked her if she only came to give Tia money for my keep. You wish to hear her answer?’

‘No,’ Nikos muttered.

‘She admitted to my face it was so, then left. Tia’s money came by post from then on.’

A soft curse raked Nikos’s throat. ‘She is a selfish bitch with—’

‘Sì,’ Mia cut in on him quickly because she did not need him to tell her what her own mother was. ‘Oscar was more subtle. He allowed me to stay so long as I hid in the kitchen and played his housekeeper.’

‘He was protecting Lillian—’

‘You think I don’t know and appreciate that?’ she choked out. ‘Do you think I resented him protecting his poor wife’s feelings over mine? Do you think I did not understand when his other daughters must resent and blame me for the scandals which erupted later—or that I do not blame myself for those same events? But did he appreciate how I was feeling?’ she delivered with a hurt that until now she had kept buried deep inside. ‘Did my feelings stop him from sending me away again as quickly as he could?’

‘Oscar wanted you to learn to—’

‘He wanted me to act like a Balfour or stay away,’ she wrenched out. ‘Well, I have no wish any longer to be a Balfour.’ And she meant it—she really meant it! ‘They are not my kind of people. You are not my kind of people.’ It was a life-changing moment to realise that and it grew like a balloon inside. ‘Oscar said he wanted me to learn integrity…’ And suddenly she understood what integrity meant to her. It meant being true to herself. To the person she wanted to be not the one everyone else wanted to mould her into! ‘Well, I don’t want his integrity if it means dressing up in fine clothes and wearing false smiles. I don’t want to be married to you because I have conceived your baby and you are worried about what Oscar might think. That is for your integrity to deal with, Nikos. Mine is telling me it is time to walk away and just be myself.’

‘I do not give a damn what Oscar thinks!’ Nikos protested.

‘Liar,’ she shook out. ‘You have already said it with your damage-control quip.’

It was like being hit from behind. Nikos had not expected it. He had no ready defence.

The car drew up outside his apartment, and Mia threw his sternly handsome face a single glance, then unlocked her seat belt and scrambled out of the car, leaving Nikos sitting there, knowing he was in danger of missing probably the only opportunity he was going to get to put right something he should never have said in the first place.

Throwing open his door he climbed out of the car and followed her into the building. If she wanted him to feel like the worst man alive, then she was succeeding, he accepted as he stood beside her trembling figure while they rode the lift to the top floor.

No oval lobby here, just direct access to his apartment proper.

‘Mia…’ he started to say huskily.

She strode off towards the bedrooms with her taut slender spine telling him she did not want to listen to anything else he had to say.

He watched her go, watched his chance to put this right walk away from him on those foolish high heels, winced when her bedroom door slammed shut in her wake.

‘Damn,’ he cursed, then added a few more rich words, and on a ferocious act of burning frustration aimed directly at himself and his own insecurities, he swung around and flung a clenched fist at the nearest wall.

Kicking off her shoes, Mia sent them skidding across the bedroom floor, then spun to glare at the bed for a tear-stinging second before she threw herself face down on it. She hated him—again, she told herself fiercely, pressing her face into the pillow and trembling with anger and a million different layers of hurt.

He was hard and cold and he did not deserve any of this aching love she was suffering on his behalf! He did not deserve her at all!

Damage control…What kind of man was he that he could describe a marriage proposal as—

Her door suddenly burst open. ‘All right, so the damage-control quip was a lousy, cruel, rotten cover-up!’ Nikos launched at her. ‘You are driving me crazy. You make me say things I don’t mean to say! I think I might be madly in love with you—does that make a difference?’

Mia froze, and then twisted over to look at him. He was standing just inside the door, looking like a man who’d been subjected to torture to make him say that. Every bone, every muscle, every beautifully toned golden skin cell, flexed to its limits, and his eyes were firing fury at her as if she had been the one to inflict the torture!

Had it been that painful for him to say it?

‘Explain this might be,’ she demanded. ‘You think it impresses me?’

‘No,’ he muttered, and did a strange thing then—he dropped the tension out of his shoulders and lifted a fist up to his mouth, wincing as if he was in pain. ‘Having never experienced any kind of love before, I can only offer a might be,’ he said.

Dropping the hand out of its fist he flexed the long fingers. ‘You like to believe you are the only one to get a lousy deal in the parental stakes, agape mou,’ he imparted heavily, ‘but you don’t have a clue how bad it can get. My mother was a prostitute and my father was her pimp. Try comparing that coupling with your own less-than-perfect parents.’

‘But I thought you were—’

‘Born with a silver spoon in my mouth?’ he offered, skimming her a skin-peeling cynical glance. ‘Living in a one-bedroom cockroach-infested apartment deep in the heart of an Athens slum is not silver-spoon stuff, I promise you. It’s the same as living in hell. I need a drink,’ he said suddenly and turned back to the door.

‘Don’t you dare walk out of here after saying all of that!’ Mia shrieked. ‘I want to know what it is you’re talking about!’

His wide shoulders clenched. Nikos bit out a curse, then spun to walk over to the window and stood there, glaring out at the view.

‘Down there,’ he husked, bringing Mia sliding off the bed to go and stand beside him, ‘beyond the bright lights where everything turns murky and dark.’

Mia looked without seeing because seeing was not as important to her as what he was saying to her. She moved closer to him and was surprised when he let her, even shifting a tense arm to draw her in.

‘For the first six years of my life I believed it was normal to sleep in a bedroom cupboard,’ he provided gruffly. ‘They, my so-called parents, locked me in there so I would not embarrass my mother’s—clients when she brought them back to—ply her services. If I made a sound I was beaten.’

‘Oh, Nikos, no,’ Mia whispered in dismay.

‘They were heroin addicts,’ he delivered flatly. ‘Sometimes they would be so out of their heads they would forget about me for days. I still have nightmares about that filthy cupboard,’ he breathed grittily, then vented a short hard laugh. ‘Try sleeping a whole night in the same bed with me, cara, and you will know what it is I’m talking about. I cannot stand to be in small enclosed places, and locks and bolts give me the creeps. And don’t weep,’ he rasped when a sob of understanding broke free from her. ‘I will not be responsible if you start weeping. I have told no one this. So just stand here and listen. When I was nine, a—client discovered me. He decided it would be good to have a bit of fun at my expense…’

He went so silent then that Mia worried what it was he was remembering that he could not bring himself to reveal. After a minute of it she could not stand still any longer and turned herself fully into his front, then hugged him tightly with her arms locked around his taut body.

He ripped out a sigh and wrapped his arms around her too.

‘I ran away,’ he went on. ‘The police found me and I was delivered into the hands of the social services. I was never so glad about anything,’ he admitted. ‘For the first time in my life I had a real bed to sleep in and three meals a day, and most importantly, I felt safe. I was a model inmate because I was so scared they would send me back to my parents. I excelled at school and was willing to take on any chore if it earned me a smile of approval. I would have begged and crawled to remain where I was.’

‘Nikos—’

‘No, don’t say anything,’ he cut across her. ‘When I was thirteen I was accused of stealing provisions from the kitchens. It wasn’t me, I was stitched up, but since I couldn’t prove that, I was—punished. I vowed it would be the last time that anyone would lay a strap to my back and I ran away again. I spent the next six months living on the streets, sleeping in alleyways and surviving on meagre handouts. But I missed school. I had a desperate need to learn so I gave myself up to the authorities. From then on I was labelled a problem child and was sent to a home full of problem children…’

He paused once again to take a minute to smooth out the roughened tone of his voice. And Mia took her chance, and brushed a soft trembling kiss to one of his taut cheeks.

‘I endured the life there,’ he continued, easing her closer to him. ‘I cannot be charitable and call it anything more than an endurance, but I had to stay if I wanted to attend school…The worst part was surrendering to my vow and allowing someone else to beat me,’ he roughed out. ‘On my sixteenth birthday I walked out of there and never went back.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

‘I am not after your sympathy,’ he lanced out. ‘I am merely trying to explain to you why I cannot tell if I love you or not.’ Since Mia was sure that nothing less than the desperation of love would have dragged any of this out of him, she just lifted her face from his chest and smiled up at him. ‘Well, I know I love you. So we can work on that.’

Allowing himself to look down at her, Nikos quirked a flat black eyebrow. ‘Just like that?’

‘Sì.’ She nodded. ‘What happened to your parents?’ she then prompted softly.

He cleared his throat. ‘They died when I was fourteen, from a lethal batch of heroin.’

‘And—and Oscar, how did you come to meet him?’

This time he husked out a small laugh. ‘I was a real hustler by then. Good-looking, sharp-witted and too damn cocksure of myself for my own good. Waiting on tables of the rich was a good place to learn about business scams. I had become pretty successful at scamming others by the time Oscar wandered into my life. I tried a hustle on him,’ he admitted. ‘Oscar listened to my pitch, fed my ego with smooth questions I was able to answer without so much as a blink. He agreed to the deal, handed me a cheque for an astonishing amount of money, then he proceeded to hustle me with an offer of a stake in some irresistible venture of his own if I could come up with the required cash, which was, of course, double what he had given me. I handed him back his cheque plus every penny I had in the world and the scammer had been beautifully scammed by an expert at it.’

Mia laughed. ‘You mean there was no irresistible venture?’

‘No.’ Nikos smiled to himself, recalling what Oscar must have seen when he’d stared thoughtfully across the desk at the twenty-year-old hustler he had been back then. ‘Oscar fleeced me cold with a relaxed smoothness that can still make me squirm to recall it,’ he confessed.

Yet, for all of it, Oscar Balfour had seen something in him that he’d liked.

‘Instead of slinging me out, humiliated and penniless, he offered to show me how to play the hustle from the right side of the law,’ he went on softly. ‘He was my saviour from a life of crime and probably regular imprisonment. Everything I am today I owe to him. He’s—special. Never underestimate him, agape mou, for Oscar never puts any plan into action unless he has a very sure idea what the outcome will be.’

‘You’re talking about you and me now, aren’t you?’ Mia frowned up at him.

‘Right down to the Brunel incident,’ he drawled sardonically.

Mia widened her eyes. ‘No,’ she denied.

‘Brunel went overboard with his brief when he tipped you into that pool, and Oscar was angry. But it was Santino D’Lassio’s security people who tracked Brunel down and—urged the truth out of him. Oscar does not know that I know,’ he added. ‘I am keeping that piece of information to myself for a while longer.’

‘Don’t you dare hurt my father!’ Mia flared up instantly.

Looking down at her, Nikos prompted dryly, ‘Not hating him so much now?’

Mia shifted restlessly against him. ‘I don’t hate Oscar,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t even hate my mother…’ Her blue eyes shadowed over on the hollow ache she experienced. ‘I was hurting when I said all of those things in the car. Oscar has been good to me—kind, even when my arrival caused him so much trouble.’

‘Trouble you had a right to cause, Mia.’

‘That’s what he said to me,’ she whispered, feeling guilty now that she had maligned the man who’d tried his very best to make her feel welcome and wanted. ‘So,’ she said, ‘what was Oscar planning for you and me?’

‘Oh, the full works, I should imagine.’ Nikos smiled ruefully. ‘Throw you in my way every damn day. Wind me up with some macho protectiveness and jealousy to aim me in the direction he wanted me to go.’

‘Which was where?’

‘White lace and wedding bells,’ he enlightened. ‘But without the premature baby conception…I will have let him down there.’

‘You did not do so on your own,’ Mia pointed out. ‘I helped—a lot.’

At last she made his strained mouth stretch into a real proper grin. Reaching up she traced that wide warm mouth with a finger. ‘You know what you need,’ she ventured softly, long black eyelashes hiding away the sparkle in her blue eyes. ‘You need a trial run sleeping with me in a bed for a whole night or two. I can live with no locks on the doors but I refuse to marry a man who insists on separate bedrooms because he thinks I will scare him into nightmares…’

The way she put the last part froze Nikos for a second or two before he threw back his dark head and laughed. Then with a groan he crushed her up against him, and claimed the pouting invitation of her lush mouth.

‘Trial run coming up,’ he muttered a while later. ‘We will call Oscar tomorrow,’ he planned as he drew towards her bed. ‘If he doesn’t threaten to kill me for seducing his daughter, he can give you away at our wedding.’

‘And if he does threaten to kill you?’ Mia ran a possessive hand down the front of his body and watched him shudder.

‘I will warn him he will be making his daughter a widow because I’m still marrying you.’

It was gruff and strong and very possessive, and Mia curved her body in even closer. ‘I love you, Nikos Theakis,’ she told him.

‘Well, keep on loving me, agape mou,’ he responded unsteadily. ‘I am about to risk dropping every protective guard I have in favour of loving you back by return.’

He had said it—almost said it. Mia laughed in delight. Then, with more strength than she gave credence to, she twisted him around and tumbled them both down on the bed.

‘Show me, then,’ she invited.

Nikos did not need telling twice.

Two wonderful months later, Nikos strode into the bedroom he’d had refurbished to accommodate his wife’s hobby, as she liked to call it. Every one of their homes now had similar rooms, laid out like a fashion designer’s studio with all the time-saving gadgets known to the trade.

‘You’re supposed to be dressed by now—’ he frowned at Mia ‘—Santino and Nina D’Lassio will be here in half an hour and Tia Giulia is already downstairs with Oscar.’

‘Is it that late?’ Looking up from what she was doing, Mia felt the usual crash and burn take place inside her because he looked so deliciously gorgeous in a dinner suit—and, she tagged on possessively, every single bit of him belonged to her.

‘You are not wearing that,’ he said, his frown deepening as he spied the dress she had left hanging on an otherwise empty rail.

‘Oh, you don’t like it,’ Mia murmured in disappointment.

‘Are you joking?’ Striding over to the bright red slip of silk and plucking up the hanger so he could view it more thoroughly, he said, ‘It’s a Jessica Rabbit dress.’

‘Jessica who?’ Mia asked innocently.

‘Jessica Rabbit—the cartoon sex bomb and fantasy lover of every man with a healthy sex drive.’

Pleased by that remark, Mia stood to reveal the gold silk under the slip she was wearing. ‘That’s OK, then,’ she said with relief.

‘You’re still not wearing it, Mia,’ Nikos said firmly. ‘Not in front of anyone but me anyway…’

‘But you just said it was every man’s fantasy!’ Taking it from him she placed the hanger back on the rail again. Then, because she knew he was trying to work out how the heck he was going to stop her when she usually ended up doing as she pleased anyway, she turned to send him a grin.

‘It’s for Sophie,’ she confided.

‘Sophie—?’ Nikos almost choked on the shock.

‘She asked me to make her a really sexy dress,’ she explained. ‘And you have just made my day by telling me I have achieved the ultimate.’

‘But—agape mou, you can’t put Sophie in a dress like that! She’s—’

‘Don’t you dare finish what you were about to say!’ Mia flared up in heated defence of her half-sister. ‘She is beautiful and nice!’

‘I was not about to—’

‘And she owns the most exquisite pocket Venus figure underneath those dreadful concealing garments she prefers to wear,’ Mia cut in furiously. ‘So she does not parade her figure as she should do, but that doesn’t mean she cannot be encouraged.’

Absolutely not believing her but willing to accept he had just deeply offended his new wife on Sophie Balfour’s behalf, Nikos went for the diversion. ‘You’re so sexy when you’re sparked up and angry,’ he murmured, reaching out to draw her into his embrace.

‘Mmm, and you are one amazing kisser, signor,’ she sighed out when he finally let her up for air.

‘You’ve got no one else to compare me with,’ Nikos pointed out.

‘And you like to feel smug about that?’

‘Sì, signora.’ He grinned. ‘I love it that you love me, and that I am the only man to kiss you, and that this hiding in here—’ he moulded his hand to her still-flat stomach ‘—bears the fruits of my kisses and—other things.’

‘That is just so—so old-fashioned and possessively Greek!’ Mia frowned at him.

‘But you love me to be old-fashioned and possessive.’

‘I also think you should know that over there—’ she pointed to another rail packed with clothes ‘—is another Jessica Rabbit dress, as you call it, just waiting for me to put on if you don’t watch your step!’

Caught like a rat in a trap, Mia watched his smile disappear and his eyes narrow to scan the indicated rail. ‘I will burn it.’

‘Before or after you see me wearing it?’

He took a minute to think about that, then he responded with a lusty growl, ‘Afterwards. Private viewing.’ He captured her already kiss-blushed lips.

‘So what are you planning to wear?’ he demanded long minutes later.

‘You,’ Mia whispered. ‘Later,’ she added in a soft invitation. ‘In our bed, where it is my solemn duty to keep scaring your nightmares away.’

Nikos could have taken objection to her remarking on the nightmares, but he no longer hid anything from this beautiful creature he had won as his wife. It was healthier to keep everything—good or bad—right out there in the open.

‘You know, I believed my life was all mapped out,’ he confided softly. ‘No U-turns, no diversions, just me in absolute control of me. Then I met you,’ he husked. ‘I did not want love. I did not want commitment. I did not want to pass on my family genes to another generation. Or to watch my children’s disappointment in me grow each time I did not come up to scratch as a father. Now I want it all.’ His fingers framed her upturned face, his eyes so dark Mia smiled because she just loved to drown in them. ‘I want the marriage, the commitment and the children. I want you to love me. I need you to love me. It’s crazy, frightening.’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Mia promised. Then, to lighten the sudden intense atmosphere, she begged, ‘Just one more tiny kiss before I go and dress.’

Flat black eyebrows rose in disdain. ‘I don’t do tiny,’ Nikos drawled arrogantly.

Kat’s Pride

Sharon Kendrick started story-telling at the age of eleven and has never really stopped. She likes to write fast-paced, feel-good romances with heroes who are so sexy they’ll make your toes curl!

Born in west London, she now lives in the beautiful city of Winchester, where she can see the cathedral from her window (but only if she stands on tip-toe). She has two children, Celia and Patrick, and her passions include music, books, cooking and eating – and drifting off into wonderful daydreams while she works out new plots!

To my Uncle Aidan – a great thinker, wit and musician – who could charm the birds from the trees. A great man all round. Miss you.

Chapter One

EVEN the brilliant Mediterranean sunshine couldn’t lighten her mood.

With a stab of frustration, Kat pushed the spill of dark hair away from her eyes and leaned back against the soft leather seat of the limousine. A week had passed, but the memories of that night were still vivid. A night when accusations—and counter-accusations—had spun through the air like the blade of a helicopter. And another guilty family secret had reared its ugly head.

If only…

If only it hadn’t happened at the glittering Balfour Charity Ball—where half the world’s press had been camped outside, waiting for an almighty scoop. Briefly, Kat closed her eyes. Bet they couldn’t believe their luck.

Last year’s ball had been bad enough—when she had made a humiliating fool of herself in front of the arrogant Spaniard, Carlos Guerrero—but at least nobody except her father had witnessed it. This time had been worse—with her twin sisters announcing the news that their beloved sister Zoe had been sired by another man and was not a true Balfour after all.

Scenting blood—the paparazzi had been baying around the fabulous family mansion for days—and once again the Balfour name had been splashed all over the papers. Those words Kat had become so used to, whenever her family’s name was mentioned, were once again the hot topic of the day. Words that still had the power to wound, no matter how many times she’d heard them.

Scandal.

Shame.

Secrets.

And the truth was that, yes, the Balfours were brimming with all of those things—and more. But just because they were rich, didn’t mean they were impervious to pain or hurt. Prick them, and they bled—just like everybody else. Nobody saw that, of course, and nobody ever would—well, certainly not in Kat’s case. She allowed herself a grim smile. Because the moment you showed hurt, you made yourself vulnerable—and vulnerability was the most dangerous thing of all. Didn’t she know that better than anyone?

She stared out of the car window, reminding herself how she’d coped with the latest indignity. The same way that she always coped. She’d cut loose and run from the family estate. Not far, it was true—only as far as London—where she had booked into a hotel, using a fake name and a vast pair of sunglasses to hide behind. Until her father had rung her yesterday morning offering her an ‘opportunity.’

Why had she felt a momentary wave of suspicion? Was it because that although Oscar was her true blood father, he had never been close to her heart in the same way as her beloved stepfather, Victor? Kat blinked back the tears which sprang to her eyes and replaced them with the defiant expression she had perfected. She wasn’t going to think about her stepfather, or the past. She just wasn’t. Because that way lay madness and regret and all those other painful emotions which she fought like crazy to keep at bay.

Nonetheless, her voice had been wary as she’d replied, ‘What kind of opportunity, Daddy?’

There had been a pause. Had she imagined the unfamiliar steely quality which had entered his voice? ‘The kind of opportunity which should be seized,’ he said flatly. ‘Didn’t you tell me at the ball the other night that you were bored with your life, Kat?’

Had she said that? In a moment of weakness, had she been stupid enough to let on to the patriarch of the Balfour clan that a stream of loneliness as deep as a river seemed to be coursing through her veins?

‘Did I?’

‘Indeed you did. So why not grab at the opportunity for a change of scene and a change of air. How does a boat trip round the Mediterranean sound?’

It sounded exactly what she needed. Some good sea air and the chance to escape. And even though her father had tantalisingly refused to give her any more details, Kat knew it would be a treat. Because despite the impatience Oscar occasionally felt towards his daughters, deep down he loved nothing more than to lavish life’s extravagances on them.

Which was why she was now reclining in the back of a luxury limousine, heading for the glamorous port of Antibes, while outside the brilliant Provençal sun beat down on all the wealthy holidaymakers. The glittering sea was shaded brilliant colours of cobalt and azure and the port was crammed with the biggest motor yachts you would find anywhere in the world. But that was the south of France for you—all glamour and glitz and buckets of money.

With a slickness perfected by years of practice, Kat pushed away her troubled thoughts as the limo slid to a halt next to a line of beautiful, bobbing yachts.

‘There it is, miss,’ said the driver, pointing to the biggest boat of all—where a couple of white-uniformed crew members were moving purposefully around the deck.

Suddenly, her mood was forgotten as Kat stared up at the most amazing-looking yacht she’d ever seen. With its long, aerodynamic shape and pointed prow, it rose up out of the water like some dazzling seabird. She could see a polished wooden deck and the turquoise glimmer of a swimming pool—as well as the ultimate convenience of a helicopter pad.

‘Oh, wow,’ she said, lips softening into a smile. Since babyhood, she had mixed in exalted and rich circles and knew that superyachts cost a fortune to own and maintain—but this magnificent vessel really was in a league of its own. It was…spectacular. Tourists were standing taking photographs of it and briefly Kat wondered who the owner could possibly be—and why her father had tantalisingly refused to tell her.

The name gave few clues. Painted in dark, curving letters along the side were the words Corazón Frío. Behind her dark glasses, Kat’s eyes narrowed. Meaning what, precisely?

She was certainly no linguist—but even she could recognise that the language was Spanish. Her heart skipped an erratic beat. As was the only man who had ever slapped her down and humiliated her in public.

And who had haunted her dreams ever since. A man with a hard, lean body and wild black hair and the coldest eyes she had ever seen.

Shaking away a memory even more unsettling than the uproar at last week’s ball, Kat stepped out onto the quayside and couldn’t help noticing that people had stopped to look at her.

But then, people always did. If you dazzled them with the externals, then they never really looked beyond to see the real person underneath. Clothes could be the armour that shielded you—that stopped people from getting too close. And it was better that way. Much better.

She was wearing a teeny pair of shorn-off denim shorts and a shrunken white T-shirt which gave the occasional glimpse of a flat midriff tanned the colour of pale caramel. Shiny black hair cascaded down over her shoulders and all the way down her back—and her Balfour blue eyes were hidden behind a pair of enormous shades. She knew exactly what kind of uniform to wear on this kind of rich and privileged yachting trip—and she had abided to it by the letter. You dressed down, but you wore as many status symbols as possible.

‘Bring my bags, will you?’ Kat said to the driver, before making her way towards the gangplank. Teetering a little on a pair of the season’s most fashionable espadrilles, she saw a fair-haired man in uniform approaching her and she smiled.

‘Hello. You’re probably expecting me. I’m Kat Balfour,’ she said.

‘Yeah.’ The man nodded, squinting his pale blue eyes at her, a small diamond glinting at his ear lobe. ‘I thought you must be.’

Kat looked around. ‘Any of the other guests here yet?’

‘Nope.’

‘And my…host?’ How crazy it sounded not to even know him—or her—by name! Why hadn’t she insisted her father tell her? Because you were too busy trying to ingratiate yourself with him, whispered the candidly cruel voice of her conscience. Knowing that he was in an odd sort of mood and terrified that he might put a stop to your allowance—and then where would you be? She could see the man looking at her quizzically and realised it would look faintly ridiculous if she had to ask him who his employer was! ‘Has my host arrived yet?’

The man shook his head. ‘Not yet.’

‘Perhaps you’d like to take my luggage?’ she suggested pointedly.

‘Or you could do it yourself?’

Kat stared at him in disbelief. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I’m the engineer,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Not a baggage handler.’

Somehow she kept her smile fixed to her face. No point in getting into an argument with a deck-hand but she would certainly speak to his boss about his attitude. He would learn soon enough that nobody spoke to a Balfour like that. ‘Then perhaps you could show me to my cabin,’ she said coolly.

‘My pleasure.’ The man smiled. ‘Follow me.’

Kat hadn’t carried her own bags since she’d been expelled from her last school. These were heavy and they were cumbersome—and on the too-high shoes she was wearing, it wasn’t the easiest task in the world to walk across the gleaming deck with any degree of grace.

If that was bad, then it suddenly began to get worse because just then they arrived at her cabin—and Kat looked around in disbelief. It had been ages since she’d stayed on a yacht, but in the past she had always been given the best and most prestigious accommodation available. Something near the deck, where you could climb out of bed and wander straight outside in the morning and be confronted by the ever-moving splendour of the sea. Or somewhere a little farther down towards the centre of the vessel—which meant that you were in the most stable part of the boat and buffeted from the possibility of too much movement.

But this.

Kat looked around. It was tiny. A cramped little bunk and barely any wardrobe space. No pictures on the walls and, even worse, no porthole! And someone had actually left a drab-looking piece of clothing hanging on the back of the door! She dropped her bags to the ground and turned to the man. ‘Listen—’

‘The name’s Mike,’ he interrupted. ‘Mike Price.’

She wanted to tell him that his name was of no interest to her and that by the time the day was out he would be looking for a new job, but right then there were more pressing matters on her mind than the man’s crass inefficiency and overinflated sense of his own importance. Kat took in a deep breath. ‘I think there’s been some sort of mistake,’ she said crisply.

‘How come?’

‘This cabin is much too small.’

‘It’s the one you’ve been assigned.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Better take it up with the boss.’

Kat gritted her teeth. If only she knew who the boss was! But by now she knew she couldn’t possibly lose face by asking this unhelpful man. ‘I don’t think you understand—’

‘No, I don’t think you understand,’ interrupted the engineer brusquely. ‘The boss likes his staff to put up and shut up—that’s why he pays them so well.’

‘But I’m not a member of staff,’ she protested. ‘I’m a guest here.’

The man’s eyes narrowed and then he laughed—as if she’d made some weird kind of joke. ‘I don’t think so. Or at least, that’s not what I’ve been told.’

Kat felt the first tremor of apprehension. ‘What are you talking about?’

Jerking his head in the direction of the garment which had caught her attention when she’d first walked in, Mike reached out and plucked it from the hook before handing it to her.

Kat looked at it blankly. ‘What’s this?’

‘What’s it look like?’

It took her a moment to realise—since it wasn’t an item of clothing she was familiar with. ‘An…an apron?’ Momentarily, Kat’s fingers tightened around the heavy fabric before she pushed it back at him, her heart beating wildly. ‘What the hell is going on?’

Mike frowned. ‘I think you’d better follow me.’

What could she do, other than what he suggested? Start unpacking all her expensive clothes and attempt to start storing them away in that rabbit’s hutch of a room? Or maybe she should do what her gut instinct was telling her—which was to get off the wretched boat and forget about the whole idea of a holiday at sea.

She began to follow him through a maze of wood-lined corridors until at last he threw open a set of double doors and Kat quietly breathed a sigh of relief. Now this was more like it.

The room in which she now stood was the polar opposite of the poky cabin she’d just been shown. This had the enormous dimensions she was used to—a grand dining salon set out on almost palatial lines. Inlaid lights twinkled from the ceiling, but these were eclipsed by the blaze of natural light which flooded in through sliding French windows which opened up on to the deck itself.

There was a dining table which would have comfortably seated twelve people—though Kat noticed that only two places had been laid and used. Various open bottles were lined along the gleaming surface and candle wax had dripped all over a bone-china plate. At its centre was a beautiful blue-glass platter of exotic fruits and next to it sat a crystal goblet of flat champagne along with a carelessly abandoned chocolate wrapper.

Kat’s lips pursed into a disapproving circle—wondering why on earth a member of staff hadn’t bothered to clear it away. ‘What a disgusting mess,’ she observed quietly.

‘Isn’t it?’ agreed Mike, laughing. ‘The boss sure likes to party when he parties!’

So at least she now knew that the ‘boss’ was a man. And an untidy man, by the look of things. With a sudden smooth purring of powerful engines, the boat began to move—and Kat’s eyes widened in surprise. But before she could register her inexplicable panic that they were setting sail so soon, something happened to wipe every thought clean from her mind.

The first was the sight of a bikini top—a flimsy little excuse for a garment in a shimmering gold material which was lying in a discarded heap on the polished oak floor. It was a blatant symbol of decadence and sex and, for a couple of seconds, the blood rushed hotly into her cheeks before she allowed herself to concentrate on the second.

Because the second was a photo of a man.

Kat’s heart thundered as she stared at it—recognition hit her like a short sharp slap to the face.

The man in the photo must have been barely out of his teens, yet already his face was sombre and hardened by experience. Black eyes stared defiantly straight into the lens of the camera, and his sensual lips curved an expression which was undeniably formidable.

He was wearing a lavishly embroidered glittering jacket, skintight trousers and some kind of dark and formal hat. It was an image which was unfamiliar and yet instantly recognisable—and it took a few moments for Kat to realise that this was the traditional garb of the bullfighter. But that realisation seemed barely relevant in the light of the horror which was slowly beginning to dawn on her.

That she was staring at a likeness of the young Carlos Guerrero.

Trying to conceal the shaking of her hands, she turned to Mike.

‘Whose boat is this?’ she croaked.

Mike’s blond head was jerked in the direction of the photo, and he smiled. ‘His.’

‘C-Carlos?’ Even saying his name sent shivers down her spine—just as the memory of his harsh words lancing through her still had the power to wound. ‘Carlos Guerrero?’

‘Sure. Who else?’ Mike’s expression grew even more curious. ‘You didn’t know?’

Of course she didn’t know! If she had known, then she would never have set foot on the damned vessel—why, she wouldn’t have gone within a million miles of it! But there was no way she was going to enlighten this smirking engineer about her misgivings, or the reason for them. She needed to assert her authority and get onto dry land again.

‘I think there’s been some kind of mix-up,’ she said, her smooth tone belying the fast beating of her heart and sudden sense of urgency. ‘And I’d like to go ashore. Please.’

‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’

Kat’s eyes narrowed. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Well, Carlos told me that a new domestic was arriving—and that her name was Kat Balfour.’

One word reverberated around the room and she repeated it, just in case she had misheard it. ‘Domestic?’ she repeated incredulously.

‘Sure. You’re Kat Balfour and there’s six hungry crew on board.’ He smiled. ‘And we need someone to clean up after us and make our meals, don’t we?’

It was so outrageous a statement to make that for a moment Kat thought he must be having some kind of—extremely unfunny—joke at her expense. As if she was some kind of lowly deck-hand who was about to wait on a load of crew members! But one look at his face told her he was deadly serious. What the hell was going on?

‘Get me off this wretched boat!’ she said, as a sudden wave of panic washed over her. ‘And I mean immediately!’

Again, he shrugged. ‘Sorry, no can do. You’ll have to take that up with the boss—I don’t have the authority to clear it and we’ve left shore now. But I wouldn’t advise you to try asking him any favours without clearing up this mess first. He’ll be here later.’

Carlos Guerrero was coming here? Well, of course he was—if it was his boat. Kat blinked, feeling as if she had fallen into the middle of a raging sea, without any way of keeping herself afloat. And then another—equally shocking—thought occurred to her. Her father had arranged this trip for her. And if so—then why? Nothing seemed to make sense.

Yet none of that mattered—not now. She could take that up with him some other time. The most important thing was to get away. To run. To escape before…

Before the man who had made her senses scream with longing put in an appearance.

Staring out of the windows to see that the port of Antibes was now just an array of glittering masts and boats in the distance, Kat realised she was trapped. Well and truly trapped—unless she could make this man Mike free her.

‘Now listen to me, Mike,’ she said, emphasising a cut-crystal accent which usually got her exactly what she wanted. ‘Are you going to let me go, or not?’

‘Sorry, love. No can do. More than my job’s worth.’

‘Right. Well, then, let me tell you something—and you’d better listen carefully. I am not your domestic and I am not going to cook or clean up for you and your fellow crew members. And what is more, I am certainly not going to clean up the mess left behind by your slob of a boss and his…his…girlfriend. Do you understand?’

Mike shrugged. ‘Loud and clear. Do what you like—I sure wouldn’t want to be in your shoes when you tell Carlos that.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better get back to the captain. I’ll leave you to calm down, and then you can come and find me and I’ll show you the galley.’

And without another word, he turned and left, leaving Kat staring after him—shocked and stunned—her heart now racing with a fear which she hadn’t felt in a long time. The one which she shoved deep down inside her, whenever it reared its dark and threatening head. That terrible tearing sensation of a hostile situation taking over and rendering her helpless…

Well, she wasn’t helpless. And neither was she going to ‘calm down’ and acquaint herself with a galley she had no intention of ever using! Presumably she was stuck here until Carlos and the owner of the gold bikini top returned. A hot little curl of something which felt like jealousy began to unfurl inside her and Kat willed it to go away. She wasn’t jealous of any poor unfortunate woman whose bikini top must have been removed by the arrogant Spaniard. Why, she…she pitied her—and what was more, she would have him arrested for kidnap when he finally did show his haughty face!

Pulling her cellphone from her bag, she desperately tried to get a connection—but for some reason, it refused to work. Even angrier now, and unable to bear the thought of just sitting there, Kat decided to explore the boat. And it didn’t take her long to discover that her first impressions had been spot on. It wasn’t just big, it was absolutely vast—and no expense had been spared during its outlay.

There was a cinema, a library and a well-stocked wine cellar—as well as an enormous sitting room which spread out onto the deck area. And she counted five luxury guest suites which even had their own elevator to connect them to the decks. This was wealth on a scale that far outweighed even her father’s and briefly Kat found herself wondering how the Spaniard had made his money. Surely not through bullfighting?

By now she was feeling very hungry. It seemed a long time since her flight into France this morning and she never ate the disgusting food they served on scheduled flights. She needed to eat something, but was loath to go down into the galley in case she bumped into any of the other crew. Because wouldn’t that seem like some silent admission of defeat?

Instead, she went back into the dining room and looked around to see what was left from the remains of the meal on the table. Not a lot. She ate a banana, two pomegranates and some rich, dark chocolate. And then, more out of defiance than desire, opened a bottle of wine whose label she recognised as being one of the world’s finest and poured herself a large glassful.

Never a big drinker, the bouquet and depth of the claret was wasted on her, but at least the wine made her feel better. And more than a little rebellious. Her feelings of disbelief that this should actually be happening to her began increasingly to be replaced with a sense of fury. Just you wait, Carlos Guerrero, she vowed silently as she finished off the glass of costly wine and poured herself a second, before flopping down on a wide, squashy sofa which was heaped with cushions and staring out of the windows.

Watching the frilly white tips of the waves as the yacht powered its way over the sapphire sea, Kat was almost halfway through the bottle when she heard a sound which made her heart miss a beat. And then begin to accelerate with excitement.

It was the sound of a rich man’s toy. The distinctive whirr-whirr chopping sound from overhead which could mean only one thing—a helicopter! And whoever was flying it would surely take pity on her and whisk her away from this luxurious prison.

Slamming the glass down on the table, Kat lurched to her feet. She would throw herself on the pilot’s mercy. Inform him—or her—that she was being held here against her will and that she wished to be taken to the nearest police station.

But her rush to reach the deck and the helicopter pad seemed blighted—probably due to the amount of alcohol she’d drunk and her high-heeled espadrilles. To her horror, Kat slithered on the wooden floor and ended up sitting slam on her bottom. And by the time she had scrambled to her feet and got her bearings and worked out which of the many doors would give her access to the helicopter pad, she heard the heartbreaking sound of accelerating propellers. Which could only mean one thing. Please, please don’t leave without me catching you, she prayed, even as she heard the loud rush of air which indicated that the craft was indeed now heading skywards.

With a small whimper she flung open one of the doors and hurled herself through it—only to be brought up short by a solid object as she cannoned into it.

A very solid object indeed.

‘Buenas tardes, querida,’ came a deeply accented voice which trickled over her senses like thick, dark honey.

And to her horror, Kat found herself staring up into the forbidding features of Carlos Guerrero.

Chapter Two

KAT stared up into icy black eyes which were skating over her with undisguised disapproval. ‘You!’ she accused, though her knees had turned to jelly and her heart was thundering so loudly that she felt quite faint. But what woman in the world wouldn’t feel the same if confronted with that spectacular physique, clad in close-fitting black jeans and a soft white silk shirt—even if his handsome face was so cold that it might have been sculpted from some glittering piece of dark marble? ‘Carlos Guerrero!’ she breathed.

‘Who were you expecting?’ challenged Carlos silkily. ‘It is my boat after all.’

Trying like mad to control the writhing tumult of her feelings, Kat glared at him. ‘I thought…I thought I was in the middle of a nightmare, but it turns out it’s true.’

‘You mean you don’t want to be here?’ he mocked, his black eyes piercing into her like twin lasers.

Instinctively she stepped away. Away from the raw, masculine scent of him, and the heat which emanated from his powerful body. Away from the dangerous sizzle of sexuality which surrounded him like a dark and sensual aura and made her want to run her fingers through his riotous black curls.

‘I’d rather be anywhere but here—with you,’ she said. And yet didn’t her words carry a hollow ring to them, because how could she protest at his presence when already she could sense his irresistible magnetism? The kind that made women—and her especially—make complete fools of themselves. Well, not this time—that was for sure. ‘Anywhere,’ she finished bitterly.

‘I can assure you that the feeling is entirely mutual, querida.’

‘Then let me go,’ she breathed. ‘Send for the helicopter and let it take me away.’

‘No,’ he negated harshly. ‘I cannot and I will not.’

Kat looked at him in alarm. ‘But you can’t keep me here against my will!’

‘Can’t I?’ A slow and mocking smile curved the edges of his lips. ‘Aren’t you even a little bit curious about why you’re here—or did you think I was just longing for a little of your exclusive company?’

‘Of course not,’ she snapped. ‘Any more than I’m longing for yours!’

‘Good. Because, believe me—you were never going to be my number-one choice of sailing companion.’

Eyes narrowing, Carlos began to study her. She was beautiful, he conceded reluctantly. Even more beautiful than he remembered. Black hair tumbled like wild, dark silk over her shoulders, and her eyes were the most astonishing shade of blue he’d ever seen, framed by outrageously long, curling black lashes. Her lips were as pink as crushed rose petals—and her body was positively sinful.

Unfashionably curvy, she had the kind of legs which seemed to go on for ever—a fact emphasised by the tiny pair of denim shorts she wore, along with a pair of high-heeled espadrilles which showcased her painted toenails. Luscious-looking breasts were thrusting towards him as if crying out for him to cup them in the palms of his hands—their fullness set off perfectly by the simple white T-shirt which stretched tightly over them. So that they looked like two ripe peaches which had been smothered in cream…

But she left him cold. Completely cold. Her type always did. She was a predatory type of modern woman who flagrantly used her sexuality like a bitch in heat. Who saw what she wanted and then just went right out and took it. His mind took him back to the extravagant ball her family had thrown last year—when she had approached him with all the subtlety of a cheap prostituta, and his mouth hardened with remembered contempt.

¡Maldición! It was a pity he was forced to accommodate such a woman as this on the sanctuary of his beloved yacht—but he owed her father. Owed him more than he could ever say. And perhaps it would be amusing to snap this spoiled little madam from out of the privileged bubble in which she seemed to exist.

‘Have you qu-quite finished?’ questioned Kat in a voice which was shaking with rage and humiliation—for she had never been stared at like that before. She attracted attention, yes—but no man had ever had the temerity to study her as if she was being slowly stripped naked by a pair of contemptuous eyes. And aren’t you shaking for another reason? questioned a taunting voice in her head. Aren’t you shaking because you actually like him looking at you like that? Aren’t your breasts tingling after his insolent scrutiny—and isn’t there a kind of soft, aching pool where the denim is rubbing against the fork of your thighs?

‘Finished?’ echoed Carlos. ‘Why, querida—I haven’t even started.’

Kat’s heart thumped, but she was damned if she would show even a trace of nerves. This man was nothing to her. Nothing. Fearlessly, she lifted her chin and iced him a look. ‘Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on?’

Black eyes regarded her. ‘You don’t know anything?’

‘Would I be asking if I did?’ But then Kat remembered her father’s strange reticence to disclose any details about her proposed boat trip, and now as she stared into the hard, cold face of the Spaniard her misgivings began to grow. ‘This is something…something which has been cooked up between you and my father, isn’t it?’

‘Bravo,’ he mocked softly, curious to see how she would react.

Kat’s hands curled into two fists by the sides of her bare thighs. ‘Well, I want to speak to him. Now!’

‘Didn’t anyone ever teach you to say please?’

‘I don’t really think that you’re in a position to give me a lesson in manners when you’re the one keeping me prisoner! I want some sort of explanation about why I’ve been…kidnapped by some wretched brute of a man like you!’

Carlos saw the icy blue fire of defiance spitting from her eyes and he felt a sudden rush of blood heating his veins. Oh, but he was going to enjoy taming her. To teach her that she could not just waltz through life, relying on her blindingly beautiful looks and her limitless bank account, taking exactly what she wanted, without a thought as to what the consequences might be.

‘Just lose the hysteria—’

‘But I—’

‘I said lose it,’ he snapped. ‘And come with me.’ He walked straight past her into the still-untidy cabin, his eyes narrowing with anger as he registered that she hadn’t lifted a finger to clear anything away as he had expressly instructed she do. But he would deal with that. Later. Turning to face her, he pulled a cream envelope from the back pocket of his jeans and handed it to her. ‘From your father,’ he said.

Snatching the envelope from him, Kat was trembling as she ripped it open and withdrew a large sheet of paper, her eyes scanning over it quickly as she recognised her father’s handwriting. My dearest Kat, it began.

It was the most bizarre document she had ever seen. Words flew off the page as if determined to grab her attention and she read them in rapidly mounting disbelief.

Words such as powerful, proud and loyal—and they were written in Latin too. Validus, Superbus quod Fidelis.

Kat’s head was spinning as she read on.

These are the words of our family motto, which for many years used to guide the Balfours. But something else used to guide us too—a set of principles which were known in the family as the rules.

Kat’s frown deepened. What on earth was her father going on about? The letter continued.

Of late, these principles have become wilfully neglected and our name has become a laughing stock—both at home and abroad. In many ways, I blame myself. The example I have set to my children over the years has been a poor one, but I am determined that my daughters will not replicate my chequered lifestyle.

Then came the paragraph which made Kat’s blood run cold.

Which is why I am cutting off your allowance, Kat, and forcing you to earn your keep for the first time in your life. It will also ensure that you embrace the concept of the word commitment—which is rule 6: run away from your problems once and you will run for ever.

You have spent your whole life running from your problems, Kat, but it is time that you learned to look them in the face. By facing problems, you defeat them. Running away is what cowards do, not Balfours. You need to figure out a direction for your life, instead of just drifting aimlessly. A little hard work might help focus your mind.

This is why I have arranged for you to work your passage on the yacht of Carlos Guerrero. He is a man I know and trust to set you on the right path. He is the only man I have ever seen stand up to you, and you cannot run away while you are at sea! Forgive me for what must seem like an extreme measure, my dearest Kat, but I am confident that one day you will be grateful that I took it.

Your loving father, Oscar

Kat’s manicured nails dug into the expensive cream velour paper and it took a moment or two for her to compose herself enough to risk looking Carlos in the face. And when she did, it only increased her ire, for his black eyes were glittering with what looked like pleasure, and a smile of satisfaction was curving his lips.

‘You knew about this!’ she accused.

‘Of course I did.’

‘Rules? Rules,’ she spluttered. ‘It’s outrageous.’

‘I quite agree,’ he said unexpectedly, and then his accented voice grew harsh. ‘Completely outrageous that a woman of twenty-two has never done an honest day’s work in her life!’

Kat swallowed. ‘That’s none of your business!’

‘Oh, but it is, querida. Your father has made it my business by electing me as the poor unfortunate who has been forced to employ you—because I doubt that anyone else would!’

‘I can’t believe that Daddy would willingly subject me to…’

The black eyes challenged her. ‘To what, exactamente?’

‘To be holed up with a man who’s world famous for his womanising!’

For a moment, Carlos didn’t respond. The slur was an oft-repeated one which infuriated the hell out of him, and it was made by the press and the public at large simply because women had a terrible tendency to fall in love with him. And then to talk about it to whoever would listen—the way women always loved to talk when their hearts were smitten. But if he could have a euro for every woman he was supposed to have slept with, then his already-generous bank accounts would be overflowing.

He stared at the stunning brunette—almost marvelling at her gall and wondering how she, of all people, had the nerve to level such an accusation at him.

‘But I’m extremely picky where women are concerned—you of all people should know that,’ he drawled. ‘After all, I turned you down, didn’t I, querida? Even though you were pretty much begging me to make love to you.’

Kat flushed. Of all the most hateful…hateful things he could have said.

But it was true, wasn’t it? That was the painful reality of it. She had thrown herself at him. Behaved in a way which had been completely foreign to her. Because despite her worldly appearance and air of sophistication, Kat was a disaster where men were concerned.

Sometimes her sisters teased her about her lack of boyfriends and Kat had often wondered if she would ever experience the kind of overwhelming emotional and sexual desire which other women spoke of. And yet she wasn’t even sure she wanted to—because getting close to people meant that you could get hurt.

So she hid behind her outrageous outfits, presenting a fashionable, brittle exterior to the world—terrified that somebody would find her out and see through to the gaping insecurities inside. And it had always been easy, because she had never really felt stirred by a man. Not until last year’s ball…

The dress she had worn had been pretty daring—even by her standards. Carefully constructed in scarlet satin, the low-cut bodice had left her breasts half bare and the thigh-high slashes of the skirt showed off her long legs as she walked. Precious gems had sparkled in her hair—with the famous Balfour Brilliant winking in a provocative diamond teardrop between her breasts.

Kat remembered descending the stairs into the grand ballroom, aware that all eyes had turned to watch her, but she had felt oblivious to their interest…as if she was half asleep, like a person in a dream.

And then she had seen him. Standing out among the hundreds of other guests like a bright planet in a clear night sky. Her heart had begun to thunder powerfully with some kind of ancient recognition and in that single moment she had understood what all the fuss was about. Why women fell in love at first sight. And why it could happen without reason, or warning.

Carlos Guerrero.

He had been wearing a formal suit—the stark black clothes exquisitely tailored to emphasise every hard sinew of his impressive physique and his long, lean legs and narrow hips. His black hair had been longer than the other men’s in the ballroom—and wilder too. Yes, that was the best way to describe what Carlos Guerrero had looked like that night—there was a sense that beneath the immaculate exterior, he was untamed. Proud, dangerous and sexy—he seemed more alive than anyone else she’d ever set eyes on, and just looking at him sparked a longing as old as time.

The only problem was that he was with a woman—a serene-looking woman who barely wore a scrap of make-up—but then, she didn’t really need to. Not when you were as naturally beautiful as that. Kat remembered her dismay as she’d stared at his partner’s soft, even features and the elegant chignon of her hair. Her gown was a fluid fall of cream, quietly emphasising a stunning figure, and two luminous pearl studs gleaming at her ears were her only adornment.

Kat had suddenly felt like an overdressed Christmas tree in comparison—yet that didn’t stop her wanting the man with a hunger which made her feel positively weak.

But he had refused to play ball—his black eyes had been cold, his manner dismissive, when she was introduced to him. Carlos Guerrero was his name, and she remembered thinking that it was the most gorgeous name in the world.

Kat did everything to get him to notice her—but because she’d never had to try with a man before, she tried too hard. Much too hard. Every time she thought he was watching her, she had played up to it like mad. Tipping her head back and giggling. Letting her eyes close in dreamy surrender. Yet she might as well have been trying to get a reaction from a stone for all the good it did. Until at last, when his lovely partner had disappeared in the direction of the cloakrooms, Kat had spotted him going out onto the terrace. And shamelessly she had followed him.

The moon had been full, the night thick with the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle, and there was an air of promise bubbling within her—a sense that, in that moment, anything was possible if only she had the courage to reach out and take it. Overladen with unfamiliar longing, Kat had walked towards him.

‘Hello,’ she said softly.

His black eyes had narrowed and he had nodded his head in a kind of resigned recognition. ‘You’re the woman who’s been flirting with me so outrageously all evening,’ he said slowly.

‘H-have I?’ Thankfully, the darkness had hidden her sudden rise in colour. But hadn’t her sisters told her that it was an equal world now and that women could approach men these days, if they really wanted to? ‘I wondered, would you…would you like to dance?’ she had asked, her careless tone disguising the fierce pounding of her heart but she could feel the tightening of her breasts as she moved a little closer.

She would remember the look on his face for as long as she lived. Something which looked uncomfortably like anger and which quickly grew into cold contempt as he briefly stared down at the large diamond which glittered between the scrap of scarlet satin straining over her bust.

‘Do you always behave like such a tramp, querida?’ he bit out with soft derision. ‘So that you flaunt your wares like a trader in the marketplace? Or do you only want a man when he is with someone else?’

Cringing beneath the icy disdain in the Spaniard’s eyes, Kat barely noticed the figure who had now appeared in the doorway and who stood watching them.

‘B-but—’

Putting his mouth to her ear so that only she could hear, she would never forget his contemptuous words.

‘You are dressed like a hooker and you are behaving like a hooker!’ he had hissed. ‘So why don’t you go and cover yourself up, and then take the time to learn a few lessons on the correct way to conduct yourself in public.’

After this blistering attack, he had sauntered back into the ballroom—past her father, who had silently been observing them—and returned to the beautiful woman in cream. Where, according to her sisters, he had tenderly wrapped her in a soft shawl and had taken her off into the night—leaving Kat alone with her shame and her disbelief that she could have behaved in such a way. That she could have been so predatory.

Her sisters had also taken great delight in informing her that not only was the man a famous ex-bullfighter, but that he could have his pick of the most gorgeous women in the world. Which had only made her feel worse.

And that had been the last time she’d seen Carlos Guerrero.

Until now.

Painful memories cleared and Kat realised that the Spaniard was watching her and that she was still holding the letter from her father which had put her in this man’s power.

So forget the terrible way you behaved and the cruel way he rebuffed you. That’s all in the past now. Why not appeal to his sense of logic instead? Forcing a smile, she turned to him. ‘Look, Carlos, you can’t want this any more than I do,’ she urged.

Carlos considered her words. When her father had asked him to employ her, his first instinct had been to bat the suggestion away. Because he wasn’t into playing mentor. Particularly not to spoiled little rich girls who lived their lives like greedy children let loose in a candy store.

So why the hell hadn’t he refused this challenge?

Because Oscar Balfour had been good to him, had helped him set up the property business which had made him a very wealthy man indeed. For there had been a time when nobody wanted to know the angry young Spaniard battling to make a new life for himself. When Carlos had been nothing but an ex-matador who had spent every penny he’d earned, Oscar had taken a risk by giving him a sizeable loan. Had trusted him at a time when few others had—and a man never forgot something like that.

No, he could not have turned down Oscar’s request—no matter how unwanted the suggestion had been.

‘Since you ask—no, I don’t want this at all. I have much better things to do with my time than playing nursemaid to a spoiled brat,’ he said coolly. ‘Butmy wishes are irrelevant. Your father asked for my help, and so I’m giving it. I owe him.’ He shrugged. ‘And it wasn’t exactly onerous to employ you on my boat. I’m always looking for an extra pair of hands.’

Kat shook her head. ‘You want money?’ she questioned desperately. ‘I can write you a cheque if you set me free.’

For a moment Carlos shook his head, appalled by the sheer impudence of her offer. Did she think that he could be bought, or that money could buy her out of any tight corner? He guessed she did—for hadn’t it been lavished on her during all her life? Suddenly, he found himself remembering the unalloyed poverty of his early years. Of the way his mother had spent every waking hour cleaning for the rich—her careworn hands red and cracked, her eyes dark from lack of sleep. And Carlos felt another wave of contempt for this girl who had always had things so easy.

‘You forget that buying your way out is no longer an option since your father has cut off your allowance,’ he drawled.

‘But I have money I can access!’ she declared. ‘Jewels I can sell!’

‘Just not when you’re in the middle of the Mediterranean, hmm?’ he countered sarcastically

.

And suddenly the reality of the situation hit her. Him. And her—stuck in a boat whose dimensions seemed to be diminishing by the second. ‘I’m…I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement,’ she said wildly.

‘I don’t think so.’ The black eyes narrowed and he glanced over to the tight, white T-shirt and the tops of her bare brown thighs which were so graphically showcased in the tiny pair of shorts. ‘Unless you’re offering payment in kind, of course?’ he added insultingly, his voice soft. ‘You’re certainly dressed as if you are.’

It took Kat a moment for his words to register, and when she realised exactly what he meant she felt a strange, burning fury—and a renewed sense of rebellion.

How could she bear to be trapped on board with such a powerfully attractive man as this—especially when he had made his contempt for her so apparent? Expected to cook and clear up after him like a servant! Heart now pounding with anticipation of what she was about to do, Kat gave him one final glare of defiance.

‘Maybe you’re used to paying for sex!’ she retorted, and had the brief satisfaction of seeing his lips tighten in anger. ‘And maybe you’re used to calling all the shots. But not this time. I won’t be kept prisoner here by you, Señor Guerrero!’

Without warning, she ran across the salon and out onto the deck, tearing off her espadrilles before scrambling up the side of the guard-rail. At least it was as wide as a small ledge. Wide enough to dive from.

For a few seconds, Kat experienced a moment of wild exhilaration as she stared down into the dark sapphire of the sea, before taking a deep, deep breath. And then, with the sound of Carlos Guerrero’s furious shouts ringing in her ears, she plunged into the blue water beneath.

Chapter Three

THE shock of impact and the cold temporarily winded her, but Kat was a good swimmer—when she’d lived in Sri Lanka, she’d spent so much time in the water that they used to call her Little Fish. But the trouble was that swimming in pools or striking out from a beach was quite different to swimming in deep sea like this, and it took only minutes for the enormity of what she’d done to sink in. Her limbs felt heavy and weighted—the denim shorts seeming to weigh a ton—and it occurred to her that she had drunk two glasses of wine and that her judgement may have been blunted. But still she kept striking out—and it seemed more as if she was lashing out against life, and fate. Hot tears of fury mingled with the salt of the sea on her face, until she realised that she was in danger of getting completely exhausted, and so she began to tread water.

Turning on her back, she could see that the Corazón Frío had stopped, and that a little boat had been lowered and was heading her way—but before it could reach her, something else did. Or rather, someone. A streamlined body which was powering its way through the water towards her and which suddenly emerged from the depths like some golden-wet colossus.

Sleek black hair plastered to his skull, Carlos reached out and caught hold of her, his face contorted with fury. But the relief he felt at having located her was overwhelming and it washed over him in a great wave. The little fool. The stupid little fool.

‘Let me—’ uselessly, Kat wriggled against the formidable strength of his body ‘—go!’

His mouth was close to her wet ear as he trod water, her breasts flattened against his chest as his hands tightened around her waist and held her closer. ‘You are not going anywhere, querida,’ he gasped. ‘You will stay right here until the tender reaches us—or you’ll have us both damned well drowned!’

The awful thing was that for the first time in her life Kat felt safe. Truly and properly safe. His arms were so strong and powerful and his hold on her so firm that she felt as if nothing or no one could hurt her just as long as this man was holding her. And how crazy was that—in view of the circumstances? If she could place her trust and her confidence in a man who clearly despised her, then surely that really did mean her judgement was terminally flawed.

‘Damn you,’ she whispered shakily.

‘No, damn you,’ he shot back furiously. ‘I was warned that you liked running away—but nobody told me you’d be a liability!’

The boat reached them, with Mike at the helm, and Kat was helped aboard—acutely aware that the flat of Carlos’s palm was shoving firmly on one sodden denim-covered buttock from behind. Then he levered himself up and into the boat and helped to sit her down. His feet were bare, the black jeans were soaking and the white silk shirt now clung to his chest like a second skin—the fabric so fine that she could see the whorls of black hair through it. Suddenly, Kat felt quite weak as he crouched down beside her, placing one hand at the small of her back to help support her.

A pair of stony black eyes were levelled at her. ‘Don’t ever try pulling a stunt like that again,’ he warned softly. ‘Understand?’

Kat was aware that Mike had his back to them as he steered the little boat towards the yacht. Was he diplomatically pretending not to listen, or would it even make any difference if he was? If she started screaming hysterically like one of those women in an old black-and-white movie, was it likely that Mike would turn round to the ‘boss’ he clearly revered and demand that he return her to shore immediately? No, it was not.

Which meant she was stuck here. Stuck with the only man she’d ever felt a physical connection towards—and still did, if she was honest. Even when she was physically and mentally exhausted.

‘Understand?’ repeated Carlos.

Staring into eyes which were as emotionless as rock itself, Kat swallowed down the salt taste of the sea. ‘Do I have any choice?’ she questioned bitterly.

‘No, querida, you do not—other than to work your way on this voyage and prove that you can do it. To stand on your own two feet for once…if you think you can.’ Black eyes challenged her. ‘After that, you can walk away and we need never set eyes on each other again.’

The aftermath of all the emotion suddenly hit her like a roller coaster, along with a dull aching which had now begun to gather at the front of her forehead, and Kat began to shiver uncontrollably.

Carlos frowned, but the arm which was still at her slender back tightened by a fraction. Her face was white—almost translucent—and her lips were turning a faintly blue colour. Y por Dios—but she suddenly looked fragile. Like a little doll who might snap in two.

‘Hurry up!’ he snapped at Mike as the small craft moved alongside the larger vessel. ‘She’s freezing!’

Kat was vaguely aware of being lifted onto the deck of the Corazón Frío and aware too that Carlos had curtly dismissed Mike and the rest of the crew who had appeared to help.

And then, to her astonishment, he picked her up as if he picked up full-grown women every day of the week, and carried her along one of the wood-lined corridors to some sort of cabin. But it wasn’t the same poky little cabin which Mike had taken her to earlier.

Dazed by shock and the sensation of being held within his strong arms, she looked around at the unfamiliar luxurious surroundings. ‘Ththis isn’t m-my c-cabin,’ she protested, her teeth chattering uncontrollably as he set her down. Her eyes widened as her heart began an erratic pounding. ‘It’s n-not yours, is it?’

‘Mine?’ Carlos gave a forbidding smile as he set her back down on her feet. ‘Please don’t overestimate your appeal, querida. I don’t take idle little rich girls to my bed.’

His cruel words should have hurt but Kat was now feeling so numb that she could barely move, let alone protest at his rudeness. Disconcertingly, he had started tugging at her top and she could feel the sudden heat of his hand against her frozen skin.

‘W-what do you think you’re doing?’ she breathed.

‘What the hell does it look like?’ he demanded, but his voice sounded distorted and he hated the sudden urgent escalation of his heart. Damn her, he thought—and damn her sleek and inviting body! ‘I’m getting you out of these wet clothes before I have to cable ashore for a doctor.’

Kat expelled a shallow breath because even through her icy confusion she liked the feel of his skin against her skin. She liked it a lot. She felt faint as he peeled off the sodden T-shirt and saw his body tense as he tossed it aside, a look of grim determination etched on his face. Next, he began undoing her bra with lightning-fast dexterity, until that was also cast unceremoniously to the floor. Then, pushing her down on the bed with a touch which was more gentle than she would ever have expected, he tossed a blanket over her. A blanket so warm and so soft that it felt as if she had been enveloped in a cloud. Teeth still chattering, Kat clutched at it with convulsive fingers.

‘That’s b-bliss,’ she stumbled, her eyelids feeling weighted as the temptation to sleep began to steal over her.

‘Take off those damned shorts,’ he demanded on a snarl, but either she wasn’t listening or she hadn’t heard him. Or maybe she was in shock. He remembered the scent of wine on her breath and his mouth hardened. Or drunk.

Carlos had been the greatest bullfighter of his generation and the adroitness of his wrist action had caused ecstatic crowds to sigh in admiration. Yet such skilfulness had bizarrely deserted him when it came to removing a tiny pair of soaking denim shorts from the delectable bottom of Miss Kat Balfour. His only saving grace was that she seemed scarcely aware of the exquisite torture she was unknowingly inflicting upon him.

Only when a tiny thong had been tugged down over her goose-bumpy thighs, and she was completely naked beneath the blanket, did he step away—and then very gingerly, for he was more aroused than he had been in a long time. ¡Maldición!

Picking up another of the cashmere throws, he floated that down over her for good measure and heard her sigh before she snuggled down into its soft folds. Her eyelids had fluttered to a close and rested on her pale cheeks in two dark feathery arcs. Her lips—now restored to a rose-petal hue—were parted and she gave a soft sigh and snuggled into the pillow while he watched her. With her damp hair fanned over the pillow, she looked pure—almost innocent.

But appearances could be deceptive, he reminded himself acidly, forcing himself to remember all the reasons why he disliked her. Predatory, unscrupulous and spoiled—she was antithesis of all the qualities he admired in a woman. Carlos admired hard work and humility far more than privilege, or position.

He had appeared at her family ball with a woman on his arm, but Kat Balfour hadn’t cared about that, had she? No. She hadn’t cared about a thing except homing in on him like a sex-seeking missile. Why, even when she was half drowned she was somehow managing to send out the instinctive message of the siren.

And just for a moment back then, he had responded, hadn’t he? Responded big time. Carlos’s mouth hardened with fury at his own susceptibility. He should have demanded that her father pay him danger money to have taken on this task. Better still, he should have told Oscar Balfour to find someone else. But it was too late to back out now. And surely this snip of an Englishwoman—no matter how flighty or petulant—could never be compared to the challenges he had faced in the bullring?

Her arm had moved back to lie above her head and he stared down at the diamond-encrusted wristwatch which dangled from her fragile wrist—an expensive-looking piece which looked as if it was completely wrecked by sea water. He saw the outline of her luscious curves beneath the fine cashmere and knew he did not dare risk removing the watch. Not unless he planned to wake her up in a way which he could—suddenly and inexplicably—imagine all too vividly…

His throat thickening, Carlos walked over to the door and snapped out the light, knowing that he had to get the hell out of there.

Chapter Four

KAT awoke to an unfamiliar room and an unfamiliar feeling.

Eyelids fluttering open, she gazed around in confusion as she registered the strange rocking sensation, trying to work out where she was and how she’d got here. The room was luxurious, lined with gleaming wood and Venetian mirrors. Persian rugs lay strewn on the floor and she could see her two bags standing next to the wardrobe. And hanging on the back of the door was that damned apron. She was on Carlos Guerrero’s luxury yacht!

Groaning, she propped herself up on the bank of soft pillows. She was lying on top of a huge bed, covered by two enormous cashmere throws. And…Kat froze as the palms of her hands skated down over her body as if to verify her initial fears. Because beneath the blankets she was completely naked.

That would explain the unfamiliar feeling. She always slept covered up. Always. Cosy, warm pyjamas in winter and a lightweight cotton-lawn version during the warmer weather. It dated back to childhood—a habit she’d never quite got out of, a habit more deeply engrained by never quite knowing what the night might throw at you…

With a start, she sat up, her eyes automatically straying to her wristwatch and blinking in confusion to see that it was shiny with droplets of water—and that it had stopped completely.

Haphazardly events came flooding back in a disconcerting stream. Being tricked onto the yacht and told that she was to be some sort of servant to Carlos Guerrero. And then…Kat bit her lip as she remembered trying to flee. Diving overboard into the Mediterranean and Carlos coming after her and bringing her back. Had she really done something that crazy?

Hanging over the back of the chair were her little denim shorts, T-shirt, her bra and tiny thong—and with a heated rush of blood to her cheeks, Kat recalled Carlos peeling the garments from her body. And the way that had made her feel.

Locking the door and picking up one of her bags, she stumbled into the bathroom, shocked at the sight of her white face and the mess of black hair. But a hot shower and an intense toothbrushing session soon had her feeling almost normal as she riffled through her bags for something to wear. But what? The clothes she’d brought had been chosen for the purpose of not doing very much at all—other than lazing around on deck and relaxing in the sun.

Yet since she had been duped into coming here, why should she care that many of the outfits at her disposal were completely inappropriate for her lowly new post? Especially when there was no way she was going to take that post on—no matter what her father said!

Defiantly, Kat pulled a slithery silk slip-dress over her head. It was made by that season’s hottest new designer and it had sold out weeks before it had even hit the shelves. Only the favoured few had managed to get their hands on it—and Kat had been among them. Falling to mid-thigh, it showed off the even caramel tan of her legs and was an extremely flattering fit—so why shouldn’t she wear it?

But her heart was pounding with something which felt like trepidation, as she went off to find Carlos Guerrero.

Guided by the strong aroma of coffee which was drifting in from the direction of one of the decks, she stepped out into brilliant light, blinking a little and wondering if she should go back for a hat. Sunlight was dancing in a frenzied light show on the sapphire sea, and the sky was a piercingly clear shade of azure. At any other time and in any other place, Kat might have sighed and simply appreciated the scenic splendour—but now her attention was elsewhere. Diverted to the infinitely more human splendour which was lying just a few short feet away…

Carlos was sprawled on some sort of huge chaise longue—tapping away at some sleek-looking computer, wearing a pair of low-slung white jeans, an open white shirt and a pair of dark shades. Nearby, was a large table on which stood a steaming coffee pot and a basket of different breads. But despite the sudden gnawing hunger at her stomach, Kat paid the food no attention.

For a moment she simply stood there and observed the man whose blue-black hair glinted in the sunlight. Powerful and lean, his body looked indolent and relaxed—the way you sometimes saw those black pumas in wildlife programmes looking when they’d just been fed. Kat’s stomach flipped as she registered the broad shoulders, the narrow jut of his hips and the long legs which seemed to go on for ever. And yet coupled with her undeniable attraction towards him was a faint sense of wariness and the reluctant acknowledgement that this was the kind of man whose will could never be bent to the wishes of a woman…

Carlos glanced up as Kat walked out on deck towards him and felt his body tense. He wondered if she realised that the powerful sun was angling on her tiny sundress and outlining her body in eye-popping detail, making it appear as if she wasn’t wearing anything at all.

Of course she realised, he told himself cynically. Women like her used their clothes to showcase their sexuality. A sexuality which she seemed to have no qualms about putting out at every opportunity and which he was just going to have to ignore. His mouth hardened as he averted his eyes from her magnificent breasts.

‘So you have decided to grace us with your presence at last,’ he observed coolly.

And stupidly, despite his disparaging tone, Kat’s heart began beating furiously. ‘Wh-what time is it?’

‘Eleven.’

‘In the morning?’

He glanced around at the gold-dappled splendour of the deck. ‘We don’t usually have sunshine at eleven in the evening,’ he answered sardonically. ‘Even in the Mediterranean.’

‘Eleven!’ she exclaimed, ignoring his sarcasm. ‘You mean I’ve slept for…for…’

‘Hours,’ he agreed tightly. ‘Too much burning the candle at both ends, no doubt. Either that or the wine you drank made you sleep.’ He lifted the dark shades away from his eyes and stared directly into her face, fixing her with a glittering black gaze. ‘And I see that you opened the Pétrus.’

Kat remembered the anger she had felt at being trapped and told she was to work on the Spaniard’s yacht. Remembered too the discarded gold bikini top—and once again a stab of something which felt uncomfortably like jealousy unsettled her. So what if she had drunk half a bottle of his very expensive wine? ‘Sorry. I just couldn’t resist it,’ she said guilelessly. ‘Was it very expensive?’

There was a pause. ‘Very.’

‘Oh.’ She opened her eyes very wide. Maybe if she annoyed him enough he might drive her to the nearest shore himself. ‘And did you mind?’

Mind? What he minded more than anything was her careless attitude and the way those bright blue eyes sparked at him so defiantly. She wanted him to mind, he realised, and would have liked to have shown his displeasure in a very primitive way indeed. By upending her on his lap and slapping the palm of his hand against her delectable bottom. ‘You have very good taste in wine, querida,’ he observed.

Kat stared at him suspiciously. This was not the reaction she was expecting. ‘I…I have?’

‘Sí. Absolutamente. There will, of course, have to be some adjustment to your wages as a consequence.’ He shrugged as he saw her perfect lips part in a disbelieving circle. ‘Though naturally, it will simply be a token gesture, since no galley-hand could ever afford to pay the full price for such a bottle of wine.’

Suspicion turned to frustration. ‘You’re not still maintaining this fiction about me working on your boat, are you?’ she demanded.

Carlos pushed his laptop into a shady corner beneath the lounger and rose effortlessly to his feet. ‘I can assure you that it is not a fiction, Kat. It is a done deal and I have given my word to your father that I will employ you—despite the fact that you do not seem to have a single useful qualification to your name.’

‘That’s none of your business—’

‘I’m afraid it is. I have agreed to take you on—and one of the first things you’d better learn is that as a member of my crew you will be expected to be punctual at all times.’

‘But I’m not—’

‘I am not interested in your objections.’ Once again, his clipped words sliced through her stumbled responses. ‘All I know is that you’ve made an appalling start.’ His gaze flicked over the mutinous tremble of her lips and he felt an undeniable beat of pleasure. ‘However, in view of the exceptional circumstances, I’ll let you off this time—just don’t try it again. In future I want you on deck by seven. The crew can fix themselves breakfast, but I expect you to attend to what I like. Good coffee, a little fruit and some bread. My needs are very simple.’ His eyes mocked her. ‘You’ll make a light lunch for everyone and a rather more elaborate meal for the evening. And you’ll be expected to keep the decks and cabins clean, though obviously not the crew’s. Understand?’

There was a moment of disbelieving silence while Kat looked at him with shock and dislike as he shot out his list of outrageous demands. ‘No, I don’t think you understand,’ she answered furiously. ‘You’ve had your little joke, Carlos, but it’s gone on for long enough. I don’t want to stay here and I don’t want to work for you. I…I want to go back to shore.’ There was a pause while he looked at her expectantly and she forced herself to say it, even though the word felt as if it might choke her. ‘Please.’

Carlos clapped his hands in mock applause. ‘¡Bravo!’ he said silkily. ‘We make progress! The spoiled Englishwoman—she learns what it is to be polite!’

Kat looked at him hopefully. ‘So you’ll take me?’

‘I cannot,’ he snapped. ‘Surely your attention span isn’t so short that you’ve already forgotten the letter from your father which you read last night?’

She thought back to that ridiculous set of rules her father had set out—the one Carlos had presented her with when he’d arrived on board. ‘Of course I haven’t forgotten, but my father has clearly taken leave of his senses!’

‘Wrong again.’ Carlos’s lips flattened into an uncompromising line. ‘In fact, I think his intervention is long overdue and it’s time you stopped acting like a spoilt little princess. One who snaps her fingers and thinks the world owes her a living. An overindulged rich girl who sees just what she wants and then takes it. I cannot believe that nobody has ever accused you of it before. Princesa.’

Kat stood as he taunted her with the word, but now her heart had begun to thunder erratically as ice-cold tentacles of fear began to tiptoe down her spine, in spite of the warmth of the morning sun. Fear that she usually kept battened down, hidden away like a dark secret. Didn’t he realise that she, of all people, couldn’t cope with the idea of being trapped? That she had witnessed enough violence and horror to last a lifetime—and that sometimes she needed to run from those memories. Quite literally, to run.

Like a dark and acrid poison, reminders of that time rose up in her mind, but she blocked them. The way she’d been blocking them ever since her world had been turned upside down by the death of her stepfather and nothing had ever been the same again. She never talked about it with anyone. Anyone. Not all the counsellors or psychologists they’d paid for over the years. Not her mother or her father. Nobody. And she certainly wasn’t going to start with this arrogant beast of a man who seemed to bring out the very worst in her.

‘I am not going to stay here slaving away for an arrogant man who insults me,’ she blurted out. ‘And what is more, you can’t force me to!’

‘Oh, but I can. And I will,’ he returned implacably as he rose from the table. ‘One day you may even thank me for it.’

‘The hell I will!’

He gave a short laugh. ‘Oh, but I can see that you are in urgent need of subduing, Princesa. And if you’re planning any more theatrical displays like diving in and swimming to shore, then forget it. I might not be so inclined to jump in and save you next time.’

He saw her bright blue gaze moving distractedly round the deck, as if searching there for some other kind of getaway. ‘What’s more, if you’re thinking you might spirit yourself away on one of my motor-boats, I’d better warn you that I’ll be keeping all the ignition keys close to me. And the rest of the crew have instructions not to take you ashore, no matter how beguilingly you decide to ask them.’ His black eyes glittered a stark warning. ‘So don’t bother wasting your time trying to escape.’

Kat stared at him. If being trapped with him wasn’t bad enough, his cavalier and patronising attitude made it a hundred times worse.

And suddenly, all her feelings of hurt and rage and frustration welled up into an urgent need to make him realise that she meant what she said.

‘Let me off this boat at once, you…you…overbearing…beast!’ she half sobbed, launching herself towards him before she stopped to think about the wisdom of her actions, drumming her fists furiously against the rock-solid wall of his chest. ‘Just let me go!’

For a moment, Carlos didn’t react to the warm intoxication of her proximity and the realisation that the soft curve of her hips was only a thrust away. He was known for his restraint, for a steely self-control which had seen him turn down more women than most men would dream of.

And yet now he could feel the first stealthy silken tug of sexual awakening as the coldly analytical side of his brain fought against the escalating clamour of his senses.

His mouth hardened. He didn’t even like Kat Balfour. So why was his body hardening with unbearable tension, its demands beginning to wash over him in hot, sweet waves?

‘Let me go!’ she repeated, as the drumming of her fists increased.

‘No,’ he grated, staring down into her bright blue eyes with dislike. ‘What a little hypocrite you are, Kat. Women who want men to let them go don’t start pressing themselves against them and flaunting their bodies in such a way that shows they’re just begging to be kissed. Do they?’

She opened her mouth to deny it but as she stared up into his face she could see that his eyes were no longer like stone. In fact, they blazed like ebony fire as they raked over her. And despite the condemnation in his tone, Kat’s words died on her lips as, with a growl of desire and fury, Carlos lowered his head towards hers and began to kiss her.

She swayed as she felt the hard pressure of his mouth driving down on hers, clutching at the silken-clad expanse of his shoulders, her thoughts swirling as their flesh met and melded. This was bliss, she thought distractedly, as she clung to him, heart beginning to pound as she felt the first flick of his tongue. Wasn’t this how a kiss was supposed to feel? What she’d been holding out for all her life? ‘Oh,’ she moaned helplessly, as the pressure of his lips increased. ‘Oh!’

¡Dios!

Carlos felt her instant capitulation, as sweet and responsive as he had guessed she might be. As he deepened the kiss, he could feel her breasts peaking against him. Sweet, neat breasts—like tender peaches just waiting to be bitten into. He wanted to take one into his hand, to rub his thumb against its ripe nub. And then to delve his fingers beneath the soft silk of her sinful little dress, to discover if she was wearing proper panties this time. Or another of those X-rated G-strings…

For several agonisingly tempting moments, he imagined plunging into her, imagined her hungry little cries as she urged him on. And then, just as suddenly as the kiss had started, he tore his lips away from hers, stepping back as if she was contaminated, his furious gaze raking over her flushed cheeks and darkened eyes.

Frustrated desire found an outlet in heated accusation as he willed the frantic thudding of his heart to lessen and the fierce aching at his groin to stop throbbing and tormenting him. ‘Do you always act like this—like a sex-starved tramp?’ he demanded unevenly. ‘Are you one of these women who are ruled by the hunger of their bodies, perhaps—who grab at the nearest man whenever he happens to be available?’

The harsh words hurt, but presumably that had been his intention. ‘C-can’t the same be said about you?’ she shot back, stung, because he was so wrong in his character assessment of her that it would have been almost laughable had it not been quite so insulting. Clamping her arms around her still-tender breasts she hid her arousal and confusion behind a shield of sarcasm. ‘I mean, obviously you have a fantastic technique—’

‘That was never in any doubt, Princes a.’

‘I’m just appalled at my own reaction to an uncaring brute like you,’ she choked. ‘Especially since you had another woman in your arms only yesterday!’

Carlos found his gaze drawn irresistibly to the rapid rise and fall of her breasts which she was trying and failing to hide. ‘I had another woman in my arms only yesterday,’ he repeated slowly.

‘The woman in the gold bikini!’ she accused, hating the shaft of pure jealousy which shot through her.

‘The woman in the gold bikini?’

‘Will you stop repeating everything I say?’

‘Then would you mind explaining what the hell you’re talking about?’

‘The gold bikini top,’ elaborated Kat bitterly. ‘The one I found along with the remains of the meal in the dining room!’

‘Ah, yes!’ A slow and glittering smile of comprehension began to curve at Carlos’s lips as he remembered. ‘Tania Stephens…I had forgotten all about that.’

Kat felt sick, appalled at her own behaviour. She had been…been…Well, if she were being absolutely honest, hadn’t she been like the softest putty in his hands? Wouldn’t she still be writhing pleasurably beneath his practised caresses if he hadn’t put a stop to it so abruptly? And yet he’d been doing the same thing to another woman only yesterday and had forgotten all about it! Didn’t that speak volumes about his attitude to women in general and her in particular? What a lucky escape she had had!

‘You make love to a woman and less than twenty-four hours later you’ve “forgotten all about it”?’ she breathed in disbelief.

‘I did not make love to her.’

Kat’s heart pounded. ‘So a woman’s gold bikini top just happens to be lying discarded on the floor of your dining room, along with evidence of some intimate little meal à deux—and yet you claim to know nothing about it?’

‘That’s not what I said,’ he snapped. ‘I said that I didn’t make love to her.’

‘But…but she wanted to?’

There was a pause. ‘Of course she did,’ he agreed softly. ‘All women want me to make love to them. Didn’t you demonstrate that yourself only moments ago?’

Kat flinched at the accusation, but she couldn’t deny it, could she? ‘So who was she?’ she questioned.

‘A journalist.’ Carlos allowed himself a brief, hard smile. ‘Who I heard was doing a feature on me—and so I invited her here to find out what angle she was taking, and whether or not I needed to persuade her to adopt a different one.’

‘Why would anyone want to do a feature on you?’

Black eyes challenged her. ‘Any ideas?’

‘Because you’re rich? Or because you’re unbearable?’

He gave a soft laugh. ‘Wealth is hardly an achievement in its own right. You of all people should know that, Princes a.’

And then she remembered the photo. That startling photo. The young Carlos wearing the richly ornate jacket of the bullfighter—his face just as proud and as beautiful as it was now, but without the cynicism which time had etched onto the features of his older self.

‘Bullfighting,’ she said slowly. ‘She wanted to talk to you about bullfighting.’

There was the beat of a pause. ‘Of course she did,’ he said slowly. ‘They always want to talk about bullfighting.’

‘But why?’ Kat stared at him. ‘Because it’s exciting—or because hardly anyone does it as a career choice?’

‘Both those things, but it is a little more complex than that.’ He met the question in her eyes. ‘It’s fifteen years since I left the ring, and she’s just digging around because she wants to know why.’

‘And why did you leave?’

‘You think I want to talk about it with someone like you?’ he queried softly. ‘A woman whose definition of a hard day’s work is painting her own nails because the manicurist happens to be off sick?’

He saw her flinch but Carlos didn’t care. Couldn’t she take the truth about the kind of woman she was? He had vowed never to talk of those days, to relive the pain and the torture which had raged inside him during his tumultuous years in the ring. A pain which had little to do with the noble bullfight itself, and more to do with the cruel father who had made his life such a torment.

The journalist had tried every trick in the book to get him to talk, and a couple more besides. She had certainly been enterprising, he would say that for her. The editor had probably selected her for her beauty and her sheer ruthlessness. So that when the lunchtime interview had not been progressing as she’d wished, she had suggested sunbathing. And then laughingly stripped off her bikini top as if it had been the most natural thing in the world.

He had been aroused, yes—of course he had. The woman’s breasts had been full and pale and her glossy lips had parted as if to demonstrate that she was very accomplished with her mouth. But sex offered to him on a plate had never been his thing.

He looked down into the blue eyes of the Balfour girl. Maybe he should tell her that and have done with it—because, in effect, wasn’t she doing exactly the same? Trying to twist him round her little finger with her come-to-bed eyes and pouting lips. Perhaps he should tell her that no matter how much she tried to tempt him, she was here to do a job and nothing more. He had given his word to her father that he would teach her something in the way of commitment, and Carlos always kept his word.

So why had he kissed her? And why was the memory of that kiss making him grow hard even now? So hard that he would have liked to have taken hold of her aristocratic hips and thrust right into her.

‘You’d better have some breakfast,’ he said harshly. ‘And then start by clearing away the mess in the dining room.’

Kat met the stony black gaze. ‘And if I don’t?’

He thought how beautiful she looked when she defied him. ‘If you don’t? Then, Princesa, I will quickly lose patience with you, and I don’t think that’s such a good idea,’ he answered. ‘You might do well to remember that the sooner you start fulfilling your obligations, the sooner you can leave—and free us both from this infernal incarceration.’

Shaken, Kat stood watching as he walked away from her, her eyes drawn to the graceful movement of his white-jeaned physique and the way the silk shirt billowed slightly in the breeze. Unthinkingly, she touched her fingertips to her lips—to where the tender flesh still tingled with the heat of his passionate kiss—and she felt the corresponding thunder of her heart as she remembered it. But the kiss meant nothing, she reminded herself—and Carlos couldn’t have made that clearer.

She wondered if he’d gone off to work in one of the warren of luxurious rooms which lay below the deck, but it wasn’t until a few minutes later when she heard the throaty roar of a powerful engine that she realised that he’d gone. Properly gone.

Racing over to the side of the yacht, she saw a flash of silver as a powerful little motorboat cut through the sapphire waters. The wind streamed through the wild black curls of the man who stood at the helm and the sun had illuminated his olive skin into dark gold. He looked, she thought, like some powerful and formidable god of a man.

For one split second, their eyes met—and Kat registered the implacable coldness in his gaze, with barely a flicker of recognition or acknowledgement on his stony features. Was he demonstrating the fact that he was free to come and go as she was not? Or was he silently laughing at her and her lowly predicament?

She turned away and looked around the deck. Either way, she was trapped here—with a list of menial chores to do for a sexy tyrant of a man, and no means by which she could escape.

Chapter Five

AFTER Carlos had gone, Kat was left with the stinging realisation that she’d never had to clean up after anyone.

At all the different schools she’d attended—before being kicked out of most of them—there had always been someone else to make the beds and do the laundry for the privileged schoolgirls. Even at home, she’d managed to wriggle out of helping with domestic chores—maybe because her kindly and efficient mother had been a bit of a pushover.

When her mother had divorced Oscar and married Victor, it had been a fairly amicable arrangement for all concerned. But even so, Tilly Balfour had been so racked with guilt over the inevitable disruption it had caused that she’d tried to cushion her three daughters against any emotional fallout by spoiling them just a little. And Kat, being the youngest, had been very easy to spoil.

And then when Tilly’s new husband had been posted to Sri Lanka, there had been servants galore to run around after the whole family. Until…

Kat blinked back the tears which could still catch her by surprise, even all these years later. But for once the thought was stubbornly refusing to be blocked.

When Victor had been killed—murdered—nobody in their right mind was going to ask Kat to do anything she didn’t want to do. And if they did, then she usually turned her back on it and ran away.

But now suddenly that had all changed. Because for the first time in her life—quite literally—there was nowhere for her to run. And she was faced with a man she could not twist around her little finger. A man she still desired, no matter how much she tried to deny it.

She felt the acrid rise of panic in her throat—but with an effort she forced herself to crush it because what good would panicking do? It would paralyse her as much as stubborn defiance, and she could afford to do neither. Because even though she hated to admit it, she could see that if she wanted to get off this boat she was going to have to make some kind of an effort. To co-operate with Carlos Guerrero, even though every fibre of her being screamed out in protest.

Kat set off to explore the galley, where she found a cupboard containing an army of brushes, buckets and cloths as well as a confusing array of cleaning products, and she carried a selection of these down into the dining salon and set to work.

The first thing she did was to dispose of the gold bikini top, gingerly picking it up as if it was contaminated and chucking it into a black bin-liner. With a smile of satisfaction on her lips, she threw all the left-over food on top of it and watched the gleaming fabric sink beneath the weight of a banana skin. After that, she piled up all the crockery and china onto a tray and carried the whole lot down into the galley, and left it by the side of the sink before going back upstairs.

With the table now clear, she gave the place a quick wipe and sprayed some furniture polish in the air for added effect because she remembered reading somewhere that this would make the room smell clean. And then, her tasks completed and with no sign of Carlos returning from his boat trip, she slipped into a bikini of her own, found a magazine and went to lie by the swimming pool.

It should have been heaven basking there—with the warmth of the sun stealing over her skin and the sound of the waves swishing rhythmically against the boat. But in truth, Kat felt jittery and couldn’t concentrate on any of the iconic fashion images which usually held her attention—because a face with glittering black eyes and a mocking stare kept breaking into her thoughts and unsettling her.

She did her best to enjoy the hours which drifted by and eventually fell into a fitful sleep—only jumping into half wakefulness by the sound of a distant drone and then by the certainty that someone was watching her. Her eyes fluttered open to see that her thoughts had become reality and a shadow had fallen over her—its hard, dark outline making her heart leap into an annoyingly dizzy and familiar beat. Kat felt her throat dry. Carlos!

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ came a low and disbelieving voice.

She’d tidied up his salon, hadn’t she? Put on that stupid apron and buzzed around like Mrs Mop? Yanking the straps of her bikini back up, she sat up and pushed the hair away from her face. ‘What does it look like?’

‘It looks,’ he gritted out, trying very hard not to let his gaze linger on the miniscule bikini she was wearing, ‘as if you’re just indulging in a little more of the same of your idle, jet-set lifestyle.’

‘I’ve done what you asked me to do!’

‘Oh, really?’ he questioned dangerously.

‘Yes, really,’ she defended. ‘I’ve tidied up the mess left by you and your tame journalist—’

‘You think so? Then I must beg to differ, Princesa. You’ve left it only half done,’ he corrected coldly. ‘The salon is not properly clean and I understand you haven’t even bothered to wash up.’

‘So?’

‘So, you’d better get it into that little air-brain head of yours that I am used to perfection from my staff and you have fallen way short of that. And what about the crew’s lunch?’

‘What about it?’

‘It’s almost three o’clock. Didn’t it occur to you that they might be hungry?’

Three o’ clock? Kat stared at him blankly. ‘Is it really that time?’ she queried. ‘I had no idea—and as you know, my watch is broken—’

‘Get up when you’re talking to me!’ he roared, and then when, to his surprise, she shrugged and began effortlessly to rise like some graceful Venus emerging from a shell, he instantly regretted his suggestion.

Because if he’d thought that the little sundress she’d been sashaying around in earlier was sinful, then this bikini was positively X-rated. ¡Madre de Dios! Two tiny scraps of turquoise material which had been sewn with exquisite care to make a garment which was only this side of decent. Or maybe it was just the way she wore it. Her breasts seemed to be spilling over a woefully inadequate top and the bikini bottoms taunted him with two tantalising bows on either side of her hips. Bows which could be undone with a single tug of a silken piece of fabric…

Bad enough that her kiss had awoken in him an inconvenient hunger he had no intention of satisfying, but to add fuel to the fire which still smouldered within him, he was now forced to confront the stuff of fantasy.

‘And for pity’s sake, cover yourself up!’ he snapped. ‘Instead of draping yourself around the deck like some kind of latter-day Mata Hari!’

‘Who?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he retorted impatiently, tossing her a filmy sarong. ‘Put this on?’

With a scowl, Kat folded and weaved the piece of material around herself, pushing her feet into a pair of glittery flip-flops. ‘So what do you want me to do now?’ she questioned insolently.

To his fury Carlos felt the sudden hot rush of blood to his groin. Thinking that if she’d asked any other man such a question in such circumstances as these, she might find herself being pushed back on that sun lounger and having the turquoise bikini peeled away from her body. And this time he just might not have the self-control to stop…

Carlos swallowed down the dryness in his throat. ‘Just go and get dressed,’ he ordered tersely. ‘And then come back here.’

Infuriated by his peremptory tone, Kat was tempted to disobey him just for the hell of it, but the rebellion had left her by the time she reached her cabin. Because hadn’t she already decided that there was no point in fighting him—other than an enduring battle of wills which Carlos would surely win, simply because he was in the dominant position of power? No. Better to co-operate. To make an attempt to do the wretched man’s bidding and pray that time passed quickly.

Peeling off her bikini, she changed into a pair of linen trousers and T-shirt. She even twisted the thick fall of her dark hair into a practical knot and pulled on the dreaded apron, regarding her reflection in the mirror with a grimace. Why, she was scarcely recognisable as herself!

He was waiting where she’d left him, talking into a cellphone, his dark features shuttered as he finished his conversation.

‘Buy,’ he was saying softly. ‘But don’t go any higher than forty. No. No. De eso ni hablar. Sí.’

He glanced up as Kat approached, his black eyes narrowing as he terminated the connection, surprised to see that she had fallen in completely with his wishes and had covered up. The turquoise bikini had been consigned to fevered memory, but although almost every centimetre of her flesh was no longer visible, her outfit did little to deter the heated progression of his thoughts.

She should have looked demure, but somehow she failed on every level because now he knew only too well what lay beneath. He could picture her creamy-caramel flesh beautifully naked, with all its enticing shadows which beckoned a man to the places where nature had intended for him to linger. The firm curve of buttock and breast, and the delicious honey-sweet destination between her thighs.

‘Is that better?’ asked Kat.

‘Marginally better,’ he conceded thickly.

‘What were you buying on the phone just now?’

‘Property.’

‘Is that what you do, then?’

‘Some of what I do. And stop trying to change the subject. Just go back down to the galley and wash up all the dishes which I’m told you left dumped on the side. And after that, you can make a start on dinner. Do you think you can manage that?’

The fact that he obviously didn’t think she could rankled, and a long-forgotten streak of pride made Kat nod her head. How difficult could it be to knock up a meal? ‘Of course I can manage,’ she said haughtily.

But once she’d made her way downstairs, Kat found herself wondering just what she had agreed to. What the hell could she cook for seven hungry men, including one she knew would be exacting and waiting to take her to task if she made the slightest mistake? Especially as she’d never cooked a meal for anyone in her life.

She thought back to all the different restaurants she’d eaten in over the years. Surely one of those could give her a bit of inspiration? What about that amazing, award-winning place in the centre of Paris, where they’d served a whole duck smothered with a delicious, creamy sauce and everyone around the table had sighed in delight? Couldn’t she do the same sort of thing with the giant fish which was currently wrapped in newspaper at the back of the fridge and which, according to Mike, had been bought from a passing fishing boat that very morning? Perhaps with some sort of salad to start, leaving room for the elaborate kind of pudding which all men seemed to love?

But events seemed to be conspiring against her, even though she attempted to use the remaining hours as constructively as possible. The oven took some getting used to—and in between all the juggling of ingredients and familiarizing herself with an astonishingly large store cupboard, there was still the table to lay.

‘Where does Carlos usually eat?’ she asked Mike distractedly.

‘It varies,’ answered Mike, snapping open a can of cold cola and then swallowing half of it. ‘Sometimes with us, sometimes up on deck. Depends if he’s working—usually he has some big deal on and rarely comes up for air, and it’s best to leave him be. He’s…well, he’s a bit of a loner.’ The engineer shrugged, and smiled. ‘But when he eats with the crew—well, he’s pretty laid-back.’

Kat didn’t respond to that. Personally, she found Carlos Guerrero about as laid-back as a piranha fish. but she was not going to let her own feelings ruin what she was determined was going to be a fantastic meal.

‘He seems to want breakfast at the crack of dawn—and my watch is broken,’ she said slowly.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Mike. ‘I can lend you an alarm clock if it helps. He’s dead hot on punctuality.’

Kat grimaced. ‘So I gather.’

The evening didn’t start very promisingly. All her timings were out so that the fish was cooked before the starter was even ready, the sauce she’d cobbled together had started to curdle and she forgot all about the accompanying vegetables until the last minute. With a grimace she lifted up the lid of the boiling potatoes—only for a cloud of steam to hit her in the face and make her feel as if she’d been thrown into a sauna.

There wasn’t even enough time for her to touch up her make-up and brush her hair before the hungry crew arrived. They crowded in a cluster around the table outside, onto which she’d just piled a haphazard collection of crockery and glasses.

And then Carlos appeared, looking infuriatingly cool and sexy. He had clearly found time to shower and change because the thick black hair was still damp and Kat thought she could detect the raw clean tang of sandalwood.

For a moment he just stood there, surveying the general air of disarray—and his mouth twisted.

‘Has someone trashed the boat while I’ve been showering, or are you trying to sabotage the meal in order to prove a point, Princesa?’

An image of Carlos in the shower was the last thing Kat needed to add to her already-shot nerves, and a renewed waft of sandalwood as he waved a disparaging arm around didn’t help. She gritted her teeth in a grim replica of a smile. ‘Would…would you like to sit down?’

‘Where?’ he questioned pointedly.

Kat leant over and cleared a space at the table. ‘Right there. Dinner is about to be served.’

‘I can hardly wait.’

Horrible, sarcastic tyrant! I’ll show him, vowed Kat silently, as she went back into the cramped galley to prod at a boiling potato which unfortunately still had the consistency of a rock. She tipped salad onto eight plates and drizzled on some of the dressing she’d made, trying desperately to remember what was supposed to go in it, but afraid to ask for fear of looking stupid.

But she knew the moment that everyone had started eating that something was wrong.

‘Is every thing…okay?’ she questioned.

There was a brief but loaded silence.

‘Salad dressing which tastes of washing-up liquid is an interesting innovation, querida, but perhaps it’s easy to see why it hasn’t yet come to dominate the market,’ came Carlos’s sarcastic assessment, and Kat felt like hurling a dish at his arrogant face as the rest of the crew burst into relieved laughter and pushed their barely touched plates away.

The main course was no better. The fish was stone-cold, the potatoes still rock-hard and the overambitious sauce had congealed into a horrible mess around the plate. As Carlos pointed out, it was a waste of a perfectly good fish, and once again Kat ended up scraping most of it into the garbage.

She felt hot from the heat of the kitchen when she appeared on deck again after crushing amaretto biscuits and cooking some mixed berries which now resembled roadkill. They looked up at her expectantly. Seven faces in all, but Kat could see only one. It swam before her line of vision with cold ebony eyes that mocked her which made her aware that her face must be flushed and her hair falling down.

‘Everyone ready for pudding?’

‘What kind of pudding?’ questioned Mike.

‘I’m calling it “Berry Surprise”,’ said Kat brightly.

Carlos took a mouthful of wine and put his glass down, a sardonic smile curving the edges of his lips. ‘Please, no more surprises—not tonight—I don’t think I could take it.’ There was an answering peal of laughter from the other men before he fixed her with a cool stare. ‘I don’t really think you’re up to it—at least, not tonight. Perhaps you could bring some cheese and fruit upstairs and I’ll eat there instead.’

She wanted to tell him to get it himself. That she wasn’t his slave. But in a way, that’s exactly what she was. And if she threw some sort of tantrum about her treatment, wouldn’t that only increase his glaring contempt for her?

And stupidly, his assessment hurt. Really hurt. I don’t really think you’re up to it. With those few wounding words he had made her feel so…so inferior. And the trouble was that he had been right. Was he a man who enjoyed wounding, she wondered bitterly, and was that why he had been such a success as a bullfighter?

Determined to salvage something of the evening, Kat put a ridiculous amount of care into arranging a dish for him, washing and drying all the fruit and arranging it in an artful rainbow display. Placing two pieces of cheese at the dish’s centre, she added bread and crackers and took it upstairs, to a deck that was washed with moonlight and empty save for a tall figure which dominated the skyline.

Carlos was leaning over the rail, looking out to sea—and there was something so silent and imposing about his frozen stance that, for a moment, Kat just stood in the shadows silently watching him. Seemingly lost in thought, she’d never seen anyone looking quite so alone before—nor quite so comfortable with his own sense of solitude.

And despite his wounding words, she found herself realising that she knew little of the man who was now effectively her employer. Not even how old he was. Midthirties, perhaps—maybe more, for his handsome face was hard and lined with experience and he carried with him a habitual and faint air of cynicism. Why hadn’t he settled down with a wife and a family, she wondered, when women must have been beating a path to his door for most of his adult life? Was it because, as Mike had said, he was a true loner?

He must have heard her, or sensed her presence, because he turned round and Kat forced herself to stir into life, to step out of the shadows and into his private circle of silver moonlight.

‘I’ll…I’ll put this over here,’ she said, holding the platter up, her voice suddenly faltering and she wasn’t sure why. ‘Is that okay?’

‘Thanks.’

He watched as she bent over the table, the dark hair falling in untidy strands around her face and the linen she wore now looking crumpled. And yet she looked…delicious—more womanly than at any other time he’d seen her, and curiously accessible without her ridiculous high-fashion status symbols and dripping with jewels. Her face was flushed with heat and the effects of probably the only honest day’s work she’d ever done.

How ironic that this sexy creature was as unlike the real Kat Balfour as it was possible to imagine.

Kat straightened up to find the ebony eyes fixed on her and, as she stared into the shadowed and shuttered features, her heart began a strange, rhythmical pounding. Nervously, her tongue flicked over her lips as she looked up into the impenetrable black eyes. ‘Will…will there be anything else?’

Oh, what a question, he thought wryly. Innocent or deliberately provocative? Was she doing her best to slip into her role as domestic, or simply acknowledging the silent hunger which was sizzling between them? He felt the thud of his heart. As if sexy Kat Balfour would ever do innocence! ‘No. Nothing else.’ He shook his head as he read the silent yearning on her face—was she mirroring something of his own, he wondered frustratedly.

She went to walk past him but something made him stop her. Something in the gleam of moonlight which glanced off the thick abundance of her dark hair and arrested his attention as much as the pure lines of her perfect profile and the parted promise of her soft lips.

He stayed her with a touch of his hand to her bare forearm and she looked down at it and then up at him and he could feel her shiver beneath him. Could feel an answering tremor in his own body—the familiar tightening, like a bow being stretched by the sharp point of the arrow.

‘Kat,’ he murmured, barely aware that he had said her name.

All Kat was aware of was the wild black buccaneer curls which framed the shuttered face. The way that the moonlight cast indigo shadows on the golden-olive skin. The powerful physique and the long, long legs. She swallowed. It was as if he had cast some dark and silken net over her, rendering her incapable of sensible thought and feeling. Making her world telescope down and focus on the vibrant allure of the Spaniard. He had done it unconsciously on the night of the Balfour Ball but now she was certain that he was doing it deliberately. Why? Why? Was he simply playing with her—as a cat played with a foolish mouse before it moved in for the careless kill?

‘Stop it,’ she whispered, hardly realising what she was saying.

‘Stop what?’ he echoed.

‘Making me…’ Embarrassed now, her words tailed off—for how could she possibly admit to him what she didn’t even want to acknowledge to herself?

Yet it seemed that Carlos had no such similar qualms, for he gave her a mocking smile.

‘Stop making you want me?’ he taunted softly. ‘But I’m not. You’re doing that all by yourself. You just can’t help yourself, can you, Kat?’

She shook her head, rooted to the spot as if he had turned her into a statue. Where was the wisecracking Kat now? The woman who was left cold by members of the opposite sex? ‘Yes, I can,’ she whispered, but even to her own ears the denial sounded phony.

‘Liar.’ His voice dipped to become a verbal caress. ‘I can read your desire for me in your eyes—it’s so obvious that you might as well be carrying a banner saying so. And I can see it in your lips too—their beautiful pout forgotten. Everything forgotten, in fact—because there’s only one thing on your mind and we both know what that is.’

‘Please!’ Her protest came out like a squeak—and now she even sounded like a mouse. Was that because she couldn’t bring herself to inject the word with any real conviction? Because despite Carlos’s clear disdain for her on so many levels, she stupidly wanted him just as much as she’d always wanted him?

‘You’re longing for me to kiss you, aren’t you, Kat?’ he mused. ‘To kiss you—only this time, not to stop. To lie you down and part your silken thighs and to thrust into you long and hard and deep until you cry out your pleasure.’

Kat’s knees buckled and for a very real moment she was afraid that she might faint, because the graphic words were only increasing her desire. And how shameful was that? Tell him no. Tell him no and then push past him and go back down to the galley. He might be a practised seducer with a cruel tongue which could lash out at her, but she doubted that he would actually pull her into his arms and take her by force. Hating herself for the shiver of longing which accompanied this dark fantasy, Kat stayed mute.

‘Aren’t you?’ he prompted silkily.

Her desire became intolerable. Unbearable. She fought and fought it but in the end it was no good. ‘Yes!’ she burst out at last. ‘Yes, I am!’

Carlos nodded, recognising what it must have cost her to admit it. ‘Well, that makes two of us,’ he said unsteadily, and leaned forward to kiss her unprotesting lips.

She had expected urgency. A rapid escalation into full-blown desire. An unashamed seduction. But Kat was wrong. Instead, he slowly pushed the fallen strands of hair away from her face as if he had all the time in the world, studying it like a scientist looking through a microscope for some rogue cell. He let his gaze drift from her brow to her eyes, then slowly down until it focused entirely upon her lips, and she felt them automatically part beneath his scrutiny.

‘Flawless,’ he said slowly, shaking his head a little. ‘Absolutely flawless.’

The kiss, when it came, was nothing like she expected. More of a graze than a kiss—a quicksilver brush of his lips against hers. And then again. Back and forth his mouth teased her, light as a butterfly and as tantalising as the first warmth of the morning sun. His breath was warm and she could smell his own particular raw, clean scent. It was a kiss which managed to be both innocent and sensual all at the same time. Nothing more than that, but enough to make Kat sway and weaken.

‘Oh!’ she breathed, and hungrily she reached for him.

But, using an expertise which he’d employed more than most men—often to literally save his own skin in the bullring—Carlos neatly sidestepped the movement. Putting out his hand he caught and steadied her, though he kept his body at an untouchable distance from hers, his face tight with tension. Because this was, in a way, the ultimate demonstration of his formidable control over his body.

‘No. No.’ There was a moment while he steadied his breath, and when he spoke he seemed to be speaking to himself as much as to her. ‘I can’t do it,’ he said flatly.

Incredulity made her voice falter even while her body screamed out for the closeness of his. ‘C-can’t?’

Carlos narrowed his eyes. Did the little witch think he was incapable of giving her what she wanted? ‘Forgive me if I have not made myself clear, Princes a. Sometimes when I speak in English, the subtleties of your language escape me. What I should have said is that I won’t make love to you.’ Her bright blue eyes continued to stare at him in puzzled query. Maldición, but she was persistent. And shameless, he reminded himself. For a woman like this was used to getting exactly what she wanted—and she wanted him. Too bad. ‘It would be an abuse of my role as your employer,’ he finished softly.

The rejection hurt more than it should have done and the telltale pricking of her eyes warned her that she might be about to do something intolerable, like burst into tears. And that Mr Ego might think she was crying over him. As if she would ever shed a tear over a man as unfeeling as Carlos Guerrero!

But Kat knew she needed to get away from here—and quickly—before he inflicted any more emotional damage on her.

As she lifted her head with a proud gesture, she was grateful at that moment for all the poise which her years as a Balfour had taught her. All the showy affairs where she had learnt to put on a careless expression.

‘You’re probably right,’ she said, and the surprised narrowing of his eyes gave her the courage to continue, even though her voice was threatening to tremble. ‘Affairs in the work place are never a good idea, or so they tell me. So if you’ve got everything you want, I’ll go downstairs and start clearing up.’

Just let him try to stop me, she thought fiercely, as she brushed past him. Just let him try.

But he didn’t try. Although his shuttered black eyes were watchful, he let her go without a further word.

And frustration only increased her bitter sense of rejection, as Kat half ran from the deck and back downstairs to the galley with tears blinding her eyes.

Chapter Six

THE alarm clock shrilled out like a fire alarm and Kat woke with a start. Fumblingly, she switched it off and made herself get straight out of bed before she fell asleep again, surprised at how deeply she’d slept. And surprised that the restless night she’d anticipated hadn’t materialised—despite the fact that Carlos had rejected her for a second time. Maybe because it had been past midnight when she’d finally crept to bed after clearing away the remains of the disastrous meal—and she’d been too tired to do anything but fall into a dreamless sleep.

Quickly, she showered, dressed and was on deck soon after six, determined to salvage something of her pride. She was not going to think of Carlos—or his teasing and provocative kisses and the fact that he seemed to like playing with her. As if it gave him some sort of kick to demonstrate his power over her. Kat stared out to sea, her lips set in a line of grim determination. What had happened couldn’t be reversed, and this morning she was damned well going to show Señor Guerrero that she was worth something.

And despite the bizarre circumstances in which she found herself and her trepidation of what the day might bring, Kat couldn’t deny the beauty of her surroundings as she stood quietly for a moment. The light was soft and milky, the sky tinged with rose and tangerine and the dark blue sea stretched towards the horizon as far as the eye could see.

Even the oven in the galley seemed like an old friend this morning so that she was able to warm the half-baked bread without mishap and assemble it on a tray with fruit and a pot of strong, dark coffee which she carried up just before seven, just as Carlos appeared, laptop under his arm.

Dressed in jeans and a soft silk shirt, his face was shuttered as he walked out onto the sun-washed deck—but the way he carried himself was so full of grace that just for a moment Kat was dazzled. How easily she could imagine him in the bullring—his head held proud and his narrow hips encased in those dark, tight breeches as he weaved a mystifying dance around a huge, quivering bull. Stop it, she told herself fiercely. Stop fantasising about him.

Hadn’t she told herself that from now on she was going to remain immune to his dark beauty? That he had little respect for her as a person and had rejected her as a woman. So why was it that she seemed to be powerless over the thunder of her heart as she carried the tray towards the table?

‘Good morning!’ she said.

Carlos watched her approach and his eyes narrowed. There was something different about her this morning and he couldn’t quite work out what it was. ‘No me lo creo,’ he observed, his voice silky. ‘I don’t believe it. The princesa is up and working—and what is more…she’s on time.’

Kat put the tray down. ‘You said breakfast at seven and here it is—I’m simply following your orders, Carlos.’

‘But I am impressed, Princesa. I was expecting sulky acquiescence.’ And hadn’t he thought that she might be a touch coquettish this morning, her body silently imploring him to carry on with what he’d so foolishly begun last night? Perhaps he had. But her attitude towards him was merely businesslike as she poured out a cup of coffee. He had been the one to suffer an agitated night spent trying to banish the memory of her soft kiss and eager body—and yet here she was, looking infuriatingly calm and rested. ‘Not such an air of docile servility,’ he finished softly.

‘Docile servility wasn’t what I was aiming for,’ Kat returned. ‘I’m just trying to do my job to the best of my ability since I seem to be stuck with it.’

‘So what’s the catch?’ he questioned softly.

‘Catch? No catch, Carlos. I’ve decided to accept my fate and do what’s required of me.’ She pushed the coffee across the table towards him. ‘But I wanted to ask you a favour.’

‘What kind of favour?’

Kat shrugged. ‘Well, I can’t possibly provide meals for the crew when I don’t really know how to cook.’

‘So what are you suggesting?’ he drawled. ‘That I fly out a trained chef to teach you how to boil an egg?’

‘I think that even I could manage an egg. Actually, I was thinking of something a little simpler.’

‘Such as?’

‘Well, access to the Internet would help. I assume you have it on board?’

‘Oh, come on.’ His hard smile became edged with mockery. ‘And have you sending out SOS messages to all the admiring men in your life, asking them to come and rescue you?’

Kat shook her head. The only man she could imagine masterminding some sort of high-seas rescue mission was sitting right in front of her and he was far from admiring. ‘I’m not planning to escape. I already told you that. All I want is to find some simple recipes with simple instructions. Recipes that I might actually be able to use—and prevent some sort of mutiny from the crew.’

Carlos studied her thoughtfully. She had a point. There was no way he wanted a repeat of the fiasco they’d been forced to endure last evening. The question was—could he trust her? Should he even try? Staring down into her brilliant blue eyes, he dipped his voice. ‘But if I let you, I don’t want you wasting time.’

‘Of course not.’

‘No emails. No browsing unrelated websites.’

What a tyrant he was! ‘Maybe you’d like to stand over me and police it?’ she challenged.

He met the challenge in her eyes with one of his own. ‘Maybe I will.’ Or maybe it would be a little crazy to put temptation in his way when he was finding it harder and harder to remain immune to her aristocratic appeal.

Sipping his coffee, he studied her. This morning she’d tied the thick black hair back into a single plump plait which gave her a particularly youthful appearance—emphasised by the simple shorts, T-shirt and deck shoes she wore. But it was something else. Something other than a more casual look than she usually favoured. He frowned. ‘You’re not wearing any make-up,’ he observed slowly.

With something of a shock, Kat lifted her fingertips to her face as she realised that he was right—and that she hadn’t even noticed. She who had worn make-up every day since she’d been fifteen years old! ‘There wasn’t time this morning. To be honest I didn’t even think about it. I…I must look a fright.’

A fright? He felt the sudden beating of a pulse at his temple and the flickering throb of awareness as their eyes met. ‘On the contrary—I think it suits you,’ he said obliquely, pleased when his cellphone began to ring and he could turn his back on the crushed-petal perfection of her lips. ‘Speak to Mike about the Internet—tell him I’ve given you permission to have limited access. And I mean limited, Princesa.’

He really was a control freak, Kat thought, as she heard him begin to speak rapidly in Spanish, and she hurried down to the galley to make herself a cup of coffee.

But the tiny freedom Carlos had granted her by allowing her access to the Internet somehow shifted the balance of power, if only slightly. Very subtly it changed her attitude towards her enforced captivity. By giving her an element of responsibility, she now felt that she had something to prove to him—and she was determined to do it.

She was allocated use of the desktop computer in Carlos’s study which apparently he used mainly in winter or when the weather was inclement. His desk was bare and uncluttered—without a single family photo and barely a keepsake which might have given a clue about the identity of its owner. Only a single oil painting gave some sort of idea about what kind of life Carlos Guerrero might live when he wasn’t at sea—and it was not what Kat would have expected. Instead of some sophisticated modern canvas, the painting was of a lovely and rather old-fashioned house set in a beautiful landscape of lemon trees and distant mountains, bounded by a sky which was vast and magnificent.

Kat found herself staring at it more than once and wondering where it was—and if it had been anyone else she might have asked them. But not Carlos. Carlos didn’t really invite small talk—and hadn’t he made it crystal clear that any kind of personal interaction between the two of them was strictly off the menu?

She found a website for beginner cooks called ‘Can’t Boil An Egg?’ which was reader-friendly and took her through all the basics. And Kat soon realised that the number-one rule about successful cooking was to keep it simple. Fancy sauces and hundreds of clashing ingredients were passé—fresh and seasonal was the way to go.

She soon found that the stronger she made the coffee, the more everyone liked it—Carlos especially. And that the crew adored warm bread served with every meal, and were just as happy with cheese as a pudding afterwards.

That wasn’t to say that there were no more disasters, though none quite as bad as on that first night. She quickly learnt that it was a mistake to make ice cream unless you were a lot more experienced than she was. And Kat soon noticed a direct correlation between hard work and personal satisfaction. That if the crew—and Carlos—were happy with the meals she prepared, then she was too…

Happy? Well, that might not be the best word to choose to describe her feelings, not when she felt a sense of aching awareness every time she saw him. The memory of his kiss lingered just as potently in her mind as it ever had and reminded her how it felt to be held close to that powerful, hard body. And she’d have been a liar if she’d denied her desire to have him pull her into his arms again—only this time, not to stop. To carry on plundering her lips with that hard and hungry kiss…

She was just writing down a recipe for a green sauce to accompany some free-range chickens she’d defrosted when a shadow fell over the desk and she looked up to find Carlos standing there staring down at her, his expression inscrutable.

‘How diligently you work, Princesa,’ he said softly.

Hating herself for noticing that the top three buttons of his shirt were revealing a tantalising triangle of silken olive-gold flesh, Kat attempted an expression of cool efficiency. Not easy when her heart was pounding so loudly beneath her breast that she was surprised he hadn’t heard it.

‘Is that supposed to be a criticism?’

‘Actually, it was supposed to be a compliment.’

‘In that case…thank you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ he mocked.

Walking over to a line of leather-bound books, he ran his forefinger over the ornate gold script of an atlas, trying to analyse why he found Kat Balfour’s presence here so unsettling. Maybe because a boat was such a confined space and he was not used to being in such close proximity to a woman—not 24/7. It was too close to something Carlos didn’t do—and that something was intimacy.

Because Carlos compartmentalised his women, in the same way that he compartmentalised the rest of his life. Work came first—which was why he now owned real estate in most of the major capital cities in Europe. He rarely took a holiday—even his luxury yacht doubled as a temporary office when he was on board. Enforced relaxation made him restless—it always had.

Women were for bedding and occasionally providing a little light relief in his high-powered competitive world. The occasional dinner or breakfast with them he could tolerate, mainly because he knew that was the price you paid for sex. But the moment they started yearning for the impossible—some kind of commitment—then that was the time to kiss them goodbye. With a costly bauble which would cushion some of the pain they felt on parting.

But having Kat here…

He wondered if she knew just how different she looked from the pouting beauty who’d arrived. The absence of make-up seemed to have become a daily habit, just as she’d taken to wearing her clothes looking like she wanted to leave them on, instead of stripping them off to the sound of sultry music. Even her hair was now worn in a functional plait which fell over one shoulder.

The look should have been the antithesis of sexy, and yet ironically it was the very opposite. She looked very sexy indeed. Cinderella in reverse, Carlos thought wryly. And as she peeled off all the different layers of artifice, he thought he could catch a glimpse of the woman beneath.

‘We were thinking of taking a couple of boats over to Capraia tonight,’ he said suddenly.

‘Capraia?’ She blinked up at him. ‘What’s that?’

‘A beautiful little island where you can eat fish which has been caught about an hour previously. Want to come? We’re all going.’

Kat nodded, not wanting to appear too eager. She told herself it was nothing but a careless query and yet she felt an unmistakable fizz of excitement. Dinner—with Carlos! Okay, the rest of the crew would be there too, but who cared? Automatically, she tugged at the thick plait which dangled over her shoulder. ‘What time?’

‘We’ll leave at seven.’ Black eyes flicked over her as he thought about all the unsuitable little outfits she might choose to send the other diners’ blood pressure soaring. And his own. ‘Oh, and don’t bother getting dressed up and making some sort of fashion statement,’ he said curtly. ‘It’s a casual little place.’

Kat heard the unmistakable censure in his voice as he walked out of the study, leaving her staring blankly at the computer screen, wondering what on earth would win such an exacting man’s approval. Then she tried telling herself that she was dressing for herself—and not for anybody else.

But more than anything she wanted to fit in. To just be part of the gang—the way she’d never been before. Later that afternoon, she washed her hair and knotted it into a French plait, then changed into a simple white linen shift dress and a pair of brown leather gladiator sandals. Her face was naturally tanned, glowing from hard work and plenty of sleep and, she realised, didn’t actually need any make-up.

She was aware of Carlos’s eyes on her as she walked out on deck—and of his piercing black scrutiny as she stepped into the first boat. This was crazy, she thought faintly—they were surrounded by Mike and the others and yet she felt as self-conscious as if she were alone on a deserted beach with him.

The tiny island was a stunning pearl of a place, studded into a sea of matchless blue. Lots of different little boats bobbed around in the small harbour and the air was scented with sweet local herbs which perfumed the air the moment they stepped ashore.

Kat found herself praying that she would be seated somewhere—anywhere—as long as it was away from Carlos and his watchful black eyes. Then felt the thrill of unalloyed pleasure when he slid his long-legged form onto the narrow bench opposite her.

‘Like it?’ he questioned idly.

Drinking in the beauty of his rugged face, Kat smiled. ‘What’s not to like?’ she said softly.

Hidden by the darkness of his sunglasses, Carlos ran his eyes over her, thinking that he had never seen her looking quite so relaxed or so carefree before. The simple dress suited her—it showed off the sleek lines of her limbs. His gaze drifted to her lips, wondering how, without any gloss or colour, they still managed to symbolise a kind of wanton wildness. Especially when they parted like that…

‘Let’s have some wine,’ he said unevenly.

The waitress brought jugs of cold, red local wine to accompany the fish which they ate with rice flavoured with lentisk—an aromatic herb which Carlos told her grew prolifically on the island.

Kat put her fork down. ‘My mother would probably have heard of it.’

Black eyes narrowed. ‘Because?’

‘Well, that’s her job. She’s a cook.’

He put his fork down. ‘Your mother is a professional cook?’

‘Yes, Carlos, my mother is a cook—she runs a small bakery business. You sound surprised.’

‘Maybe that’s because I am, Princesa.’

‘You thought I’d been born with a silver spoon in my mouth?’

Thinking about her mouth again was a distraction he didn’t need. ‘Something like that.’ Carlos frowned—because, yes, he’d imagined her to have been descended from a long line of aristocrats on both sides of her family. ‘Your mother was Oscar’s third wife, right?’

‘Second,’ said Kat drily. ‘He’s a much-married man, my father.’

He drank a mouthful of wine. ‘And she was a cook when they met?’

‘Well, not exactly. My mother was the family nanny. She worked for my father and his first wife, Alexandra, and looked after their three daughters. Then, when Alexandra died, he…well, it was hard for a man in his position to cope with a young family, especially in those days. He decided that he needed to get married again—and quickly. And since my mother already got on so well with his three girls—and with him—it seemed convenient for them to get married.’

‘Convenient?’ echoed Carlos sardonically as he speared a piece of fish and ate it.

Kat nodded. It wasn’t a romantic way to describe a marriage, but her parents’ union had never been a love match—and they had never pretended it had been. Inevitably, the relationship had become a self-fulfilling prophesy which had resulted in divorce. But at least the marital breakdown had been amicable—more amicable than anyone else’s she knew. ‘And they went on to have three daughters of their own. I’m one of them,’ she added helpfully, because people always got thoroughly confused by Oscar’s complicated love life.

‘But no son?’

‘No, no son.’ She saw the look in his eyes. ‘I suppose you think it’s a tragedy not to have an heir?’

He shrugged. ‘Well, yes. I would want an heir,’ he said simply.

That didn’t surprise her. But then, none of his outrageously macho behaviour really surprised her. Kat ate some fish, but the evening was much too balmy to produce an appetite. Plus, she wasn’t finding it very easy to concentrate on food, not when Carlos was sitting there with the light breeze billowing at his silk shirt and hinting at the hard torso beneath. She pushed her plate away.

‘Not hungry?’ he questioned softly.

‘Not really, no. It’s too hot.’

‘Sí.’ Carlos leaned back in his chair. It was much too hot, and she was much too distracting. The sun was dipping now—its magnificent light gilding the deep sapphire of the sea, while the faint pinprick of stars were beginning to appear in the darkening sky. He could hear the slick lick of water as it slapped against the sides of the boats which were moored in the tiny port, and his eyes drank in the distant green hues of the island’s mountains. It looked like paradise—and in truth, at that moment, it felt like paradise. Good food. Good wine—and a beautiful woman who wanted him. And if it were any other beautiful woman than Kat, he would be sailing urgently back to his yacht to make love to her.

His thoughts were rewarded with the sharp stab of desire and he cursed himself for his stupidity in dwelling on such thoughts. Because this was the real world, he reminded himself—not some soft-focus ad man’s version of it.

Okay, so she’d embraced a little domesticity these past few days at sea, had shown that she wasn’t completely spoiled. But she was still trouble. Still the kind of idle, rich woman for whom he had no time. The fact that he wanted her was just nature’s idea of a joke—and nature could be cruel. Carlos’s mouth hardened. Didn’t he know that better than anyone?

He hadn’t had sex in almost a year, although offers spoken and unspoken came his way pretty much every day of the week. But he was discerning—and increasingly so as time went by. Although creamy, firm flesh still appealed to him on a very base level, his boredom tolerance was at an all-time low. And sometime last year he had decided he couldn’t face any more early morning pillow talk with beauties who turned out to be total airheads with nothing but marriage in mind.

Sooner or later he would carefully select for himself a bride with all the qualities he admired in a woman. Qualities such as humility and compassion. And she would possess a quiet, soft beauty—not the hard-edged glamour of this Balfour heiress.

So get away from her before the moon rises and the wine blurs your senses any more.

‘Has everyone finished?’ questioned Carlos, pulling a wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.

Deliberately, he sailed back in a different boat to Kat in an attempt to limit temptation to a manageable degree, though the two vessels were close enough for him to see her face as they cut through the indigo waters.

From the distant shore, he heard the crack-crack of some small explosion—was it fireworks?—and his attention was drawn to the small sound of alarm she made in response. Saw the sudden blanching of her face beneath her tan. Was she frightened of fireworks? he wondered.

But Kat Balfour’s neuroses were as meaningless to him as was fantasising about her body.

She was there to work, Carlos thought grimly, as he turned his back to the other boat. Not to tempt him into doing something he would bitterly regret.

Chapter Seven

‘No!’

The piercing and blood-curdling scream echoed through the night and Carlos woke instantly. Staring into the pitch darkness, his senses were on instant alert as the reality hit him that it was a woman’s scream—and there was only one woman on board. He frowned. Kat? Screaming? What the hell was she playing at?

Leaping naked from his bed, he dragged on a pair of jeans and headed for her cabin, his heart pounding frantically in his chest as he pushed open the door.

‘No!’

Once more he heard the terrified word torn from her throat as he burst inside—but it was not directed at him, nor at anyone else. For the cabin was empty save for Kat sitting bolt upright in bed. Through the moonlight which flooded in from the porthole he could see that her face was ashen with terror, her eyes glazed as they stared unseeingly in front of her. She looked as if she’d seen a ghost and was clearly having some kind of nightmare.

His movements were soft and stealthy as he moved towards her—remembering reading somewhere that if you startled someone from a nightmare, it could cause them a serious shock to the system.

‘No, no, no!’ she screamed again, now shaking her head wildly from side to side.

Carlos reached the bed and, brushing aside the silken spill of her hair, placed his hands on her shoulders, his voice as soothing as if he were calming down a fractious horse. He could feel the heat of her skin and see the frantic movement of a pulse at her temple. ‘Kat,’ he urged softly. ‘Kat. Wake up. Come on, wake up, Princesa—you’re having a bad dream.’

‘No, please,’ she whimpered. ‘Please don’t. Don’t…’

He found her helpless whisper curiously affecting and a rush of unwilling protectiveness flared through him. Had someone attacked her in the past? Made her…

‘Kat,’ he said again, his voice firmer now. ‘It’s okay. You’re here. Nothing’s happened. Wake up. You’re safe.’

Safe…The single word filtered into her consciousness as Kat awoke, memories which she kept buried deep and out of sight now staining her mind like a dark poison. Convulsively, she shivered as graphic images danced in her mind and sheer horror racked through her body.

But someone was holding her in their arms—and it was the warmest and most comfortable place she had ever been. So that, yes, for a moment, the word had the ring of truth to it and she really did feel safe. Safe and protected.

Until past and present merged with horrifying clarity. It was no nightmare. It had happened. Victor was dead. Her beloved stepfather gone.

‘No,’ she whimpered.

‘Kat,’ came a whisper as strong hands now shook her with surprising gentleness and her eyelids fluttered open. ‘Wake up. Come on, wake up, Princes a.’

Her vision cleared and her heart missed a beat. Because the man holding her was none other than Carlos—sitting in her cabin and on her bed and wearing nothing but a pair of jeans.

The same man who had made it very clear he didn’t want her was holding her in his arms—and Kat knew she should have torn herself away from his embrace and told him to go. What had she told herself about pride and not letting him see her vulnerable again? But she was still scared enough from the aftermath of the dream to want to stay exactly where she was. Here, where she could feel the powerful pound of his heart.

Carlos stroked the silken tumble of her hair, knowing that the rhythmical movement would soothe her, in the same way that frightened animals were always soothed by rhythm. He was aware of her sweetly scented femininity—but at least she wasn’t distractingly naked. In fact, he was slightly taken aback by her choice of night attire, because a pair of cotton pyjamas was not what he might have expected the sexy Kat Balfour to sleep in.

‘You were having a bad dream,’ he stated softly.

Briefly closing her eyes, she shuddered. ‘Yes.’

‘Well, you’re awake now, so forget it. Come on. Let it go. Nightmares don’t happen in real life.’

Was it reaction to the shock of having the reoccurring dream that made her want to contradict him? Or was it because, with Carlos holding her like that, she felt as if nothing or no one could ever hurt her again?

‘It’s…it’s n-not a n-nightmare.’ Her voice was shaking with fear as she spoke against the silken warmth of his bare shoulder. ‘It’s t-true.’

Carlos knew about fear. After all, that was one of the simple lures of bullfighting. That’s what the spectators paid huge amounts of money to witness. Why poor men would happily forgo half a week’s wages to watch the ancient battle between man and bull. It had been a long time since he had encountered real fear outside the ring, but he could sense it now in the slender frame of this woman in his arms, and he stilled. ‘What are you talking about?’

Lifting her cheek away from his shoulder, she looked up at him, her heart pounding as she met the gleam of his eyes which was as bright as the light of the moon. ‘I told you,’ she whispered. ‘It’s true—all of it!’

Suddenly, she looked vulnerable, dangerously vulnerable. He stared down into the pale blur of her face and saw the way she was biting her lip—no trace of the confident Kat Balfour now, he thought in surprise. ‘What’s true, Kat?’ he questioned softly. ‘Tell me what is frightening you so much.’

Kat trembled. It was the first time he had ever really spoken to her as an equal. The first time he’d shown her kindness, or consideration. It shouldn’t have mattered but somehow it did—it mattered much more than it should have done. She tried telling herself that she shouldn’t trust him—but somehow she couldn’t help herself. Was it the protective warmth of his embrace which suddenly loosened her tongue—or the inexplicable understanding in his deep, accented voice which made her want to pour it all out?

‘They killed him,’ she whispered. ‘They killed him and I couldn’t stop them.’

‘Who did?’ he commanded urgently. ‘Tell me, Princes a.’

‘I don’t know where to start,’ she whispered.

‘Start at the beginning,’ he said simply.

And then words really started tumbling out—like feathers falling from a pillow which had been ripped wide open by a particularly sharp knife. Words she’d never spoken before. Words which her father had paid counsellors a small fortune to try to extricate from her and which instead she now found herself telling a cold-hearted Spaniard on a luxury yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean.

‘I told you my parents didn’t marry for love—but for c-convenience,’ she stumbled. ‘But then my mother met someone else—someone she knew could be special to her. My father felt it was only fair to let her go, and so they divorced, and she married Victor. He was a major in the army and he was lovely. Really lovely. And a good stepfather to me and my sisters.’

For a moment she allowed herself to remember the happy times. Her mother being truly in love with a man for the first time in her life. The sense of being a proper family. The real bond which had existed between her and Victor. She had been the youngest girl and he’d spoiled her, treated her just like his own daughter. She remembered the joy of his promotion and the sense of excitement they all felt at the prospect of an exciting new country to live in. ‘When he got posted to Sri Lanka, we all went with him,’ she said slowly.

Carlos nodded and continued to stroke her hair, careful not to say anything in case he halted her flow.

‘We were happy there. And then my mother had to take my sisters back to England, back to boarding school, the way she always did. And one night…’ Her voice began to shake again. ‘One night, while I was asleep…b-burglars b-broke into the house. There was nothing much to steal, but Victor challenged them. There was…there was a fight. I woke up and heard voices shouting, and then…then…’

This time he did prompt her even though he could feel the frozen fear in her body. ‘Then?’

‘I heard a gun go off!’ she blurted out. ‘I was so frightened that I just lay there. I was terrified that they were going to come upstairs and shoot me.’ For a moment she said nothing, her breathing shallow and rapid as she relived that night of violence.

‘That’s why you don’t like fireworks,’ said Carlos slowly, as he remembered her brief moment of fear in the boat.

Kat nodded.

‘So what happened next?’ he questioned softly.

She swallowed. ‘I crept downstairs—to see the burglars fleeing. And that’s when I found Victor. He’d been shot…’ She swallowed, trying and failing to quell the pain of that awful memory. ‘There was blood…everywhere.’

Carlos stilled. ‘And?’

‘He…he died.’ She sucked in a shuddering breath. ‘He died right there, in my arms.’

The hand which was at her back stilled, and instinctively he pulled her closer. Her hair brushed against him and he was fleetingly aware of its softness. ‘He died?’

‘Yes!’ she sobbed.

‘How old were you?’

‘Ten.’

Ten. A child. An innocent, sheltered child. Beneath his breath, Carlos let free a flow of some of the more colourful curses he had learnt during his own chequered upbringing. He felt rage. More than rage—a sudden and unwanted sense of identification with her, because hadn’t the trust of his own childhood been destroyed by the greed and violence of adults?

‘A long time ago,’ he said.

‘Thirteen years.’

Was she really twenty-two? Hadn’t he somehow thought that she was a couple of years younger than that? And hadn’t it suited him to think that? To add her relative youth to the list of reasons why he shouldn’t want her? But now that was forgotten as he found himself wanting to comfort her—she, a woman he had never imagined would need anything as basic as comfort.

‘How often do you get this nightmare?’ he demanded.

‘Depends. When I hear fireworks. Sometimes a film can spark it off. Sometimes often, sometimes not.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s random.’

Carlos nodded, and something about her listless body language made him want to reach out and take something of her pain away. ‘You know, we’re all products of our past, Princes a,’ he said softly. ‘And yours has been more tainted than most. But there are parts of it you have to let go. You have to, if you’re going to live any kind of meaningful life.’

People had said it to her before, many times—but she had stubbornly refused to believe it. Yet when Carlos said it, the oddest sensation began to creep over her and Kat started to think that maybe he was right. That it was true. Was that because he’d never spoken anything to her but the stark truth, no matter how painful that could sometimes be? Or just because he seemed so confident and brash about life, so strong and powerful?

‘I know I do,’ she answered. ‘It’s just easier said than done.’ She forced a note of lightness into her voice, wanting to dispel the heavy mood which seemed to have settled over them. She looked up at him. ‘Any tips on how to go about it?’

He wished that the light scent she was wearing would not invade his senses with quite such unerring provocation. Or that her hair didn’t feel like liquid silk spilling over his fingers. ‘You have to tell yourself that you’re more than a product of what happened to you,’ he told her fiercely. ‘Otherwise, it’s like letting the perpetrators of the crime win. Like allowing them to claim two victims, instead of only one. And you have to start believing that, as of now. Right now.’ With the tip of one finger he tilted her chin upwards and looked deep into her eyes. ‘Do you think you can do that?’

Kat thought how astonishing it was that he could quickly turn from sexy tyrant into a man of rare understanding—and yet didn’t that make her want him even more? ‘I’ll try.’

‘Good.’

But despite her tentative word of resolution, he could still feel the faint trembling of her body. Clearly, she was in some kind of reactive shock to the bad dream and had then relived it by telling him about it. And she was still locked in his embrace too. Carlos shifted slightly. It felt almost comfortable to have her leaning on him like that. A little too comfortable.

Suddenly, he let her go, pushing her back gently against the pillows, hardening his heart against the startled question in her eyes even as his body instinctively hardened to the soft promise in hers. ‘Get back underneath the blankets,’ he informed her tersely. ‘You need to sleep.’

Sleep? It seemed as distant a possibility as dry land at that moment. And he had left behind an aching void. All Kat knew was that, without him, she felt cold and frightened again. Once more she bit her lip as a faint memory of the nightmare whispered over her skin and her eyes locked with his in terrified question. ‘Where are you going?’

Where the hell did she think he was going? ‘Back to bed.’

‘Don’t…’ She swallowed, hardly daring to formulate the question, not wanting to open herself up to rejection once again. But Kat was not asking him to make love to her—she just wanted his presence to reassure her. To stay until the dream became a distant memory. ‘Please don’t go,’ she whispered. ‘Not yet. I’m…’

‘What?’

‘Scared.’

Carlos swallowed. Her slender limbs were splayed like a colt’s and the ebony fall of her hair was spilling onto the pillow like dark satin. Reaching out, he clicked on the bedside lamp in the hope that extra light might dispel some of the unbearable intimacy of the setting. But it was a vain hope, because now she was bathed in a soft, apricot light which made her skin look completely edible.

How could he resist such a heartfelt plea—but what the hell was she asking of him? That he endure a temptation which was fast becoming unendurable? Staying close to the enticement of her body when his own was crying out to touch it?

Yet hadn’t he always been the master of control in so many areas of his life before now? And surely this could be just another opportunity to prove his own inner strength and determination.

‘Okay,’ he bit out, and lay down beside her as gingerly as a man might lie beside a snake. ‘I will stay, but only for a while. Understand?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

Instinct told him that it was pointless to leave her trembling on the other side of the big bed, and he intended the arm he reluctantly put round her shoulder to be nothing more than comforting as he pulled her close. A cuddle—even though, as a rule, he didn’t do cuddling.

And he soon saw why. He had been a damn fool to minimise the sensual impact of her slender body, despite the fact that it was covered with those rather prudish pyjamas. Or maybe that was what added to her allure. He’d never been to bed with a woman wearing pyjamas before. Come to think of it, he’d never been to bed with a woman and just lain there with a chaste arm around her shoulder either.

Kat snuggled against him, loving the way his fingers were now idly playing with her hair. Loving the solid reassurance of his powerful physique and the warmth of his nearness. ‘That’s nice,’ she breathed.

He knew that. Too nice. Carlos didn’t know how long he lay there for but it was long enough for his growing desire to stab like a heavy arrow at his groin. And if he didn’t do something soon, she was going to pick up on it.

‘Better?’ he questioned thickly, wondering how soon he could make his escape, even while he silently mocked himself for his own hypocrisy. Because you don’t want to go anywhere, do you, Carlos?

‘Sort of,’ she replied softly.

He rolled over, glad to be able to shift his position and to fractionally ease some of the terrible aching. ‘Only sort of?’

‘Well, like a big weight’s been lifted, only I…’ Suddenly, Kat felt awkward and wondered how she could ever have bared her soul like that. Especially to him—of all people. The man who was only tolerating her because he had to. Because he owed her father a favour. ‘Listen, Carlos, maybe I shouldn’t have unburdened myself—’

‘Forget it,’ he said curtly.

‘It was crazy to have bottled it up for so long,’ she said, half to herself. ‘And in a funny sort of way, it feels so much better now that I’ve said it.’

In the soft glow of the apricot light, his eyes narrowed as he took in the full implication of her words. ‘You mean you’ve never talked about it before? Not to anyone?’

‘Never. I’m not really into counsellors—and it’s not the greatest subject to bring up at parties, is it?’

‘I can’t believe that your father didn’t tell me any of this himself,’ he said, his voice growing bitter.

She stared at him. ‘He didn’t?’

‘Of course he didn’t! Madre de Dios, Kat! Do you really think I’d have brought you on board like this if I’d had any idea of the kind of trauma you’d suffered in the past?’

Actually, up until about half an hour ago, if someone had told her that Carlos Guerrero had a tiny pair of diabolical horns growing amidst the tumble of his dark curls, she would have believed them. But as she stared at his angry and shifting features, Kat realised that her feelings for him were undergoing a rapid change. Her physical attraction to him had never been in any doubt, but his surprising protectiveness towards her was forging an even more indelible mark than desire.

She shrugged, trying hard to focus on something else. To protect something of her family’s reputation. And in so doing, surely to protect herself. ‘Daddy’s just a bit insensitive, that’s all.’

‘Please don’t defend the indefensible!’ And then something else occurred to him. ‘Come to think of it, you must have known that I wouldn’t have kept you here if I’d realised what had happened to you as a child. So why the hell didn’t you tell me, Kat?’

Why indeed? She gave a brief smile. ‘Because I can be stubborn,’ she admitted. ‘And proud’.

‘Sí, I can imagine,’ he commented drily, thinking how that tentative smile lit her face up. And how the apricot light of the lamp threw beguiling shadows over the pristine white of her top, emphasising the soft blue shadows which fell beneath the pert swell of her breasts.

‘You know this changes everything?’ he said suddenly.

She blinked up at him. ‘What does?’

‘After what you’ve told me, there’s no way I can keep you on board. Not now.’

Kat stilled. She had rebelled against the lowly duties entrusted to her and being incarcerated on Carlos’s luxury yacht, and she had wanted more than anything to escape. But while it was perfectly acceptable for her to object to staying, it was quite another for him to tell her she couldn’t! She had always rebelled against authority, and she found herself protesting now. ‘Why not?’

He wanted to say, You know damned well why not. But he didn’t. Because once you openly acknowledged sexual attraction, it became almost impossible to resist. He wanted to tell her to stop looking at him as if butter wouldn’t melt in those luscious lips of hers—because he knew that was simply an illusion. Yet their soft petal shape was putting him in danger, making him forget the conflict of interests raging within him.

‘Because maybe you’ve learned a lesson after all,’ he said. ‘That you have to confront your demons in order to get rid of them, and that running away doesn’t solve anything.’

Reality hit her with a harsh jerk. ‘You’re thinking about those rules,’ she said slowly.

‘Sí. The rules—and your father’s wish that you learn the importance of commitment. I hope you have.’ His voice hardened as he told himself that she was no longer his responsibility. ‘But that is up to you, Kat. If you want to spend your life running away, then so be it, but I am no longer willing to be your enforcer. Not any more. I will order the crew to set sail for shore and as soon as we reach dry land in the morning—I can arrange to have you flown back to London.’ His eyes narrowed in question. ‘Unless there’s somewhere else you’d prefer to go? France, maybe? Or perhaps the States?’

Kat swallowed. He was giving her back her liberty—but never had freedom seemed to mock her quite so much. She thought about how nomadic and pointless he made her life seem. The little rich girl with no real place to go—who could just choose where she wanted to flit around the globe, like someone idly stabbing a pin into a map.

She looked into those cold black eyes of his and suddenly a wave of longing washed over her—because didn’t the cloak of darkness liberate her from convention? She didn’t want to go and she didn’t want to leave him—it was as simple as that. At least, not before she had sampled some of his magic. A taste of the sensual promise which radiated like an aura from his powerful frame, and which had ensnared her from the beginning.

She knew it was probably wrong and almost certainly foolish—because what if he pushed her away yet again? But Kat couldn’t help herself. He had ignited a flame in her and she wanted Carlos Guerrero with a hunger she’d never experienced before. And maybe never would again.

She found herself wondering if a woman could just come out and tell a man that she wanted him. And wasn’t it crazy that at the ripe old age of twenty-two, she didn’t have a clue?

‘Let’s not talk about it now,’ she whispered, and snuggled into the warmth of his bare torso.

Uncomfortably, Carlos shifted again—because now her appeal was growing by the minute, and acquiring all kinds of different dimensions on the way. Like a neglected kitten that had been brought inside and given food and shelter, she was looking up at him with something in her eyes which looked uncomfortably like trust.

He wanted to tell her not to trust him, that he never gave enough of himself to a woman to warrant such trust. But he knew from experience that even opening up a topic like that made women brighten. It made them think they were getting close to you. And there was only one way he wanted to get close to Kat Balfour…and no way was he going to give into it…

So why was his hand drifting down from her shoulder to her slender waist, the slick movement of his wrist bringing her soft body even closer? Like a drowning man he fought for control—a steely control and self-will which had always come as naturally to him as breathing. And to his fury and despair, he felt it slipping away from him.

‘Kat…’

‘Mmm?’ All she was doing was whispering her lips against the line of his jaw and there wasn’t anything so very wrong in that, was there? Not when he felt and smelt so warm and so vital.

‘Kat.’ Carlos swallowed, because the ability to speak coherently seemed suddenly to have deserted him. He felt his body tense with a sudden sense of urgency. ‘If I don’t get off this damn bed in a minute, I’m going to do something…something I’ll regret.’

‘Something like what?’

Just then she lifted her face to his, and the moment he felt her warm breath against his skin, Carlos knew that it was too late. ‘Something like…this.’

Feeling the last of his self-control desert him, he pulled her against his hard and hungry body. And with a small, angry curse, he began to plunder her lips with a hunger which now seemed unstoppable.

Chapter Eight

‘OH!’ KAT squirmed with pleasure as every fantasy she’d ever had about Carlos began to come true. She was in bed with the black-eyed Spaniard and he was kissing her—kissing her with the kind of passion she had somehow known existed, even if she’d never experienced it before. And somehow it didn’t surprise her a bit to realise that she’d found it, with him.

‘Oh!’ Moaning softly, her body jerked in disbelieving reaction as he captured her breast, his fingers playing with one pert nipple which peaked against her cotton pyjama top. Sharp sensations of pleasure shot across its tightened bud and she could feel it begin to flower beneath his expert caress. Words slipped straight from her mouth and into his. ‘Oh. That’s…gorgeous.’

‘You think I don’t know that?’ he growled.

Now the hand had slipped beneath the thin cotton top and made contact with the naked flesh there and she shuddered at that first intimate contact with her skin. ‘C-Carlos!’ she gasped.

‘You want more?’

Breath drying in her throat, she nodded.

‘How much more?’

‘I—’

‘This much?’

‘Yes. Oh, yes.’

Trailing his hand down, he let it skate over the warmth of her belly and down beyond that to the faint fuzz of hair to where she was warmer still. Slicking his fingertips with soft precision to delve into her honeyed heat, he felt her buck beneath his touch.

‘Carlos!’ she gasped again.

Oh, but she was responsive—instantly and gratifyingly so—yet Carlos was a little taken aback by her unashamed hunger. Hadn’t he expected her appetite to be jaded, as befitted a woman who must have enjoyed sex time and time and again? But instead she seemed almost wondrous…with a sense of near awe in her bright eyes as she cupped his face and kissed him back so passionately. Who would have thought it?

With the sleight of wrist which had made him so masterful in the ring, Carlos skimmed the little top up over her head and tossed it to the floor. Then he tugged at the matching bottoms, peeling them down over her hips before sliding them off completely. And, oh, she was beautiful—her body a creamy cascade of inviting curves and enticing shadows. ‘Mía bella,’ he ground out unsteadily, as he caught hold of her fingers.

Her breath gasped against his neck as he guided her hand to the hard ridge at his groin, clearly discernable even through the thick denim of his jeans. ‘C-Carlos,’ she stumbled, her cheeks growing hot at this very physical evidence of how much he wanted her.

‘I think I’m a little overdressed, don’t you, Princesa?’ he questioned unsteadily.

‘Y-yes.’ She should have been scared, but strangely enough fear was the last thing she was feeling as she heard the sound of his zip rasping down.

He moved away from her to remove the jeans from his aching flesh—and then he was naked and so was she, and Carlos could never remember feeling so hard and hot and hungry before. Because this was forbidden? he wondered fleetingly as he stroked his fingertips over her silken skin. He didn’t know—and right then, he didn’t care.

With one sure, swift movement, he moved on top of her and thought how light and how slender her body felt beneath his. ‘Now,’ he said huskily. ‘Where shall I begin, mía princesa?’

‘Anywhere,’ she whispered, praying that he wouldn’t expect her to take some sort of lead. To perform any kind of erotic act with him. The kind she’d heard her more experienced friends talk about. ‘Anywhere you like.’

His mouth was at her throat as his hand moved down to the silken surface of her thighs, feeling them part beneath the soft insistence of his touch. He kissed her for an age, tempering his own hunger as he felt her melt into ever more willing compliancy. He touched her in places which made her moan, until he felt the restless urging of her body—and only then did he allow his own hunger to spiral up inside him. Technique and restraint were forgotten as he found himself compelled by a primitive urge to fill this woman, and for a moment he tensed, before driving into her body with what felt like the most powerful thrust of his life.

‘Ah!’

A small sound was torn from her lips. A sound he’d never heard before. Feeling her flinch beneath that first exquisite thrust, Carlos lifted his head to see the briefest twist of discomfort cross her beautiful features. He stilled, his heart wrenching as he wrestled to take in the unbelievable implications of her reaction. ‘Kat?’ he questioned in disbelief.

Her eyes snapped open but she could read nothing in the dark, shuttered features, and suddenly Kat didn’t want him to say the words out loud. Didn’t want questions or explanations. Didn’t want him to do anything but to carry on. The pain had passed now and she wanted it—she wanted him—just the way she’d always wanted him.

‘Please,’ she whispered, her voice slurred with the pleasure of feeling him inside her—and a thought flew into her mind before she could stop it. That this was what her body had been made for. To have Carlos Guerrero’s joined so intimately with hers. That this was exactly where she was supposed to be—and her heart turned over with longing. ‘Make love to me.’

If Carlos hadn’t been deep inside her, he might have objected to her choice of words—for what did this have to do with love? If her tight, virginal hotness hadn’t been clamped around him in the most delicious way he could ever recall, he might even have had the strength to pull away from her.

But it was too late for that. Her innocence had been taken—unwittingly—by him. He couldn’t undo what had already been done, so why not make the most of it?

His own hunger now put on hold, Carlos proceeded to employ every pleasurable technique he had ever learnt in the arms of a woman. And there were plenty of those. He knew that virgins notoriously had a disappointing introduction to sex and rarely orgasmed. Well, not this one. Oh, no. Miss Kat Balfour may have sprung on him the biggest surprise of all, but she would leave his bed knowing real pleasure.

He teased her and played with her. Withdrawing from her so that she gasped aloud with instinctive alarm that he wasn’t going to continue. As if he would stop now! First tantalising her with the tip of his manhood as she gave breathless little moans of pleasure, he then drove deep inside her, so that the moans became gasps of pure joy.

He did it to her slow. Then fast. And just about every variation in between. And when he felt her pleasure begin to build to an unstoppable peak, he watched her. Felt her. Enjoyed the exquisite sensation as she spasmed around him. Saw her lips part and her back arch—and the corresponding rosy flush which bloomed all over her breasts. Heard the way she gasped his name.

Only then did he let go, allowing his own orgasm to wash over him with bittersweet waves which had never seemed quite so intense nor so long-lasting.

His body was still shuddering as he withdrew from her, taking a moment to steady his breath before turning to look at her, where she was lying back against the bank of pillows, her body looking completely relaxed and satiated but her eyes wary, and watchful. But not nearly as wary as him.

Because Kat Balfour had just detonated his image of her as a sexually experienced party animal and blown it clean out of the water. It had thrown him off balance—unsettled him—and Carlos didn’t do unsettled. After sex he was used to turning over and going to sleep—not lying there as feelings of disbelief and anger began to build up inside him. Propping himself up on one elbow, he surveyed her flushed face and kiss-bruised lips.

‘So,’ he drawled. ‘Am I supposed to be flattered?’

There was an odd, fraught silence as his question echoed round the cabin and Kat found herself feeling lost, the dying waves of her first-ever orgasm now muddied by the mocking tone of his words. A sudden chill iced her skin. His beautiful golden-olive body was sprawled naked amid the rumpled bedclothes and it should have felt perfect. But the expression on his face drove home the cold-blooded nature of his question, leaving her wondering what she could possibly say in response. Because wouldn’t a lie or an evasion only sound hollow?

Play it as cool as he is, she told herself, even though her heart felt as raw as her newly awoken senses.

‘Flattered?’ she answered softly. ‘I don’t know. You tell me.’

Black eyes iced into her. ‘But that’s precisely the point, isn’t it? If there was any telling to be done, then it should have been you. Telling me.’ He gave a short and disbelieving laugh, saying the words aloud in some vain hope that she might deny them. ‘That you’d never had sex with a man before.’

Kat swallowed. He made her virtue sound like a moral offence! But still she was determined to keep calm. She tried for her best light, cocktail-party tone. ‘Is that how it’s usually done, then—some kind of confession from the woman before it all begins?’

His face darkened. ‘I wouldn’t know, since you’re the first virgin I’ve ever had.’

She tried to be flip. ‘And did you like it?’

‘Of course I liked it!’ he bit out. ‘It just might have been better if you’d warned me.’

Warned him? You warned people about ice on the road or about high winds at sea, but surely it was the wrong word to use when talking about the fact that a woman was completely innocent of men. Suddenly, faced by the censure which blazed from his eyes, Kat found the shaming words slipping from her lips, as if trying to offer him some kind of explanation. ‘I thought…I thought it might spoil the mood.’

There was a pause. ‘Damn right it would have done.’ In fact, it would have spoilt the mood so completely that he would have dragged himself from her cabin—no matter how hot and how aching he’d been—and spent a night in bed alone with his frustration.

But instead…Instead, he had taken the sweet, curvaceous body she had offered him so willingly. Had entered her with a fierce hunger of his own and discovered that he was thrusting into hot virgin tightness. Carlos winced, for he was macho enough and old-fashioned enough to acknowledge virginity as sacred territory. And somehow he felt as if she’d tricked him into taking her. The protectiveness he had been feeling towards her after her nightmare had somehow been warped by what had just happened. As if she had cast some dark net over him and dragged him forcibly into her inner life—a place he had no desire to be.

And now…What the hell did he do now?

‘Madre de Dios, I can scarcely believe it,’ he exclaimed softly. ‘You always look like you…’

Kat’s heart missed a beat. ‘Like I what, Carlos?’

He shrugged but didn’t falter. ‘Well, let’s face it—you hardly dress or act like an innocent, do you?’

It hurt—and yet it was true, wasn’t it? Apart from these past few days, she always dressed in haute couture—and sometimes those clothes were very provocative. Kat now saw that she might be guilty of sending out the wrong message entirely. And coupled with the way she’d come onto him at last year’s Balfour Ball, who could blame him for thinking that she was a woman of the world, with many lovers in her past?

‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ she said quietly.

So could women, he thought bitterly. ‘You should have told me.’

‘And if I had?’

‘I would never have done it, Princesa’.

‘Maybe that’s why I didn’t.’

‘So why?’ His words were soft now. ‘I mean, why me?’

She wanted to laugh. Was he serious? Possible explanations buzzed around in her head. She could tell him the truth. That he had enchanted her from the moment she’d laid eyes on him—and that on some subliminal level she’d always wanted him. Or would that inflate his already swollen ego? Fill him with fear that she might now demand some kind of commitment from him? Of course it would! Women always wanted Carlos—he had told her that himself—and she was no different from any of the others who had shared his bed. Just because she’d willingly given him her virginity wouldn’t—and shouldn’t—make a difference.

So she must show him. Show that she wasn’t going to become needy or dependent. Wasn’t going to fall in love with him. She wasn’t.

Raking her hand back through her tousled hair, she shrugged, as if she’d given the question some thought. ‘Well, you do have a bit of a reputation, Carlos.’

‘Really?’ he questioned silkily. ‘Pray, enlighten me, querida. What kind of a reputation is that?’

‘You’re known in certain circles as a lover par excellence. And let’s just say that I decided that it was time to lose my innocence.’ Deliberately, she injected a nonchalant note into her voice. ‘Virginity can become such a burden after a while. I wanted a lover and I wanted the best—and you, it seems, fitted the bill very nicely.’

He had never heard anything so outrageous in his life—and for a moment her sheer audacity took his breath away. But then the truth behind her words began to nag at him, like a rogue grain of sand which rubbed insistently at the skin. Because this was a scenario with which he was all too familiar. When he’d been a young matador, born on the wrong side of the tracks, rich and predatory women had made no secret of their desire to be possessed by his hard, powerful body.

And yet, hadn’t she now made it easy for him? Easy for him to just give her one more taste of pleasure and then tell her that it wasn’t going to happen again.

‘Like a common stud, you mean?’ he demanded hotly. ‘A little bit of rough for the princesa?’

The accusation was angry and harsh, and completely at odds with what his hands were doing—for one was cupping her breast and feeling the nipple spring to instant life again beneath his questing fingers. While the other…

Kat gasped.

The other hand was inching its way down over her body once more and this felt like pleasure and punishment all in one. It was lingering provocatively on the swell of her belly and now it was skating down to the soft fuzz and the fork at her thighs—which instantly parted as if she were a puppet and he was jerking her strings. His fingers danced briefly on the warm cushions of her thighs and Kat held her breath…wanting him to touch her—not there, but there…where she ached so much that she began to squirm restlessly.

Waiting for an objection which never came, Carlos gave a low and savage laugh as a feather-light fingertip alighted with unerring precision at the hot, hard nub of her femininity. Felt her buck as pleasurable sensations rocketed through her.

‘Oh!’ she breathed.

‘Oh, indeed.’ Carlos groaned as he began to rub her sensitised flesh, watching her with almost clinical detachment as he brought her closer and closer to orgasm. He knew that she wanted him again—and he wanted it too—indeed he was hard enough to explode. But something stopped him from entering her body a second time. Something which niggled at the back of his mind and filled him with disquiet. But he carried on with what he was doing as he leaned to whisper in her ear.

‘You know that this should never have happened?’ he demanded. ‘We’re too different—we come from different worlds. Do you understand?’

‘I…don’t…care!’ she gasped, greedy for him now. Wanting that amazing feeling to wash over her body once more and wanting the hard pressure of his kiss.

His finger still applying its remorseless rhythm, Carlos leaned over her and kissed her at the very moment of her orgasm. His lips quietened her soft squeal of delight and briefly he closed his eyes as she clung to him—her moment of vulnerable trust making him want to melt right into her. But he extricated himself from her arms as soon as it was decently possible. ‘Go to sleep now,’ he said roughly.

Pulling the sheet over the distraction of her naked body, he hardened his heart to the confusion in her blue eyes and the temptation of her embrace. More out of duty than passion, he lay down beside her, but he did not take her in his arms. Just lay there, listening to the sound of her breathing. At last, its rhythmical heaviness told him that she had drifted off, and his mind was able to focus on the unbelievable truth.

That for the first time in his life, he had neglected to protect himself while making love to a woman.

Chapter Nine

IN THE morning, of course, Carlos was gone. It came as no surprise to Kat to discover that there was nothing but an empty space beside her among the tangle of bedclothes. For hadn’t he begun to distance himself from the moment he’d…She bit her lip and blushed with the memory. The moment his big body had shuddered inside hers and he had moaned something soft and fervent in his native tongue.

His very scent seemed to be in the air around her and it clung to her skin like a sensual perfume. Like a starving person who had enjoyed the most delicious meal, Kat found herself reliving every glorious moment in Carlos’s arms. He had touched her everywhere. She found herself glancing down at her naked body, somehow expecting it to look different after what had happened. But it didn’t. It just felt different. Or rather, she did. All soft and glowing and aching. Kat swallowed as she got out of bed and stared in the full-length mirror at the bright-eyed and tousled-haired woman who gazed back at her.

She had lost her virginity to Carlos Guerrero—and despite the fact that it had been a rapturous experience for her, on his part he had seemed furious. Maybe it was just a myth that men liked virgins, or maybe Carlos was just a rule to himself. But she still had to face him—and she would not crumple with any kind of shame in front of him. She would not.

Showering her newly sensitised skin, Kat dressed and went up on deck, though her heart was beating nervously as she walked out into the golden Mediterranean morning and prepared to face her lover.

But as she busied around fixing breakfast, she heard no sound to indicate that Carlos might be awake and ready to start work at the unearthly hour he always chose. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen—and for one awful moment Kat experienced a sensation of panic. What if…?

What if he’d simply gone off on his little motorboat like he had the other day? Left without saying goodbye, feeling unable or unwilling to face her in the cold light of day? Maybe regretting that the seduction had ever happened and trying to work out the most diplomatic way of extricating himself.

Kat cast her mind back to the previous night, remembering that after she’d told him all about her stepfather’s death, he’d announced he intended to sail back to shore. And that he would no longer be keeping her on board, against her will. He’d told her, quite kindly, that he would send her on her way, without forcing her to work for him any more.

But that had been before he had taken her virginity, she reminded herself—before bringing herself up short. Because Carlos didn’t take anything. She had given it to him—and what was more, she had given it to him eagerly.

And things had changed. She didn’t feel as if she was on board against her will. She wanted to be here. But there was a reason for that, and Carlos was that reason.

She felt her stomach flip as he walked out on deck at that precise moment, carrying a file of papers in one hand and his laptop in the other. The dark glasses he wore hid his eyes but his face was as enigmatic as it always was. Her heart began to race erratically as her gaze ran over him, trying to conceal the hunger she felt, and the warm aching awareness she felt in his presence.

Was it normal for a woman to feel like this when she had just made love for the first time? she wondered. To experience strong feelings of emotional attachment towards the man who had shown you what real pleasure was? To feel all fluttery in his presence—and for your breath to catch in your throat, making breathing quite a feat?

‘Buenos días,’ he said, putting the papers and laptop down on the table. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘I…well, yes,’ she answered awkwardly, wondering what the protocol was—whether he would come over and take her in his arms and start to kiss her.

He didn’t. He simply sat down at the table and began to pour a cup of the coffee she’d just made. ‘Like some?’ he questioned.

Kat swallowed down her disappointment, pride making her nod her head and force a smile as if the thought of a cup of coffee pleased her more than anything else. But inside she was hurting as the absence of a kiss or a hug told her as clearly as words that he regretted what had happened last night.

She took the cup he slid towards her. In a way, she might have preferred it if he was being angry—at least anger might have indicated that he felt something towards her. But this…this cool air of near impartiality was making her feel as if she had no substance at all. As if she hadn’t gasped out her pleasure while his powerful body had filled her. And surely such cool indifference meant that he couldn’t wait to be rid of her? So tell him you want to leave before you have the indignity of him asking you to go.

‘So,’ she said, careful to keep her voice steady. ‘What time do you estimate we’ll reach shore?’

Carlos’s eyes narrowed—because this was not the reaction he had been anticipating. Women always clung to him like vines the day after he’d made love to them, pressing their bodies against him and urging him back between their soft thighs. Sometimes he succumbed and sometimes he didn’t. But he always expected a come-on.

So why were Kat Balfour’s bright blue eyes shuttered by the long sweep of her ebony lashes, and the lady herself doing a very good impersonation of an ice queen? And why was she talking to him in that cool and careful way, as if she was a completely different person from the one who had cried out her pleasure in his arms last night? Unexpectedly, he felt irritated.

‘What are you talking about?’ he questioned.

‘You said that we would be sailing for shore today. You offered to fly me back to England—even America. Remember?’

‘Yes, I remember,’ he said slowly. ‘But that was then. Things have changed now, Kat—you must realise that.’

Trying to keep the hope from her voice, Kat quickly put her cup down before she slopped hot coffee all over her lap. ‘They have?’

‘Of course.’ For the first time, he recognised that the reality which had deprived him of sleep for much of the night had not even occurred to her. But then, why would it? This was a whole new territory for her. She was probably still getting used to the way her body felt and had given no thought to the potential bombshell it might now be concealing. He now had to think about the best way to put this. Only there was no best way, he realised. Just the bald, blunt truth. He stared at her. ‘You do realise you could be pregnant?’

Kat’s world stopped as the word spun. Round and round in her head it went. ‘Pregnant?’ she repeated blankly, as if it was something he had plucked at random from the dictionary.

Carlos’s voice roughened. ‘That is one of the consequences of having unprotected sex,’ he said, and saw her mouth open in distress. ‘Mea culpa, mea culpa!’ he exclaimed bitterly, and slammed his fist on the table so that his cup half jumped out of its saucer. ‘I blame myself! I was the experienced one. I was the one who should have used something. Who should not have been so overcome by lust that I failed to protect myself. Better still, I should have walked away.’

He was still trying to come to terms with what he had done. That of all the people in the world, it should have been this blue-eyed heiress who had succeeded in making his legendary control dissolve. The kind of woman who epitomised everything he despised. And he had taken her virginity. Her purity lost on the bonfire of his lust. Contrition didn’t come easily to a man who rarely considered himself to be in the wrong, but for once in his life Carlos recognised that contrition was due. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.’

‘If it makes you feel any better, I feel exactly the same,’ said Kat quickly, but inside her heart lurched with pain. Because this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She’d waited years and years to have sex—and every fairy-tale hope she’d attached to it was being systematically smashed by the Spaniard.

Oh, the physical expectations had easily been met—in fact, they’d surpassed her wildest dreams. It was this grim aftermath which was threatening to erode that ecstatic recall. She didn’t want apologies and regrets that it had ever happened—she longed for him to take her into his arms and comfort her. And maybe kiss her too. Tell her that he adored her, leaving her free to admit that he was already occupying a sizeable place in her heart, despite all her determination not to let him.

Well, it’s your own stupid fault, tormented the voice of her conscience which she had been failing to quieten all morning. It was you who was hell-bent on having this man to be your lover. And he made it clear that you were the kind of woman he despised, so you have only yourself to blame for the consequences.

Carlos looked at her, thinking how pale and pinched her face looked this morning. And suddenly, his imagination conjured up an image of his seed—one of the many seeds he had planted in her last night—growing into a baby. A baby. Beside his coffee cup, one hand balled into a tight fist as a strange, nameless emotion caught in his throat. ‘Our feelings on the subject are irrelevant,’ he said unevenly. ‘What we have to decide is what to do next.’

‘Well, I want to get off this boat as soon as possible,’ she put in, determined to beat her own retreat before she was evicted. ‘Just the way we’d planned.’

Carlos narrowed his eyes. You and me both, Princesa, he thought. And not just because the idea of her working on his yacht now seemed intolerable after everything that had happened. Last night had been a spur of the moment thing—a gesture of comfort which had escalated into something else. Being cooped up on board with her—having once tasted the pleasure of her delicious body—would stretch his resolve to breaking point. But it wasn’t going to happen. Not again. It wouldn’t be fair. Certainly not to her. And in the meantime…

‘When will you know?’ he demanded.

She stared at him blankly. ‘Know?’

His black eyes were fixed on her face. Didn’t her rich-girl’s education provide basic classes in biology? he wondered bitterly. ‘Whether or not you’re carrying my child.’

Colour flooded into Kat’s cheeks, because this question seemed almost as intimate as what they had done together last night. And bizarrely, the thought of a tiny, black-haired baby with golden-olive skin—a miniature Carlos—did not fill her with the dread and fear she would have expected. Instead, she felt an unbearable sense of longing wash over her and she shook her head in slight disbelief. How crazy was that? Letting her mind do a few swift calculations, she stared at him. ‘In about two weeks.’

Carlos didn’t react, and neither did he point out the obvious. That they had chosen her most fertile time to make love. ‘In that case, I think you should stay here, with me,’ he stated flatly.

Kat stared at him, trying desperately to keep the naked hope from her eyes. ‘Why?’

He took off his shades then and, for the first time, Kat noticed the dark shadows beneath his ebony eyes and the undeniable strain around his sensual lips. As if he hadn’t slept a wink.

‘Where else are you going to go?’ he questioned.

Had he intended to make her sound like some piece of unwanted luggage which had turned up on his doorstep? Twisting her fingers in her lap, Kat thought about her options. ‘My family own a couple of apartments in central London. Or there’s always…home…’

But as she thought of her mother’s gatehouse or of the magnificent Balfour Manor itself, her voice trailed off unconvincingly. Was that because nowhere ever really felt like home and never had, except for that halcyon period in Sri Lanka, before Victor died? She’d never experienced that real sense of belonging which other people seemed to take for granted. Of knowing her place in the world, and where she fitted in. But if sleeping with Carlos had succeeded in making her feel even more alienated, she was certainly not going to let him know that. Kat lifted a defiant chin. ‘I can always go there.’

‘No, you can’t go there,’ he contradicted firmly. He had noticed the unmistakable tremble of vulnerability on her lips—and it suddenly occurred to him that maybe Kat Balfour was not the woman he had thought her to be. ‘Not with this preying on your mind. People will notice that you are pale and distracted and they will want to know why.’

‘And of course I won’t be able to tell them, will I?’ she demanded hotly. ‘Because that might just compromise the mighty Carlos Guerrero’s integrity!’

He flinched, unable to deny her angry accusation. ‘It might just create a whole host of unwanted problems for you as well, Princesa,’ he answered quietly. ‘Particularly if it isn’t true.’

‘And if it is true?’ she questioned, her voice rising a little. ‘What, then? Won’t that pose even more problems?’

There was a long pause as he tried to imagine Kat Balfour giving birth to his baby, and when he spoke his voice sounded empty. ‘Of course it will, but nothing that can’t be worked out. And in the meantime…’

Hesitation was not something she associated with him, and Kat looked at him with a sudden nervous trepidation. ‘What?’

Black eyes regarded her and Kat thought how suddenly cold they had become.

‘I think it would be better for both of us if we viewed what happened last night as a one-off,’ he said softly.

Suddenly, despite the blazing heat of the Mediterranean sun, she found herself shivering. Better for both of us, he had said—but that was surely a lie. It was better for him, that was all. He was obviously the kind of man who could swat away memories of a woman once he’d bedded her. Whereas she…why, she was in terrible danger of concocting fantasies about her Spanish lover, if she wasn’t careful. But somehow she nodded, even managed to conjure up a faint smile. Sometimes she had seen her sense of pride as a burden, but now she saw it as her saviour.

‘Much better,’ she agreed calmly. Two weeks of waiting and wondering if there was a baby on the way—and all the while she and Carlos would be like polite strangers. Could she go through with it? Or would the effort of maintaining such a pretence drive her mad?

Yet the alternative was far more daunting. Stuck in Balfour Manor or one of the London apartments with such a massive secret eating away at her.

‘Why not just regard the next couple of weeks as a kind of holiday while you wait to find out?’ he continued coolly. ‘The kind of holiday you first envisaged when you were brought here. You can lie around on deck, doing nothing more taxing than sunning yourself by the pool, and reading magazines. I’m sure you can find enough to amuse you.’

The words hung in the air and mocked her. He made her sound like some spoilt little girl who needed to be entertained. But that was how he saw her, wasn’t it—even now? How he’d always seen her. Some vacuous little airhead.

Well, damn Carlos Guerrero. She would go crazy if she had to mooch around on deck acting as if there wasn’t this great time bomb waiting to go off.

‘I don’t want to lie by the pool reading magazines, Carlos,’ she said slowly.

His eyes narrowed with surprise as he stared at her. ‘You don’t?’

‘No. I’d like to carry on cooking for the crew. That is what I’m supposed to be here for.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Entirely serious. I was just starting to get into it—and there are plenty more things left for me to learn. So if you’ll excuse me, I’d better get on with the preparations for today’s meals.’ The decision which had clearly surprised him now empowered her enough to give him a serene smile. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll let you know when lunch is ready.’

Carlos stared at her, his eyes narrowing with frustration. What the hell was the matter with her? She hadn’t flirted or pouted—and now she was proposing to carry on working!

He felt the sudden leap of desire as she picked up her coffee cup, and he lifted his hand in a silent gesture of command, dampening down the voice of reason which was demanding to be heard.

‘I want you eating your lunch up here with me today,’ he informed her silkily. ‘Understand?’

Kat stared into the shuttered black eyes, convinced that his autocratic statement had more to do with possession than because he actually enjoyed her company. Wasn’t it just a demonstration of his power over her—and could she possibly maintain this air of nonchalance if she had long periods of being alone with him?

‘As you wish,’ she said carelessly. ‘You’re the boss after all.’ And she headed off towards the galley.

Carlos was left looking at the empty space she left behind with a feeling of disbelief, and it was several minutes before he was able to lose himself in his work.

But he wasn’t deaf to the sounds of laughter which occasionally drifted upwards from the galley, and as the morning wore on, he found that his mood was growing increasingly sour. So that by the time Kat appeared, bearing a bowl of salad and some sort of pasta dish, his nerves were frayed and he felt the slow and relentless beat of frustration.

‘Hungry?’ she questioned with a smile which sent his pulse rate soaring.

‘I can always eat, Princesa.’

Sitting down opposite him, Kat wondered if he knew that her heart was racing erratically or that the desire to touch him felt almost like a physical pain. What on earth were they going to talk about, when all she could think of was how it felt to have his warm skin next to hers. Especially when he was behaving as if she was completely invisible. Pretend you’re at some tedious social function and have just been sat next to the guest of honour.

‘Why don’t you tell me how you got into bullfighting in the first place?’ she enquired politely, doling out a spoonful of pasta onto one of the plates.

There was a pause. ‘I thought I told you I don’t like talking about it?’ he snapped.

‘Did you? Okay. Then let’s try something else.’ She picked up a dish of salad and held it towards him with a polite smile. ‘Tell me about your business interests instead, Carlos. How you got started, how you made the jump from bullfighter to international tycoon—that must be quite some story.’

Black eyes were narrowed at her in disbelief. She sounded like one of those women he occasionally ran into at diplomatic parties—the kind who had been schooled in making polite small talk to a variety of guests. And Kat would have grown up learning how to do that too, he recognised. ‘I don’t want to talk about my damned business either.’

She shrugged. ‘Well, we’ve got to talk about something over the next couple of weeks, haven’t we? Otherwise what else are we going to do?’

Carlos stared at the blue-black gleam of her ebony hair and felt all his good intentions dissolving by the second. Her blue-eyed beauty and breezy attitude were shattering his equilibrium and making a mockery of his determination not to touch her—but when he stopped to think about it, why had he insisted on her joining him for lunch unless it was to do precisely that?

‘Put the dish down, Kat,’ he said slowly.

‘What did you think I was going to…?’ But her bravado suddenly deserted her as she saw something written on his face—a look which pierced her heart and her body like an erotic arrow. It was desire—raw, undisguised and urgent. ‘C-Carlos?’ she questioned, her voice and her hand shaking as she put the pasta down. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘I’ll give you three guesses.’

He was on his feet now, moving with the lithe grace of some dark panther as he stalked towards her, as if he were the predator and she his prey. Almost roughly, he pulled her into his arms and Kat stared up at him in confusion.

‘But you said…’ she whispered in confusion.

‘To hell with what I said—I’ve already broken every rule in the book for you, Kat Balfour, so why not break one more and have done with it?’ he demanded, as his mouth came down hungrily on hers.

The kiss was hot, breathless. Two mouths meeting and mingling with urgent greed. Kat shuddered as her hands flew to his shoulders while his own snaked possessively around her waist. She tried telling herself that his stark declaration of desire hadn’t contained a single word of affection, and surely she shouldn’t settle for that. But as his lips continued to sweetly plunder hers, all her doubts just melted away. Sucked into the powerful vortex of newly awoken desire, she found herself wondering just where all this was going to lead. Up here, on deck…surely he wasn’t planning to…to…

But abruptly, he terminated the kiss and, catching hold of her hand, wordlessly led her towards his cabin.

Kat hadn’t been in Carlos’s bedroom since she’d taken that rather resentful tour of the yacht on the day she’d arrived, before he had flown in by helicopter. It seemed a lifetime ago, and yet she could count off the days on one hand. A few days and your life could change for ever…

‘Carlos—’

‘Do you know what we’re going to do for the next two weeks?’ he questioned silkily. ‘I am going to take you to heaven and back, Princesa. I am going to show you a hundred different ways to make love.’ His voice dipped. ‘And then a hundred more.’

‘I…I—’

‘Sssh. Just kiss me,’ he commanded unsteadily.

An unmistakable note of hunger had now deepened his voice and it was strong enough to make her forget her fears. Strong enough to make her feel his equal again—her, the woefully inexperienced Kat Balfour feeling the equal of this worldly wise and powerful Spaniard. How crazy was that? But she did. In that hot and breathless moment she did. ‘Oh, Carlos,’ she whispered helplessly, as she drifted her mouth against his.

Inexplicably, Carlos’s hands were trembling, and for the first time in his life he had difficulty yanking down the zip on a pair of woman’s jeans. But Kat proved bold. She slid his silk shirt off as if she had just been taught the most erotic way to remove an article of clothing—and where she laid his flesh bare, her lips followed, anointing tiny butterfly kisses on his skin.

Her soft, sweet seduction almost took his breath away, and Carlos tumbled her down onto the silken counterpane which covered his vast bed, his hands reacquainting themselves with all her soft curves and secret places as if it had been months since he’d last touched her body, instead of hours. Burying his head between the lush warm globes of her breasts, he could feel her squirm with excitement beneath the flickering path of his tongue. His mouth drifted to one rose-peaked nipple and he heard her gasp as it puckered in his mouth.

‘Carlos!’

‘Sí, Princesa—qué pasa?’

Kat’s fingers tangled in his black curls as waves of pure pleasure washed over her. ‘K-kiss me.’

‘Oh, I will kiss you,’ he murmured, with a low growling laugh. ‘Don’t you worry your beautiful head about that.’

Kat had meant a kiss—a proper kiss—but now his dark head was drifting down towards her belly. And his tongue was sliding into the faint dip there and flicking at her so playfully that she felt quite faint. He was certainly kissing her, but…kissing her there? She shuddered as a wave of pleasure racked through her body, accompanied by another wave of disbelief and wonderment. ‘C-Carlos.’

‘Mmm?’ Now his lips were brushing over the soft fuzz of hair between her thighs, hearing her tiny gasp as he parted her legs and began to lick at her honeyed sweetness.

Kat couldn’t talk. Couldn’t think. She was aware that she was trembling as tiny shimmerings of pure excitement began to build inside her, promising the same pleasure as he’d bestowed on her during the night. Just as she was aware of the sensation of Carlos’s mouth kissing her at the focal point of her femininity. It felt almost unbearably intimate and yet—bizarrely—it also felt like the most natural thing in the world.

The shimmerings now became little peaks—a whole range of sensations which began to hum and throb deep inside her, like a heavily laden honeybee about to topple from a flower.

‘Oh!’ she breathed—and then she clutched his broad shoulders. ‘Oh, oh, oh!’

Inhaling the distinctive scent of her arousal, Carlos sucked deeply on her throbbing flesh while she orgasmed against his mouth, her sighs of satisfaction sounding like tiny gasps of disbelief.

He moved back up to lie over her, brushing her tousled black hair away from her flushed face. ‘You liked that?’ he asked eventually, a finger moving to trace the trembling outline of her lips.

Liked it? Kat was so overawed by what had just happened to her—so seduced by the subsequent gentling of his tone—that she couldn’t hold back on the way she was feeling. Lifting her hand to one olive cheek, she let it trail deliciously over the dark rasp of his jaw. ‘It was…it was wonderful.’

‘Then let’s make it even more wonderful, shall we?’ But this time he reached for the condom he’d laid in readiness by the bedside and he saw her watching him from between slitted blue eyes as he carefully ripped open the wrapping. ‘Better not make the same mistake again,’ he declared, as he took her into his arms once more, softening her with kiss after kiss until she was ready for that first sweet thrust.

And afterwards, Kat lay there, curled against his hard body, watching the sunlight which was shafting in from the portholes while one word danced around in her mind. Mistake, he had said, as he had slid on the protection and moved over her with dark intent in his eyes.

Carefully, she turned her head to look at him, but his eyes were closed—the harsh lines of strain on his face now dissolved by the recuperative power of sleep. In repose, his face seemed softer, but no less formidable for that. The strong line of his jaw and the proud slash of his cheekbones still spoke of a certain arrogance, and strength.

His was the face and the body of the hunter—strong and powerful—with the finest genes and an unmistakable air of dominance. The kind of man that nature had conditioned women to desire. Instinctively, Kat let her hand flutter down to lie on her belly. How flat it felt—and yet, even now, his child might be growing there. Layer upon layer of tiny cells building by the minute, the hour. How big would it be by the end of the week? By the end of two?

Her heart gave a leap of something which felt uncomfortably close to excitement and, with an effort, she forced the thought away. But then, she’d had a lot of practice at pushing away disturbing memories. And it was pointless getting worked up by a pregnancy which probably didn’t exist outside her imagination.

What if it did? What if she was carrying the Spaniard’s child?

How had Carlos described it? Kat bit her lip, remembering the sudden tightening of his hard features and the words he had used.

Carlos had not viewed the prospect with anything other than a dark foreboding—hadn’t he made that clear with the very word he’d used?

A mistake, he had said.

Chapter Ten

‘SO HOW exactly did you get into bullfighting?’

Carlos slid the cork from the bottle of wine and slanted her a look of irritation as he poured some into her glass. ‘Infierno, Kat—why won’t you give up on that?’

‘Because I’m curious, that’s all. You know pretty much everything there is to know about me, Carlos, but you always get so tight-lipped about your own past.’

Staring at him across the table, which tonight—like most nights—she’d laid on deck beneath the stars, Kat didn’t bother pointing out that they had to talk about something. They couldn’t spend every spare minute having glorious sex and revelling in its lazy aftermath, as the luxury yacht skimmed the sapphire waters of the Mediterranean and they waited to find out if she was having his baby. It was the elephant in the room. The subject they never touched on.

Yet it was funny how life sometimes adapted to the strangest situations. Or maybe that was the enduring wonder of the human spirit—that you always got on and made the best of things. And with Carlos conducting business deals and Kat cooking up increasingly ambitious meals, sometimes it felt like playing house. Even if deep down she knew that all they were doing was a form of displacement therapy, while they tried to ignore the great question mark which hovered over them.

Sometimes it frightened her—the ease with which she had been able to push the burning issue far from her mind and to concentrate instead on the proud, dark allure of her Spanish lover. Even if she knew that she was storing up danger for the future—because she had started to care for him in a way which would never be reciprocated.

She had become his eager and responsive lover—though time after time she had told herself it was crazy to become emotionally involved with a man whose heart was famously as cold as ice. Why, hadn’t he warned her of that himself when he’d recounted with amusement just why his yacht had been given its unusual name of Corazón Frío? A Spanish newspaper had nicknamed him ‘Cold Heart’ because of a particularly ruthless takeover bid he had executed—which had coincided with a starlet selling her story of their doomed relationship. And Carlos had shown complete contempt for the article by adopting the name for his superyacht.

As the days ticked by, Kat found herself in a terrible dilemma—knowing that she should be praying that there was no baby. Because Carlos didn’t want a baby—he had made that quite clear.

‘If you are pregnant, then we will cope,’ he had stated in a flat voice which she had found especially chilling. ‘And our child will never want for anything.’

Except two parents who loved each other, Kat realised miserably.

Her troubled thoughts cleared and Kat found Carlos staring at her across the table, his expression curious as he pushed away his plate.

‘You were miles away, Princesa,’ he observed softly.

Grateful for the candle-light which disguised a multitude of emotions, Kat shrugged. ‘Well, there’s a lot to think about.’

‘And it makes you frown?’ he prompted.

‘Sometimes.’ She met the question in his eyes. ‘Well, it’s not exactly…ideal—this situation we find ourselves in,’ she said carefully. ‘Is it?’

There was a pause and Carlos gave a ragged sigh, knowing that evasion would be kinder. But ultimately, what could he say—other than the truth? ‘No, of course it isn’t. But there’s no point in discussing it until we know one way or the other, is there? I thought we’d already decided that.’

‘Which is why I was asking you about bullfighting.’ Kat’s voice lowered defensively. ‘I’m certainly not trying to invade your precious privacy, Carlos—just trying to make conversation.’

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. Was he really the tyrant she sometimes hinted at? And if she was expecting his child, then did she not have the right to know something of his past?

But where to begin? He stared at her across the flickering candle-light. ‘We were poor,’ he said simply. ‘And I mean dirt poor. My mother used to work around the clock to provide for us—in fact, I hardly saw her when I was growing up.’

Kat remembered some of the remarks he’d made about spoilt, wealthy women. Was that why he had sounded so caustic—because his own mother had had nothing? ‘And…your father? What about him?’

‘My father?’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Oh, my father was too busy chasing his dreams of being Spain’s best matador to care about anything or anyone.’

‘So he was a bullfighter too?’

He drank a little more wine. ‘He was, until a horrific accident in the ring led to the loss of his arm—and the even greater loss of his dreams. For a while he was a broken man, until he realised that he might be able to live out those ambitions through his son. And that is what he set about doing.’

There was an odd, brooding kind of silence. ‘So?’ she prompted softly.

His mouth twisted. ‘So he sat me on my first bull at three.’

‘Three?’ Kat echoed in horror.

‘At five he armed me with my first sword,’ continued Carlos implacably. ‘And because Spanish law decrees that novice bullfighters must be at least sixteen, at ten he uprooted us all to Central America—where the rules are more…relaxed.’

He shrugged and there was another odd kind of silence while Kat watched a series of conflicting emotions chasing across the hard, handsome face of her Spanish lover. ‘And did you like it?’ she whispered. ‘Bullfighting, I mean.’

‘I loved it,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘And I was good at it.’ There was a pause, before he gave a brief, hard smile. ‘Too good.’

‘How can you be too good at something?’

‘Because it makes it difficult to walk away, even when you know it’s the right thing to do. I left the ring when I was barely twenty—when I was on the brink of a glittering career.’ His voice lowered as his mind took him back to that hot and dusty day—remembering the heat and the dust, the strong smell of death. ‘I made the kill, dropped my cloak and, as the crowd grew silent, walked away without a backward glance.’

There was a moment as Kat registered the sheer drama of his words. ‘But why?’ she whispered.

Carlos looked at her, knowing that, like her, he had secrets which at times had proved unbearable—and like her, he had buried them deep. How could a man admit to the humiliation of having been forced to endure cruelty in his own home? The fierce beatings he had suffered at the hands of his father. Because hadn’t that cruelty made him the man he was today?

‘Because my father beat me,’ he said slowly. ‘In fact, he spent most of my childhood beating me. It was all about control. To show me who was boss. To get me to do what he wanted—which was to be the greatest bullfighter in the world. And then, when I was a teenager and old enough to stand up for myself, he stopped.’ He paused, and his eyes glittered. ‘Because by then there was no longer any need to threaten me with physical violence since I stood on the brink of a career he had coveted all his life. Success and riches and fame were all there for the taking.’

Kat stared at him. ‘And that’s why you walked away from it,’ she breathed. ‘You took back control of your life—and, in doing so, you were punishing him for all the hardships you’d endured at his hands.’

Carlos nodded, her perception surprising him, even though he found it slightly unnerving. ‘Exactly.’

Kat nodded. It made more sense now—or rather, he did. He had known brutality and hardship on a scale which few others would identify with—and not only because he had been beaten by his father. Fancy putting a little boy of three on a bull and then two years later presenting him with a real sword. No wonder they called him Cold Heart!

She rose to her feet. The expression on his face expressly told her that he did not want any sympathy. In fact, there was only one thing which she was in a position to give him—and maybe not for much longer. Because if she wasn’t pregnant, what then? She tried to push the unwelcome thoughts from her mind—but one in particular kept coming back to taunt her. That if he hadn’t taken her virginity, then he would have put her on a plane back to London days ago and it would all be over. She was only here because she had to be.

But still she went over to him and put her arms around his neck, tenderly nuzzling her lips in the thick dark curls which grew around its nape. And, as if sensing her thoughts, he lifted his head to look at her, but his eyes were shuttered.

‘Any day now, you should know?’

‘Yes.’ The question took her by surprise and she found herself resenting it for all kinds of reasons. It made her feel like some hen sitting on top of an egg, waiting to see if it was going to hatch. Suddenly, she saw the vivid image of her body as a cage, its contents having the potential to trap them both with a baby they’d never planned. And Kat shuddered—for how on earth could she bear to trap a man like Carlos, a man who had spent his childhood trapped by his father’s ambition?

In the muted light of stars and candles, Carlos observed her tense reaction to his question and narrowed his eyes. ‘You don’t want to be pregnant, do you?’ he bit out harshly.

She walked away from him, distractedly shaking her head to halt words which seemed intrusive—afraid that she might give herself away, because how could she possibly explain to him all her mixed emotions? Especially when he’d never made any secret of the fact that he didn’t want a baby. He hadn’t even wanted an affair with her, had he? We are too different, he’d said.

But Kat knew that she couldn’t dwell on Carlos’s lack of feelings for her. She had to be strong. She would cope with whatever hand fate had dealt her. And if she was pregnant, then she would love his baby with a fierce love, but she would not hold Carlos Guerrero ransom to fate. It would not be fair, not after all that he had told her. She shook her head. ‘Not now, Carlos,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t want to discuss it. In fact, I’m…I’m tired. I’m going to bed.’

His mouth hardened—angry with himself for having broken a lifetime rule of non-disclosure. Why the hell had he poured out all that poison about his childhood? And angry too at the way his rashness—his lust—had the potential to complicate Kat Balfour’s life in a way she’d never envisaged. Nor deserved. ‘So go,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’m not stopping you.’

She did—but for once he didn’t follow her, though she waited and waited with breathless expectation, until she realised that her wait was in vain. Eventually, she must have fallen asleep because when she awoke in the cold, grey hours of dawn, Carlos was not beside her—and a chill feeling of dread stole over her heart. Creeping from her cabin, she went to look for him, half hoping he might still be out on deck, perhaps having fallen asleep where he sat.

But the deck was empty and, for once, the light there was gloomy, the stars fading into insignificance in the pearly light and the first blush of sunrise not yet visible. In the distance she could see the faint twinkling of lights and Kat blinked her eyes in surprise. Land. Funny how it could just loom up and surprise you—when all you’d seen for days were just different variations of a stunning sea. Yet, all the time, the yacht was moving—taking them back towards France from where they’d started. And Kat realised that Carlos had cleverly timed it to coincide with her finding out whether or not she was pregnant.

Barefooted, she tiptoed to his cabin, and when the door swung quietly open it was to see his sleeping form sprawled on the bed. He had flung the bedclothes away and was lying there—gloriously naked—outlined like a golden statue against the pristine whiteness of the sheet.

His black hair was ruffled and she found herself gazing lovingly at his face—the proud lips and the haughty slash of cheekbones. She remembered what he had told her about his heartbreaking childhood—about his cruel father and a mother who sounded weak and put-upon. Was that why she had not been able to put a stop to her son’s beatings? she wondered sadly—and Kat’s heart turned over with a love she knew he was not seeking.

As she stood there silently watching him, his dark eyes fluttered open.

‘Kat?’ But he said it with all the emotion of someone saying window or door, and for a moment, their gazes locked—until she realised that he seemed to be gazing right through her. As if he hadn’t really seen her. Or hadn’t really wanted to. And then he turned over and went right back to sleep.

A dull kind of pain cloaked her heart as she crept back to her own cabin—but during the night came a different and very familiar kind of pain. Snapping on the bedside light, she found herself staring down at the crimson flowering of blood with eyes which were inexplicably filled with tears.

And it was a white-faced and trembling Kat who was already dressed and on deck the following morning when Carlos emerged.

‘You’re up early,’ he observed.

‘You didn’t come to bed last night,’ she accused, wondering if she was hiding the trembling hurt in her voice.

Dark eyebrows rose in arrogant query. ‘Are you nagging me, Kat?’

‘I’m just asking a question.’

He remembered the way she had shuddered when the subject of pregnancy had come up. Her avowal that she had no desire to have a baby. And even though her words made complete sense, something in her statement had filled him with distaste. So that he had been glad to spend the night apart from her—yes, glad. For what man would want to make love to a woman when she’d just told him something like that? ‘You said you were tired,’ he said coldly.

Was that the only reason? Kat wondered—as she registered the sudden iciness in his voice. Or was he regretting everything he’d told her about his tortured childhood? Had he wanted to distance himself after the confidences he’d shared—or simply decided that the affair had now run its course?

Well, in that case, his wish was about to come true. Biting her lip, she looked up into his hard and handsome face, trying to tell herself that this was all for the best, even if it felt as if her heart was breaking in two. ‘Well, anyway—all that’s irrelevant now. I’ve…well, it’s good news really,’ she said.

‘Oh?’

‘I think…’ She swallowed down the terrible feeling of loss which had washed over her and presented him with a resolute face instead. ‘I’d like someone take me ashore please, Carlos.’ She met the cool question in his eyes but she didn’t flinch, even though the unbearable intimacy of what she was about to say made her cheeks turn hot. ‘That is unless you happen to carry sanitary protection on board.’

Chapter Eleven

AN ATMOSPHERE like a heavy blanket greeted her announcement and Kat insisted on being ferried ashore as quickly as possible. She just wanted to get away from the yacht—and away from the cool indifference with which Carlos had greeted the news that there wasn’t going to be a baby.

‘I’ll take you,’ he told her, as she appeared back on deck after packing her bags, her face set and her mouth composed in a thin line.

But Kat shook her head. And have her breaking down and making a complete fool of herself in front of all the jet set milling around the port at Antibes? Risk telling him how empty her life was going to feel without him—or even worse, beg him to let her stay?

‘No,’ she said, and wobbled him an attempt at a smile. She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t. ‘It’s better this way, Carlos. We’re both relieved at the outcome, you know we are.’ So why did her heart feel as if someone had taken a dagger to it and driven a gaping great wound into its centre?

‘Sí,’ he said slowly. ‘You are right. It is better this way.’

Her voice was determinedly bright. ‘Well, then, there’s nothing more to be said, is there?’

He let his eyes drift over her, taking in the soft skin and the beautiful lips—and the eyes which were as blue as a Mediterranean sky. ‘Except that it was a pretty amazing affair while it lasted,’ he observed softly.

‘Yes. Yes, it was.’ Was this what he usually said—his farewell line? A whole script prepared to ease the pain of the parting, cleverly couched to sound almost tender, but cautious enough not to whip up any false hope. And suddenly Kat knew she couldn’t face anything which masqueraded as tenderness, because that would just make this parting even more unbearable. Her fingers clenching into a fist over the handle of her bag, she stared up at him. ‘But it’s over now.’

Carlos had never been left quite so swiftly nor so efficiently by a woman before. Come to think of it, it was always him that did the leaving. Hadn’t he wondered whether Kat might try and drag it out a bit longer, digging in her delectable heels and intimating that she had no desire for their affair to end? Well, she hadn’t—and once again she had confounded all his expectations. His eyes narrowed. And maybe she was right. Maybe it really was better this way.

Leaning over, he planted the briefest of kisses on her trembling lips just as Mike appeared from the galley.

‘Look after her,’ said Carlos abruptly, and turned and walked away.

Kat’s heart sank as she watched his retreating back, but what had she expected? That he might stand there watching her wave a dinky little hanky as the speedboat put more and more distance between them? Why, he was probably heaving a huge sigh of relief—like a man who had just been relieved of a mighty burden.

She felt slightly ill as she stepped ashore, where Carlos had a car waiting for her, and was startled by a sudden blue flash.

‘I think somebody just took my photo,’ she said in confusion.

‘Oh, there’s always paparazzi hanging around here,’ said Mike with a shrug, as he hauled out her bags and put them on the quayside. And then, to her surprise, he enveloped her in a brief bear hug. ‘We’re going to miss you,’ he said gruffly. ‘You’ve done good.’

The farewell only added to her highly emotional state and, once Mike had gone, she clambered into the back of the car, directing it to stop at a pharmacie. And afterwards she was whisked to a nearby airstrip, where Carlos had arranged for a jet to fly her to London.

As soon as she’d touched down, her cellphone started ringing, with her father on the other end of the line.

‘Kat,’ he said gruffly. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m…fine,’ she answered warily. ‘Why?’

‘I’ve just had Carlos Guerrero on the phone.’

For a moment she froze as the Spaniard’s dark and golden features danced provocatively in her mind. ‘What…what did he say?’

‘Just that he was very pleased with you.’

‘He…he did?’

‘He certainly did. Said that you seemed to have been cured of your tendency to run away from problems, that you seemed to have learned the meaning of the word commitment, and that I should be very pleased with you. Oh, and he also advised me to let you have use of the London flat and start paying your allowance again.’

The breath which she only just realised she had been holding escaped from Kat’s lips with a sigh. But really, what had she expected? That Carlos would tell her father that he’d become incredibly close to her during the voyage? Or that he’d realised he didn’t want to live without her? As if it was some old-fashioned scenario and he was ringing to ask her father for permission to carry on seeing her!

When the reality was that all Carlos cared about were the stupid rules—which were what the two men had colluded about in the first place. And didn’t her father’s words reinforce the fact that the Spaniard may have taken her to his bed, but inside he still regarded her as a spoilt little girl who needed her allowance to be doled out?

‘Are you still there, Kat?’

‘Yes, Daddy,’ she said resignedly. ‘I’m still here.’

‘I just want to say…well done, darling. I’m very proud of you. The flat’s all ready and you can access your bank account immediately,’ he announced, and then his voice softened. ‘And you can treat yourself to something nice, because I’m increasing your allowance!’

It felt a little like being offered a poisoned chalice, and the drive from the airfield left Kat feeling dejected and slightly sick.

Installed in the vast Balfour apartment which overlooked Kensington Gardens, she was soon confronted with a reality which she didn’t quite understand. And at first she couldn’t quite believe. Because all the signs had been there…

She’d been…

She’d felt…

She’d thought…

It was only after more reasoned consideration and a glance at the calendar that her skin began to ice, as the mixed messages which her body was sending out caused her mind to scream with confusion.

Scanning the phone book for a list of physicians, she made an appointment with a doctor and managed to get someone to see her that afternoon.

Pushing her way past the man who seemed to have been hanging around outside her apartment all week, Kat flagged down a taxi which took her straight to Harley Street and a middle-aged gynaecologist who looked at her with a frown.

‘I’m not sure I understand exactly what it is you’re asking me, Miss Balfour.’

‘I thought I might be pregnant,’ she summarised quickly. ‘And then my period started. Or, at least, I thought it did. Only it hasn’t, not really, not like normal. I’m not sure what’s going on.’

‘Let’s do a couple of tests, shall we?’ he questioned.

Twenty minutes later, she was in another cab heading back for the apartment, where—physically and emotionally drained—she fell into a fitful doze, and woke soon after dawn, unable to get back to sleep. She forced herself to shower and dress and spent long minutes putting on her make-up, realising how long it had been since she’d worn it. But grateful now for the mask it provided. The familiar old mask which was now back in place—something for her to hide behind. Because new and scary territory had opened up before her and she was going to have to face it. Alone.

She’d just finished dressing when the silence was broken by the loud jangling of the telephone. It was her sister Sophie, who wasn’t usually given to making early morning phone calls.

‘Hello, Sophie,’ said Kat, trying to sound like her ‘normal’ self, even though she seemed to have forgotten what that felt like. ‘This is a surprise.’

‘Have you seen the papers?’ her sister demanded.

‘No. I’ve only just got back from…’ Suddenly, Kat registered the urgency in her sister’s voice. ‘Why? What’s happened?’

‘There’s a picture of you on page three of the Daily View. Coming out of a doctor’s surgery in Harley Street.’ Sophie’s voice dropped to a worried whisper. ‘Kat, are you okay?’

What would her shy, artistic sister say if she told her the truth? ‘I’m fine,’ lied Kat, as the doorbell began peeling with a loud and imperious bell. ‘Listen, someone’s at the door. I’d better go, Soph. I’ll ring you.’

Flicking her hair away from her face, she ran to the door, peering at the CCTV image of the man who stood outside the apartment block and then freezing in disbelief.

Carlos!

Kat’s knees buckled and she swayed. Thoughts which were already confused now began to go into overdrive.

Carlos?

The doorbell rang again—and it seemed that this time he must have jammed his thumb on the bell and left it there so that she was forced to click on the intercom without giving herself a chance to compose herself. Though maybe that would have been asking too much of anyone.

‘Y-yes?’

‘Let me in.’

‘What the hell are you doing here?’

On the doorstep, Carlos failed to make the obvious response; his mood was too black for that. ‘I said…let me in.’

Trembling, she pressed the button, dashing into the bathroom to check her appearance—but there was barely any time to brush her teeth before a loud thumping on the door announced his presence. He must have run up the stairs, she found herself thinking inconsequentially, because the ancient elevator took ages.

Opening the door to him, she could see that her assumption had been correct—since he was slightly out of breath and his colour was raised—but most of all she noticed the rage which sparked in dark flames from his ebony eyes. He was carrying a newspaper in one hand and he looked furious. Pushing past her, he slammed the door shut behind him and then turned on her.

‘Perra,’ he whispered, his face contorted into a dark mask of anger which automatically made Kat’s heart begin a frantic racing. ‘You lying little cheat.’ He took a deep breath and pushed his face a little closer to hers—but a wave of minty toothpaste hit him and this, with the glossy fall of hair and the carefully made-up face, was enough to make him recoil as if he’d just been bitten by a snake. He stared at the tight, white jeans she wore and the cute silk T-shirt—which was exactly the same colour as the costly aquamarines which glittered at her throat. He found himself looking at the sleek and pampered little rich girl and it was as if the past few weeks simply hadn’t happened.

‘And there was me thinking that you’d changed,’ he raged. ‘That you were no longer the girl who ran away at the first opportunity. Who had learned to deal with life and look it in the face. But, no, I was wrong. Very, very wrong. First you lie to me, and then you run—just the way you’ve always run! Commitment?’ he bit out. ‘You wouldn’t know the word commitment if it jumped out and shook you!’

Kat was trembling as the force of his words compounded her own growing sense of realisation, and fear. And with it came the sinking sensation that he was all too eager to think the worst of her. ‘You’ve seen the paper?’ she questioned.

Carlos looked as if he was about to explode. ‘So you know about the paper? Of course I’ve seen the damned paper!’ And then his face darkened with suspicion. ‘Is this some kind of elaborate set-up?’ he demanded. ‘A teaser for some newspaper deal you’re setting up? Have you perhaps succeeded where every other journalist has failed in “getting to know” the real Carlos Guerrero and are about to do an exposé on me?’

Kat felt sick. How could she have ever believed he felt for her anything other than contempt? The fact that he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her while she’d been on board his yacht meant nothing. Nothing, she reminded herself bitterly.

‘We can’t have this conversation here,’ she said dully—for she was afraid that if she didn’t sit down she might do something unforgivable. Like faint. Or be sick—a fear which now felt very real indeed.

Without waiting for his reply she began walking towards the sitting room, aware that he was following her. She turned around as he came into the room, wondering how a man could possibly dwarf a room as huge as the main drawing room of the Balfour apartment—but somehow Carlos managed it quite effortlessly. In his dark suit and snowy shirt, he looked the epitome of crisp elegance. And a complete stranger.

‘I haven’t seen the paper,’ she said.

His eyes narrowed. ‘But you knew about it?’

‘My sister rang.’

‘How convenient.’

‘May I see it, please?’

He half threw it onto the coffee table and Kat knelt down and opened it up with hands which were shaking. And there, on page three, was the article Sophie had alerted her to.

It wasn’t the first time she had been featured in a national newspaper but it was the first time she had been visibly shocked by what she saw. The Kat who had been photographed leaving the doctor’s rooms in Harley Street was barely recognisable as herself. Her face looked bleached, her eyes huge and a pashmina shawl hugged around her shoulders seemed to envelope her.

But it was the headline—and the subsequent article which disturbed her far more.

Guerrero’s Society Babe Visits Baby Doc.

Swallowing down her disbelief, Kat read on.

Famous ex-bullfighter Carlos Guerrero is used to playing cloak-and-dagger—and the latest beauty in his life seems to be following in his footsteps. Fresh from a Mediterranean trip on the Spanish billionaire’s luxury yacht, stunning Kat Balfour was tight-lipped as she left Dr. Steve Smith’s Harley Street surgery. Dr. Smith is best known for his delivery of last year’s Royal Princess and his spokesperson refused to comment on rumours that one of the notorious Balfour Babes is pregnant.

Kat Balfour hails from one of the richest and most scandal-ridden families in the land, but her new beau is more than a match for their colourful history. Playboy tycoon Guerrero was once tipped to be Spain’s finest bullfighter before dramatically withdrawing from the ring, fifteen years ago.

Who knows? With capricious Kat Balfour at his side, the man tagged ‘Cold Heart’ by the Spanish tabloids may have taken on his biggest challenge yet!

Dazed, Kat sat back on her heels and stared up at the forbidding mask of Carlos’s face.

‘But they didn’t ask me to comment!’ she protested. ‘I didn’t even know they had a snapper there!’

Carlos clenched his fists in fury. ‘Is that all you care about?’ he demanded. ‘The fact that you didn’t know you were being photographed? Why, would you have applied a little more gloss to those lying lips of yours?’

Her heart began to race as she registered the venom in his voice. ‘How dare you speak to me like this?’

‘Quite easily,’ he snapped. ‘And before you start to offer any half-hearted defence, surely the fundamental flaw in your argument is that you lied to me, Kat. But we could spend the whole morning railing against each other and none of it is relevant. In fact, only one thing is.’ He fixed her in the piercing spotlight of his ebony eyes. ‘Just tell me one thing. Are you or are you not…pregnant?’

There was a horrible pause and the only sound which Kat could register was the uncomfortable irregularity of her own breathing. ‘I…’

‘Are you?’

‘Yes! Yes!’

He let out a hiss, like the sound of a pressure cooker which has just had its lid removed after many hours of being on the boil. ‘So you did lie,’ he said in a voice which sounded suddenly flat.

Kat shook her head. ‘Not exactly.’

Cold black eyes were turned on her. ‘Not exactly? How many variations of the truth are there? Perhaps you’d care to explain, or did I dream up the fact that you told me you needed to find a chemist because your period had come?’

‘I thought…’ Stupidly, she was blushing now. ‘I got a pain during the night and I started bleeding.’ The night he hadn’t been there—when his absence had seemed to emphasise that there was nothing between them but an enforced captivity while they waited to discover whether or not they were going to be parents. ‘I thought it was my period. It was only when I’d been home for a couple of days that I realised that it wasn’t.’

‘But you weren’t going to bother to tell me about it?’

‘Of course I was! I just needed it to be confirmed first.’

‘Or was it something more than that?’ he demanded, his heart beating now with a slow and steady kind of dread. ‘Did you go to the doctor for something other than confirmation?’

It took a moment or two for his meaning to register and, when it did, Kat thought she really might be sick. Swallowing down the bile which had risen in her throat, she stared at him. ‘How…how dare you suggest such a disgusting thing?’ she spat out, trying now to rise from her subordinate position on her knees. But her rage was so intense that she half stumbled and Carlos automatically put out his hand to support her. ‘Get away from me!’ she flared.

He took no notice, just made sure that she was steady once more and then strode over to the window, looking out at the manicured beauty which was Kensington Gardens—seeing the glitter of the Round Pool in the distance, trying desperately to assemble his thoughts into some kind of order.

It was several moments before he had composed himself enough to turn round and, when he did, it was to see that Kat was sitting in the centre of a huge, overstuffed sofa, looking impossibly fragile. And in that moment, he could have kicked himself for the whiplash quality of his words. What kind of a brute was he, he wondered disgustedly, to harangue a woman who was newly pregnant?

‘Can I get you something?’ he questioned in a hollow voice. ‘Something to drink?’

‘I feel sick.’

Quickly, he found a bathroom at the end of one of the long corridors and tipped out a pile of rose petals which had been cluttering up a porcelain bowl and then took it to Kat. On further exploration of the apartment, he discovered a high-tech kitchen, where he made a pot of ginger-and-lemon tea, because he remembered reading somewhere that ginger was good for nausea.

She was still sitting where he’d left her, the towel on her lap, the porcelain bowl empty at her side. And suddenly he looked beyond her painted face and saw the vulnerability in her huge eyes.

‘I’ve made you tea,’ he said quickly, as he put the tray down.

She looked up, telling herself again that she must be strong. Carlos hadn’t broken any promises. He’d never claimed to feel anything for her. She certainly couldn’t demand love from him because she was carrying his baby. And she must close the floodgates on her love for him. He mustn’t know about it. It wouldn’t be fair—because then, wouldn’t she be burdening him with unnecessary guilt as well as a baby he’d never planned?

‘I didn’t run away,’ she told him tiredly. ‘I honestly thought my period had come, so there was no reason to stay. We’d already decided that.’ And he had done nothing to stop her leaving, had he? That had been the bottom line. Even now, he was only here because he had to be—not because he wanted to. ‘But I’d just had some kind of bleeding—apparently, it’s not unusual in the early stages of pregnancy.’

‘But you’re okay?’ he demanded urgently.

‘I’m okay.’

‘And…the baby? The baby is okay?’

‘The doctor tells me that everything’s fine.’

‘Thank God,’ he breathed.

And for the first time, Carlos began to take in the enormity of what she had just told him. A single fact that had the power to change his life for ever. He was going to be a father. Placing a delicate mug of steaming tea into her unprotesting hand, he realised that his baby was growing beneath her heart even now—deep in her belly.

He wanted to reach out and touch her—to place the palm of his hand on her still-flat belly, as if to reassure himself that his child really was in there. But he felt as if he had forfeited the right to do any such thing, his bitter accusations driving a wedge between the two of them. And he wondered now if his father had bequeathed him something of his own cruelty—whether or not he was fit to be a father to her child.

He flinched. ‘You know that there were photographers hanging around outside when I arrived and that it’s only going to get worse?’

‘But why?’ she wailed, letting her hormones get the better of her. ‘Why can’t they just leave me alone?’

His body tensed. ‘It is the joint legacy we share, Princesa. One which is bread and meat to the ever-hungry media,’ he said bitterly. ‘The ex-matador and his scandalous heiress.’

At that moment the telephone began to shrill and, putting her tea down on the table, Kat leaned over and picked it up. It was her father.

‘Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on, Kat?’ he began ominously.

Kat opened her mouth to start explaining when it suddenly hit her that she didn’t have to. She didn’t have to do anything. Not any more. Maybe in the past she had run away from her responsibilities—and maybe her father’s set of Rules had helped her see her life in a different light. Or maybe Carlos had. But she wasn’t running now. Even if she wanted to—which she didn’t—running was no longer an option. She was going to be a mother. She was going to have Carlos’s baby and she was going to have to learn to stand on her own two feet. And that meant that the rest of the Balfours were really going to have to butt out and leave her to get on with it.

Without thinking about it, her fingers of one hand drifted to her stomach and she let them rest there—almost protectively—looking up to see a sudden flare of light in the ebony eyes which were fixed on her.

She turned her lips back to the mouthpiece. ‘Actually, I don’t really want to talk to anyone at the moment, Daddy,’ she said steadily.

‘But—’

‘No buts. I’m fine.’ She listened to her father for a minute, acutely aware of Carlos’s intense scrutiny. ‘Yes, he’s here. With me. No, Daddy. No. I’ll talk to you in a couple of days. Yes. I promise.’

Slowly, she replaced the receiver and Carlos saw the wariness in her eyes as she regarded him—as if expecting him to start interrogating her again. His mouth hardened. And maybe she had good reason to think that.

The phone began to ring once more and, seeing her eyes close wearily this time, Carlos snatched up the receiver, his eyes narrowing as he listened. ‘Yes?’

‘Carlos! It’s Tania Stephens here,’ came the throaty voice of a woman. ‘I’m the one who left my bikini on your yacht and wondered if you’d just like to—’

‘No comment,’ he snarled, slamming it down again, and when it began to ring again almost immediately he took it off the hook. Was this what it was going to be like? he wondered. With the phone ringing and the press clamouring and Kat getting bigger. Living out her pregnancy in the middle of the city, with that cold and unapproachable air about her while the media-hungry world closed in.

There was a solution to the problem which lay before them, he realised slowly. But only if Kat would agree to it—and that was by no means certain. ‘I can find you somewhere safe to stay,’ he said slowly. ‘Somewhere the press won’t bother you.’

She looked up. ‘Where?’

‘That’s up to you, Princesa. I can give you several options. I have places pretty much all over the world you can choose from.’

‘With you, you mean? You’ll be coming with me?’ she questioned in a cool voice, as if she didn’t care one way or the other. Because the last thing she wanted or needed to feel right now was disappointment when he told her that, no, he’d be leaving her alone to face the coming months.

Carlos expelled a breath. ‘Well, that depends,’ he said slowly. ‘On whether or not you want me there.’

There was a pause while the question hung in the air.

Don’t make yourself vulnerable, Kat told herself. Don’t open yourself up to yet more pain. ‘If you want,’ she said, with a shrug. ‘I don’t really care either way.’

Carlos met the blue of her dazzling eyes which now seemed as cold as a winter sky. She had agreed to leave the spotlight of the city and he was going with her.

His mouth hardened. It may have felt a little like a victory, he thought, but it seemed a very hollow one.

Chapter Twelve

HE TOOK her to a house she recognised, though it took a moment or two for Kat to realise why.

‘It’s the house in the painting!’ she exclaimed, her heart lifting with an unexpected kind of delight. ‘The one in your study on the yacht.’ The one she used to gaze at when she was transcribing recipes during a time which now seemed like light years ago.

‘It is indeed. My hacienda,’ said Carlos softly.

Standing in the doorway of the lovingly cared-for old house, surrounded by a shaded veranda decked with flowers and foliage, Kat looked out at the stunning Andalusian countryside. Outside were orchards of Carlos’s very own oranges and lemons—which scented the soft, warm air. And in nearby pastures overlooking distant mountain peaks lived his beloved Andalusian horses which people came from all over the world to buy.

Despite her mixed emotions, Kat thought she had never seen any where more lovely in her life. It seemed so solid and real—so far away from the hustle and bustle of the city. And it made her feel indescribably wistful for a life she had never known and probably never would. A life with deep roots and the promise of longevity.

‘So what do you think of my home?’ asked Carlos, as he came out of the house to find her standing there, perfectly still. They’d travelled down earlier that afternoon on the jet he’d hired, and Kat had just drunk tea and eaten from a dish of fruit which his housekeeper had served to them.

She turned to face him. ‘I think it’s beautiful.’

‘So why the troubled look?’

Was he completely dense, Kat wondered, or did he just have the ability to completely switch off? Maybe with men it was different—or maybe it was just different for Carlos. Beneath her outwardly calm exterior she could feel the riot of emotions which were as tangled as an old ball of string, but presumably he suffered no similar disquiet as he contemplated their uncertain future.

‘Oh, it’s all been a lot to take in,’ she said evasively. ‘The news about the baby, the journey here—wondering just what we’re going to tell people.’ She bit her lip. Plus the mind-boggling adjustment of having to redefine herself as a single mother. ‘And when.’

Staring down into her bright blue eyes, Carlos saw the unmistakable strain which shadowed them. And wondered whether the brittleness she seemed to have acquired might melt away again. So that once again she became that soft, smiling Kat who used to tease him. The woman who used to welcome him into her arms and into her bed every night.

‘We’re not going to do anything until you’ve relaxed,’ he said softly. ‘That was one of my reasons for bringing you here.’

Not quite daring to ask him what any of the others were, Kat returned his stare. ‘And what about you, Carlos—what will you be doing? Relaxing—or tapping away on your damned computer as usual?’

He heard something which sounded close to accusation in her voice and Carlos nodded. ‘I think I might try a little relaxation therapy myself,’ he agreed softly. ‘There happens to be a pool here which I haven’t swum in this year.’

There was indeed a pool—and Kat blinked with disbelief when she first saw it. A vast infinity pool overlooking an enormous mountain range, the clear blue waters seeming to go on for ever.

After breakfast the following morning, he suggested she change into a swimsuit and meet him there. And although it was a sensible enough suggestion for such a sunny day it seemed a curiously intimate thing to say. Lazing by a swimming pool was the sort of thing which couples did and they were most definitely not a couple—a state of affairs which had been reinforced by the fact that they’d spent their first night at the hacienda sleeping in separate rooms.

Well, of course they had. Carlos wasn’t interested in her any more, was he? Not in that way.

Because he hadn’t touched her. Not once. Not a tight, comforting hug when she’d told him about the baby. Not a squeeze of her fingers during the flight over here, nor even a protective hand held at the small of her back as he guided her through the doors of his beloved hacienda for the first time.

Nothing.

And didn’t that send out the clearest message of all—that the sexual side of their relationship was over? That really, everything between them was over—other than the mechanics of working out how to manage their shared parenthood. She guessed that at some point they were going to have to sit down and discuss what the future was going to bring, but she knew without him having to tell her that it was not going to include coupledom.

Kat went to her room and changed into a bikini which seemed too skimpy for comfort—though, logically, she knew that her body had not yet begun to alter. Just that now it felt more vulnerable than it used to. More exposed. Just like she did. Pulling on a silken robe and carrying a book she had little enthusiasm for, she went downstairs to find Carlos was already by the pool.

He looked up as she approached, and frowned. ‘You need a hat.’

‘I haven’t brought one with me.’

‘Well, there are plenty around the place. Here. Have this.’

Fishing out a battered old panama from underneath one of the loungers, he tossed it to her, and she caught it.

‘Thanks.’ Her throat was dry as she slipped off her silken robe and lay down beside him. It was still early and the air was fresh and sweet. Unknown birds were making distant calls and she could smell the heavy fragrance of jasmine.

For a while she felt brittle, unsure of what to do or say to the man whose golden-olive body was so near—and yet which might as well have been on a distant planet for all the closeness which existed between them. There were a million things she felt she should ask him, but she was too weary to begin, and the sun sinking into her skin was so very distracting…and gradually it made her relax a little. She drank some cool water and picked up her book. Put it down again, and dozed.

Deep, accented words floated into her dreamless state and she looked up to find that Carlos was leaning over her, his black eyes gleaming with concern. ‘You’ll burn if you’re not careful,’ he said softly. ‘Want me to rub some cream on for you?’

‘I…’ What could she say? That she was afraid if he touched her she might not be able to control her emotions, or her body’s response to him? She would risk burning her skin because she was so vulnerable around him? How pathetic was that? Kat nodded, tongue flicking out over suddenly bone-dry lips. ‘If you don’t mind.’

Mind? Carlos’s mouth hardened. ‘Turn over.’ He squeezed lotion onto the firm flesh between her shoulder blades and then began to rub it in, expelling a slow rush of air as he felt the silken texture of her skin beneath his fingers. How long had it been since he had touched her like this? Pushing aside the straps of her bikini he began to massage her tight muscles, feeling some of the tension begin to melt beneath his questing fingers.

‘Carlos…’

‘Is that good, Princesa?’

Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Kat couldn’t make up her mind whether she wanted to laugh or cry. ‘Well, yes…yes, it’s good.’ Of course it was good.

‘Then lie back and enjoy it.’

Was he mad? Didn’t he realise that, with his hands edging down to the wide band of flesh which lay above her bikini bottom, she just wanted to wriggle and squirm and pull him down against her rapidly warming body? Against her and into her. To feel his hard flesh united with hers once again. Kat swallowed. Now his fingers were kneading at the tops of her thighs—and this was really dangerous territory because what else would account for her almost strangled little gulp and the terrible sexual hunger which had begun to bubble up inside her?

‘Carlos!’ she said urgently.

‘What? What is it, Princesa?’

‘I…I…’

And suddenly Carlos couldn’t bear it for a second longer, knowing that he was about to fall into a snare of his own making. Knowing full well that he could seduce her in an instant, exactly where she was. He wouldn’t even have to meet the expression in her cold, hurt eyes. Could thrust into her from behind for a wordless and blissful coupling, knowing that they would both gasp out their relieved fulfilment and then it would be over. Their frustration forgotten and their bodies satisfied. And suddenly registering the certainty that it was no longer enough. Not nearly enough. Not any more.

Yes, it would be as easy as breathing to take her, but where would that leave them? Hadn’t he used the power of his sexual expertise to shield him from life for too long, seeking the heady power of sex as a substitute for emotion, time after time? And didn’t he owe this woman the truth, no matter how hard it was for him to admit it?

Turning her over, he stared down into her face—at the dark dilation of her blue eyes and the flare of colour which washed across her cheekbones—and felt a strange rush of something like pain in his heart. He had faced death and danger many times during his life, but he had never known such a feeling of trepidation. How was it possible to face the mighty wrath of a thirteen-hundred-pound animal in the bullring with a degree of steadfastness and resolve…and yet be rendered weak by the blaze in a woman’s beautiful blue eyes?

‘I’m sorry,’ he said simply.

Kat frowned. What was he saying—that he’d changed his mind about making love to her when it had obviously been on his mind only seconds ago? ‘Sorry?’ she echoed. ‘What for?’

He gave a bitter laugh. ‘How long have you got? For doubting you. For being a victim of my own prejudice. For not realising that the woman I saw on my boat was the real you, not the poor little rich girl I was determined to see. That once you’d peeled away the layers you’d used to protect yourself from the tough blows that life had dealt you, I caught a glimpse of the woman you really were. The real Kat. That beneath all the finery was something much more precious.’ For a moment his voice sounded shaken. ‘And that something was you.’

Kat stared at him, confusion tempered with the frantic clamour of her mind telling her not to raise her hopes. Not to let him hurt her. Not any more. ‘Are you saying all this because I’m having a baby?’ she whispered.

He shook his head. ‘I’m saying it because I mean it. Because I’ve been a fool, Kat. A stupid fool.’ Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to admit why. ‘Resenting you for the fact that, for the first time in my life, I lost control when I was around you. Without realising that sometimes a man needs to lose control, because that is what makes him human. What enables him to grab at the things which make life worth living.’

Suddenly, Kat could see how Carlos’s steely self-will had protected him in exactly the same way as the armoury of her clothes and rebellious attitude had protected her. The two of them had a lot more in common than she’d ever realised. They’d both witnessed violence and pain. Had both deployed their own methods of coping with them.

And now?

They could, she realised, put all their demons in the past—but only if he wanted to. Because she realised something else too. That time after time she had given herself to Carlos, only to have him push her away. She understood why he had done it—but she couldn’t keep on doing it. Giving was a two-way street—or there could be no true equality. No real relationship. Her voice was gentle. ‘Carlos, what exactly are you saying?’

He was intelligent enough to know that this was one of life’s big questions, the sort that your entire future would depend on. And even as she asked it, the answer came to him instantly, with a kind of blinding certainty he’d never before realised he was capable of.

He stared straight into her face. ‘That I love you,’ he said simply.

They were words she never thought she’d hear—never from Carlos—but it didn’t occur to Kat to doubt them. Not for a minute. Perhaps because she sensed how much it had taken for him to say them—and because although his words could sometimes wound, they were always truthful. And perhaps because she knew that he had missed out on love for so much of his life, it didn’t occur to her to hesitate. Nor to hold back in any way. In fact, she couldn’t have done—for the joy in her heart was too insistent to be silenced.

‘Oh, Carlos. My sweet, darling Carlos. I love you too,’ she whispered. ‘So much.’

He took her face in his hands, cupping its heart shape between both palms. ‘I want to marry you, Kat,’ he said unsteadily. ‘I want us to make a life for ourselves together. A new life. A proper life.’

And now she did hesitate. For Kat hadn’t grown up with the best role models in the world where marriage was concerned. Her family was littered with divorces and their complicated consequences.

‘And I want to be a good father,’ he continued fiercely, before she had spoken. ‘The best father in the world to our child. He—or she—will have their own destiny and never will I try to live my life through them.’

She heard the resolve which had deepened his voice and knew that Carlos was determined never to replicate the cruelty practised by his father. And that determination of his spurred her on. Because wasn’t marriage a leap of faith for everyone? In a way, she and Carlos were lucky. They had witnessed the mistakes that other people could make with their lives—and they could do their best to ensure they didn’t repeat them.’

She drew back a little as she looked up into his face. ‘Oh, Carlos—of course I’ll marry you. I want to marry you more than anything else on earth.’

He nodded, and for a moment there was a lump in his throat so big that he had difficulty in speaking. ‘Then seal it with a kiss, Princesa,’ he commanded at last.

Something in his eyes made her tremble and something in the sweet restorative power of his lips made her tremble even more. She sighed when he lifted her off the sunbed and carried her to the nearby cabana, where he peeled off her little lemon bikini with a quiet and urgent hunger which was underpinned with an unmistakable sense of awe.

A shaft of pure love shot through her as he positioned his powerful naked body over hers and when he filled her with one slick, long thrust, she cried out her pleasure. As sunlight and birdsong drifted in to mingle with the sound of their muffled moans of pleasure, Kat thought she had never known happiness like it.

Please make it last, she prayed silently, as she held him, both still shuddering from the sweet onslaught of their passion. But somehow she knew that they would make it last. The two of them—and then, one day in the coming months, three. They would do everything in their power to ensure that life would be good.

Snuggling against him, Kat felt the slowing of his heart and she nuzzled against his neck, wanting to shower him with tiny kisses which demonstrated all the love she was bursting to give him.

Funny, really—her father had sent her away to learn commitment and she had found it. It had been a tough lesson but she knuckled down to it—and Carlos had helped show her how. So really, it made sense for him to reap the benefits.

For wasn’t marriage the biggest and most wonderful commitment of all?

Emily’s Innocence

A self-confessed romance junkie, India Grey was just thirteen years old when she first sent off for the Mills&Boon® Writers’ Guidelines. She can still recall the thrill of getting the large brown envelope with its distinctive logo through the letterbox and subsequently whiled away many a dull school day staring out of the window and dreaming of the perfect hero. She kept those guidelines with her for the next ten years, tucking them carefully inside the cover of each new diary in January and beginning every list of New Year’s Resolutions with the words Start Novel. In the meantime she gained a degree in English Literature and Language from Manchester University and, in a stroke of genius on the part of the gods of Romance, met her gorgeous future husband on the very last night of their three years there. The last fifteen years have been spent blissfully buried in domesticity and heaps of pink washing generated by three small daughters, but she has never really stopped daydreaming about romance. She’s just profoundly grateful to have finally got an excuse to do it legitimately!

For the Elmhurst Olympics crowd, and for Louise in particular, much-loved keeper of the family flame. xx

Prologue

‘CALL me when you grow up!’

As Emily ducked beneath the ghostly, blossom-shrouded trees and emerged onto the twilit lawn his voice followed her: mocking, amused and, with its faintly exotic accent, horribly sexy.

She quickened her pace, thinking only of putting as much distance as possible between herself and the man in the shadows. Head bent, oblivious to the curious stares of the guests scattered across the velvet lawns of Balfour Manor, she hurried towards the house, pressing her teeth down into a lip that still tingled and throbbed from where he had kissed her.

The 99th Balfour Charity Ball was in full swing and the sound of laughter, conversation and clinking glasses drifted above the music coming from the marquee. Ahead of her the majestic house shimmered with light from every window, its honey-coloured stone glowing in the dusk like old gold. Behind her the darkness of the garden pressed at her back, spreading goose bumps over her skin. Her heart was beating so hard she could feel it all through her body, a rapid, throbbing pulse that intensified as she ran lightly up the shallow stone steps to the house.

He had ruined everything.

She’d looked forward to this party for so long—all those years at boarding school, when she’d been reduced to picking over the edited details of the annual Balfour Ball in celebrity magazines and piecing together snatches of gossip from her older sisters. This year, with ballet school all but finished, her time had finally come.

She blinked as she stepped into the brightness of the hallway. Heading straight for the stairs she gathered up the long skirt of her dress, trying not to think of the excitement with which she’d put it on only a couple of hours earlier. She had felt so grown up and sophisticated…

Until the moment those knowing, gold-flecked eyes had wandered lazily over her, and then she had felt something different altogether.

Reaching her bedroom she slammed the door and leaned against it for a moment, breathing hard. The room was filled with violet shadows which blurred the edges of everything, making the familiar objects seem suddenly strange and unrecognizable. She didn’t turn on the light though. Instead she found herself drawn towards the window.

Spread out before her the garden glittered with tiny lights. It was like a picture from a child’s storybook—an enchanted kingdom, the butterfly ball. And that’s what she’d wanted, she thought with a sob, leaning her burning forehead against the pane. She’d wanted it to be like a fairy tale, with the handsome prince just waiting to fall in love with her.

Her eyes were drawn beyond the delicate strings of fairy lights and the glittering crystal chandeliers that stood on the tables across the lawn; deeper, into the darkness itself, where inky shadows moved beneath the trees.

That’s where he was.

Emily pressed her hands to the glass, suddenly pierced by a shaft of longing so pure and painful that she couldn’t breathe. His cool, clean taste was still on her lips and she ran her tongue over them, remembering the moment when he had stepped out in front of her beneath the trees and pulled her to him—languidly, unhurriedly, as if it had been the most natural thing in the world…

And kissed her.

She had been too shocked to resist. It was as if some powerful tidal wave had been unleashed inside her and she was helpless to do anything as it sucked her down, into warm, secret whirlpools of unfathomable sensation, obliterating logic. His mouth moved over hers, slowly and expertly, and his fingers caressed the back of her neck, the hollow beneath her jaw, sending ripples of intense, shuddering pleasure down her spine, until she felt taut and fragile enough to shatter.

And then he lifted his head and in that moment she caught the gleam of his wicked gold eyes in the darkness. The spell was broken and she surfaced again, gasping and fighting for breath, speechless and horrified at her own unrecognisable behaviour. Terrified of the ease with which he had made her act like that.

Because Prince Luis Cordoba of Santosa was handsome, of that there was no doubt. But he wasn’t interested in love, and behind the designer suit and dazzling smile he was no harmless, fairy-tale Prince Charming.

Dangerous, compelling, beguiling…

He was the wolf.

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