Kat And The Dare-Devil Spaniard (The Balfour Brides Book 2)

by Sharon Kendrick

  Dazed by shock and the sensation of being held within his strong arms, she looked around at the unfamiliar luxurious surroundings. ‘Th-this 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 pier
cingly 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. A
nd 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 motorboats, 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.