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

by Sharon Kendrick

  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, Princesa.’

  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, Princesa.’

  ‘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, Princesa,’ 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 a
nd 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?