Cinderella: Hired by the Prince

by Marion Lennox

  ‘You’ll hit the calf,’ she said, almost to herself, and then bit her tongue. Of all the stupid objections. She knew what his answer must be.

  ‘It’s risk the calf having a headache, or both of them dying. No choice.’

  But he didn’t need to risk. As the arcs of the swinging anchor grew longer, the calf moved away again.

  As if it knew.

  And, once again, Ramón caught the net.

  It took an hour, maybe longer, the times to catch the net getting longer as the amount of net left to cut off grew smaller. But they worked on, reeling her in, slicing, reeling her in, slicing, until the netting was a massive pile of rubbish on the deck.

  Ramón was saving her, Jenny thought dazedly as she worked on. Every time he leaned out he was risking his life. She watched him work-and she fell in love.

  She was magnificent. Ramón was working feverishly, slashing at the net while holding on to the rails and stretching as far as he could, but every moment he did he was aware of Jenny.

  Gianetta.

  She had total control of the anchor rope, somehow holding the massive whale against the side of the boat. But they both knew that to hold the boat in a fixed hold would almost certainly mean capsizing. What Jenny had to do was to work with the swells, holding the rope fast, then loosening it as the whale rose and the boat swayed, or the whale sank and the boat rose. Ramón had no room for anything but holding on to the boat and slashing but, thanks to Jenny, he had an almost stable platform to work with.

  Tied together, boat and whale represented tonnage he didn’t want to think about, especially as he was risking slipping between the two.

  He wouldn’t slip. Jenny was playing her part, reading the sea, watching the swell, focused on the whale in case she suddenly decided to roll or pull away…

  She didn’t. Ramón could slash at will at the rope entrapment, knowing Jenny was keeping him safe.

  He slipped once and he heard her gasp. He felt her hand grip his ankle.

  He righted himself-it was okay-but the memory of her touch stayed.

  Gianetta was watching out for him.

  Gianetta. Where had she come from, this magical Gianetta?

  It was working. Jenny was scarcely breathing. Please, please…

  But somehow her prayers were being answered. Piece by piece the net was being cut away. Ramón was winning. They were both winning.

  The last section to be removed was the netting and the ropes trapping and tying the massive tail, but catching this section was the hardest. Ramón threw and threw, but each time the anchor slipped uselessly behind the whale and into the sea.

  To have come so far and not save her… Jenny felt sick.

  But Ramón would not give up. His arm must be dropping off, she thought, but just as she reached the point where despair took over, the whale rolled. She stretched and lifted her tail as far as she could within the confines of the net, and in doing so she made a channel to trap the anchor line as Ramón threw. And her massive body edged closer to the boat.

  Ramón threw again, and this time the anchor held.

  Once more Jenny reeled her in and once more Ramón sliced. Again. Again. One last slash-and the last piece of rope came loose into his hands.

  Ramón staggered back onto the deck and Jenny was hauling the anchor in one last time. He helped her reel it in, then they stood together in the mass of tangled netting on the deck, silent, awed, stunned, as the whale finally floated free. Totally free. The net was gone.

  But there were still questions. Were they too late? Had she been trapped too long?

  Ramón’s arm came round Jenny’s waist and held, but Jenny was hardly aware of it. Or maybe she was, but it was all part of this moment. She was breathing a plea and she knew the plea was echoing in Ramón’s heart as well as her own.

  Please…

  The whale was wallowing in the swell, rolling up and down, up and down. Her massive pectoral fins were free now. They moved stiffly outward, upward, over and over, while Jenny and Ramón held their breath and prayed.

  The big tail swung lazily back and forth; she seemed to be stretching, feeling her freedom. Making sure the ropes were no longer there.

  ‘She can’t have been caught all that long,’ Jenny whispered, breathless with wonder. ‘Look at her tail. That rope was tied so tightly but there’s hardly a cut.’

  ‘She might have only just swum into it,’ Ramón said and Jenny was aware that her awe was echoed in his voice. His arm had tightened around her and it seemed entirely natural. This was a prayer shared. ‘If it was loosened from the shore by a storm it might have only hit her a day or so ago. The calf looks healthy enough.’

  The calf was back at its mother’s side now, nudging against her flank. Then it dived, straight down into the deep, and Jenny managed a faltering smile.

  ‘He’ll be feeding. She must still have milk. Oh, Ramón…’

  ‘Gianetta,’ Ramón murmured back, and she knew he was feeling exactly what she was feeling. Awe, hope, wonder. They might, they just might, have been incredibly, wondrously lucky.

  And then the big whale moved. Her body seemed to ripple. Everything flexed at once, her tail, her fins… She rolled away, almost onto her back, as if to say to her calf: No feeding, not yet, I need to figure if I’m okay.

  And figure she did. She swam forward in front of the boat, speeding up, speeding up. Faster, faster she swam, with her calf speeding after her.

  And then, just as they thought they’d lost sight of her, she came sweeping back, a vast majestic mass of glossy black muscle and strength and bulk. Then, not a hundred yards from the boat, she rolled again, only higher, so her body was half out of the water, stretching, arching back, her pectoral fins outstretched, then falling backward with a massive splash that reached them on the boat and soaked them to the skin.

  Neither of them noticed. Neither of them cared.

  The whale was sinking now, deep, so deep that only a mass of still water on the surface showed her presence. Then she burst up one more time, arched back once more-and she dived once more and they saw her print on the water above as she adjusted course and headed for the horizon, her calf tearing after her.

  Two wild creatures returned to the deep.

  Tears were sliding uselessly down Jenny’s face. She couldn’t stop them, any more than she could stop smiling. And she looked up at Ramón and saw his smile echo hers.

  ‘We did it,’ she breathed. ‘Ramón, we did it.’

  ‘We did,’ he said, and he tugged her hard against him, then swung her round so he was looking into her tear-stained face. ‘We did it, Gianetta, we saved our whale. And you were magnificent. Gianetta, you may be a Spanish-Australian woman in name but I believe you have your nationality wrong. A woman like you… I believe you’re worthy of being a woman of Cepheus.’

  And then, before she knew what he intended, before she could guess anything at all, he lifted her into his arms and he kissed her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  O NE moment she was gazing out at the horizon, catching the last shimmer of the whale’s wake on the translucence of the sea. The next she was being kissed as she’d never been kissed in her life.

  His hands were lifting her, pulling her hard in against him so her feet barely touched the deck. His body felt rock-hard, the muscled strength he’d just displayed still at work, only now directed straight at her. Straight with her.

  The emotions of the rescue were all around her. He was wet and wild and wonderful. She was soaking as well, and the dripping fabric of his shirt and hers meant their bodies seemed to cling and melt.

  It felt right. It felt meant. It felt as if there was no room or sense to argue.

  His mouth met hers again, his arms tightening around her so she was locked hard against him. He was so close she could feel the rapid beat of his heart. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, her face had tilted instinctively, her mouth was caught…

  Caught? Merged, more like. Two parts of a whole finding thei
r home.

  He tugged her tighter, tighter still against him, moulding her lips against his. She was hard against him, closer, closer, feeling him, tasting him, wanting him…

  To be a part of him seemed suddenly as natural, as right, as breathing. To be kissed by this man was an extension of what had just happened.

  Or maybe it was more than that. Maybe it was an extension of the whole of the last week.

  Maybe she’d wanted this from the moment she’d seen him.

  Either way, she certainly wasn’t objecting now. She heard herself give a tiny moan, almost a whimper, which was stupid because she didn’t feel the least like whimpering. She felt like shouting, Yes!

  His mouth was demanding, his tongue was searching for an entry, his arms holding her so tightly now he must surely bruise. But he couldn’t hold her tight enough. She was holding him right back, desperate that she not be lowered, desperate that this miraculous contact not be lost.

  He felt so good. He felt as if he was meant to be right here in her arms. That she’d been destined for this moment for ever and it had taken this long to find him.

  He hadn’t shaved this morning. She could feel the stubble on his jaw, she could almost taste it. There was salt on his face-of course there was, he’d been practically submerged, over and over. He smelled of salt and sea, and of pure testosterone.

  He tasted of Ramón.

  ‘Ramón.’ She heard herself whisper his name, or maybe it was in her heart, for how could she possibly whisper when he was kissing as if he was a man starved for a woman, starved of this woman? She knew so clearly what was happening, and she accepted it with elation. This woman was who he wanted and he’d take her, he wanted her, she was his and he was claiming his own.

  Like the whale rolling joyously in the sea, she thought, dazed and almost delirious, this was nature; it was right, it was meant.

  She was in his arms and she wasn’t letting go.

  Ramón.

  ‘Gianetta…’ His voice was ragged with heat and desire. Somehow he dragged himself back from her and held her at arm’s length. ‘Gianetta, mia…’

  ‘If you’re asking if I want you, then the answer’s yes,’ she said huskily, and almost laughed at the look of blazing heat that came straight back at her. His eyes were almost black, gleaming with tenderness and want and passion. But something else. He wouldn’t take her yet. His eyes were searching.

  ‘I’ll take no woman against her will,’ he growled.

  ‘You think…you think this is against my will?’ she whispered, as the blaze of desire became almost white-hot and she pressed herself against him, forcing him to see how much this was not the case.

  ‘Gianetta,’ he sighed, and there was laughter now as well as wonder and desire. Before she could respond he had her in his arms, held high, cradled against him, almost triumphant.

  ‘You don’t think maybe we should set the automatic pilot or something?’ she murmured. ‘We’ll drift.’

  ‘The radar will tell us if we’re about to hit something big,’ he said, his dark eyes gleaming. ‘But it can’t pick up things like jellyfish, so there’s a risk. You want to risk death by jellyfish and come to my bed while we wait, my Gianetta?’

  And what was a girl to say to an invitation like that?

  ‘Yes, please,’ she said simply and he kissed her and he held her tight and carried her down below.

  To his bed. To his arms. To his pleasure.

  ‘She left port six days ago, heading for New Zealand.’

  The lawyer stared at the boat builder in consternation. ‘You’re sure? The Marquita?’

  ‘That’s the one. The guy skippering her-Ramón, I think he said his name was-had her in dry dock here for a couple of days, checking the hull, but she sailed out on the morning tide on Monday. Took the best cook in the bay with him, too. Half the locals are after his blood. He’d better look after our Jenny.’

  But the lawyer wasn’t interested in Ramón’s staff. He stood on the dock and stared out towards the harbour entrance as if he could see the Marquita sailing away.

  ‘You’re sure he was heading for Auckland?’

  ‘I am. You’re Spanish, right?’

  ‘Cepheus country,’ the lawyer said sharply. ‘Not Spain. But no matter. How long would it take the Marquita to get to Auckland?’

  ‘Coupla weeks,’ the boat builder told him. ‘Can’t see him hurrying. I wouldn’t hurry if I had a boat like the Marquita and Jenny aboard.’

  ‘So if I go to Auckland…’

  ‘I guess you’d meet him. If it’s urgent.’

  ‘It’s urgent,’ the lawyer said grimly. ‘You have no idea how urgent.’

  There was no urgency about the Marquita. If she took a year to reach Auckland it was too soon for Jenny.

  Happiness was right now.

  They could travel faster, but that would mean sitting by the wheel hour after hour, setting the sails to catch the slightest wind shift, being sailors.

  Instead of being lovers.

  She’d never felt like this. She’d melted against Ramón’s body the morning of the whales and she felt as if she’d melted permanently. She’d shape shifted, from the Jenny she once knew to the Gianetta Ramón loved.

  For that was what it felt like. Loved. For the first time in her life she felt truly beautiful, truly desirable-and it wasn’t just for her body.

  Yes, he made love to her, over and over, wonderful love-making that made her cry out in delight.

  But more.

  He wanted to know all about her.

  He tugged blankets up on the deck. They lay in the sun and they solved the problems of the world. They watched dolphins surf in their wake. They fished. They compared toes to see whose little toe bent the most.

  That might be ridiculous but there was serious stuff, too. Ramón now knew all about her parents, her life, her baby. She told him everything about Matty, she showed him pictures and he examined each of them with the air of a man being granted a privilege.

  When Matty was smiling, Ramón smiled. She watched this big man respond to her baby’s smile and she felt her heart twist in a way she’d never thought possible.

  He let the boom net down off the rear deck, and they surfed behind the boat, and when the wind came up it felt as if they were flying. They worked the sails as a team, setting them so finely that they caught up on time lost when they were below, lost in each other’s bodies.

  He touched her and her body reacted with fire.

  Don’t fall in love. Don’t fall in love. It was a mantra she said over and over in her head, but she knew it was hopeless. She was hopelessly lost.

  It wouldn’t last. Like Kieran, this man was a nomad, a sailor of no fixed address, going where the wind took him.

  He talked little about himself. She knew there’d been tragedy, the sister he’d loved, parents he’d lost, pain to make him shy from emotional entanglement.

  Well, maybe she’d learned that lesson, too. So savour the moment, she told herself. For now it was wonderful. Each morning she woke in Ramón’s arms and she thought: Ramón had employed her for a year! When they got back to Europe conceivably the owner would join them. She could go back to being crew. But Ramón would be crew as well, and the nights were long, and owners never stayed aboard their boats for ever.

  ‘Tell me about the guy who owns this boat,’ she said, two days out of Auckland and she watched a shadow cross Ramón’s face. She was starting to know him so well-she watched him when he didn’t know it-his strongly boned, aquiline face, his hooded eyes, the smile lines, the weather lines from years at sea.

  What had suddenly caused the shadow?

  ‘He’s rich,’ he said shortly. ‘He trusts me. What else do you need to know?’

  ‘Well, whether he likes muffins, for a start,’ she said, with something approaching asperity, which was a bit difficult as she happened to be entwined in Ramón’s arms as she spoke and asperity was a bit hard to manage. Breathless was more like it.

 
‘He loves muffins,’ Ramón said.

  ‘He’ll be used to richer food than I can cook. Do you usually employ someone with special training?’

  ‘He eats my cooking.’

  ‘Really?’ She frowned and sat up in bed, tugging the sheet after her. She’d seen enough of Ramón’s culinary skills to know what an extraordinary statement this was. ‘He’s rich and he eats your cooking?’

  ‘As I said, he’ll love your muffins.’

  ‘So when will you next see him?’

  ‘Back in Europe,’ Ramón said, and sighed. ‘He’ll have to surface then, but not now. Not yet. There’s three months before we have to face the world. Do you think we can be happy for three months, cariño?’ And he tugged her back down to him.

  ‘If you keep calling me cariño,’ she whispered. ‘Are we really being paid for this?’

  He chuckled but then his smile faded once more. ‘You know it can’t last, my love. I will need to move on.’

  ‘Of course you will,’ she whispered, but she only said it because it was the sensible, dignified thing to say. A girl had some pride.

  Move on?

  She never wanted to move on. If her world could stay on this boat, with this man, for ever, she wasn’t arguing at all.

  She slept and Ramón held her in his arms and tried to think of the future.

  He didn’t have to think. Not yet. It was three months before he was due to leave the boat and return to Bangladesh.

  Three months before he needed to tell Jenny the truth.

  She could stay with the boat, he thought, if she wanted to. He always employed someone to stay on board while he was away. She could take that role.

  Only that meant Jenny would be in Cepheus while he was in Bangladesh.

  He’d told her he needed to move on. It was the truth.

  Maybe she could come with him.

  The idea hit and stayed. His team always had volunteers to act as manual labour. Would Jenny enjoy the physical demands of construction, of helping make life bearable for those who had nothing?

  Maybe she would.

  What was he thinking? He’d never considered taking a woman to Bangladesh. He’d never considered that leaving a woman behind seemed unthinkable.