Читать книгу Cinderella: Hired by the Prince / The Sheikh's Destiny - Marion Lennox - Страница 10

HER heart told her she was stupid all the way home. Her head told her she was right.

Her head addressed her heart with severity. This was a totally ridiculous proposition. She didn’t know this man.

She’d be jumping from the frying pan into the fire, she told herself. To be indebted to a stranger, then sail away into the unknown…He could be a white slave trader!

She knew he wasn’t. Take a risk, her heart was commanding her, but then her heart had let her down before. She wasn’t going down that road again.

So, somehow, she summoned the dignity to keep on walking.

‘Think about it,’ Ramón called after her and she almost hesitated, she almost turned back, only she was a sensible woman now, not some dumb teenager who’d jump on the nearest boat and head off to sea.

So she walked on. Round the next corner, and the next, past where Charlie lived.

A police car was pulled up beside Charlie’s front door, and Charlie hadn’t made it inside. Her boss was being breathalysed. He’d be way over the alcohol limit. He’d lose his licence for sure.

She thought back and remembered Ramón lifting his cellphone. Had he…

Whoa. She scuttled past, feeling like a guilty rabbit.

Ramón had done it, not her.

Charlie would guess. Charlie would never forgive her.

Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh.

By the time she got home she felt as if she’d forgotten to breathe. She raced up the steps into her little rented apartment and she slammed the door behind her.

What had Ramón done? Charlie, without his driving licence? Charlie, thinking it was her fault?

But suddenly she wasn’t thinking about Charlie. She was thinking about Ramón. Numbly, she crossed to the curtains and drew them aside. Just checking. Just in case he’d followed. He hadn’t and she was aware of a weird stab of disappointment.

Well, what did you expect? she told herself. I told him press gangs don’t work.

What if they did? What if he came up here in the dead of night, drugged her and carted her off to sea? What if she woke on his beautiful yacht, far away from this place?

I’d be chained to the sink down in the galley, she told herself with an attempt at humour. Nursing a hangover from the drugs he used to get me there.

But oh, to be on that boat…

He’d offered to pay all her bills. Get her away from Charlie…

What was she about, even beginning to think about such a crazy offer? If he was giving her so much money, then he’d be expecting something other than the work a deckie did.

But a man like Ramón wouldn’t have to pay, she thought, her mind flashing to the nubile young backpackers she knew would jump at the chance to be crew to Ramón. They’d probably jump at the chance to be anything else. So why did he want her?

Did he have a thing for older women?

She stared into the mirror and what she saw there almost made her smile. It’d be a kinky man who’d desire her like she was. Her hair was still flour-streaked from the day. She’d been working in a hot kitchen and she’d been washing up over steaming sinks. She didn’t have a spot of make-up on, and her nose was shiny. Very shiny.

Her clothes were ancient and nondescript and her eyes were shadowed from lack of sleep. Oh, she had plenty of time for sleep, but where was sleep when you needed it? She’d stopped taking the pills her doctor prescribed. She was trying desperately to move on, but how?

‘What better way than to take a chance?’ she whispered to her image. ‘Charlie’s going to be unbearable to work with now. And Ramón’s gorgeous and he seems really nice. His boat’s fabulous. He’s not going to chain me to the galley, I’m sure of it.’ She even managed a smile at that. ‘If he does, I won’t be able to help him with the sails. He’d have to unchain me a couple of times a day at least. And I’d be at sea. At sea!’

So maybe…maybe…

Her heart and head were doing battle but her heart was suddenly in the ascendancy. It was trying to convince her it could be sensible as well.

Wait, she told herself severely. She ran a bath and wallowed and let her mind drift. Pros and cons. Pros and cons.

If it didn’t work, she could get off the boat at New Zealand.

He’d demand his money back.

So? She’d then owe money to Ramón instead of to Charlie, and there’d be no threat to Cathy’s apartment. The debt would be hers and hers alone.

That felt okay. Sensible, even. She felt a prickle of pure excitement as she closed her eyes and sank as deep as she could into the warm water. To sail away with Ramón…

Her eyes flew open. She’d been stupid once. One gorgeous sailor, and…Matty.

So I’m not that stupid, she told herself. I can take precautions before I go.

Before she went? This wasn’t turning out to be a relaxing bath. She sat bolt upright in the bath and thought, what am I thinking?

She was definitely thinking of going.

‘You told him where to go to find deckies,’ she said out loud. ‘He’ll have asked someone else by now.’

No!

‘So get up, get dressed and go down to that boat. Right now, before you chicken out and change your mind.

‘You’re nuts.

‘So what can happen that’s worse than being stuck here?’ she told herself and got out of the bath and saw her very pink body in the mirror. Pink? The sight was somehow a surprise.

For the last two years she’d been feeling grey. She’d been concentrating on simply putting one foot after another, and sometimes even that was an effort.

And now…suddenly she felt pink.

‘So go down to the docks, knock on the hatch of Ramón’s wonderful boat and say—yes, please, I want to come with you, even if you are a white slave trader, even if I may be doing the stupidest thing of my life. Jumping from the frying pan into the fire? Maybe, but, crazy or not, I want to jump,’ she told the mirror.

And she would.

‘You’re a fool,’ she told her reflection, and her reflection agreed.

‘Yes, but you’re not a grey fool. Just do it.’

What crazy impulse had him offering a woman passage on his boat? A needy woman. A woman who looked as if she might cling.

She was right, he needed a couple of deckies, kids who’d enjoy the voyage and head off into the unknown as soon as he reached the next port. Then he could find more.

But he was tired of kids. He’d been starting to think he’d prefer to sail alone, only Marquita wasn’t a yacht to sail by himself. She was big and old-fash-ioned and her sails were heavy and complicated. In good weather one man might manage her, but Ramón didn’t head into good weather. He didn’t look for storms but he didn’t shy away from them either.

The trip back around the Horn would be long and tough, and he’d hardly make it before he was due to return to Bangladesh. He’d been looking forward to the challenge, but at the same time not looking forward to the complications crew could bring.

The episode in the café this morning had made him act on impulse. The woman—Jenny—looked light years from the kids he generally employed. She looked warm and homely and mature. She also looked as if she might have a sense of humour and, what was more, she could cook.

He could make a rather stodgy form of paella. He could cook a steak. Often the kids he employed couldn’t even do that.

He was ever so slightly over paella.

Which was why the taste of Jenny’s muffins, the cosiness of her café, the look of her with a smudge of flour over her left ear, had him throwing caution to the winds and offering her a job. And then, when he’d realised just where that bully of a boss had her, he’d thrown in paying off her loan for good measure.

Sensible? No. She’d looked at him as if she suspected him of buying her for his harem, and he didn’t blame her.

It was just as well she hadn’t accepted, he told himself. Move on.

It was time to eat. Maybe he could go out to one of the dockside hotels.

He didn’t feel like it. His encounter with Jenny had left him feeling strangely flat—as if he’d seen something he wanted but he couldn’t have it.

That made him sound like his Uncle Iván, he thought ruefully. Iván, Crown Prince of Cepheus, arrogance personified.

Why was he thinking of Iván now? He was really off balance.

He gave himself a fast mental shake and forced himself to go back to considering dinner. Even if he didn’t go out to eat he should eat fresh food while in port. He retrieved steak, a tomato and lettuce from the refrigerator. A representation of the height of his culinary skill.

Dinner. Then bed?

Or he could wander up to the yacht club and check the noticeboard for deckies. The sooner he found a crew, the sooner he could leave, and suddenly he was eager to leave.

Why had the woman disturbed him? She had nothing to do with him. He didn’t need to regard Jenny’s refusal as a loss.

‘Hello?’

For a moment he thought he was imagining things, but his black mood lifted, just like that, as he abandoned his steak and made his way swiftly up to the deck.

He wasn’t imagining things. Jenny was on the jetty, looking almost as he’d last seen her but cleaner. She was still in her battered coat and jeans, but the flour was gone and her curls were damp from washing.

She looked nervous.

‘Jenny,’ he said and he couldn’t disguise the pleasure in his voice. Nor did he want to. Something inside him was very pleased to see her again. Extremely pleased.

‘I just…I just came out for a walk,’ she said.

‘Great,’ he said.

‘Charlie was arrested for drink-driving.’

‘Really?’

‘That wouldn’t have anything to do with you?’

‘Who, me?’ he demanded, innocence personified. ‘Would you like to come on board?’

‘I…yes,’ she said, and stepped quickly onto the deck as if she was afraid he might rescind his invitation. And suddenly her nerves seemed to be gone. She gazed around in unmistakable awe. ‘Wow!’

‘Wow’ was right. Ramón had no trouble agreeing with Jenny there. Marquita was a gracious old lady of the sea, built sixty years ago, a wooden schooner crafted by boat builders who knew their trade and loved what they were doing.

Her hull and cabins were painted white but the timbers of her deck and her trimmings were left unpainted, oiled to a warm honey sheen. Brass fittings glittered in the evening light and, above their heads, Marquita’s vast oak masts swayed majestically, matching the faint swell of the incoming tide.

Marquita was a hundred feet of tradition and pure unashamed luxury. Ramón had fallen in love with her the moment he’d seen her, and he watched Jenny’s face now and saw exactly the same response.

‘What a restoration,’ she breathed. ‘She’s exquisite.’

Now that was different. Almost everyone who saw this boat looked at Ramón and said: ‘She must have cost a fortune.’

Jenny wasn’t thinking money. She was thinking beauty.

Beauty…There was a word worth lingering on. He watched the delight in Jenny’s eyes as she gazed around the deck, taking in every detail, and he thought it wasn’t only his boat that was beautiful.

Jenny was almost as golden-skinned as he was; indeed, she could be mistaken for having the same Mediterranean heritage. She was small and compact. Neat, he thought and then thought, no, make that cute. Exceedingly cute. And smart. Her green eyes were bright with intelligence and interest. He thought he was right about the humour as well. She looked like a woman who could smile.

But she wasn’t smiling now. She was too awed.

‘Can I see below?’ she breathed.

‘Of course,’ he said, and he’d hardly got the words out before she was heading down. He smiled and followed. A man could get jealous. This was one beautiful woman, taking not the slightest interest in him. She was totally entranced by his boat.

He followed her down into the main salon, but was brought up short. She’d stopped on the bottom step, drawing breath, seemingly awed into silence.

He didn’t say anything; just waited.

This was the moment for people to gush. In truth, there was much to gush about. The rich oak wainscoting, the burnished timber, the soft worn leather of the deep settees. The wonderful colours and fabrics of the furnishing, the silks and velvets of the cushions and curtains, deep crimsons and dark blues, splashed with touches of bright sunlit gold.

When Ramón had bought this boat, just after the accident that had claimed his mother and sister, she’d been little more than a hull. He’d spent time, care and love on her renovation and his Aunt Sofía had helped as well. In truth, maybe Sofía’s additions were a little over the top, but he loved Sofía and he wasn’t about to reject her offerings. The result was pure comfort, pure luxury. He loved the Marquita—and right now he loved Jenny’s reaction.

She was totally entranced, moving slowly around the salon, taking in every detail. This was the main room. The bedrooms were beyond. If she was interested, he’d show her those too, but she wasn’t finished here yet.

She prowled, like a small cat inspecting each tiny part of a new territory. Her fingers brushed the burnished timber, lightly, almost reverently. She crossed to the galley and examined the taps, the sink, the stove, the attachments used to hold things steady in a storm. She bent to examine the additional safety features on the stove. Gas stoves on boats could be lethal. Not his. She opened the cupboard below the sink and proceeded to check out the plumbing.

He found he was smiling, enjoying her awe. Enjoying her eye for detail. She glanced up from where she was inspecting the valves below the sink and caught him smiling. And flushed.

‘I’m sorry, but it’s just so interesting. Is it okay to look?’

‘It’s more than okay,’ he assured her. ‘I’ve never had someone gasp at my plumbing before.’

She didn’t return his smile. ‘This pump,’ she breathed. ‘I’ve seen one in a catalogue. You’ve got them all through the boat?’

‘There are three bathrooms,’ he told her, trying not to sound smug. ‘All pumped on the same system.’

‘You have three bathrooms?’ She almost choked. ‘My father didn’t hold with plumbing. He said real sailors used buckets. I gather your owner isn’t a bucket man.’

‘No,’ he agreed gravely. ‘My owner definitely isn’t a bucket man.’

She did smile then, but she was still on the prowl. She crossed to the navigation desk, examining charts, checking the navigation instruments, looking at the radio. Still seeming awed.

Then…‘You leave your radio off?’

‘I only use it for outgoing calls.’

‘Your owner doesn’t mind? With a boat like this, I’d imagine he’d be checking on you daily.’

Your owner…

Now was the time to say he was the owner; this was his boat. But Jenny was starting to relax, becoming companionable, friendly. Ramón had seen enough of other women’s reactions when they realised the level of his wealth. For some reason, he didn’t want that reaction from Jenny.

Not yet. Not now.

‘My owner and I are in accord,’ he said gravely. ‘We keep in contact when we need to.’

‘How lucky,’ she said softly. ‘To have a boss who doesn’t spend his life breathing down your neck.’ And then she went right on prowling.

He watched, growing more fascinated by the moment. He’d had boat fanatics on board before—of course he had—and most of them had checked out his equipment with care. Others had commented with envy on the luxury of his fittings and furnishings. But Jenny was seeing the whole thing. She was assessing the boat, and he knew a part of her was also assessing him. In her role as possible hired hand? Yes, he thought, starting to feel optimistic. She was now under the impression that his owner trusted him absolutely, and such a reference was obviously doing him no harm.

If he wanted her trust, such a reference was a great way to start.

Finally, she turned back to him, and her awe had been replaced by a level of satisfaction. As if she’d seen a work of art that had touched a chord deep within. ‘I guess now’s the time to say, Isn’t she gorgeous?’ she said, and she smiled again. ‘Only it’s not a question. She just is.’

‘I know she is,’ he said. He liked her smile. It was just what it should be, lighting her face from within.

She didn’t smile enough, he thought.

He thought suddenly of the women he worked with in Bangladesh. Jenny was light years away from their desperate situations, but there was still that shadow behind her smile. As if she’d learned the hard way that she couldn’t trust the world.

‘Would you like to see the rest of her?’ he asked, suddenly unsure where to take this. A tiny niggle was starting in the back of his head. Take this further and there would be trouble…

It was too late. He’d asked. ‘Yes, please. Though…it seems an intrusion.’

‘It’s a pleasure,’ he said and he meant it. Then he thought, hey, he’d made his bed this morning. There was a bonus. His cabin practically looked neat.

He took her to the second bedroom first. The cabin where Sofía had really had her way. He’d restored Marquita in the months after his mother’s and sister’s death, and Sofía had poured all her concern into furnishings. ‘You spend half your life living on the floor in mud huts in the middle of nowhere,’ she’d scolded. ‘Your grandmother’s money means we’re both rich beyond our dreams so there’s no reason why you should sleep on the floor here.’

There was certainly no need now for him, or anyone else on this boat, to sleep on the floor. He’d kept a rein on his own room but in this, the second cabin, he’d let Sofía have her way. He opened the door and Jenny stared in stunned amazement—and then burst out laughing.

‘It’s a boudoir,’ she stammered. ‘It’s harem country.’

‘Hey,’ he said, struggling to sound serious, even offended, but he found he was smiling as well. Sofía had indeed gone over the top. She’d made a special trip to Marrakesh, and she’d furnished the cabin like a sheikh’s boudoir. Boudoir? Who knew? Whatever it was that sheikhs had.

The bed was massive, eight feet round, curtained with burgundy drapes and piled with quilts and pillows of purple and gold. The carpet was thick as grass, a muted pink that fitted beautifully with the furnishings of the bed. Sofía had tied in crisp, pure white linen, and matched the whites with silk hangings of sea scenes on the walls. The glass windows were open while the Marquita was in port and the curtains blew softly in the breeze. The room was luxurious, yet totally inviting and utterly, utterly gorgeous.

‘This is where you’d sleep,’ Ramón told Jenny and she turned and stared at him as if he had two heads.

‘Me. The deckie!’

‘There are bunkrooms below,’ he said. ‘But I don’t see why we shouldn’t be comfortable.’

‘This is harem country.’

‘You don’t like it?’

‘I love it,’ she confessed, eyes huge. ‘What’s not to love? But, as for sleeping in it…The owner doesn’t mind?’

‘No.’

‘Where do you sleep?’ she demanded. ‘You can’t give me the best cabin.’

‘This isn’t the best cabin.’

‘You’re kidding me, right?’

He smiled and led the way back down the companionway. Opened another door. Ushered her in.

He’d decorated this room. Sofía had added a couple of touches—actually, Sofía had spoken to his plumber so the bathroom was a touch…well, a touch embarrassing—but the rest was his.

It was bigger than the stateroom he’d offered Jenny. The bed here was huge but he didn’t have hangings. It was more masculine, done in muted tones of the colours through the rest of the boat. The sunlit yellows and golds of the salon had been extended here, with only faint touches of the crimson and blues. The carpet here was blue as well, but short and functional.

There were two amazing paintings on the wall. Recognizable paintings. Jenny gasped with shock. ‘Please tell me they’re not real.’

Okay. ‘They’re not real.’ They were. ‘You want to see the bathroom?’ he asked, unable to resist, and he led her through. Then he stood back and grinned as her jaw almost hit the carpet.

While the Marquita was being refitted, he’d had to return to Bangladesh before the plumbing was done, and Sofía had decided to put her oar in here as well. And Sofía’s oar was not known as sparse and clinical. Plus she had this vision of him in sackcloth and ashes in Bangladesh and she was determined to make the rest of his life what she termed ‘comfortable’.

Plus she read romance novels.

He therefore had a massive golden bath in the shape of a Botticelli shell. It stood like a great marble carving in the middle of the room, with carved steps up on either side. Sofía had made concessions to the unsteadiness of bathing at sea by putting what appeared to be vines all around. In reality, they were hand rails but the end result looked like a tableau from the Amazon rainforest. There were gold taps, gold hand rails, splashes of crimson and blue again. There was trompe l’oeil—a massive painting that looked like reality—on the wall, making it appear as if the sea came right inside. She’d even added towels with the monogram of the royal family his grandmother had belonged to.

When he’d returned from Bangladesh he’d come in here and nearly had a stroke. His first reaction had been horror, but Sofía had been beside him, so anxious she was quivering.

‘I so wanted to give you something special,’ she’d said, and Sofía was all the family he had and there was no way he’d hurt her.

He’d hugged her and told her he loved it—and that night he’d even had a bath in the thing. She wasn’t to know he usually used the shower down the way.

‘You…you sleep in here?’ Jenny said, her bottom lip quivering.

‘Not in the bath,’ he said and grinned.

‘But where does the owner sleep?’ she demanded, ignoring his attempt at levity. She was gazing around in stupefaction. ‘There’s not room on his boat for another cabin like this.’

‘I…At need I use the bunkroom.’ And that was a lie, but suddenly he was starting to really, really want to employ this woman. Okay, he was on morally dubious ground, but did it matter if she thought he was a hired hand? He watched as the strain eased from her face and turned to laughter, and he thought surely this woman deserved a chance at a different life. If one small lie could give it to her…

Would it make a difference if she knew the truth? If he told her he was so rich the offer to pay her debts meant nothing to him…How would she react?

With fear. He’d seen her face when he’d offered her the job. There’d been an intuitive fear that he wanted her for more than her sailing and her cooking. How much worse would it be if she knew he could buy and sell her a thousand times over?

‘The owner doesn’t mind?’ she demanded.

He gave up and went along with it. ‘The owner likes his boat to be used and enjoyed.’

‘Wow,’ she breathed and looked again at the bath. ‘Wow!’

‘I use the shower in the shared bathroom,’ he confessed and she chuckled.

‘What a waste.’

‘You’d be welcome to use this.’

‘In your dreams,’ she muttered. ‘This place is Harems-R-Us.’

‘It’s great,’ he said. ‘But it’s still a working boat. I promise you, Jenny, there’s not a hint of harem about her.’

‘You swear?’ she demanded and she fixed him with a look that said she was asking for a guarantee. And he knew what that guarantee was.

‘I swear,’ he said softly. ‘I skipper this boat and she’s workmanlike.’

She looked at him for a long, long moment and what she saw finally seemed to satisfy her. She gave a tiny satisfied nod and moved on. ‘You have to get her back to Europe fast?’

‘Three months, at the latest.’ That, at least, was true. His team started work in Bangladesh then and he intended to travel with them. ‘So do you want to come?’

‘You’re still offering?’

‘I am.’ He ushered her back out of the cabin and closed the door. The sight of that bath didn’t make for businesslike discussions on any level.

‘You’re not employing anyone else?’

‘Not if I have you.’

‘You don’t even know if I can sail,’ she said, astounded all over again.

He looked at her appraisingly. The corridor here was narrow and they were too close. He’d like to be able to step back a bit, to see her face. He couldn’t.

She was still nervous, he thought, like a deer caught in headlights. But caught she was. His offer seemed to have touched something in her that longed to respond, and even the sight of that crazy bath hadn’t made her back off. She was just like he was, he thought, raised with a love of the sea. Aching to be out there.

So…she was caught. All he had to do was reel her in.

‘So show me that you can sail,’ he said. ‘Show me now. The wind’s getting up enough to make it interesting. Let’s take her out.’

‘What, tonight?’

‘Tonight. Now. Dare you.’

‘I can’t,’ she said, sounding panicked.

‘Why not?’

She stared up at him as if he were a species she’d never seen.

‘You just go. Whenever you feel like it.’

‘The only thing holding us back is a couple of lines tied to bollards on the wharf,’ he said and then, as her look of panic deepened, he grinned. ‘But we will bring her back tonight, if that’s what’s worrying you. It’s seven now. We can be back in harbour by midnight.’

‘You seriously expect me to sail with you? Now?’

‘There’s a great moon,’ he said. ‘The night is ours. Why not?’

So, half an hour later, they were sailing out through the heads, heading for Europe.

Or that was what it felt like to Jenny. Ramón was at the wheel. She’d gone up to the bow to tighten a stay, to see if they could get a bit more tension in the jib. The wind was behind them, the moon was rising from the east, moonlight was shimmering on the water and she was free.

The night was warm enough for her to take off her coat, to put her bare arms out to catch a moonbeam. She could let her hair stream behind her and become a bow-sprite, she thought. An omen of good luck to sailors.

An omen of good luck to Ramón?

She turned and looked back at him. He was a dark shadow in the rear of the boat but she knew he was watching her from behind the wheel. She was being judged?

So what? The boat was as tightly tuned as she could make her. Ramón had asked her to set the sails herself. She’d needed help in this unfamiliar environment but he’d followed her instructions rather than the other way round.

This boat was far bigger than anything she’d sailed on, but she’d spent her life in a sea port, talking to sailors, watching the boats come in. She’d seen yachts like this; she’d watched them and she’d ached to be on one.

She’d brought Matty down to the harbour and she’d promised him his own boat.

‘When you’re big. When you’re strong.’

And suddenly she was blinking back tears. That was stupid. She didn’t cry for Matty any more. It was no use; he was never coming back.

‘Are you okay?’

Had he seen? The moonlight wasn’t that strong. She swiped her fist angrily across her cheeks, ridding herself of the evidence of her distress, and made her way slowly aft. She had a lifeline clipped to her and she had to clip it and unclip it along the way. She was as sure-footed as a cat at sea, but it didn’t hurt to show him she was safety conscious—and, besides, it gave her time to get her face in order.

‘I’m fine,’ she told him as she reached him.

‘Take over the wheel, then,’ he told her. ‘I need to cook dinner.’

Was this a test, too? she wondered. Did she really have sea legs? Cooking below deck on a heavy swell was something no one with a weak stomach could do.

‘I’ll do it.’ She could.

‘You really don’t get seasick?’

‘I really don’t get seasick.’

‘A woman in a million,’ he murmured and then he grinned. ‘But no, it’s not fair to ask you to cook. This is your night at sea and, after the day you’ve had, you deserve it. Take the wheel. Have you eaten?’

‘Hours ago.’

‘There’s steak to spare.’ He smiled at her and wham, there it was again, his smile that had her heart saying, Beware, Beware, Beware.

‘I really am fine,’ she said and sat and reached for the wheel and when her hand brushed his—she could swear it was accidental—the Beware grew so loud it was a positive roar.

But, seemingly unaware of any roaring on deck, he left her and dropped down into the galley. In minutes the smell of steak wafted up. Nothing else. Just steak.

Not my choice for a lovely night at sea, she thought, but she wasn’t complaining. The rolling swell was coming in from the east. She nosed the boat into the swell and the boat steadied on course.

She was the most beautiful boat.

Could she really be crew? She was starting to feel as if, when Ramón had made the offer, she should have signed a contract on the spot. Then, as he emerged from the galley bearing two plates and smiling, she knew why she hadn’t. That smile gave her so many misgivings.

‘I cooked some for you, too,’ he said, looking dubiously down at his plates. ‘If you really aren’t seasick…’

‘I have to eat something to prove it?’

‘It’s a true test of grit,’ he said. ‘You eat my cooking, then I know you have a cast iron stomach.’ He sat down beside her and handed her a plate.

She looked down at it. Supermarket steak, she thought, and not a good cut.

She poked it with a fork and it didn’t give.

‘You have to be polite,’ he said. ‘Otherwise my feelings will be hurt.’

‘Get ready for your feelings to be hurt.’

‘Taste it at least.’

She released the wheel, fought the steak for a bit and then said, ‘Can we put her on automatic pilot? This is going to take some work.’

‘Hey, I’m your host,’ he said, sounding offended.

‘And I’m a cook. How long did you fry this?’

‘I don’t know. Twenty minutes, maybe? I needed to check the charts to remind myself of the lights for harbour re-entry.’

‘So your steak cooked away on its own while you concentrated on other things.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘I’d tell you,’ she said darkly, stabbing at her steak and finally managing to saw off a piece. Manfully chewing and then swallowing. ‘Only you’re right; you’re my host.’

‘I’d like to be your employer. Will you be cook on the Marquita?’

Whoa. So much for concentrating on steak. This, then, was when she had to commit. To craziness or not.

To life—or not.

‘You mean…you really were serious with your offer?’

‘I’m always serious. It was a serious offer. It is a serious offer.’

‘You’d only have to pay me a year’s salary. I could maybe organise something…’ But she knew she couldn’t, and he knew it, too. His response was immediate.

‘The offer is to settle your debts and sail away with you, debt free. That or nothing.’

‘That sounds like something out of a romance novel. Hero on white charger, rescuing heroine from villain. I’m no wimpy heroine.’

He grinned. ‘You sound just like my Aunt Sofía. She reads them, too. But no, I never said you were wimpy. I never thought you were wimpy.’

‘I’d repay…’

‘No,’ he said strongly and took her plate away from her and set it down. He took her hands then, strong hands gripping hers so she felt the strength of him, the sureness and the authority. Authority? This was a man used to getting his own way, she thought, suddenly breathless, and once more came the fleeting thought, I should run.

There was nowhere to run. If she said yes there’d be nowhere to run for a year.

‘You will not repay,’ he growled. ‘A deal’s a deal, Jenny. You will be my crew. You will be my cook. I’ll ask nothing more.’

This was serious. Too serious. She didn’t want to think about the implications behind those words.

And maybe she didn’t want that promise. I’ll ask nothing more…

He’d said her debt was insignificant. Maybe it was to him. To her it was an insurmountable burden. She had her pride, but maybe it was time to swallow it, stand aside and let him play hero.

‘Thank you,’ she said, trying to sound meek.

‘Jenny?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m captain,’ he said. ‘But I will not tolerate subordination.’

‘Subordination?’

‘It’s my English,’ he apologised, sounding suddenly very Spanish. ‘As in captains say to their crew, “I will not tolerate insubordination!” just before they give them a hundred lashes and toss them in the brink.’

‘What’s the brink?’

‘I have no idea,’ he confessed. ‘I’m sure the Marquita doesn’t have one, which is what I’m telling you. Whereas most captains won’t tolerate insubordination, I am the opposite. If you’d like to argue all the way around the Horn, it’s fine by me.’

‘You want me to argue?’ She was too close to him, she thought, and he was still holding her hands. The sensation was worrying.

Worryingly good, though. Not worryingly bad. Arguing with this guy all the way round the Horn…

‘Yes. I will also expect muffins,’ he said and she almost groaned.

‘Really?’

‘Take it or leave it,’ he said. ‘Muffins and insubordination. Yes or no?’

She stared up at him in the moonlight. He stared straight back at her and she felt her heart do this strange surge, as if her fuel-lines had just been doubled.

What am I getting into, she demanded of herself, but suddenly she didn’t care. The night was warm, the boat was lovely and this man was holding her hands, looking down at her in the moonlight and his hands were imparting strength and sureness and promise.

Promise? What was he promising? She was being fanciful.

But she had to be careful, she told herself fiercely. She must.

It was too late.

‘Yes,’ she said before she could change her mind—and she was committed.

She was heading to the other side of the world with a man she’d met less than a day ago.

Was she out of her mind?

What had he done? What was he getting himself into?

He’d be spending three months at sea with a woman called Jenny.

Jenny what? Jenny who? He knew nothing about her other than she sailed and she cooked.

He spent more time on background checks for the deckies he employed. He always ran a fast check on the kids he employed, to ensure there weren’t skeletons in the closet that would come bursting out the minute he was out of sight of land.

And he didn’t employ them for a year. The deal was always that they’d work for him until the next port and then make a mutual decision as to whether they wanted to go on.

He’d employed Jenny for a year.

He wasn’t going to be on the boat for a year. Had he thought that through? No, so he’d better think it through now. Be honest? Should he say, Jenny, I made the offer because I felt sorry for you, and there was no way you’d have accepted my offer of a loan if you knew I’m only offering three months’ work?

He wasn’t going to say that, because it wasn’t true. He’d made the offer for far more complicated reasons than sympathy, and that was what was messing with his head now.

In three months he’d be in Bangladesh.

Did he need to go to Bangladesh?

In truth, he didn’t need to go anywhere. His family inheritance had been massive, he’d invested it with care and if he wished he could spend the rest of his life in idle luxury.

Only…his family had never been like that. Excluded from the royal family, Ramón’s grandmother had set about making herself useful. The royal family of Cepheus was known for indolence, mindless indulgence, even cruelty. His grandmother had left the royal palace in fear, for good reason. But then she’d started making herself a life—giving life to others. So she and her children, Ramón’s father and aunt, had set up a charity in Bangladesh. They built homes in the low lying delta regions, houses that could be raised as flood levels rose, homes that could keep a community safe and dry. Ramón had been introduced to it early and found the concept fascinating.

His father’s death had made him even more determined to stay away from royalty; to make a useful life for himself, so at seventeen he’d apprenticed himself to one of Cepheus’s top builders. He’d learned skills from the ground up. Now it wasn’t just money he was throwing at this project—it was his hands as well as his heart.

During the wet season he couldn’t build. During these months he used to stay on the island he still called home, spending time with his mother and sister. He’d also spent it planning investments so the work they were doing could go on for ever.

But then his mother and his sister died. One drunken driver and his family was wiped out. Suddenly he couldn’t bear to go home. He employed a team of top people to take over his family’s financial empire, and he’d bought the Marquita.

He still worked in Bangladesh—hands-on was great, hard manual work which drove away the demons. But for the rest of the year he pitted himself against the sea and felt better for it.

But there was a gaping hole where his family had been; a hole he could never fill. Nor did he want to, he decided after a year or so. If it hurt so much to lose…to get close to someone again seemed stupid.

So why ask Jenny onto his boat? He knew instinctively that closeness was a very real risk with this woman. But it was as if another part of him, a part he didn’t know existed, had emerged and done the asking.

He’d have to explain Bangladesh to her. Or would he? When he got to Cepheus he could simply say there was no need for the boat, the owner wanted her in dry dock for six months. Jenny was free to fly back to Australia—he’d pay her fare—and she could fill the rest of her contract six months later.

That’d mean he had crew not only for now but for the future as well.

A crew of one woman.

This was danger territory. The Ramón he knew well, the Ramón he trusted, was screaming a warning.

No. He could be sensible. This was a big enough boat for him to keep his own counsel. He’d learned to do that from years of sailing with deckies. The kids found him aloof, he knew, but aloof was good. Aloof meant you didn’t open yourself to gut-wrenching pain.

Aloof meant you didn’t invite a woman like Jenny to sail around the world with you.

A shame that he just had.

‘The Marquita’s reported as having left Fiji two weeks ago. We think Ramón’s in Australia.’

‘For heaven’s sake!’ Sofía pushed herself up on her cushions and stared at the lawyer, perplexed. ‘What’s he doing in Australia?’

‘Who would know?’ the lawyer said with asperity. ‘He’s left no travel plans.’

‘He could hardly expect this awfulness,’ Sofía retorted. ‘There’s never been a thought that Ramón could inherit.’

‘Well, it makes life difficult for us,’ the lawyer snapped. ‘He doesn’t even answer incoming radio calls.’

‘Ramón’s been a loner since his mother and sister died,’ Sofía said, and she sighed. ‘It affected me deeply, so who knows how it affected him? If he wants to be alone, who are we to stop him?’

‘He can’t be alone any longer,’ the lawyer said. ‘I’m flying out.’

‘To Australia?’

‘Yes.’

‘Isn’t Australia rather big?’ Sofía said cautiously. ‘I mean…I don’t want to discourage you, but if you flew to Perth and he ended up at Darwin…I’ve read about Australia and it does sound a little larger than Cepheus.’

‘I believe the smallest of its states is bigger than Cepheus,’ the lawyer agreed. ‘But if he’s coming from Fiji he’ll be heading for the east coast. We have people looking out for him at every major port. If I wait in Sydney I can be with him in hours rather than days.’

‘You don’t think we could wait until he makes contact?’ Sofía said. ‘He does email me. Eventually.’

‘He needs to take the throne by the end of the month or Carlos inherits.’

‘Carlos?’ Sofía said, and her face crumpled in distress. ‘Oh, dear.’

‘So you see the hurry,’ the lawyer said. ‘If I’m in Australia, as soon as we locate his boat I can be there. He has to come home. Now.’

‘I wish we could find him before I make a decision about Philippe,’ she said. ‘Oh, dear.’

‘I thought you’d found foster parents for him.’

‘Yes, but…it seems wrong to send him away from the palace. What would Ramón do, do you think?’

‘I hardly think Prince Ramón will wish to be bothered with a child.’

‘No,’ Sofía said sadly. ‘Maybe you’re right. There are so many things Ramón will be bothered with now—how can he want a say in the future of a child he doesn’t know?’

‘He won’t. Send the child to foster parents.’

‘Yes,’ Sofía said sadly. ‘I don’t know how to raise a child myself. He’s had enough of hired nannies. I think it’s best for everyone.’