The room in which she now stood was the polar opposite of the poky cabin she’d just been shown. This had the enormous dimensions she was used to—a grand dining salon set out on almost palatial lines. Inlaid lights twinkled from the ceiling, but these were eclipsed by the blaze of natural light which flooded in through sliding French windows which opened up on to the deck itself.
There was a dining table which would have comfortably seated twelve people—though Kat noticed that only two places had been laid and used. Various open bottles were lined along the gleaming surface and candle wax had dripped all over a bone-china plate. At its centre was a beautiful blue-glass platter of exotic fruits and next to it sat a crystal goblet of flat champagne along with a carelessly abandoned chocolate wrapper.
Kat’s lips pursed into a disapproving circle—wondering why on earth a member of staff hadn’t bothered to clear it away. ‘What a disgusting mess,’ she observed quietly.
‘Isn’t it?’ agreed Mike, laughing. ‘The boss sure likes to party when he parties!’
So at least she now knew that the ‘boss’ was a man. And an untidy man, by the look of things. With a sudden smooth purring of powerful engines, the boat began to move—and Kat’s eyes widened in surprise. But before she could register her inexplicable panic that they were setting sail so soon, something happened to wipe every thought clean from her mind.
The first was the sight of a bikini top—a flimsy little excuse for a garment in a shimmering gold material which was lying in a discarded heap on the polished oak floor. It was a blatant symbol of decadence and sex and, for a couple of seconds, the blood rushed hotly into her cheeks before she allowed herself to concentrate on the second.
Because the second was a photo of a man.
Kat’s heart thundered as she stared at it—recognition hit her like a short sharp slap to the face.
The man in the photo must have been barely out of his teens, yet already his face was sombre and hardened by experience. Black eyes stared defiantly straight into the lens of the camera, and his sensual lips curved an expression which was undeniably formidable.
He was wearing a lavishly embroidered glittering jacket, skintight trousers and some kind of dark and formal hat. It was an image which was unfamiliar and yet instantly recognisable—and it took a few moments for Kat to realise that this was the traditional garb of the bullfighter. But that realisation seemed barely relevant in the light of the horror which was slowly beginning to dawn on her.
That she was staring at a likeness of the young Carlos Guerrero.
Trying to conceal the shaking of her hands, she turned to Mike.
‘Whose boat is this?’ she croaked.
Mike’s blond head was jerked in the direction of the photo, and he smiled. ‘His.’
‘C-Carlos?’ Even saying his name sent shivers down her spine—just as the memory of his harsh words lancing through her still had the power to wound. ‘Carlos Guerrero?’
‘Sure. Who else?’ Mike’s expression grew even more curious. ‘You didn’t know?’
Of course she didn’t know! If she had known, then she would never have set foot on the damned vessel—why, she wouldn’t have gone within a million miles of it! But there was no way she was going to enlighten this smirking engineer about her misgivings, or the reason for them. She needed to assert her authority and get onto dry land again.
‘I think there’s been some kind of mix-up,’ she said, her smooth tone belying the fast beating of her heart and sudden sense of urgency. ‘And I’d like to go ashore. Please.’
‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’
Kat’s eyes narrowed. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Well, Carlos told me that a new domestic was arriving—and that her name was Kat Balfour.’
One word reverberated around the room and she repeated it, just in case she had misheard it. ‘Domestic?’ she repeated incredulously.
‘Sure. You’re Kat Balfour and there’s six hungry crew on board.’ He smiled. ‘And we need someone to clean up after us and make our meals, don’t we?’
It was so outrageous a statement to make that for a moment Kat thought he must be having some kind of—extremely unfunny—joke at her expense. As if she was some kind of lowly deck-hand who was about to wait on a load of crew members! But one look at his face told her he was deadly serious. What the hell was going on?
‘Get me off this wretched boat!’ she said, as a sudden wave of panic washed over her. ‘And I mean immediately!’
Again, he shrugged. ‘Sorry, no can do. You’ll have to take that up with the boss—I don’t have the authority to clear it and we’ve left shore now. But I wouldn’t advise you to try asking him any favours without clearing up this mess first. He’ll be here later.’
Carlos Guerrero was coming here? Well, of course he was—if it was his boat. Kat blinked, feeling as if she had fallen into the middle of a raging sea, without any way of keeping herself afloat. And then another—equally shocking—thought occurred to her. Her father had arranged this trip for her. And if so—then why? Nothing seemed to make sense.
Yet none of that mattered—not now. She could take that up with him some other time. The most important thing was to get away. To run. To escape before…
Before the man who had made her senses scream with longing put in an appearance.
Staring out of the windows to see that the port of Antibes was now just an array of glittering masts and boats in the distance, Kat realised she was trapped. Well and truly trapped—unless she could make this man Mike free her.