Kat And The Dare-Devil Spaniard

The moon had been full, the night thick with the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle, and there was an air of promise bubbling within her—a sense that, in that moment, anything was possible if only she had the courage to reach out and take it. Overladen with unfamiliar longing, Kat had walked towards him.

‘Hello,’ she said softly.

His black eyes had narrowed and he had nodded his head in a kind of resigned recognition. ‘You’re the woman who’s been flirting with me so outrageously all evening,’ he said slowly.

‘H-have I?’ Thankfully, the darkness had hidden her sudden rise in colour. But hadn’t her sisters told her that it was an equal world now and that women could approach men these days, if they really wanted to? ‘I wondered, would you…would you like to dance?’ she had asked, her careless tone disguising the fierce pounding of her heart but she could feel the tightening of her breasts as she moved a little closer.

She would remember the look on his face for as long as she lived. Something which looked uncomfortably like anger and which quickly grew into cold contempt as he briefly stared down at the large diamond which glittered between the scrap of scarlet satin straining over her bust.

‘Do you always behave like such a tramp, querida?’ he bit out with soft derision. ‘So that you flaunt your wares like a trader in the marketplace? Or do you only want a man when he is with someone else?’

Cringing beneath the icy disdain in the Spaniard’s eyes, Kat barely noticed the figure who had now appeared in the doorway and who stood watching them.

‘B-but—’

Putting his mouth to her ear so that only she could hear, she would never forget his contemptuous words.

‘You are dressed like a hooker and you are behaving like a hooker!’ he had hissed. ‘So why don’t you go and cover yourself up, and then take the time to learn a few lessons on the correct way to conduct yourself in public.’

After this blistering attack, he had sauntered back into the ballroom—past her father, who had silently been observing them—and returned to the beautiful woman in cream. Where, according to her sisters, he had tenderly wrapped her in a soft shawl and had taken her off into the night—leaving Kat alone with her shame and her disbelief that she could have behaved in such a way. That she could have been so preda

tory.

Her sisters had also taken great delight in informing her that not only was the man a famous ex-bullfighter, but that he could have his pick of the most gorgeous women in the world. Which had only made her feel worse.

And that had been the last time she’d seen Carlos Guerrero.

Until now.

Painful memories cleared and Kat realised that the Spaniard was watching her and that she was still holding the letter from her father which had put her in this man’s power.

So forget the terrible way you behaved and the cruel way he rebuffed you. That’s all in the past now. Why not appeal to his sense of logic instead? Forcing a smile, she turned to him. ‘Look, Carlos, you can’t want this any more than I do,’ she urged.

Carlos considered her words. When her father had asked him to employ her, his first instinct had been to bat the suggestion away. Because he wasn’t into playing mentor. Particularly not to spoiled little rich girls who lived their lives like greedy children let loose in a candy store.

So why the hell hadn’t he refused this challenge?

Because Oscar Balfour had been good to him, had helped him set up the property business which had made him a very wealthy man indeed. For there had been a time when nobody wanted to know the angry young Spaniard battling to make a new life for himself. When Carlos had been nothing but an ex-matador who had spent every penny he’d earned, Oscar had taken a risk by giving him a sizeable loan. Had trusted him at a time when few others had—and a man never forgot something like that.

No, he could not have turned down Oscar’s request—no matter how unwanted the suggestion had been.

‘Since you ask—no, I don’t want this at all. I have much better things to do with my time than playing nursemaid to a spoiled brat,’ he said coolly. ‘But my wishes are irrelevant. Your father asked for my help, and so I’m giving it. I owe him.’ He shrugged. ‘And it wasn’t exactly onerous to employ you on my boat. I’m always looking for an extra pair of hands.’

Kat shook her head. ‘You want money?’ she questioned desperately. ‘I can write you a cheque if you set me free.’

For a moment Carlos shook his head, appalled by the sheer impudence of her offer. Did she think that he could be bought, or that money could buy her out of any tight corner? He guessed she did—for hadn’t it been lavished on her during all her life? Suddenly, he found himself remembering the unalloyed poverty of his early years. Of the way his mother had spent every waking hour cleaning for the rich—her careworn hands red and cracked, her eyes dark from lack of sleep. And Carlos felt another wave of contempt for this girl who had always had things so easy.

‘You forget that buying your way out is no longer an option since your father has cut off your allowance,’ he drawled.

‘But I have money I can access!’ she declared. ‘Jewels I can sell!’

‘Just not when you’re in the middle of the Mediterranean, hmm?’ he countered sarcastically.

And suddenly the reality of the situation hit her. Him. And her—stuck in a boat whose dimensions seemed to be diminishing by the second. ‘I’m…I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement,’ she said wildly.

‘I don’t think so.’ The black eyes narrowed and he glanced over to the tight, white T-shirt and the tops of her bare brown thighs which were so graphically showcased in the tiny pair of shorts. ‘Unless you’re offering payment in kind, of course?’ he added insultingly, his voice soft. ‘You’re certainly dressed as if you are.’

It took Kat a moment for his words to register, and when she realised exactly what he meant she felt a strange, burning fury—and a renewed sense of rebellion.