Cinderella: Hired by the Prince / The Sheikh's Destiny: Cinderella: Hired by the Prince / The Sheikh's Destiny

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.’

Chapter Three

THIS was really, really foolish. She was allowing an unknown Spaniard to pay her debts and sweep her off in his fabulous yacht to the other side of the world. She was so appalled at herself she couldn’t stop grinning.

Watching Cathy’s face had been a highlight. ‘I can’t let you do it,’ she’d said in horror. ‘I know I joked about it but I never dreamed you’d take me seriously. You know nothing about him. This is awful.’

And Jenny had nodded solemn agreement.

‘It is awful. If I turn up in some Arabic harem on the other side of the world it’s all your fault,’ she told her friend. ‘You pointed him out to me.’

‘No. Jenny, I never would have…No!’

She’d chuckled and relented. ‘Okay, I won’t make you come and rescue me. I know this is a risk, my love, but honestly, he seems nice. I don’t think there’s a harem but even if there is…I’m a big girl and I take responsibility for my own decision. I know it’s playing with fire, but honestly, Cathy, you were right. I’m out of here any way I can.’

And what a way! Sailing out of the harbour on board the Marquita with Ramón at the helm was like something out of a fairy tale.

Fairy tales didn’t include scrubbing decks, though, she conceded ruefully. There was enough of reality to keep her grounded—or as grounded as one could be at sea. Six days later, Jenny was on her knees swishing a scrubbing brush like a true deckhand. They’d been visited by a flock of terns at dawn—possibly the last they’d see until they neared land again. She certainly hoped so. The deck was a mess.

But making her feel a whole lot better about scrubbing was the fact that Ramón was on his knees scrubbing as well. That didn’t fit the fairy tale either. Knight on white charger scrubbing bird droppings? She glanced over and found he was watching her. He caught her grin and he grinned back.

‘Not exactly the romantic ideal of sailing into the sunset,’ he said, and it was so much what she’d been thinking that she laughed. She sat back on her heels, put her face up to the sun and soaked it in. The Marquita was on autopilot, safe enough in weather like this. There was a light breeze—enough to make Marquita slip gracefully through the water like a skier on a downhill run. On land it would be hot, but out here on the ocean it was just plain fabulous. Jenny was wearing shorts and T-shirt and nothing else. Her feet were bare, her hair was scrunched up in a ponytail to keep it out of her eyes, her nose was white with sunscreen—and she was perfectly, gloriously happy.

‘You’re supposed to complain,’ Ramón said, watching her. ‘Any deckie I’ve ever employed would be complaining by now.’

‘What on earth would I be complaining about?’

‘Scrubbing, maybe?’

‘I’d scrub from here to China if I could stay on this boat,’ she said happily and then saw his expression and hastily changed her mind. ‘No. I didn’t mean that. You keep right on thinking I’m working hard for my money. But, honestly, you have the best job in the world, Ramón Cavellero, and I have the second best.’

‘I do, don’t I?’ he said, but his smile faded, and something about him said he had shadows too. Did she want to ask?

Maybe not.

She’d known Ramón for over a week now, and she’d learned a lot in that time. She’d learned he was a wonderful sailor, intuitive, clever and careful. He took no unnecessary risks, yet on the second night out there’d been a storm. A nervous sailor might have reefed in everything and sat it out. Ramón, however, had looked at the charts, altered his course and let the jib stay at full stretch. The Marquita had flown across the water with a speed Jenny found unbelievable, and when the dawn came and the storm abated they were maybe three hundred miles further towards New Zealand than they’d otherwise have been.

She’d taken a turn at the wheel that night but she knew Ramón hadn’t slept. She’d been conscious of his shadowy presence below, aware of what the boat was doing, aware of how she was handling her. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, but she was new crew and to sleep in such a storm while she had such responsibility might have been dangerous.

His competence pleased her, as did the fact that he hadn’t told her he was checking on her. Lots of things about him pleased her, she admitted—but Ramón kept himself to himself. Any thoughts she may have had of being an addition to his harem were quickly squashed. Once they were at sea, he was reserved to the point of being aloof.

‘How long have you skippered this boat?’ she asked suddenly, getting back to scrubbing, not looking up. She was learning that he responded better that way, talking easily as they worked together. Once work stopped he retreated again into silence.

‘Ten years,’ he said.

‘Wow. You must have been at kindergarten when you were first employed.’

‘I got lucky,’ he said brusquely, and she thought, don’t go there. She’d asked a couple of things about the owner, and she’d learned quickly that was the way to stop a conversation dead.

‘So how many crews would you have employed in that time?’ she asked. And then she frowned down at what she was scrubbing. How on earth had the birds managed to soil under the rim of the forward hatch? She tried to imagine, and couldn’t.

‘How long’s a piece of string?’ Ramón said. ‘I get new people at every port.’

‘But you have me for a year.’

‘That’s right, I have,’ he said and she glanced up and caught a flash of something that might be satisfaction. She smiled and went back to scrubbing, unaccountably pleased.

‘That sounds like you liked my lunch time paella.’

‘I loved your lunch time paella. Where did you learn to cook something so magnificently Spanish?’

‘I’m part Spanish,’ she said and he stopped scrubbing and stared.

‘Spanish?’

‘Well, truthfully, I’m all Australian,’ she said, ‘but my father was Spanish. He moved to Australia when he met my mother. My mother’s mother was Spanish as well. Papà came as an adventuring young man. He contacted my grandmother as a family friend and the rest is history.

‘So,’ Ramón said slowly, sounding dazed. ‘Habla usted español? Can you speak Spanish?’

‘Sí,’ she said, and tried not to sound smug.

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘There’s no end to my talents,’ she agreed and grinned, and then peered under the hatch. ‘Speaking of talent…How did these birds do this? They must have lain on their sides and aimed.’

‘It’s a competition between them and me,’ Ramón said darkly. ‘They don’t like my boat looking beautiful. All I can do is sail so far out to sea they can’t reach me. But…you have a Spanish background? Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘You never asked,’ she said, and then she hesitated. ‘There’s lots you didn’t ask, and your offer seemed so amazing I saw no reason to mess it with detail. I could have told you I play a mean game of netball, I can climb trees, I have my bronze surf lifesaving certificate and I can play Waltzing Matilda on a gum leaf. You didn’t ask and how could I tell you? You might have thought I was skiting.’

‘Skiting?’

‘Making myself out to be Miss Wonderful.’

‘I seem to have employed Miss Wonderful regardless,’ he said. And then…‘Jenny?’

‘Mmm?’

‘No, I mean, what sort of Spanish parents call their daughter Jenny?’

‘It’s Gianetta.’

‘Gianetta.’ He said it with slow, lilting pleasure, and he said it the way it was supposed to sound. The way her parents had said it. She blinked and then she thought no. Actually, the way Ramón said it wasn’t the way her parents had said it. He had the pronunciation right but it was much, much better. He rolled it, he almost growled it, and it sounded so sexy her toes started to curl.

‘I would have found out when you signed your contract,’ Ramón was saying while she attempted a bit of toe uncurling. Then he smiled. ‘Speaking of which, maybe it’s time you did sign up. I don’t want to let anyone who can play Waltzing Matilda on a gum leaf get away.’

‘It’s a dying art,’ she said, relieved to be on safer ground. In fact she’d been astounded that he hadn’t yet got round to making her sign any agreement.

The day before they’d sailed he’d handed Charlie a cheque. ‘How do you know you can trust me to fill my part of the bargain?’ she’d asked him, stunned by what he was doing, and Ramón had looked down at her for a long moment, his face impassive, and he’d given a small decisive nod.

‘I can,’ he’d said, and that was that.

‘Playing a gum leaf’s a dying art?’ he asked now, cautiously.

‘It’s something I need to teach my grandchildren,’ she told him. And then she heard what she’d said. Grandchildren. The void, always threatening, was suddenly right under her. She hauled herself back with an effort.

‘What is it?’ Ramón said and he was looking at her with concern. The void disappeared. There went her toes again, curling, curling. Did he have any idea of what those eyes did to her? They helped, though. She was back again now, safe. She could move on. If she could focus on something other than those eyes.

‘So I’m assuming you’re Spanish, too?’ she managed.

‘No!’

‘You’re not Spanish?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘You sound Spanish.’ Then she hesitated. Here was another reason she hadn’t told him about her heritage—she wasn’t sure. There was something else in his accent besides Spain. France? It was a sexy mix that she couldn’t quite place.

‘I come from Cepheus,’ he said, and all was explained.

Cepheus. She knew it. A tiny principality on the Mediterranean, fiercely independent and fiercely proud.

‘My father told me about Cepheus,’ she said, awed that here was an echo from her childhood. ‘Papà was born not so far away from the border and he went there as a boy. He said it’s the most beautiful country in the world—but he also said it belonged to Spain.’

‘If he’s Spanish then he would say that,’ Ramón growled. ‘If he was French he’d say the same thing. They’ve been fighting over my country for generations, like eagles over a small bird. What they’ve come to realize, however, is that the small bird has claws and knows how to protect itself. For now they’ve dropped us—they’ve let us be. We are Cepheus. Nothing more.’

‘But you speak Spanish?’

‘The French and the Spanish have both taken part of our language and made it theirs,’ he said, and she couldn’t help herself. She chuckled.

‘What’s funny?’ He was suddenly practically glowering.

‘Your patriotism,’ she said, refusing to be deflected. ‘Like Australians saying the English speak Australian with a plum in their mouths.’

‘It’s not the same,’ he said but then he was smiling again. She smiled back—and wham.

What was it with this man?

She knew exactly what it was. Quite simply he was the most gorgeous guy she’d ever met. Tall, dark and fabulous, a voice like a god, rugged, clever…and smiling. She took a deep breath and went back to really focused scrubbing. It was imperative that she scrub.

She was alone on a boat in the middle of the ocean with a man she was so attracted to her toes were practically ringlets. And she was crew. Nothing more. She was cook and deckhand. Remember it!

‘So why the debt?’ he asked gently, and she forgot about being cook and deckhand. He was asking as if he cared.

Should she tell him to mind his own business? Should she back away?

Why? He’d been extraordinarily kind and if he wanted to ask…He didn’t feel like her boss, and at this moment she didn’t feel like a deckie.

Maybe he even had the right to know.

‘I lost my baby,’ she said flatly, trying to make it sound as if it was history. Only of course she couldn’t. Two years on, it still pierced something inside her to say it. ‘Matty was born with a congenital heart condition. He had a series of operations, each riskier than the last. Finally, there was only one procedure left to try—a procedure so new it cost the earth. It was his last chance and I had to take it, but of course I’d run out of what money I had. I was working for Charlie for four hours a day over the lunch time rush—Matty was in hospital and I hated leaving him but I had to pay the rent, so when things hit rock bottom Charlie knew. So Charlie loaned me what I needed on the basis that I keep working on for him.’

She scrubbed fiercely at a piece of deck that had already been scrubbed. Ramón didn’t say anything. She scrubbed a bit more. Thought about not saying more and then decided—why not say it all?

‘You need to understand…I’d been cooking on the docks since I was seventeen and people knew my food. Charlie’s café was struggling and he needed my help to keep it afloat. But the operation didn’t work. Matty died when he was two years, three months and five days old. I buried him and I went back to Charlie’s café and I’ve been there ever since.’

‘I am so sorry.’ Ramón was sitting back on his heels and watching her. She didn’t look up—she couldn’t. She kept right on scrubbing.

The boat rocked gently on the swell. The sun shone down on the back of her neck and she was acutely aware of his gaze. So aware of his silence.

‘Charlie demanded that you leave your baby, for those hours in the last days of his life?’ he said at last, and she swallowed at that, fighting back regret that could never fade.

‘It was our deal.’ She hesitated. ‘You’ve seen the worst of Charlie. Time was when he was a decent human being. Before the drink took over. When he offered me a way out—I only saw the money. I guess I just trusted. And after I borrowed the money there was no way out.’

‘So where,’ he asked, in his soft, lilting accent that seemed to have warmth and sincerity built into it, ‘was Matty’s father?’

‘On the other side of the world, as far as I know,’ she said, and she blinked back self-pity and found herself smiling. ‘My Kieran. Or, rather, no one’s Kieran.’

‘You’re smiling?’ He sounded incredulous, as well he might.

‘Yes, that’s stupid. And yes, I was really stupid.’ Enough with the scrubbing—any more and she’d start taking off wood. She tossed her brush into the bucket and stood up, leaning against the rail and letting the sun comfort her. How to explain Kieran? ‘My father had just died, and I was bleak and miserable. Kieran came into port and he was just…alive. I met him on the wharf one night, we went dancing and I fell in love. Only even then I knew I wasn’t in love with Kieran. Not with the person. I was in love with what he represented. Happiness. Laughter. Life. At the end of a wonderful week he sailed away and two weeks later I discovered our precautions hadn’t worked. I emailed him to tell him. He sent me a dozen roses and a cheque for a termination. The next time I emailed, to tell him I was keeping our baby, there was no reply. There’s been no reply since.’

‘Do you mind?’ he said gently.

‘I mind that Kieran didn’t have a chance to meet his son,’ she said. ‘It was his loss. Matty was wonderful.’ She pulled herself together and managed to smile again. ‘But I’d imagine all mothers say that about their babies. Any minute now I’ll be tugging photographs out of my purse.’

‘It would be my privilege to see them.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

‘Why would I not?’

Her smile faded. She searched his face and saw only truth.

‘It’s okay,’ she said, disconcerted. She was struggling to understand this man. She’d accepted this job suspecting he was another similar to Kieran, sailing the world to escape responsibility, only the more she saw of him the more she realized there were depths she couldn’t fathom.

She had armour now to protect herself against the likes of Kieran. She knew she did—that was why she’d taken the job. But this man’s gentle sympathy and practical help were something new. She tried to imagine Kieran scrubbing a deck when he didn’t have to, and she couldn’t.

‘So where’s your family?’ she asked, too abruptly, and she watched his face close. Which was what she was coming to expect. He’d done this before to her, simply shutting himself off from her questions. She thought it was a method he’d learned from years of employing casual labour, setting boundaries and staying firmly behind them.

Maybe that was reasonable, she conceded. Just because she’d stepped outside her personal boundaries, it didn’t mean he must.

‘Sorry. I’ll put the buckets away,’ she said, but he didn’t move and neither did she.

‘I don’t like talking of my family.’

‘That’s okay. That’s your right.’

‘You didn’t have to tell me about your son.’

‘Yes, but I like talking about Matty,’ she said. She thought about it. It wasn’t absolutely true. Or was it?

She only talked about Matty to Cathy, to Susie, to those few people who’d known him. But still…