The Balfour Legacy

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.

‘Now listen to me, Mike,’ she said, emphasising a cut-crystal accent which usually got her exactly what she wanted. ‘Are you going to let me go, or not?’

‘Sorry, love. No can do. More than my job’s worth.’

‘Right. Well, then, let me tell you something—and you’d better listen carefully. I am not your domestic and I am not going to cook or clean up for you and your fellow crew members. And what is more, I am certainly not going to clean up the mess left behind by your slob of a boss and his…his…girlfriend. Do you understand?’

Mike shrugged. ‘Loud and clear. Do what you like—I sure wouldn’t want to be in your shoes when you tell Carlos that.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better get back to the captain. I’ll leave you to calm down, and then you can come and find me and I’ll show you the galley.’

And without another word, he turned and left, leaving Kat staring after him—shocked and stunned—her heart now racing with a fear which she hadn’t felt in a long time. The one which she shoved deep down inside her, whenever it reared its dark and threatening head. That terrible tearing sensation of a hostile situation taking over and rendering her helpless…

Well, she wasn’t helpless. And neither was she going to ‘calm down’ and acquaint herself with a galley she had no intention of ever using! Presumably she was stuck here until Carlos and the owner of the gold bikini top returned. A hot little curl of something which felt like jealousy began to unfurl inside her and Kat willed it to go away. She wasn’t jealous of any poor unfortunate woman whose bikini top must have been removed by the arrogant Spaniard. Why, she…she pitied her—and what was more, she would have him arrested for kidnap when he finally did show his haughty face!

Pulling her cellphone from her bag, she desperately tried to get a connection—but for some reason, it refused to work. Even angrier now, and unable to bear the thought of just sitting there, Kat decided to explore the boat. And it didn’t take her long to discover that her first impressions had been spot on. It wasn’t just big, it was absolutely vast—and no expense had been spared during its outlay.

There was a cinema, a library and a well-stocked wine cellar—as well as an enormous sitting room which spread out onto the deck area. And she counted five luxury guest suites which even had their own elevator to connect them to the decks. This was wealth on a scale that far outweighed even her father’s and briefly Kat found herself wondering how the Spaniard had made his money. Surely not through bullfighting?

By now she was feeling very hungry. It seemed a long time since her flight into France this morning and she never ate the disgusting food they served on scheduled flights. She needed to eat something, but was loath to go down into the galley in case she bumped into any of the other crew. Because wouldn’t that seem like some silent admission of defeat?

Instead, she went back into the dining room and looked around to see what was left from the remains of the meal on the table. Not a lot. She ate a banana, two pomegranates and some rich, dark chocolate. And then, more out of defiance than desire, opened a bottle of wine whose label she recognised as being one of the world’s finest and poured herself a large glassful.

Never a big drinker, the bouquet and depth of the claret was wasted on her, but at least the wine made her feel better. And more than a little rebellious. Her feelings of disbelief that this should actually be happening to her began increasingly to be replaced with a sense of fury. Just you wait, Carlos Guerrero, she vowed silently as she finished off the glass of costly wine and poured herself a second, before flopping down on a wide, squashy sofa which was heaped with cushions and staring out of the windows.

Watching the frilly white tips of the waves as the yacht powered its way over the sapphire sea, Kat was almost halfway through the bottle when she heard a sound which made her heart miss a beat. And then begin to accelerate with excitement.

It was the sound of a rich man’s toy. The distinctive whirr-whirr chopping sound from overhead which could mean only one thing—a helicopter! And whoever was flying it would surely take pity on her and whisk her away from this luxurious prison.

Slamming the glass down on the table, Kat lurched to her feet. She would throw herself on the pilot’s mercy. Inform him—or her—that she was being held here against her will and that she wished to be taken to the nearest police station.

But her rush to reach the deck and the helicopter pad seemed blighted—probably due to the amount of alcohol she’d drunk and her high-heeled espadrilles. To her horror, Kat slithered on the wooden floor and ended up sitting slam on her bottom. And by the time she had scrambled to her feet and got her bearings and worked out which of the many doors would give her access to the helicopter pad, she heard the heartbreaking sound of accelerating propellers. Which could only mean one thing. Please, please don’t leave without me catching you, she prayed, even as she heard the loud rush of air which indicated that the craft was indeed now heading skywards.

With a small whimper she flung open one of the doors and hurled herself through it—only to be brought up short by a solid object as she cannoned into it.

A very solid object indeed.

‘Buenas tardes, querida,’ came a deeply accented voice which trickled over her senses like thick, dark honey.

And to her horror, Kat found herself staring up into the forbidding features of Carlos Guerrero.

Chapter Two

KAT stared up into icy black eyes which were skating over her with undisguised disapproval. ‘You!’ she accused, though her knees had turned to jelly and her heart was thundering so loudly that she felt quite faint. But what woman in the world wouldn’t feel the same if confronted with that spectacular physique, clad in close-fitting black jeans and a soft white silk shirt—even if his handsome face was so cold that it might have been sculpted from some glittering piece of dark marble? ‘Carlos Guerrero!’ she breathed.

‘Who were you expecting?’ challenged Carlos silkily. ‘It is my boat after all.’

Trying like mad to control the writhing tumult of her feelings, Kat glared at him. ‘I thought…I thought I was in the middle of a nightmare, but it turns out it’s true.’

‘You mean you don’t want to be here?’ he mocked, his black eyes piercing into her like twin lasers.

Instinctively she stepped away. Away from the raw, masculine scent of him, and the heat which emanated from his powerful body. Away from the dangerous sizzle of sexuality which surrounded him like a dark and sensual aura and made her want to run her fingers through his riotous black curls.

‘I’d rather be anywhere but here—with you,’ she said. And yet didn’t her words carry a hollow ring to them, because how could she protest at his presence when already she could sense his irresistible magnetism? The kind that made women—and her especially—make complete fools of themselves. Well, not this time—that was for sure. ‘Anywhere,’ she finished bitterly.

‘I can assure you that the feeling is entirely mutual, querida.’

‘Then let me go,’ she breathed. ‘Send for the helicopter and let it take me away.’

‘No,’ he negated harshly. ‘I cannot and I will not.’

Kat looked at him in alarm. ‘But you can’t keep me here against my will!’

‘Can’t I?’ A slow and mocking smile curved the edges of his lips. ‘Aren’t you even a little bit curious about why you’re here—or did you think I was just longing for a little of your exclusive company?’

‘Of course not,’ she snapped. ‘Any more than I’m longing for yours!’

‘Good. Because, believe me—you were never going to be my number-one choice of sailing companion.’

Eyes narrowing, Carlos began to study her. She was beautiful, he conceded reluctantly. Even more beautiful than he remembered. Black hair tumbled like wild, dark silk over her shoulders, and her eyes were the most astonishing shade of blue he’d ever seen, framed by outrageously long, curling black lashes. Her lips were as pink as crushed rose petals—and her body was positively sinful.

Unfashionably curvy, she had the kind of legs which seemed to go on for ever—a fact emphasised by the tiny pair of denim shorts she wore, along with a pair of high-heeled espadrilles which showcased her painted toenails. Luscious-looking breasts were thrusting towards him as if crying out for him to cup them in the palms of his hands—their fullness set off perfectly by the simple white T-shirt which stretched tightly over them. So that they looked like two ripe peaches which had been smothered in cream…

But she left him cold. Completely cold. Her type always did. She was a predatory type of modern woman who flagrantly used her sexuality like a bitch in heat. Who saw what she wanted and then just went right out and took it. His mind took him back to the extravagant ball her family had thrown last year—when she had approached him with all the subtlety of a cheap prostituta, and his mouth hardened with remembered contempt.

¡Maldición! It was a pity he was forced to accommodate such a woman as this on the sanctuary of his beloved yacht—but he owed her father. Owed him more than he could ever say. And perhaps it would be amusing to snap this spoiled little madam from out of the privileged bubble in which she seemed to exist.

‘Have you qu-quite finished?’ questioned Kat in a voice which was shaking with rage and humiliation—for she had never been stared at like that before. She attracted attention, yes—but no man had ever had the temerity to study her as if she was being slowly stripped naked by a pair of contemptuous eyes. And aren’t you shaking for another reason? questioned a taunting voice in her head. Aren’t you shaking because you actually like him looking at you like that? Aren’t your breasts tingling after his insolent scrutiny—and isn’t there a kind of soft, aching pool where the denim is rubbing against the fork of your thighs?

‘Finished?’ echoed Carlos. ‘Why, querida—I haven’t even started.’

Kat’s heart thumped, but she was damned if she would show even a trace of nerves. This man was nothing to her. Nothing. Fearlessly, she lifted her chin and iced him a look. ‘Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on?’

Black eyes regarded her. ‘You don’t know anything?’

‘Would I be asking if I did?’ But then Kat remembered her father’s strange reticence to disclose any details about her proposed boat trip, and now as she stared into the hard, cold face of the Spaniard her misgivings began to grow. ‘This is something…something which has been cooked up between you and my father, isn’t it?’

‘Bravo,’ he mocked softly, curious to see how she would react.

Kat’s hands curled into two fists by the sides of her bare thighs. ‘Well, I want to speak to him. Now!’

‘Didn’t anyone ever teach you to say please?’

‘I don’t really think that you’re in a position to give me a lesson in manners when you’re the one keeping me prisoner! I want some sort of explanation about why I’ve been…kidnapped by some wretched brute of a man like you!’

Carlos saw the icy blue fire of defiance spitting from her eyes and he felt a sudden rush of blood heating his veins. Oh, but he was going to enjoy taming her. To teach her that she could not just waltz through life, relying on her blindingly beautiful looks and her limitless bank account, taking exactly what she wanted, without a thought as to what the consequences might be.

‘Just lose the hysteria—’

‘But I—’

‘I said lose it,’ he snapped. ‘And come with me.’ He walked straight past her into the still-untidy cabin, his eyes narrowing with anger as he registered that she hadn’t lifted a finger to clear anything away as he had expressly instructed she do. But he would deal with that. Later. Turning to face her, he pulled a cream envelope from the back pocket of his jeans and handed it to her. ‘From your father,’ he said.

Snatching the envelope from him, Kat was trembling as she ripped it open and withdrew a large sheet of paper, her eyes scanning over it quickly as she recognised her father’s handwriting. My dearest Kat, it began.

It was the most bizarre document she had ever seen. Words flew off the page as if determined to grab her attention and she read them in rapidly mounting disbelief.

Words such as powerful, proud and loyal—and they were written in Latin too. Validus, Superbus quod Fidelis.

Kat’s head was spinning as she read on.

These are the words of our family motto, which for many years used to guide the Balfours. But something else used to guide us too—a set of principles which were known in the family as the rules.

Kat’s frown deepened. What on earth was her father going on about? The letter continued.

Of late, these principles have become wilfully neglected and our name has become a laughing stock—both at home and abroad. In many ways, I blame myself. The example I have set to my children over the years has been a poor one, but I am determined that my daughters will not replicate my chequered lifestyle.

Then came the paragraph which made Kat’s blood run cold.

Which is why I am cutting off your allowance, Kat, and forcing you to earn your keep for the first time in your life. It will also ensure that you embrace the concept of the word commitment—which is rule 6: run away from your problems once and you will run for ever.

You have spent your whole life running from your problems, Kat, but it is time that you learned to look them in the face. By facing problems, you defeat them. Running away is what cowards do, not Balfours. You need to figure out a direction for your life, instead of just drifting aimlessly. A little hard work might help focus your mind.

This is why I have arranged for you to work your passage on the yacht of Carlos Guerrero. He is a man I know and trust to set you on the right path. He is the only man I have ever seen stand up to you, and you cannot run away while you are at sea! Forgive me for what must seem like an extreme measure, my dearest Kat, but I am confident that one day you will be grateful that I took it.

Your loving father, Oscar

Kat’s manicured nails dug into the expensive cream velour paper and it took a moment or two for her to compose herself enough to risk looking Carlos in the face. And when she did, it only increased her ire, for his black eyes were glittering with what looked like pleasure, and a smile of satisfaction was curving his lips.

‘You knew about this!’ she accused.

‘Of course I did.’

‘Rules? Rules,’ she spluttered. ‘It’s outrageous.’

‘I quite agree,’ he said unexpectedly, and then his accented voice grew harsh. ‘Completely outrageous that a woman of twenty-two has never done an honest day’s work in her life!’

Kat swallowed. ‘That’s none of your business!’

‘Oh, but it is, querida. Your father has made it my business by electing me as the poor unfortunate who has been forced to employ you—because I doubt that anyone else would!’

‘I can’t believe that Daddy would willingly subject me to…’

The black eyes challenged her. ‘To what, exactamente?’

‘To be holed up with a man who’s world famous for his womanising!’

For a moment, Carlos didn’t respond. The slur was an oft-repeated one which infuriated the hell out of him, and it was made by the press and the public at large simply because women had a terrible tendency to fall in love with him. And then to talk about it to whoever would listen—the way women always loved to talk when their hearts were smitten. But if he could have a euro for every woman he was supposed to have slept with, then his already-generous bank accounts would be overflowing.

He stared at the stunning brunette—almost marvelling at her gall and wondering how she, of all people, had the nerve to level such an accusation at him.

‘But I’m extremely picky where women are concerned—you of all people should know that,’ he drawled. ‘After all, I turned you down, didn’t I, querida? Even though you were pretty much begging me to make love to you.’

Kat flushed. Of all the most hateful…hateful things he could have said.

But it was true, wasn’t it? That was the painful reality of it. She had thrown herself at him. Behaved in a way which had been completely foreign to her. Because despite her worldly appearance and air of sophistication, Kat was a disaster where men were concerned.

Sometimes her sisters teased her about her lack of boyfriends and Kat had often wondered if she would ever experience the kind of overwhelming emotional and sexual desire which other women spoke of. And yet she wasn’t even sure she wanted to—because getting close to people meant that you could get hurt.

So she hid behind her outrageous outfits, presenting a fashionable, brittle exterior to the world—terrified that somebody would find her out and see through to the gaping insecurities inside. And it had always been easy, because she had never really felt stirred by a man. Not until last year’s ball…

The dress she had worn had been pretty daring—even by her standards. Carefully constructed in scarlet satin, the low-cut bodice had left her breasts half bare and the thigh-high slashes of the skirt showed off her long legs as she walked. Precious gems had sparkled in her hair—with the famous Balfour Brilliant winking in a provocative diamond teardrop between her breasts.

Kat remembered descending the stairs into the grand ballroom, aware that all eyes had turned to watch her, but she had felt oblivious to their interest…as if she was half asleep, like a person in a dream.

And then she had seen him. Standing out among the hundreds of other guests like a bright planet in a clear night sky. Her heart had begun to thunder powerfully with some kind of ancient recognition and in that single moment she had understood what all the fuss was about. Why women fell in love at first sight. And why it could happen without reason, or warning.

Carlos Guerrero.

He had been wearing a formal suit—the stark black clothes exquisitely tailored to emphasise every hard sinew of his impressive physique and his long, lean legs and narrow hips. His black hair had been longer than the other men’s in the ballroom—and wilder too. Yes, that was the best way to describe what Carlos Guerrero had looked like that night—there was a sense that beneath the immaculate exterior, he was untamed. Proud, dangerous and sexy—he seemed more alive than anyone else she’d ever set eyes on, and just looking at him sparked a longing as old as time.

The only problem was that he was with a woman—a serene-looking woman who barely wore a scrap of make-up—but then, she didn’t really need to. Not when you were as naturally beautiful as that. Kat remembered her dismay as she’d stared at his partner’s soft, even features and the elegant chignon of her hair. Her gown was a fluid fall of cream, quietly emphasising a stunning figure, and two luminous pearl studs gleaming at her ears were her only adornment.

Kat had suddenly felt like an overdressed Christmas tree in comparison—yet that didn’t stop her wanting the man with a hunger which made her feel positively weak.

But he had refused to play ball—his black eyes had been cold, his manner dismissive, when she was introduced to him. Carlos Guerrero was his name, and she remembered thinking that it was the most gorgeous name in the world.

Kat did everything to get him to notice her—but because she’d never had to try with a man before, she tried too hard. Much too hard. Every time she thought he was watching her, she had played up to it like mad. Tipping her head back and giggling. Letting her eyes close in dreamy surrender. Yet she might as well have been trying to get a reaction from a stone for all the good it did. Until at last, when his lovely partner had disappeared in the direction of the cloakrooms, Kat had spotted him going out onto the terrace. And shamelessly she had followed him.

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 predatory.

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.