The Balfour Legacy. Кэрол Мортимер

beautiful little island where you can eat fish which has been caught about an hour previously. Want to come? We’re all going.’

      Kat nodded, not wanting to appear too eager. She told herself it was nothing but a careless query and yet she felt an unmistakable fizz of excitement. Dinner—with Carlos! Okay, the rest of the crew would be there too, but who cared? Automatically, she tugged at the thick plait which dangled over her shoulder. ‘What time?’

      ‘We’ll leave at seven.’ Black eyes flicked over her as he thought about all the unsuitable little outfits she might choose to send the other diners’ blood pressure soaring. And his own. ‘Oh, and don’t bother getting dressed up and making some sort of fashion statement,’ he said curtly. ‘It’s a casual little place.’

      Kat heard the unmistakable censure in his voice as he walked out of the study, leaving her staring blankly at the computer screen, wondering what on earth would win such an exacting man’s approval. Then she tried telling herself that she was dressing for herself—and not for anybody else.

      But more than anything she wanted to fit in. To just be part of the gang—the way she’d never been before. Later that afternoon, she washed her hair and knotted it into a French plait, then changed into a simple white linen shift dress and a pair of brown leather gladiator sandals. Her face was naturally tanned, glowing from hard work and plenty of sleep and, she realised, didn’t actually need any make-up.

      She was aware of Carlos’s eyes on her as she walked out on deck—and of his piercing black scrutiny as she stepped into the first boat. This was crazy, she thought faintly—they were surrounded by Mike and the others and yet she felt as self-conscious as if she were alone on a deserted beach with him.

      The tiny island was a stunning pearl of a place, studded into a sea of matchless blue. Lots of different little boats bobbed around in the small harbour and the air was scented with sweet local herbs which perfumed the air the moment they stepped ashore.

      Kat found herself praying that she would be seated somewhere—anywhere—as long as it was away from Carlos and his watchful black eyes. Then felt the thrill of unalloyed pleasure when he slid his long-legged form onto the narrow bench opposite her.

      ‘Like it?’ he questioned idly.

      Drinking in the beauty of his rugged face, Kat smiled. ‘What’s not to like?’ she said softly.

      Hidden by the darkness of his sunglasses, Carlos ran his eyes over her, thinking that he had never seen her looking quite so relaxed or so carefree before. The simple dress suited her—it showed off the sleek lines of her limbs. His gaze drifted to her lips, wondering how, without any gloss or colour, they still managed to symbolise a kind of wanton wildness. Especially when they parted like that…

      ‘Let’s have some wine,’ he said unevenly.

      The waitress brought jugs of cold, red local wine to accompany the fish which they ate with rice flavoured with lentisk—an aromatic herb which Carlos told her grew prolifically on the island.

      Kat put her fork down. ‘My mother would probably have heard of it.’

      Black eyes narrowed. ‘Because?’

      ‘Well, that’s her job. She’s a cook.’

      He put his fork down. ‘Your mother is a professional cook?’

      ‘Yes, Carlos, my mother is a cook—she runs a small bakery business. You sound surprised.’

      ‘Maybe that’s because I am, Princesa.’

      ‘You thought I’d been born with a silver spoon in my mouth?’

      Thinking about her mouth again was a distraction he didn’t need. ‘Something like that.’ Carlos frowned—because, yes, he’d imagined her to have been descended from a long line of aristocrats on both sides of her family. ‘Your mother was Oscar’s third wife, right?’

      ‘Second,’ said Kat drily. ‘He’s a much-married man, my father.’

      He drank a mouthful of wine. ‘And she was a cook when they met?’

      ‘Well, not exactly. My mother was the family nanny. She worked for my father and his first wife, Alexandra, and looked after their three daughters. Then, when Alexandra died, he…well, it was hard for a man in his position to cope with a young family, especially in those days. He decided that he needed to get married again—and quickly. And since my mother already got on so well with his three girls—and with him—it seemed convenient for them to get married.’

      ‘Convenient?’ echoed Carlos sardonically as he speared a piece of fish and ate it.

      Kat nodded. It wasn’t a romantic way to describe a marriage, but her parents’ union had never been a love match—and they had never pretended it had been. Inevitably, the relationship had become a self-fulfilling prophesy which had resulted in divorce. But at least the marital breakdown had been amicable—more amicable than anyone else’s she knew. ‘And they went on to have three daughters of their own. I’m one of them,’ she added helpfully, because people always got thoroughly confused by Oscar’s complicated love life.

      ‘But no son?’

      ‘No, no son.’ She saw the look in his eyes. ‘I suppose you think it’s a tragedy not to have an heir?’

      He shrugged. ‘Well, yes. I would want an heir,’ he said simply.

      That didn’t surprise her. But then, none of his outrageously macho behaviour really surprised her. Kat ate some fish, but the evening was much too balmy to produce an appetite. Plus, she wasn’t finding it very easy to concentrate on food, not when Carlos was sitting there with the light breeze billowing at his silk shirt and hinting at the hard torso beneath. She pushed her plate away.

      ‘Not hungry?’ he questioned softly.

      ‘Not really, no. It’s too hot.’

      ‘Sí.’ Carlos leaned back in his chair. It was much too hot, and she was much too distracting. The sun was dipping now—its magnificent light gilding the deep sapphire of the sea, while the faint pinprick of stars were beginning to appear in the darkening sky. He could hear the slick lick of water as it slapped against the sides of the boats which were moored in the tiny port, and his eyes drank in the distant green hues of the island’s mountains. It looked like paradise—and in truth, at that moment, it felt like paradise. Good food. Good wine—and a beautiful woman who wanted him. And if it were any other beautiful woman than Kat, he would be sailing urgently back to his yacht to make love to her.

      His thoughts were rewarded with the sharp stab of desire and he cursed himself for his stupidity in dwelling on such thoughts. Because this was the real world, he reminded himself—not some soft-focus ad man’s version of it.

      Okay, so she’d embraced a little domesticity these past few days at sea, had shown that she wasn’t completely spoiled. But she was still trouble. Still the kind of idle, rich woman for whom he had no time. The fact that he wanted her was just nature’s idea of a joke—and nature could be cruel. Carlos’s mouth hardened. Didn’t he know that better than anyone?

      He hadn’t had sex in almost a year, although offers spoken and unspoken came his way pretty much every day of the week. But he was discerning—and increasingly so as time went by. Although creamy, firm flesh still appealed to him on a very base level, his boredom tolerance was at an all-time low. And sometime last year he had decided he couldn’t face any more early morning pillow talk with beauties who turned out to be total airheads with nothing but marriage in mind.

      Sooner or later he would carefully select for himself a bride with all the qualities he admired in a woman. Qualities such as humility and compassion. And she would possess a quiet, soft beauty—not the hard-edged glamour of this Balfour heiress.

      So get away from her before the moon rises and the wine blurs your senses any more.

      ‘Has everyone finished?’ questioned