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

a fool,’ she told her reflection, and her reflection agreed.

      ‘Yes, but you’re not a grey fool. Just do it.’

      What crazy impulse had him offering a woman passage on his boat? A needy woman. A woman who looked as if she might cling.

      She was right, he needed a couple of deckies, kids who’d enjoy the voyage and head off into the unknown as soon as he reached the next port. Then he could find more.

      But he was tired of kids. He’d been starting to think he’d prefer to sail alone, only Marquita wasn’t a yacht to sail by himself. She was big and old-fash-ioned and her sails were heavy and complicated. In good weather one man might manage her, but Ramón didn’t head into good weather. He didn’t look for storms but he didn’t shy away from them either.

      The trip back around the Horn would be long and tough, and he’d hardly make it before he was due to return to Bangladesh. He’d been looking forward to the challenge, but at the same time not looking forward to the complications crew could bring.

      The episode in the café this morning had made him act on impulse. The woman—Jenny—looked light years from the kids he generally employed. She looked warm and homely and mature. She also looked as if she might have a sense of humour and, what was more, she could cook.

      He could make a rather stodgy form of paella. He could cook a steak. Often the kids he employed couldn’t even do that.

      He was ever so slightly over paella.

      Which was why the taste of Jenny’s muffins, the cosiness of her café, the look of her with a smudge of flour over her left ear, had him throwing caution to the winds and offering her a job. And then, when he’d realised just where that bully of a boss had her, he’d thrown in paying off her loan for good measure.

      Sensible? No. She’d looked at him as if she suspected him of buying her for his harem, and he didn’t blame her.

      It was just as well she hadn’t accepted, he told himself. Move on.

      It was time to eat. Maybe he could go out to one of the dockside hotels.

      He didn’t feel like it. His encounter with Jenny had left him feeling strangely flat—as if he’d seen something he wanted but he couldn’t have it.

      That made him sound like his Uncle Iván, he thought ruefully. Iván, Crown Prince of Cepheus, arrogance personified.

      Why was he thinking of Iván now? He was really off balance.

      He gave himself a fast mental shake and forced himself to go back to considering dinner. Even if he didn’t go out to eat he should eat fresh food while in port. He retrieved steak, a tomato and lettuce from the refrigerator. A representation of the height of his culinary skill.

      Dinner. Then bed?

      Or he could wander up to the yacht club and check the noticeboard for deckies. The sooner he found a crew, the sooner he could leave, and suddenly he was eager to leave.

      Why had the woman disturbed him? She had nothing to do with him. He didn’t need to regard Jenny’s refusal as a loss.

      ‘Hello?’

      For a moment he thought he was imagining things, but his black mood lifted, just like that, as he abandoned his steak and made his way swiftly up to the deck.

      He wasn’t imagining things. Jenny was on the jetty, looking almost as he’d last seen her but cleaner. She was still in her battered coat and jeans, but the flour was gone and her curls were damp from washing.

      She looked nervous.

      ‘Jenny,’ he said and he couldn’t disguise the pleasure in his voice. Nor did he want to. Something inside him was very pleased to see her again. Extremely pleased.

      ‘I just…I just came out for a walk,’ she said.

      ‘Great,’ he said.

      ‘Charlie was arrested for drink-driving.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘That wouldn’t have anything to do with you?’

      ‘Who, me?’ he demanded, innocence personified. ‘Would you like to come on board?’

      ‘I…yes,’ she said, and stepped quickly onto the deck as if she was afraid he might rescind his invitation. And suddenly her nerves seemed to be gone. She gazed around in unmistakable awe. ‘Wow!’

      ‘Wow’ was right. Ramón had no trouble agreeing with Jenny there. Marquita was a gracious old lady of the sea, built sixty years ago, a wooden schooner crafted by boat builders who knew their trade and loved what they were doing.

      Her hull and cabins were painted white but the timbers of her deck and her trimmings were left unpainted, oiled to a warm honey sheen. Brass fittings glittered in the evening light and, above their heads, Marquita’s vast oak masts swayed majestically, matching the faint swell of the incoming tide.

      Marquita was a hundred feet of tradition and pure unashamed luxury. Ramón had fallen in love with her the moment he’d seen her, and he watched Jenny’s face now and saw exactly the same response.

      ‘What a restoration,’ she breathed. ‘She’s exquisite.’

      Now that was different. Almost everyone who saw this boat looked at Ramón and said: ‘She must have cost a fortune.’

      Jenny wasn’t thinking money. She was thinking beauty.

      Beauty…There was a word worth lingering on. He watched the delight in Jenny’s eyes as she gazed around the deck, taking in every detail, and he thought it wasn’t only his boat that was beautiful.

      Jenny was almost as golden-skinned as he was; indeed, she could be mistaken for having the same Mediterranean heritage. She was small and compact. Neat, he thought and then thought, no, make that cute. Exceedingly cute. And smart. Her green eyes were bright with intelligence and interest. He thought he was right about the humour as well. She looked like a woman who could smile.

      But she wasn’t smiling now. She was too awed.

      ‘Can I see below?’ she breathed.

      ‘Of course,’ he said, and he’d hardly got the words out before she was heading down. He smiled and followed. A man could get jealous. This was one beautiful woman, taking not the slightest interest in him. She was totally entranced by his boat.

      He followed her down into the main salon, but was brought up short. She’d stopped on the bottom step, drawing breath, seemingly awed into silence.

      He didn’t say anything; just waited.

      This was the moment for people to gush. In truth, there was much to gush about. The rich oak wainscoting, the burnished timber, the soft worn leather of the deep settees. The wonderful colours and fabrics of the furnishing, the silks and velvets of the cushions and curtains, deep crimsons and dark blues, splashed with touches of bright sunlit gold.

      When Ramón had bought this boat, just after the accident that had claimed his mother and sister, she’d been little more than a hull. He’d spent time, care and love on her renovation and his Aunt Sofía had helped as well. In truth, maybe Sofía’s additions were a little over the top, but he loved Sofía and he wasn’t about to reject her offerings. The result was pure comfort, pure luxury. He loved the Marquita—and right now he loved Jenny’s reaction.

      She was totally entranced, moving slowly around the salon, taking in every detail. This was the main room. The bedrooms were beyond. If she was interested, he’d show her those too, but she wasn’t finished here yet.

      She prowled, like a small cat inspecting each tiny part of a new territory. Her fingers brushed the burnished timber, lightly, almost reverently. She crossed to the galley and examined the taps, the sink, the stove, the attachments used to hold things steady in a storm. She bent to examine the additional safety features