Kat's Pride. Sharon Kendrick

course she didn’t know! If she had known, then she would never have set foot on the damned vessel—why, she wouldn’t have gone within a million miles of it! But there was no way she was going to enlighten this smirking engineer about her misgivings, or the reason for them. She needed to assert her authority and get onto dry land again.

      ‘I think there’s been some kind of mix-up,’ she said, her smooth tone belying the fast beating of her heart and sudden sense of urgency. ‘And I’d like to go ashore. Please.’

      ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’

      Kat’s eyes narrowed. ‘What are you talking about?’

      ‘Well, Carlos told me that a new domestic was arriving—and that her name was Kat Balfour.’

      One word reverberated around the room and she repeated it, just in case she had misheard it. ‘Domestic?’ she repeated incredulously.

      ‘Sure. You’re Kat Balfour and there’s six hungry crew on board.’ He smiled. ‘And we need someone to clean up after us and make our meals, don’t we?’

      It was so outrageous a statement to make that for a moment Kat thought he must be having some kind of—extremely unfunny—joke at her expense. As if she was some kind of lowly deck-hand who was about to wait on a load of crew members! But one look at his face told her he was deadly serious. What the hell was going on?

      ‘Get me off this wretched boat!’ she said, as a sudden wave of panic washed over her. ‘And I mean immediately!’

      Again, he shrugged. ‘Sorry, no can do. You’ll have to take that up with the boss—I don’t have the authority to clear it and we’ve left shore now. But I wouldn’t advise you to try asking him any favours without clearing up this mess first. He’ll be here later.’

      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 wellstocked 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,