Kat's Pride. Sharon Kendrick

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