Carole Mortimer - The Balfour Legacy

Hadn’t she told herself that from now on she was going to remain immune to his dark beauty? That he had little respect for her as a person and had rejected her as a woman. So why was it that she seemed to be powerless over the thunder of her heart as she carried the tray towards the table?

‘Good morning!’ she said.

Carlos watched her approach and his eyes narrowed. There was something different about her this morning and he couldn’t quite work out what it was. ‘No me lo creo,’ he observed, his voice silky. ‘I don’t believe it. The princesa is up and working—and what is more…she’s on time.’

Kat put the tray down. ‘You said breakfast at seven and here it is—I’m simply following your orders, Carlos.’

‘But I am impressed, Princesa . I was expecting sulky acquiescence.’ And hadn’t he thought that she might be a touch coquettish this morning, her body silently imploring him to carry on with what he’d so foolishly begun last night? Perhaps he had. But her attitude towards him was merely businesslike as she poured out a cup of coffee. He had been the one to suffer an agitated night spent trying to banish the memory of her soft kiss and eager body—and yet here she was, looking infuriatingly calm and rested. ‘Not such an air of docile servility,’ he finished softly.

‘Docile servility wasn’t what I was aiming for,’ Kat returned. ‘I’m just trying to do my job to the best of my ability since I seem to be stuck with it.’

‘So what’s the catch?’ he questioned softly.

‘Catch? No catch, Carlos. I’ve decided to accept my fate and do what’s required of me.’ She pushed the coffee across the table towards him. ‘But I wanted to ask you a favour.’

‘What kind of favour?’

Kat shrugged. ‘Well, I can’t possibly provide meals for the crew when I don’t really know how to cook.’

‘So what are you suggesting?’ he drawled. ‘That I fly out a trained chef to teach you how to boil an egg?’

‘I think that even I could manage an egg. Actually, I was thinking of something a little simpler.’

‘Such as?’

‘Well, access to the Internet would help. I assume you have it on board?’

‘Oh, come on.’ His hard smile became edged with mockery. ‘And have you sending out SOS messages to all the admiring men in your life, asking them to come and rescue you?’

Kat shook her head. The only man she could imagine masterminding some sort of high-seas rescue mission was sitting right in front of her and he was far from admiring. ‘I’m not planning to escape. I already told you that. All I want is to find some simple recipes with simple instructions. Recipes that I might actually be able to use—and prevent some sort of mutiny from the crew.’

Carlos studied her thoughtfully. She had a point. There was no way he wanted a repeat of the fiasco they’d been forced to endure last evening. The question was—could he trust her? Should he even try? Staring down into her brilliant blue eyes, he dipped his voice. ‘But if I let you, I don’t want you wasting time.’

‘Of course not.’

‘No emails. No browsing unrelated websites.’

What a tyrant he was! ‘Maybe you’d like to stand over me and police it?’ she challenged.

He met the challenge in her eyes with one of his own. ‘Maybe I will.’ Or maybe it would be a little crazy to put temptation in his way when he was finding it harder and harder to remain immune to her aristocratic appeal.

Sipping his coffee, he studied her. This morning she’d tied the thick black hair back into a single plump plait which gave her a particularly youthful appearance—emphasised by the simple shorts, T-shirt and deck shoes she wore. But it was something else. Something other than a more casual look than she usually favoured. He frowned. ‘You’re not wearing any make-up,’ he observed slowly.

With something of a shock, Kat lifted her fingertips to her face as she realised that he was right—and that she hadn’t even noticed. She who had worn make-up every day since she’d been fifteen years old! ‘There wasn’t time this morning. To be honest I didn’t even think about it. I…I must look a fright.’

A fright? He felt the sudden beating of a pulse at his temple and the flickering throb of awareness as their eyes met. ‘On the contrary—I think it suits you,’ he said obliquely, pleased when his cellphone began to ring and he could turn his back on the crushed-petal perfection of her lips. ‘Speak to Mike about the Internet—tell him I’ve given you permission to have limited access. And I mean limited , Princesa .’

He really was a control freak, Kat thought, as she heard him begin to speak rapidly in Spanish, and she hurried down to the galley to make herself a cup of coffee.

But the tiny freedom Carlos had granted her by allowing her access to the Internet somehow shifted the balance of power, if only slightly. Very subtly it changed her attitude towards her enforced captivity. By giving her an element of responsibility, she now felt that she had something to prove to him—and she was determined to do it.

She was allocated use of the desktop computer in Carlos’s study which apparently he used mainly in winter or when the weather was inclement. His desk was bare and uncluttered—without a single family photo and barely a keepsake which might have given a clue about the identity of its owner. Only a single oil painting gave some sort of idea about what kind of life Carlos Guerrero might live when he wasn’t at sea—and it was not what Kat would have expected. Instead of some sophisticated modern canvas, the painting was of a lovely and rather old-fashioned house set in a beautiful landscape of lemon trees and distant mountains, bounded by a sky which was vast and magnificent.

Kat found herself staring at it more than once and wondering where it was—and if it had been anyone else she might have asked them. But not Carlos. Carlos didn’t really invite small talk—and hadn’t he made it crystal clear that any kind of personal interaction between the two of them was strictly off the menu?

She found a website for beginner cooks called ‘Can’t Boil An Egg?’ which was reader-friendly and took her through all the basics. And Kat soon realised that the number-one rule about successful cooking was to keep it simple. Fancy sauces and hundreds of clashing ingredients were passé—fresh and seasonal was the way to go.

She soon found that the stronger she made the coffee, the more everyone liked it—Carlos especially. And that the crew adored warm bread served with every meal, and were just as happy with cheese as a pudding afterwards.

That wasn’t to say that there were no more disasters, though none quite as bad as on that first night. She quickly learnt that it was a mistake to make ice cream unless you were a lot more experienced than she was. And Kat soon noticed a direct correlation between hard work and personal satisfaction. That if the crew—and Carlos—were happy with the meals she prepared, then she was too…

Happy? Well, that might not be the best word to choose to describe her feelings, not when she felt a sense of aching awareness every time she saw him. The memory of his kiss lingered just as potently in her mind as it ever had and reminded her how it felt to be held close to that powerful, hard body. And she’d have been a liar if she’d denied her desire to have him pull her into his arms again—only this time, not to stop. To carry on plundering her lips with that hard and hungry kiss…

She was just writing down a recipe for a green sauce to accompany some free-range chickens she’d defrosted when a shadow fell over the desk and she looked up to find Carlos standing there staring down at her, his expression inscrutable.