lent itself to that mind-blowing sexuality of hers; did things to him that he knew weren’t just the keen sense of the strong male to protect the weaker female, but stemmed from a less magnanimous, more primal desire to make this disastrously beautiful girl his. Because to lose oneself in a fatal submission to her lovely womanhood would be disastrous—and she was certainly a woman now, he recognised, that deceptively innocent look she had once had gone with the smouldering intensity of her full-blown sensuality. But for all that, she wasn’t well. Anyone could see that, and he was concerned about her being in a strange country on her own. If she was on her own.
Damn it! Why did he have to get involved? he asked himself, gritting his teeth as he switched off the kettle and poured boiling water onto the fine-leaf tea. It wasn’t as if he owed anything to Ranulph Bouvier, and even less to his pampered, self-indulgent daughter.
She wasn’t his responsibility, he assured himself. He could just put her in a cab and let that take her back. She was over eighteen. She had chosen her life and it wasn’t anything to do with him if she wanted to ruin it. So why did he feel this ridiculous and misplaced need to protect her?
‘Does this thing have a bathroom?’
‘Yes, it’s…’ Turning round as she was getting to her feet, he broke off, noticing how shaky, how drained she looked. Spaced out was the phrase that flew to his mind.
‘Are you all right?’ Coming around the counter, he could see the perspiration now dampening her forehead.
‘Yes, I’m fine.’ Her words, though, were slurred with fatigue. Or something else, he thought, feeling a sick fear suddenly grip him.
The way she looked. The gaunt features… Why hadn’t he considered the possibility?
‘Oh, no, you don’t!’ His hand clamped down on the scruffy canvas bag that, upon realising his intention, she had suddenly been making a grab for. He wouldn’t put anything past this girl.
His fingers bit into the delicate bones of her wrists as he grasped them both, turning them over, subjecting each arm to his hard, critical inspection.
‘What are you looking for?’ Shocked anger sparked in her eyes before she tugged forcibly away from him. ‘Signs of self-abuse?’
Without conscious thought, he was shaking out the contents of the bag onto the polished surface of the table.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she challenged, looking aghast.
He felt her heated indignation beating against him as he rifled through her things, and he hated himself for his actions, but he felt compelled to do it. For her sake. For her father’s. For his…
Lipstick. Comb. Purse. Various papers. Bottle of tablets?
He picked it up to study the label, but swiftly she snatched the bottle away from him.
‘An intestinal problem. All right? That’s why I’m here and not Peru!’
His eyes narrowed questioningly. This girl sure got around. ‘Peru?’
She shrugged. ‘Rio. Peru. What does it matter to you? You’re not interested in where I’ve been or what I might be doing. You’re just worried about what I might be bringing onto your precious boat!’
That wasn’t strictly true—in fact, not at all true—but he couldn’t tell her that.
‘So I was wrong.’ He began dropping her belongings back into the bag, but she snatched that from him too.
‘I suppose that’s less of a climb-down than saying you’re sorry!’ Angry colour gave some glow to her cheeks as she began scooping up her possessions. ‘I might not amount to much in your—or a lot of other people’s—eyes, and basically I don’t give a fig! But I do draw the line at—’ her words were punctuated by short, angry breaths ‘—drugs, other people’s husbands, and anything that puts me out of control! And I do happen to value my own body!’
As if that was a cue for them to do so, Kane’s eyes slid, of their own volition, over her slender frame, coming to rest with a wave of heated awareness on the smooth flesh of her naked midriff, that small waist that most women would die for, that enviably flat stomach with its tantalising navel, the creamy camber of her hips. He wanted to coil his arm around her, draw her close as he had done when she had been struck back there on the Ramblas, only not to protect her this time, he realised shamefully, but to feel her warmth, the silky softness of her skin beneath his hands…
Blast her! He was thinking just like some smitten youth. He put a chastening clamp on his thoughts, picking up the small red document still lying on the table and handing it to her.
‘Do you always carry your passport around with you?’ That, too, was whisked from his hand to disappear with the rest of her things into the canvas holdall. ‘I was burgled twice when I was…’ She paused, looking at him as though weighing up what she was about to say. ‘Anyway, ever since, I’ve kept it with me. Anyone who wants it will have to get past me first,’ she told him determinedly, adding as a very pointed afterthought, ‘and that includes you!’
Kane studied her with a dubious lift of an eyebrow. ‘I’m sure you’re strong enough to fend off anyone,’ he commented wryly.
Her smile would have dazzled any man, but he wasn’t fooled. She wasn’t at all impressed by his remark.
‘I don’t think it would be a bad idea for you to lie down for a while,’ he advised, bringing her below into the luxuriously appointed berth of the forward cabin with its pale lacquered furniture and queen-size bed. ‘You look as though a bit of extra rest wouldn’t do you any harm. And the shower…’ He indicated the glass door leading off the bedroom. ‘When you’ve freshened up, I’ll bring you some tea.’
‘Thanks.’
She looked like a waif, he thought, standing there in her shabby combats and little red top with that ridiculous slogan printed across it. Not like the heiress to a multimillion-pound concern whose difficulties she could have no concept of, and in which she certainly had no interest beyond the lifestyle it provided her with, he reminded himself with his jaw tightening. She might have been just some ordinary girl he had plucked off the street, if he hadn’t known better—felt the deadly appeal in that dangerous vulnerability of hers that called to everything that was masculine in him…
‘You said you drew the line.’
‘What?’ She pivoted round, startled. Obviously she thought he had already left.
‘At other people’s husbands,’ he said softly.
She looked at him askance, some dark emotion crossing her lovely face, making him instantly regret having brought it up. Why had he? he wondered. To remind himself of just how dangerous she was? To protect himself? She was just a girl, for heaven’s sake! What protection did he need?
‘Yes.’ She gave a careless shrug. ‘Well, you know how the saying goes. Once bitten—twice shy.’
He couldn’t help the quip that slipped from his lips. ‘Is that why you asked if I was married, Shannon?’
As the cabin door clicked closed behind him, Shannon felt like throwing something at it. So she’d made a mistake. Been a poor judge of character. But why, oh, why, had Kane felt compelled to bring it up?
He was still treating her like the super-rich bitch the taw-drier papers had named her back home, she thought with an aching regret for the reputation she had unwittingly cultivated, and which she had left England to escape. And yet it was Kane’s harsh opinion of her that had hurt her most, and still did, she realised hopelessly, dropping her grubby bag down onto the pale coverlet of the bed, before sliding back the door to the en suite.
The oyster-coloured shower and basin and the blending marble of the counter tops brought a small, appreciative curve to her lips. It seemed a long time since she had enjoyed luxury like this. It was something she had relinquished when she had decided to make a bid for freedom, run