see where she was going, but she just had to get away.
She headed for the barn at the far end of her father’s estate. The place she always escaped to when she didn’t want anyone to find her.
As she approached the barn the horse suddenly veered to the left to avoid a ditch. Katy lost her balance and slid off the animal’s back, landing awkwardly in the long grass.
She lay still for a moment, staring at the sky, wondering which part of her she’d hurt most.
‘Well, that was dramatic.’ The low masculine drawl came from beside her and she struggled to sit up, her eyes widening as she recognised the man staring down at her.
Jago Rodriguez.
He worked for her father in the bank and everyone knew who he was. Especially the women. He’d clawed his way up from what could only be described as an underprivileged background. But if nature had deprived him of material wealth, it had more than compensated by giving Jago sensational good looks, a ruthless ambition to succeed and a brain as sharp as the business end of a razor. It was those qualities that had brought him to the attention of her father and had made him a millionaire several times over by the time he was in his early twenties.
He was a frequent visitor to the manor and Libby often sat on the stairs, hoping for a glimpse of him. Katy wasn’t so bold. She hid in the shadows and watched in mute admiration as Jago coolly ignored her father’s moodiness and childish displays of temper. He was one of the few people who remained completely undisturbed by Charles Westerling’s thoroughly abrasive business manner and bully-boy tactics.
‘The boy’s brilliant,’ her father would grunt as they ate dinner in the formal dining room after Jago had left. Of course, he was never invited to join them. ‘Has an instinctive feel for what will work and goes with it. He’s making a fortune for himself and the bank at the moment.’
Their mother looked pained. ‘I just wish you didn’t have to invite him to events here. He has absolutely no respect for English social convention.’
‘Hallelujah,’ Libby muttered, and Katy stared at her plate, wishing that she had just one small portion of Jago Rodriguez’s courage.
What must it be like to have such self-confidence that you didn’t care what people thought?
‘I think he’s gorgeous,’ Libby piped up, and then subsided as she met her father’s glare.
‘I know he’s got a dreadful reputation with women, but I bet he’s a brilliant kisser,’ Libby said later as they got ready for bed, both of them lost in their own fantasies about Jago. ‘I wonder if he’d kiss me just once so that I could find out what it feels like to do it properly.’
Lying in a tumbled heap and staring into his wicked, masculine face, Katy remembered her sister’s comment and felt her heart miss a beat.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Escaping,’ he said dryly, glancing in the direction of the manor house where the party was still in full swing. ‘Just as you are, presumably.’
He was expecting an answer but suddenly she found herself horribly tongue-tied and totally unable to speak.
He hunkered down next to her, lifting a dark eyebrow as she shrank away from him. ‘Ah—the shy sister who always avoids me. You know, you shouldn’t believe everything you hear.’ He sounded mildly amused. ‘I don’t seduce children.’
She blushed hotly, mortified that he’d read her mind and self-conscious about her appearance. ‘I’m not a child.’ She brushed her tangled blonde hair away from her face and looked at him shyly. ‘It’s my eighteenth birthday today.’
She was supposed to be a woman.
‘I know that. I was invited to the party. If party is the right word.’ His voice was soft and his gaze assessing as it slid over her body with a thoroughness that left her gasping for air. ‘So why are you galloping across the fields wearing a party dress and not much else? Why aren’t you mingling with your guests?’
‘They’re mostly my parents’ friends and colleagues. Contacts.’ She stared into those lazy dark eyes and fought the temptation to blurt out all her problems. What was the point? A man like Jago wouldn’t begin to understand what it was like to have someone dictating your life. He never let anyone dictate to him. ‘I needed to get away.’
‘Hardly surprising. If someone gave me an eighteenth birthday party like that I’d want to get away, too.’ His gaze moved down her bare legs and rested on her feet. ‘What happened to your shoes, Cinderella?’
‘I left them at the stable.’ She tried to scramble to her feet and then gave a yelp of pain as her ankle gave way. ‘Ouch!’
Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked them away, determined not to cry in front of him.
He frowned sharply. ‘Let me look at that.’
Without waiting for her permission he slid a strong hand down her leg and examined her ankle. She held her breath and stared in fascination at his long, strong fingers as they moved over the bone, pressing and testing her reaction. Finally he straightened. ‘It’s not broken. You must have sprained it when you fell. You’re lucky you didn’t fracture your skull.’
Strands of her blonde hair trailed onto his forearm and she marvelled at the contrast between them. He was so dark and strong and everything about him was so different to her. Hypnotised by his masculinity, her eyes fixed on the dark hairs on his forearms, travelled slowly upwards over the swell of muscle and then lifted to the stubble shadowing his hard jaw. He was breathtakingly gorgeous and so sexy that her imagination took flight.
She felt a flutter in the pit of her stomach and her eyes dropped to his firm mouth, wondering, wishing …
He met her rapt expression with a lazy amusement that was totally male. ‘Stop looking at me like that, princess, or I just might do what you want me to do.’
She blushed and sank her teeth into her lower lip. Miles from anywhere, frustrated beyond belief with her life, she felt suddenly bold. ‘I want you to kiss me.’
She stood totally still, shocked by her own impulsive declaration, but his expression didn’t flicker.
‘I know you do.’
His wicked dark eyes slid down to her mouth and suddenly her breathing was choppy. ‘So will you?’ His gaze lifted. ‘No.’
Her fragile bubble of confidence exploded and she stumbled to her feet, wincing at the pain in her ankle. ‘Because you’re scared of my father?’
He threw back his head and laughed. A rich, masculine sound that made her toes curl.
‘What do you think?’ He was still smiling and she swallowed.
‘I don’t think you’re scared of anything.’ She stared down at her feet, mortified by his rejection. ‘So it’s because I’m not pretty enough.’
There was a long, electric silence and then he slid strong fingers under her chin and forced her to look at him.
‘You’re beautiful,
