well as a double dose of her father’s temper when she discovered that Kane Falconer had had a disagreement with him that same week and walked out.
She knew Kane had on more than one occasion been head-hunted by the competition; knew he’d found Ranulph difficult to work with. But after the pain of her own betrayal by a man she had convinced herself she was in love with, or at the very least trusted, Kane’s defection lanced her to the quick.
Disillusioned, hurting, she was alone at the house when he called that weekend to pick up some personal papers, when the scandal she was at the centre of turned his usual mocking detachment into full-blown anger with her after she pelted him with an angry tirade of abuse.
‘You dare to question my behaviour?’ His eyes were hard with hostility. ‘That’s rich coming from an attention-seeking little socialite who’ll stop at nothing to get her kicks! And I can think of far worse names, Shannon, but I’ll spare you those.’ She didn’t realise then that he was a friend of Jennifer Markham’s family, which must have accounted for why he was so angry. ‘I only hope you find what you’re looking for—for your sake as well as everybody else’s!’ he sliced at her as he crossed to the door.
Stung by his opinion, by his leaving, by the frustration of never having had this man on her side, she flung back at him, ‘You called me a Jezebel the first time you saw me. Well, if I’m a Jezebel, you’re a Judas! Crossing over to the other side!’
It was her hurt anger that had made her say it; and her envy that he was free to walk away, because secretly she admired him for standing up to her father. He wasn’t a yes man—not a man her father, or anyone for that matter, could push around.
He’d walked out then, slamming the front door behind him, and she hadn’t seen him again until today. Rumour had it that he hadn’t joined another company immediately. She even recalled Ranulph saying he’d cut off his nose to spite his face and that he’d live to regret walking out on Bouvier’s the way he had. But he hadn’t, she thought, if this yacht was anything to go by. He’d obviously got another lucrative post; used those skills and that amazing insight to take him to the top in some other company…
She yawned widely, the occasional gentle motion of the boat relaxing her, making her eyelids heavy…he’d obviously done all right for himself.
The evening sun was streaking gold across the water and, standing on the aft deck, Kane breathed in the cooling air coming off the sea.
Across the wharf the traffic was moving again. He could hear the hum of engines, noticed the first lights coming on in the bars and cafés around the marina, and found himself thinking back to that day, nearly a year ago, when he had answered that distress call from Ranulph Bouvier.
He had found him then, because of circumstances he could so easily have predicted, distraught, driving himself too hard, a near broken man. He had brought it all on himself, Kane knew, but he’d been unable to hold that against the man. Ranulph had needed his help and advice, and Kane had been too worried about him and the company he had once worked for to refuse.
The man was killing himself, he thought. The doctors had told him to take things easy, but it wasn’t just the problems of the company that were driving him into the ground, Kane was sure. It was his estrangement from Shannon that was responsible for that.
On the evening breeze he could still hear Ranulph’s words as he’d stood with him that first evening on the patio of the Bouvier mansion. Find my daughter! For pity’s sake, find my daughter! Find her and…
Effectively, he brought the shutters down over the rest of their conversation, and yet that genuine plea from his old employer still tore at his heart.
The man was a tyrant—an oppressor—yet, handled correctly, he was like a tiger with all its teeth pulled out…loud but harmless. And he wanted his daughter back.
Kane inhaled another deeply impatient sigh. So what if he did? It was none of his business. He might have the know-how to turn the fortunes of a company around, but what he knew about human relationships—father and daughter relationships—he could write on a postage stamp. True, he’d made several attempts to find her—and for his own reasons. But it had been a difficult year, and he had had very little time to go chasing missing heiresses, and when he had had the time he had always drawn a blank. Until today…
And now he had found her, he was beginning to wish he hadn’t. She didn’t look—wasn’t—well, and he was immensely concerned over what she might be doing to herself.
If only he could make her see sense. Persuade her to go home before she wound up making herself really ill, he thought, anxiety clenching his jaw from the futility of his wishful thinking. Because how could he expect to do that in just a couple of hours? he asked himself, cursing his schedule, for once impatient with the commitments he had made that left him very little time.
Above the marina, his glance fell on the imposing monument of Columbus; noticed for the first time that the great man was pointing, not westwards towards the Americas he had discovered, but to the east, and the glittering expanse of the Mediterranean Sea. Inside Kane’s head, a thought took root, sprouted, expanded and grew.
She’ll hate you for this, Falconer, he warned himself, swinging round and crossing the deck with sudden, calculating purpose. And that, he decided wryly, was something he would have to deal with when the time came.
CHAPTER THREE
THE drone of the helicopter was growing louder. The children were laughing and waving, calling to her while the whirr of blades kept drawing nearer, whipping through the heat and the dust. She could just make out the faces of the children now. They weren’t laughing any more. They were looking at her in alarm—some were crying, others screaming—while she lashed frantically at the air, and the sound wasn’t the buzz of a helicopter any more, but of a whole hatch of attacking insects…
’No!’ Shannon shot up, heart thudding, face buried in her cupped hands as she gasped for air.
It was all right, she thought, looking around her, trying to steady her breathing. She had just fallen asleep and she was still in the cabin on Kane’s boat—a swift survey of the pale lacquered wood and rich furnishings around her confirmed it—and the sound she had heard was the throb of the—
Quickly she sat upright on the big, luxurious bed, frowning, listening. The engine? she thought, puzzled.
Feet groping for the mules she had kicked off—goodness knew how long before!—Shannon thrust her toes into them and raced over to peer through the blind.
Through the oval porthole, Barcelona was just a view, and a rapidly diminishing view at that, she realised, aghast.
Without wasting a second, she stumbled back across the cabin, unsteady from the motion, still groggy with sleep.
Kane wasn’t at the lower helm, she noticed as she emerged from below and saw the vacant control seats behind the galley, which meant he had to be powering the boat from the upper deck.
He was sitting at the helm as she climbed the steep steps to the flybridge, and was steering the vessel through the open waters, capable hands dealing with the wheel.
He had changed out of his suit into a black T-shirt and jeans and, in spite of everything, Shannon couldn’t fail to notice the width and power of his shoulders, how dauntingly masculine he was, as she came across the open deck.
‘Where
