don’t believe it.’
‘There’s no end to my talents,’ she agreed and grinned, and then peered under the hatch. ‘Speaking of talent…How did these birds do this? They must have lain on their sides and aimed.’
‘It’s a competition between them and me,’ Ramón said darkly. ‘They don’t like my boat looking beautiful. All I can do is sail so far out to sea they can’t reach me. But…you have a Spanish background? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You never asked,’ she said, and then she hesitated. ‘There’s lots you didn’t ask, and your offer seemed so amazing I saw no reason to mess it with detail. I could have told you I play a mean game of netball, I can climb trees, I have my bronze surf lifesaving certificate and I can play Waltzing Matilda on a gum leaf. You didn’t ask and how could I tell you? You might have thought I was skiting.’
‘Skiting?’
‘Making myself out to be Miss Wonderful.’
‘I seem to have employed Miss Wonderful regardless,’ he said. And then…‘Jenny?’
‘Mmm?’
‘No, I mean, what sort of Spanish parents call their daughter Jenny?’
‘It’s Gianetta.’
‘Gianetta.’ He said it with slow, lilting pleasure, and he said it the way it was supposed to sound. The way her parents had said it. She blinked and then she thought no. Actually, the way Ramón said it wasn’t the way her parents had said it. He had the pronunciation right but it was much, much better. He rolled it, he almost growled it, and it sounded so sexy her toes started to curl.
‘I would have found out when you signed your contract,’ Ramón was saying while she attempted a bit of toe uncurling. Then he smiled. ‘Speaking of which, maybe it’s time you did sign up. I don’t want to let anyone who can play Waltzing Matilda on a gum leaf get away.’
‘It’s a dying art,’ she said, relieved to be on safer ground. In fact she’d been astounded that he hadn’t yet got round to making her sign any agreement.
The day before they’d sailed he’d handed Charlie a cheque. ‘How do you know you can trust me to fill my part of the bargain?’ she’d asked him, stunned by what he was doing, and Ramón had looked down at her for a long moment, his face impassive, and he’d given a small decisive nod.
‘I can,’ he’d said, and that was that.
‘Playing a gum leaf’s a dying art?’ he asked now, cautiously.
‘It’s something I need to teach my grandchildren,’ she told him. And then she heard what she’d said. Grandchildren. The void, always threatening, was suddenly right under her. She hauled herself back with an effort.
‘What is it?’ Ramón said and he was looking at her with concern. The void disappeared. There went her toes again, curling, curling. Did he have any idea of what those eyes did to her? They helped, though. She was back again now, safe. She could move on. If she could focus on something other than those eyes.
‘So I’m assuming you’re Spanish, too?’ she managed.
‘No!’
‘You’re not Spanish?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘You sound Spanish.’ Then she hesitated. Here was another reason she hadn’t told him about her heritage—she wasn’t sure. There was something else in his accent besides Spain. France? It was a sexy mix that she couldn’t quite place.
‘I come from Cepheus,’ he said, and all was explained.
Cepheus. She knew it. A tiny principality on the Mediterranean, fiercely independent and fiercely proud.
‘My father told me about Cepheus,’ she said, awed that here was an echo from her childhood. ‘Papà was born not so far away from the border and he went there as a boy. He said it’s the most beautiful country in the world—but he also said it belonged to Spain.’
‘If he’s Spanish then he would say that,’ Ramón growled. ‘If he was French he’d say the same thing. They’ve been fighting over my country for generations, like eagles over a small bird. What they’ve come to realize, however, is that the small bird has claws and knows how to protect itself. For now they’ve dropped us—they’ve let us be. We are Cepheus. Nothing more.’
‘But you speak Spanish?’
‘The French and the Spanish have both taken part of our language and made it theirs,’ he said, and she couldn’t help herself. She chuckled.
‘What’s funny?’ He was suddenly practically glowering.
‘Your patriotism,’ she said, refusing to be deflected. ‘Like Australians saying the English speak Australian with a plum in their mouths.’
‘It’s not the same,’ he said but then he was smiling again. She smiled back—and wham.
What was it with this man?
She knew exactly what it was. Quite simply he was the most gorgeous guy she’d ever met. Tall, dark and fabulous, a voice like a god, rugged, clever…and smiling. She took a deep breath and went back to really focused scrubbing. It was imperative that she scrub.
She was alone on a boat in the middle of the ocean with a man she was so attracted to her toes were practically ringlets. And she was crew. Nothing more. She was cook and deckhand. Remember it!
‘So why the debt?’ he asked gently, and she forgot about being cook and deckhand. He was asking as if he cared.
Should she tell him to mind his own business? Should she back away?
Why? He’d been extraordinarily kind and if he wanted to ask…He didn’t feel like her boss, and at this moment she didn’t feel like a deckie.
Maybe he even had the right to know.
‘I lost my baby,’ she said flatly, trying to make it sound as if it was history. Only of course she couldn’t. Two years on, it still pierced something inside her to say it. ‘Matty was born with a congenital heart condition. He had a series of operations, each riskier than the last. Finally, there was only one procedure left to try—a procedure so new it cost the earth. It was his last chance and I had to take it, but of course I’d run out of what money I had. I was working for Charlie for four hours a day over the lunch time rush—Matty was in hospital and I hated leaving him but I had to pay the rent, so when things hit rock bottom Charlie knew. So Charlie loaned me what I needed on the basis that I keep working on for him.’
She scrubbed fiercely at a piece of deck that had already been scrubbed. Ramón didn’t say anything. She scrubbed a bit more. Thought about not saying more and then decided—why not say it all?
‘You need to understand…I’d been cooking on the docks since I was seventeen and people knew my food. Charlie’s café was struggling and he needed my help to keep it afloat. But the operation didn’t work. Matty died when he was two years, three months and five days old. I buried
