Tamed By Her Husband. Elizabeth Power
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 are we going?’
He sent a surprised glance up at her as she moved to stand beside him, her pale features challenging, her hair blowing softly in the wind.
‘So you’re awake at last,’ he observed, returning his attention to the various switches and screens on the instrument panel. ‘How are you feeling?’
How could he dare ask that? Impatiently, Shannon glared down at his bent head. The rays of the low sun were picking out the fiery highlights in his hair. ‘I said, where are we going?’
He was monitoring something on the panel, didn’t even look up as he said, ‘You might have been killing time back there, Shannon, but I wasn’t. I’ve got a schedule to meet.’
‘A sched—What schedule?’ she demanded anxiously. They were cruising at a rate of knots, each powerful slicing of the waves carrying them further and further into the open sea. ‘Where the hell do you think you’re taking me?’ she demanded again.
He was handling the craft with the skill of a master, she realised as she waited for his answer, looking behind at the sun streaking fire across their foaming wake.
‘I have to deliver this thing to Cannes before the end of the week and I’ve already lost valuable time,’ he told her phlegmatically, ‘so I’m afraid you’re going to have to stick with me until delivery.’
‘Cannes. Cannes!’ she repeated, horrified. She couldn’t believe he was saying this. He had to be joking surely? ‘That’s France!’
His mouth moved in mock appreciation as he kept his course, making progress seaward, still following the coast. ‘Ten out of ten for geography, Shannon. It’s good to know you learnt something at those fancy schools you attended.’
‘You arrogant louse!’ With a swish of her hair, angrily she glared at the diminishing coastline, then Kane’s hard countenance again. ‘Turn this thing around this minute!’ And when he simply ignored her, sitting there with that determined thrust to his jaw: ‘I said turn it around!’ she ordered.
‘I’m sorry, Shannon. I can’t do that,’ he said calmly. ‘As I told you, I’m already behind schedule. I’m down a crew member from my outbound journey and you’ve already admitted you weren’t doing anything particular back there.’
‘You abduct me…and you’ve got the audacity to ask me to crew for you?’ It came out as a squeak.
‘You said you were looking for excitement.’
‘I said—’ Had she said that?
‘And I know you’ve done it for your father.’
Yes, in the past. He had even come out on the yacht with them once or twice, she remembered, recalling how excited—how gauche—she had felt in his company. But that was different…
‘So you’re kidnapping me to do it?’ Suddenly fear was the overriding emotion, fear and a deepening anger over the fact that he had tricked her onto the vessel in the first place. ‘If you don’t turn this thing around, so help me, I’ll swim back!’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘Just watch me!’ Already she was stumbling away, unaware of Kane reducing their speed, only of knocking her hip on the hard casing that housed a fridge and barbecue, in her crazy bid to carry out her threat.
‘Don’t be such a fool!’ As she made it to the steps, he was just that bit too quick for her and she let out a small cry when his arm came round her middle like an iron bar.
‘Let me go!’ She twisted round in his grasp, pummelling at the hard wall of his chest. ‘Let me go, you big bully!’
‘For heaven’s sake, Shannon! Calm down! Do you really think I would have chosen to bring you with me? I’d already lost valuable time through my meeting starting late this afternoon, but you were sleeping far too peacefully for me to disturb. You had a pretty hard smack on the head—and even without that, you weren’t in any fit state for me to leave back there!’
Head swimming, feeling weak—but from his nearness—forcibly, she pulled out of his grasp. ‘Oh, so now you’re doing it for my benefit!’
‘Ultimately, I hope so.’
The evening sun was dazzling, making her squint as she tilted her head to look challengingly up at him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means that I think you could do with a few days’ looking-after. And if I can persuade you to see what you’re doing to yourself—what you’re throwing away by not facing facts and going home in the process—so much the better!’
Anger turned her eyes almost to sapphire. ‘What do you mean? Face facts? What facts?’
‘A company that will very probably be yours one day—whether you like it or not. A father who isn’t getting any younger.’
Anxiety was suddenly replacing the hot emotion staining her cheeks, corrugating her otherwise smooth forehead. ‘You said you hadn’t seen him.’
‘No, I didn’t.’
Hadn’t he? She couldn’t remember all of what he had said back there in Las Ramblas.
‘What, then? He’s all right, isn’t he?’ The question was a worried whisper.
‘Is that actual concern I see, Shannon?’
‘What do you think?’ she snapped, recognising scepticism in that hard face. Ranulph Bouvier might not have shown himself to be a loving and affectionate parent, but