CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

L IBBY CURSED UNDER her breath at the unmistakable and unexpected sensation of the luxury yacht moving. Not moving in the gentle, bob-bob-bob way it was supposed to whilst moored at the marina, but rather like a bull at a gate, out of the dock, at high speed.

She stood, then almost fell, as the boat veered hard left.

Removing one of her yellow gloves, Libby placed it, along with the microfibre cloth she’d been using to dust beneath the Spanish Revival desk in the centre of the luxuriously appointed office, down on the floor and planted her feet a little wider.

They were not supposed to be moving.

At least, not while she was on board.

Her eyes flew to the clock across the room.

Her cleaning shift had another hour to go and Libby was supposed to be completely alone. Only she wasn’t. When she’d come onboard, it had been to discover that the owner of the craft, whom she’d been told would be at an event in the city, was actually in situ , all swarthy, brooding billionaire.

It hadn’t bothered Libby per se , though she generally preferred solitude—the habit of a lifetime was hard to shake.

Now, she realised there was someone else. Or many someone elses.

Outside the corridor of the office, she could hear raised voices. Shouting. Her ears pricked up, listening to the foreign language. Spanish? Italian?

She whirled around, looking for somewhere to hide, something to grab to defend herself with if necessary. She grabbed a paperweight then ran behind the desk, to hide beneath it. Many were the times in Libby Langham’s twenty-six years when she’d wished for a few extra inches, but this was not one of them. The space wasn’t huge and yet it easily accommodated her petite frame.

With great effort she stilled her breath, and though she was no longer a five-year-old with a penchant for playing hide and seek, she clenched her eyes shut, willing away whatever dangers might come her way.

The door burst open. More shouting—the voices of several men. Then the sound of skin connecting with skin and the slamming of the door.

She kept her eyes squeezed shut, the paperweight in her hand heavy and smooth, somehow comforting, and she waited, listening.

Footsteps.

Heavy breathing.

A curse rang through the air, gruff and hoarse, the language foreign, and yet she could easily discern it was a swearword from the harsh inflection.

Fear rose in her chest like a tidal wave, threatening to devour her.

She heard pacing, another expulsion of breath, and then a rasped, accented voice commanded, ‘You can come out of there now.’

Her crystal blue eyes opened in alarm but naturally she stayed where she was, the fingers of one hand crossing in the hope of good luck.

‘You’re the cleaner, sí ?’

Her heart sank, but at the same time something like relief flooded her. This was the owner of the boat; she was almost sure of it. She didn’t know his name—the company had simply given her the address and hourly rate—but he’d nodded a greeting when she’d come onboard, said a curt ‘hello’, before returning to his work. His voice sounded close enough to the same.

She’d wondered at the time if it was some kind of Hollywood heavyweight—not unheard of in this uber luxe Sydney marina. He certainly had the looks of a film star. Though he was rough around the edges, she mused, not at all styled and primped. There was a rawness to him that was almost primal, that—

‘Do you speak English?’

Her train of thought was interrupted by his abrupt query.

With shaking legs, Libby pushed up from under the desk, wiping her un-gloved hand down the front of her uniform as she scanned the room quickly.

Yes. It was the same man she’d seen when she came aboard a couple of hours earlier. He was formally dressed for being on a yacht—in suit trousers and a white button-down shirt that was pushed up to the elbows. His shoes were gleaming.

‘We have a situation,’ he said darkly, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘So I gathered.’ She was pleased to have finally been able to locate her voice. Her tongue darted out, licking her lower lip. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Four men have taken over the—’ he paused as the yacht lurched quickly and the man’s eyes swept shut ‘—boat,’ he finished. ‘Though God only knows what will be left of it when they are finished.’ His nostrils flared with indignation.

‘You’re hurt,’ she said, just realising that his cheek was bruised.

The man lifted his fingers, absent-mindedly tracing the line of his cheekbone. ‘It’s not important.’

She bit down on her lip. ‘Do you need something?’

His brow furrowed and his eyes—a deep, dark grey—regarded her with a hint of mockery. ‘Do you happen to have an ice pack in your pockets?’

‘Well, no,’ she finished lamely, cheeks heating at having been caught out. ‘I just—’

‘I’m fine,’ he interrupted, reaching down and scooping up her glove and cloth. ‘And next time you want to hide, you should take all the evidence with you.’ He handed them to her.

Libby winced, feeling stupid, which she hated more than anything. How many stepfathers had made her feel like a fool? Some had simply ignored her; others had tolerated her with obvious impatience. Those men had been bad enough. But there were the ones who’d been genuinely unkind, who’d seemed to delight in berating Libby, in pointing out her every mistake, just because she was thoughtful and considered and liked to know what she was talking about before she spoke.

Spinning around to hide her expression, she walked a little away from him. ‘Have you tried calling for help?’

‘They took my phone, naturally. But you—’

‘Yes, I have one,’ she said, fumbling in her pocket and removing it. ‘No signal.’

‘It doesn’t matter. The emergency number will work, it routes through satellite. Give it to me.’

It didn’t even occur to her to argue. The man had such a natural authority, it was easy to believe that he could somehow make everything better.

She watched as he called, her eyes flitting every now and again to the locked door, ears straining for any noise that might indicate the pirates were returning.

He spoke with easy command, describing the boat to the last detail, plus his best guess of their current position and likely destination. He also described the four assailants, from their approximate ages to heights, plus his own location on the boat.

‘I am here with someone—a cleaner.’ Covering the mouthpiece, ‘What is your name?’

‘Libby.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Libby Langham.’

‘And is there any family you need contacted?’

She blanched, shaking her head. No family. Not for Libby. She had been alone a long time; she was used to it. And if her mother’s string of failed relationships had taught her anything, it was that being alone was preferable to the never-ending cycle of fast love and traumatic breakups. She might have been lonely, but at least she wasn’t hurting.

His eyes skimmed her face for a moment, sending her stomach dropping to the floor, and then he finished the call. ‘I will attempt to contain the situation before you arrive—’

Evidently, whoever was on the other end of the call didn’t think that was such a great idea, but the man—Raul, he’d said his name at the start of the conversation, Libby remembered—was not to be dissuaded.

‘Then you had better send help swiftly.’

He disconnected the call but held the phone in the palm of his hand, contemplating.

‘What did they say?’ she asked, fidgeting anxiously.

‘They’re sending police.’ He paced the room. ‘This is not the first boat theft in the area—which is something the marina should have mentioned, don’t you think?’

Libby grimaced. ‘It would have been nice.’

‘You work here. Have you experienced this?’

She laughed, though it wasn’t funny. ‘Being hijacked at high speed? No. But we’ve literally just taken over the contract for the marina. This is only my second job on a boat,’ she said, aware that she was babbling.

His intelligent eyes scanned the surroundings, assessing. ‘I’m going to go out there,’ he said, moving across the room, twisting the doorknob and confirming that it was locked.

‘No way. That’s madness.’

He arched a brow.

‘You have no idea if they’re armed, nor what they’re capable of. The police are on their way. Just...wait it out.’

His nostrils flared. ‘I was caught unawares before, but I will not be again. You stay here.’

She swallowed past a lump in her throat. ‘I’m not going to let you go and take on all the risk.’

‘It’s my boat,’ he pointed out. ‘You’re just caught in the crosshairs.’

‘Yes, but I am caught in the crosshairs, so don’t do anything stupid.’

‘They are just kids,’ he snapped. ‘Idiotic, stupid children. I know, because I was one once. Don’t worry. I can handle myself.’

She shook her head, wondering why she was so worried. After all, it was his life, his choice to do whatever he wanted with it.

‘Fine, but I’m going with you,’ she said boldly, earning a sharp laugh of derision.

‘Very brave, Libby Langham, but I suspect you’d quickly become a liability.’

‘I’m tougher than I look,’ she responded, smarting from his retort. Little did he know, she’d had to toughen up from a young age.

His nostrils flared. ‘Stay here.’

‘No way. If you go, I’m going.’

He glared at her.

‘How are you going to get out, anyway?’ she pushed. ‘The door’s locked.’

He threw her a look. ‘I’m sure I can deal with that.’

‘So you’re going to what? Kick it down?’

He arched a brow. ‘Don’t think I can?’

She shook her head. ‘What if they’re on the other side?’

‘Then you’d better grab your paperweight again,’ he said, half mocking. ‘How good is your aim?’

She was tempted to ask him to stay still and she’d let him know, but her nerves were stretched to breaking point.

‘I’m serious,’ she said quietly. ‘What’s your plan? Just to go all Rambo on them?’

‘Why not?’

She eyed him consideringly. He definitely had the physique of someone who could handle themselves and for all she knew, he had the skills too.

‘What are your chances?’

He surprised her then by pacing across the room and stopping right in front of her. ‘Let’s just say I never back away from a challenge.’

‘What does that mean?’ she murmured. Up close, she was aware of the way his eyes were more than just grey, they were almost silver or gold, with specks of luminescence made all the more noticeable by his thick, dark lashes, which seemed to form perfect frames.

‘My chances are good, Libby. But they’re better if you stay here.’

‘Don’t count on it,’ she muttered and, though she was afraid, she knew there was no way she was going to remain hidden in the office while he went and put his life on the line.

The boat jerked hard to the left, knocking them both a little off-balance. Libby might have fallen altogether if Raul hadn’t pressed out his hand and caught her elbow, steadying her, holding her just long enough to make sure she was safe. But it was more than long enough.

Heat radiated through her skin, over her body, adrenalin firing in her veins.

‘Let’s do this,’ she said with a nod, gaze darting towards the door.

His eyes narrowed, inspecting hers. ‘On one condition.’

She waited.

‘Do exactly as I say. And stay behind me.’

‘That’s two.’

He shook his head. ‘Don’t make me regret this.’

‘You should regret this,’ she said. ‘You have no idea—’

‘We could both be dead before the police get here, the way they’re steering this thing,’ he pointed out. ‘You think being down here and waiting for help makes us any safer?’

She bit into her lower lip, shaking her head. ‘I guess not.’

‘Good. So?’

‘Fine,’ she agreed, though she crossed her fingers behind her back. She’d do whatever she needed to in the moment, and if Raul didn’t like it he’d just have to lump it.

It was obvious that he still had some misgivings but, to his credit, he silenced them, moving to the door, giving it a shake once more, then leaning closer, listening for any noises beyond. He crouched down, eyes lined up with the small gap between the carpet and the timber. It was strange to notice something so superficial in a moment such as that, but Libby couldn’t help the way her eyes dropped to his bottom and lingered there, her mouth suddenly dry as she appreciated the strength of his haunches, and his overtly masculine form.

‘See anything?’ she asked, close to his feet, voice surprisingly thin.

‘Nothing,’ he confirmed.

‘Okay, good.’ She quickly looked away, blinking to clear her mind of the imagery of his rear end. ‘That’s good, right?’

He stood, tilting a look at her. ‘Yes, it’s good. Stand back.’

She did as he said, taking a few paces away from the door, relieved to put some space between them.

Raul turned to her. ‘I don’t know where they are—obviously, at least one of them is on the deck, perhaps all. Perhaps they’ll hear the door opening. Be prepared for anything, got it?’

She nodded, nerves making it impossible to speak.

‘Got your paperweight?’

She pulled a face. ‘Are you making fun of me?’

‘On the contrary, it’s an excellent weapon. Keep it, in case you need to defend yourself.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Do you think—’

‘I don’t know,’ he said sharply. ‘If you would prefer to stay here and let me handle this, I would welcome that choice.’

‘No,’ she demurred, reaching for the paperweight, then returning to the middle of the room.

He frowned, turned his attention back to the door, and ran at it, kicking his leg at the last moment, with the skill and precision of a man who might have done so every day of his life.

The door splintered a little at the frame, but it gave quickly and easily. Raul moved fast, his hand catching the door even as he dropped his foot to the floor, to prevent it from slamming loudly against the wall.

Then, needlessly, he turned back to Libby, lifting a finger to his lips to remind her to be quiet.

With a pulse that was racing so hard she could hardly think straight, she fell into step behind him. At the end of the corridor, he lifted his finger to his lips again, before pulling open a door beneath the steps.

She looked around anxiously as he disappeared inside.

A moment later, he returned with some orange rope and nets.

‘Let me guess,’ she hissed. ‘You were a Boy Scout in another life.’

His smirk did something funny to her stomach. ‘Not quite. Ready?’

She nodded, though how could she be? She had no idea what was coming next.

‘Wait for my signal,’ he murmured, climbing the steps stealthily. At the top, he slowed, looked around, climbed higher, until he’d disappeared altogether, then his hand appeared, gesturing for her to follow.

She did, swallowed, stumbling on one step and wincing at the noise, waiting to make sure nothing happened because of it. But the engine was too loud, and the waves were crashing against the side of the boat; there was no way they’d be heard.

They emerged onto the back of the deck.

‘They’re together,’ he said. ‘We have the element of surprise. Plus,’ he said, glancing through the windows before crouching down, ‘they look drunk.’

She nodded. ‘You’re sure you don’t want to just wait?’

The boat turned hard right, and Libby opened her mouth to squeal because it tipped at such an angle she genuinely thought they might capsize. It was only Raul’s hand—broad and capable, warm and strong—over her mouth that silenced her.

She stared into his eyes—eyes that were loaded with warning and confidence, that told her to be quiet, all would be well—and she found herself, weirdly, believing in him.

‘We can’t wait,’ he said. ‘Believe me when I tell you: we’ll be doing them a favour too. They evidently have a death wish.’

She lifted her head the smallest amount so she could see inside the windows, and realised that Raul had been right. They were little more than teenagers. Raul and Libby had a moral imperative to save them from themselves.

She eyed the paperweight sceptically; she’d be unlikely to use it.

‘Keep it,’ he said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘Just in case.’

And then he smiled. A smile that was dazzling and beautiful and which somehow managed to assuage all her doubts and anxieties. ‘Follow me.’

In that moment she was pretty sure she’d follow him into the very fires of hell if he asked it of her...