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  Since her mother's death, Dan Trent seemed to have given up on all the aspects of his life that had been meaningful until then. The brokerage business in which he had made great strides despite his youth, the home he had shared with his wife ... even, Laurel had sometimes thought, on the daughter their love had produced. Two months after her mother's death, she had been consigned to the care of the convent, and her father had bought a cabin cruiser which, when money supplies ran low, he chartered out with himself as skipper.

  Vacations for the young Laurel were occasions when she could escape the sometimes stifling atmosphere of the convent and share the nomadic life of her father aboard Dainty—he had christened the boat with the pet name he had had for his petite wife.

  Tears threatened to destroy her carefully applied mascara as her father's familiar sequence of knocks sounded on the outer door. How often had she heard those special taps when, as a teenager, he had sought to rouse her from her adolescent lethargy aboard Dainty?

  'Dad—oh, Daddy, it's so good to see you!'

  There was a blur of laughing blue eyes set in a ruggedly handsome sea-tanned face before Laurel was engulfed in a hearty embrace from which she extricated herself moments later, laughing and blinking away tears.

  It wasn't until later, when they sat opposite each other at an elegantly laid table, that Laurel took time to study her father's face in any detail. What she saw there sent a tiny stab of apprehension through her. Surely there were, stress marks more deeply etched round his eyes, more deeply embedded round his generous mouth? But the reddish brown of his thick hair remarkably held just a sprinkling of grey, and as Laurel noticed the speculative glances in his direction by several women dining in their vicinity, she marvelled anew that he had never married again.

  She had been aware of women on the periphery of his life, but none of them had tempted him from his widower status. Memory conjured up visions of darkly voluptuous women, the occasional redhead or brunette. But none had resembled her Dresden-fair mother, whose silvery beauty she herself had inherited.

  Now Dan Trent's inimitable chuckle drew her attention back to him.

  'Don't look round now, honey, but there's a man sitting over there in a party of four who's looking at me as if he'd like to revive the Spanish Inquisition! Looks as if his ancestors had a big part in that, too!

  You been playing fast and loose with Spanish grandees?'

  Without looking round, Laurel knew that he must be referring to Diego Ramirez. Drat the man! Why did he have to turn up wherever she went, particularly now when she was with her father after telling him that it was Brent she would be with.

  `No,' she answered drily. 'He's like a lot of Latins—wants to play fast and loose with me, while keeping his respectable wife safely in the background!'

  'He's married?' Dan ejaculated, startled eyes sweeping over to the table behind Laurel's shoulder. 'To that beautiful dark woman with him? Then why in hell is he looking at me as if I'm stealing cookies from his jar?'

  Laurel shrugged. 'Pay no attention. Spanish men have one rule for themselves and another for women.'

  To her dismay, her father turned belligerent. 'If he thinks he's going to treat my daughter like some floozie in a—'

  'I can take care of myself, Dad! ' she told him sharply. Her eyes strayed involuntarily to the ring on her third finger. 'I'm engaged to Brent, remember?'

  'I remember,' he rejoined soberly, his eyes joining hers in contemplation of the subdued sparkle of tasteful diamonds flanked by two small rubies.

  That her father cared little for Brent had been obvious almost from their first meeting. True, Brent's innate sense of propriety had looked askance at Dan Trent's nomadic way of life the first time Laurel had taken him to the marina where Dainty was berthed, and his attitude had made a permanent impression on her father. But he had nonetheless respected his daughter's choice of a man to share her life with.

  'I'm going to powder my nose, Dad,' she said impulsively, leaning across the table to lay a light hand on his forearm, 'then we'll go find a good spot to watch the divers, hm?'

  'Okay with me, honey,' he smiled warmly up at her as she passed on her way to the powder room, making her conscious again of how attractive he was. She wished fleetingly as she wended her way between the tables that he had found a woman who could at least partially replace her mother. He deserved more than the lonely life he led most of the time.

  In the powder room she renewed her lipstick and powdered the beginning shine on her nose, then, with a last cursory glance at her all-over appearance, she stepped out into the foyer. Intent on securing the clasp on her black fabric evening purse, she missed seeing the dark-clad figure which appeared from behind a spreading potted shrub until she cannoned painfully against its steely contours. Pivoting back on her heels, she looked up into an implacably cold male face.

  'You I! ' she gasped, then shook her head in wonderment. 'Why are you always popping out from behind trees and things?'

  'I have been waiting here to talk to you,' Diego Ramirez said furiously, his jaw twitching angrily.

  'So? Talk.' Laurel mustered all her coolness to look squarely into the flashing eyes. 'My—companion is waiting for me.'

  'That is exactly what I wish to talk to you about,' he said heatedly, ignoring the curious looks of passers-by. 'He is too old for you ! '

  'Who's too old?' she stared at him, bewildered, and then enlightenment came. 'You mean-!'

  'I mean your fiancé,' he answered roughly. 'He is old

  enough to be your father! '

  Laurel suppressed the giggles threatening to spill over into glorious laughter. He actually thought that Dan was her fiancé! Hence the reason for his dark looks in Dan's direction.

  'But he's—' she began weakly, then cool logic took over. Wasn't it all to the good that he should believe Dan was Brent? Dan was solid, a tangible evidence of her prior commitment. 'He's—much younger than his years really, once you get to know him.'

  'Bah!' Diego Ramirez said with Spanish contempt. 'His life has already been lived, yet you want to tie yourself to such a man?' His eyes swept round the foyer, noting the women passing in twos and threes from the powder room. His hand shot out and grasped her wrist, jerking her to him behind the potted shrub. 'What can he teach you of love, of passion?' he demanded furiously. 'Does he kiss you like this?'

  Suddenly she was pulled against the steely hardness of his body, her breasts crushed to the hard expanse of his chest, her thighs yieldingly soft against his taut muscles. His mouth descended without warning and took possession of her shocked lips while his hands arched her to the bend of his body. His kiss was like nothing she had ever experienced before, and left her breathless when his hold at last slackened.

  'Let me go!' she choked, pushing with her fists against his chest until he let her go so suddenly that she swayed uncertainly.

  'No,' his voice came as from a distance, 'he has not kissed you with passion.'

  'How long is it since you kissed your wife that way, senor?' she blazed wildly at him, then broke away and half ran across the foyer, arriving breathless at the

  table where her father still sat.

  'Oh, there you are, Laurel. Sit down and have some more coffee, honey. I hear we have lots of time.'

  'Well, I—' she hesitated, then saw Diego Ramirez's commanding figure approaching their table. Feeling faint, she sank back into her chair and watched mesmerised as he came, paused to stare fractionally into the darkened green of her eyes, then pass on to his own table.

  Her eyes met Dan's and dropped away in embarrassment. His bright blue gaze seemed to hold the knowledge of the scene that had taken place in the foyer, although there was no way he could have seen anything from the angle he was sitting at.

  'Wasn't that your Spanish admirer?' he asked teasingly, yet something about his smile spoke of tiredness, a deep-down weariness he had been doing his best to hide.

  'What? Oh. Yes.'

  Dan looked at the tip of the fat ciga
r he had lit. 'I sure wish Brent would look at you with one quarter of the feeling that Mexican put into it a minute ago,' he said almost casually.

  Laurel stared across at him speechlessly, then brought out: 'Brent—loves me, Dad. He wants me ,to be his wife. Isn't that enough?'

  'Sure, baby,' he patted her arm gently. 'If it's enough for you, then I guess I have no say in it. But, Laurel,' he leaned towards her with unusual gravity, 'don't mistake security for love, passion, and—all the other things that go into making a perfect marriage. Brent's a nice guy, he'll never beat you or let you go without something he can provide for you. You'll have a good social life, with a nice home in the suburbs somewhere,

  and he'll give you two point five children or whatever the latest statistics dictate, but—' He paused heavily, then sighed. 'I'm not putting this very Well, honey, but —hell, it's not what your mother and I had,' he ended fiercely.

  'I know, Dad,' Laurel said unsteadily, her darkened lashes blinking away the tears that threatened to fall uninhibitedly. 'But I long ago came to the conclusion that what you and Mom had was something too rare and precious to come around too often in a human life span. 'So,' she smiled tremulously, 'I'll have to be content with someone who loves me and will take care of me—and the two point five kids!'

  'Okay, honey. Let's go see these divers.'

  Laurel was only too happy to scoop up her bag again and follow him from the dining room, though she couldn't resist a sideways glance towards the table where Diego Ramirez sat. The middle-aged couple looked like average Americans, and the woman looking up to follow Diego's gaze was breathtakingly lovely. A smile of contempt edged Laurel's lips. As she had suspected, it hadn't proved difficult for him to find an attractive partner for the evening. Her hand came up to her hair in an automatic smoothing gesture and she saw Diego's mouth tighten at the sight of her engagement ring.

  Stepping quickly to catch up with Dan, she put her hand on his arm and felt the warmth of the smile he sent down into her strained expression.

  There was no time for more than a few quick exchanges before their attention was diverted to where the cliff outside was illuminated in eerie brilliance. A young diver, bronzed skin gleaming, was poised on the rocks two thirds of the way up the jagged cliffside, his

  head bent contemplatively on the swirling water beneath. Laurel, having witnessed the breathtaking diving spectacle several times, quickly explained the technical aspects of the dive to her father.

  'They have to time it very carefully, watching for a wave that brings the diving depth to twelve feet—normally the water's only eight feet, so the extra depth makes quite a difference.'

  'I guess so,' Dan returned drily, his eyes bright as they fastened on the diver. 'He must have to take quite a leap off the side to miss those rocks under him.'

  'He does—look, he's going now!'

  The diver had raised his arms, and there was a concerted gasp as the lithe body leapt from the rock and dived, arms outstretched like a graceful bird plunging to gather sustenance from the sea. The arrowed body sliced into the green water, leaving very little spray, and the dark head and shoulders reappeared seconds later.

  Laurel turned with a sigh to give her father one of her rare and quite beautiful smiles, aware suddenly that his hand was clasping hers tightly.

  'That was really something, wasn't it?' he said, awed.

  'Wait till you see the other divers go off the top,' Laurel laughed. 'I've seen it a few times, but it still gives me goose pimples.' She pointed to the cliff top. 'They go from there, and it's about a hundred and twenty feet up.'

  'I don't know that my heart can stand that much excitement,' Dan smiled, a frown settling over his strongly marked brows as he took in the animated beauty of his daughter's face ... a face so like the wife's he had lost that he had found it difficult to be with Laurel on her vacations from the convent school.

  'It'll have to,' she chuckled, her eyes sweeping round the sea of faces pressing around them for the show. 'There's no way we can get out of—' Her voice died away as her eyes met those of Diego Ramirez, his holding such a dark glitter of some deep emotion that the remainder of the words froze in her throat.

  Dan, puzzled by her sudden abstraction, glanced up in the direction her eyes took, and his gaze went rappidly between his daughter and the man who seemed to see nothing but Laurel. The vivid dark girl who stood by his side had missed nothing of the encounter either, judging by the snapping flash of her fine eyes.

  'Laurel?' he said gently. 'Honey?'

  'Wh-what?' Her lids blinked as if she were awaking from a dream. 'Oh, look, Dad, the really high divers are about ready to go.'

  There was a thoughtful gleam in Dan's eyes as they went to the outdoor scene, where a more mature diver stood still as the rock he topped. He, too, watched intently the surge of green water into the chasm below, timing his swallow dive to the rhythm of the incoming flood.

  As the graceful body cleaved through the waves, Laurel released her pent-up breath in a sigh in unison with the collective groan from the people around her. What must it be like to dive like that into unknown depths with precision timing? To leave the past behind, perhaps forever.

  Her bemused gaze lifted and met fractionally with Diego Ramirez's steady-eyed intensity. It was as if those eyes had been pinned on her all through the spectacular dive, and for a moment her scalp seemed to tighten in some strange kind of recognition. Then she was laughing with her father, rising to leave as spectators

  for the next show pressed forward. Of the Ramirez party, there was suddenly no sign.

  Back at her hotel apartment, Dan refused a nightcap.

  'I'll take a rain check, honey,' he said, smiling wearily, 'until tomorrow night. You'll have dinner with me on board?' At her acquiescent nod, he added ruefully: 'Can't offer you anything more appetising than hard tack at the moment, but—'

  'I can take a hint,' Laurel smiled with pretended wryness. 'I'll pick up some things at the market tomorrow and make us a meal fit for the gods.'

  Dan reached for the door handle. 'I'm not sure I come into that category, but it'll be nice pretending. About six?'

  Laurel nodded, and reached up to kiss his cheek before closing the door behind him. As she prepared for bed, two faint lines worried her smooth brow.,

  An elusive something had intruded between her and her father that night. Nothing specific that she could put her finger on, but it had been there, lurking behind their light hearted talk, all evening.

  CHAPTER THREE

  MEXICAN drivers had to be the worst—or maybe it was the best—drivers in the world, Laurel thought late the next afternoon as she manoeuvred her unpredictable rental car along the Costera Miguel Aleman, the broad avenue linking the network of high-rise beach hotels ringing the Bay. A Mexican businessman had told her at a party that the driver's sense of machismo was involved.

  'It is a race for dominance in a male world, Setiorita ,Trent,' he had explained with a wry smile. 'It makes no difference whether the prize is a woman, or a few yards gained on a highway. He must do all he can to assert his superiority.'

  The words came back to haunt her as she tried vainly to change from one traffic lane to another which would take her to the yacht harbour. Then suddenly a gap was left for her by a taxi driver who pantomimed his appreciation of her fair beauty.

  Disregarding the rolling eyes, Laurel slipped into the space and minutes later was pulling up into the yacht club's parking lot.

  Bearing the makings of an American-type meal which she was sure her father would prefer, she walked along the pier and a lump came to her throat when she saw Dainty tied up towards the end. She might not be the sleekest, most modern vessel afloat, but some of Laurel's happiest memories were tied up in her sturdy frame.

  There was no sign of Dan Trent as she stepped on to the afterdeck, balancing the brown paper bag on her hip.

  'Dad?' she called, going to the steps leading down to the compact galley and roomy saloon beyond it. 'I'm -here
, Dad!'

  Quiet still prevailed, so she ventured down the narrow steps and contemplated the meticulously neat galley area. Whatever else Dan Trent might neglect in his life, it was never the care and upkeep of his beloved boat.

  The saloon, with its long centre table and gaily upholstered seating areas, was similarly unoccupied, but Laurel stood for a while inhaling the dearly familiar scents of the sea and her father's lingering cigar smoke. Nostalgia closed her throat again, and tears threatened the mascara she had applied lightly to her lashes. How she would have loved to be a vagabond, a rover of the seas, with her father.

  But he had listened to the nuns, who had been concerned about her future. The thought of a motherless girl roaming the world with a devil-may-care father had brought tremors to their gentle souls.

  So she had been brought up chastely, respectably, by women who had renounced the worldly scene apart from the young charges in their care. All except her beloved Sister Carmelita, the sweet-faced nun who had taught her not only Spanish, but a sense of her feminine destiny.

  `One day a man will come into your life, Laurel,' she had said softly after Laurel had burst out that she, too, would become a nun. 'A man who will fill your life with his very presence, who will love and cherish you and give you children to nourish and care for.

  After all,' she had laughed gently, 'if Christ chose all women to be His brides, there would be no channel for new souls to be born into this world. No, Laurel, it is my feeling that He has other plans for you.'

  The transitory desire had soon faded from Laurel's mind, as it had from most of her classmates who had had similar leanings. But Sister Carmelita's words had become etched into her subconscious so that, when Brent Halliday had come along, he seemed the answer to Laurel's questions about her future. He was wholesome, clean-cut, and willing to wait for the marriage ceremony before consummating their love ... a rarity in an age of sexual permissiveness.