Raul moved then to subdue the third boy, tying his hands easily before moving to the fourth. ‘Sit down,’ he commanded. ‘And don’t say anything.’

Turning back to Libby, he murmured, ‘Watch them.’ Then, more quietly, ‘Are you okay?’

She nodded, and she was, though she could feel the start of her adrenalin turning into something else, her throat thickening with emotion at what had just happened.

Raul inserted the key into the boat and thrummed the engine to life. A moment later, they were cruising back towards the marina—at high speed, but with absolute safety and command. Libby tried not to take her eyes off the delinquents, but every now and again she sneaked a glance at Raul and felt her pulse wobble.

He’d gone into survival mode. The same strengths and instincts that had kept him alive on the streets of Spain as a runaway street kid had thundered to life once more, fine-tuning his responses so that he acted purely with one objective in mind: survival. Not just his own survival, but Libby’s too.

The yacht under his control once more, the gang subdued and contrite-looking, Raul allowed himself to glance once in Libby’s direction, noticing things he’d been too under pressure to conceive of at the time.

From her shimmering blonde hair to icy blue eyes, petite frame and honey-gold skin, full and pouting lips, and natural athleticism—which he’d witnessed for himself as she’d prepared to go toe to toe with the teen who’d attacked her.

Her eyes lifted to his and caught him staring. He smiled slowly, a quirk of his mouth. Her lips parted, showing a full, perfect circle, and he felt something tighten in his groin.

Adrenalin of a wholly different nature fired to life. He recognised it well.

The thrill of victory, of survival, made him feel more alive than almost anything else.

It was a thrill he remembered. Now his victories tended to be in the boardroom rather than on the streets. At first, that had been thrilling, but in recent years he’d become complacent even with his biggest corporate wins.

‘We just thought—’

Raul turned his attention back to one of the teens, a stab of sympathy shifting through him.

‘You didn’t think,’ he said quietly. ‘You tried to take what you wanted, and you could have all got yourselves killed in the process.’

The teen dropped his head.

The marina was in view now, complete with flashing lights, indicating the water police were in action. He pulled the yacht towards a pontoon, concentrating on the manoeuvre as well as on the teens.

As soon as the boat came to a stop there was the sound of thudding boots on the deck and then police were bursting into the control room, sweeping it with loud noises, guns held.

‘I am the owner,’ Raul announced, palms lifted. ‘This is my boat.’

Libby, he saw, echoed his gesture, lifting her hands.

‘These are the four you’re after.’

‘Do you have some identification, sir?’ the more senior of the officers queried.

Raul reached into his pocket and removed a slimline wallet, from which he brandished a driving licence. The officer took it, looking from Raul to the photograph then nodding.

‘And you?’ He turned to Libby.

‘She’s with me,’ Raul said, surprised at the possessive heat that stole through him. Then again, Libby had stood shoulder to shoulder with him in the midst of whatever danger might have befallen him. Naturally he felt a connection with her.

‘Righto. Take ’em out,’ the officer said with a nod. ‘I’ll need you to make a statement. Do you require medical attention?’

‘He was punched,’ Libby said, and Raul almost laughed at her concern.

‘I’m reasonably sure I’ll survive though,’ he drawled, moving closer to her unconsciously. ‘Are you okay?’

She nodded once.

‘So you’re happy to make a statement now?’

Raul looked down at Libby. She was shaking. Predictably, shock was setting in.