Rand's Redemption

Rand's Redemption
Karen Van Der Zee

“What I want is you. I want you. I want you in my bed.”

Shanna’s heart leapt to her throat. “Why does that scare you?” she whispered, tilting her head back so she could see his face.

“Because I don’t know how simple this is…or will be.” Rand paused. “And I don’t want you to get hurt in the end.”

“If I get hurt, I’ll take responsibility for it,” she said. “I am here with you out of my own free will. I can leave any time I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

“You sound so brave,” he said quietly.

She felt relief at his smile. She smiled back. “You have no idea how brave.”

Ever since KAREN VAN DER ZEE was a child growing up in Holland she wanted to do two things: write books and travel. She’s been very lucky. Her American husband’s work as a development economist has taken them to many exotic locations. They were married in Kenya, had their first daughter in Ghana and their second in the United States. They spent two fascinating years in Indonesia. Since then they’ve added a son to the family as well and lived for a number of years in Virginia before going on the move again. After spending over a year in the West Bank near Jerusalem, they are now living again in Ghana, but not for good!

Rand’s Redemption

Karen van der Zee

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

SHANNA noticed the man from quite a distance as he came striding down the busy street toward the Thorn Tree Café terrace. It was hard not to. Amid the colorful crowd of tourists sporting cameras, men in business suits, Indian women in exotic saris and Arabs in flowing robes, he looked tall and casual in his khaki slacks and short-sleeved shirt. He had long legs and he moved with the grace of an athlete. Or an animal, free and proud in the wild.

He entered the terrace where she was sitting with Nick and glanced around. His dark hair was curly and cropped close, his blue eyes clear and sharp.

He was coming toward them.

Her stomach tightened, her pulse quickened and she felt a delicious thrill of excitement—a different kind of excitement than she had felt ever since she’d woozily stumbled off the plane in Nairobi last night—a kind of excitement that made you think of romantic music and starry nights, the kind that made your heart do dance steps.

Barely off the plane and she was dreaming already. Well, why not. Today was a golden day.

A day full of exotic sights and tropical sunshine and bright promise. A day full of secret anticipation of what was to come. She was finally back in the place where she had spent the four happiest years of her life as a girl. Oh, how long she had dreamed of this!

She felt Nick’s arm around her shoulder. He smiled at her. “It’s good to see you happy,” he said. “Keep it up okay?”

She was touched by the warmth in his eyes. She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “I’ll be fine, Nick. A change of scenery will do me good, something to occupy my mind.”

He tightened his arm around her, kissed her cheek. “Good, then I’m glad you came.”

And then he was there, the stranger, looming in front of them.

Nick leaped to his feet with a wide grin and the men shook hands. The man was taller than Nick, who was tall by anyone’s standard. He looked like he belonged on a movie screen—confident, self-assured. As if he owned the world.

Well, he owned part of it.

Seventy-five thousand acres of hills and jungle and savannah in the Rift Valley, where he raised sheep and cattle and lived in a big, gorgeous house on the edge of a cliff. Just like in the movies. She’d seen the pictures Nick had taken some years ago, and last year a magazine had featured an article on the ranch and the research work conducted there by the Kenyan government and the African Wildlife Organisation. Looking at the man, she could easily imagine him in a Land Rover or on a horse, or flying a little Cessna, all of which he probably did.

Nick turned to face her with a smile. “Shanna, this is Rand Caldwell. Rand, Shanna Moore, my niece.”

She extended her hand and he took it in his huge hard one. For a pregnant moment he said nothing, just stared at her with his penetrating blue gaze. In the tanned face his eyes looked impossibly light, and disturbingly icy.

“Miss Moore,” he said in cool British tones, and released her hand.

Meeting new people was not usually a source of apprehension for her. However, this man made her feel off balance. Why was he looking at her like this?

“Nice to meet you,” she said, and offered him her cheeriest smile, trying not to show him he’d unnerved her, which he had. “Nick told me all about your ranch.”

Rand lifted a quizzical brow and glanced over at Nick. “You haven’t seen it in years,” he said dryly.

Nick grinned. “It made an indelible impression. Especially that lioness that nearly tore me apart.”

Nick was, biologically, her uncle, but in reality he was more like a big brother. He was a fun-loving guy with a sense of the adventurous, eleven years older than she. Since the death of her parents six years ago, it was at Nick and his wife Melanie’s home she’d spent Christmas and other holidays. They were her family now.

“How’s Melanie?” Rand asked.

“Very well,” said Nick. “Busy with the children. She’s sorry she couldn’t come along.” In his student days Rand had spent a couple of years studying in the States and had become friends with Melanie and Nick.

The men ordered beer and Shanna asked for another passion fruit juice, nectar of the gods. She listened absently to the conversation, sipping her juice and watching the colorful melee of humanity pass by in the busy street.