Читать книгу Marooned With A Millionaire - KRISTI GOLD - Страница 8

The sailboat’s sudden pitch jarred Jackson Dunlap from his solitude and sent the mug before him into his lap. Bolting from his seat in the galley, he scaled the companionway leading topside at a sprint, covered in coffee and cursing the sudden commotion.

For one solid year, not much had disturbed him as he’d sailed alone off the coast of Florida. At his request, he’d had no visitors, no business calls, no disruptions aside from the necessary returns to port to restock and the occasional patch of rough weather. Until now.

After arriving on deck, Jack shaded his eyes against the midday June sun expecting to find he’d been rammed by some craft piloted by an idiot or a nearsighted whale in the throes of mating season. He didn’t expect to see the patchwork purple-and-yellow balloon slowly descending from the sky and deflating not more than a few hundred yards away.

He moved closer to the sight, unable to comprehend what he now witnessed. Some guy in the gondola attached to the balloon was waving like mad until the basket bounced along the surface, toppled, then spilled its human contents.

Spurred into action by a surge of adrenaline and a sudden sense of déjà vu, Jack raced to the platform at the stern. “Swim!” he yelled as he tossed a buoy in the general direction of the stranger, thankful he’d lowered the sails that morning. At least the boat was somewhat stationary. And luckily the current seemed to be aiding the guy in his efforts. Unfortunately, it was also aiding the balloon and basket to travel in the same direction, toward his prized boat.

Jack feverishly tugged the buoy’s line, dragging the stranger through the water at a fast clip. Then suddenly he realized he wasn’t a he at all. He was a she. A woman with wide oval eyes and chin-length blond hair that hung down around her face in wet strands.

What the hell was she doing all the way out here?

He planned to ask her that—and more—as soon as he had her safely on board.

Once she was within reach, Jack grabbed her extended arm, tugged her onto the platform, tossed her over his shoulder and headed forward.

“I can walk,” she said in a raspy, winded voice. “So you can put me down now.”

He could, but not until he made sure she wasn’t injured. Gingerly he laid her on the deck and sat beside her, uncertain which one of them was breathing more heavily. His ragged respiration had more to do with nerves than exertion because she really didn’t weigh all that much. He imagined her labored breath resulted from the swim along with a little added fear—and rightfully so.

When he regained his voice, he asked, “Are you hurt?”

She scooted into a sitting position and stared at him with blue-green eyes almost a perfect match to the sea. Then she opened her mouth and muttered, “I’m okay as long as the baby’s okay.”

Baby? She had a kid with her? “Was the baby in the basket?” he asked in a moderate tone, struggling to keep the panic from his voice.

She studied him with sandy brows drawn down over confused eyes. Then she laid a hand on her belly and smiled. “It’s in this basket.”

Both relieved and shocked, his gaze shot to her slender hand now curved protectively over her abdomen. “You’re pregnant?”

She pushed her damp hair away from her forehead and exhaled slowly. “Yes.”

Great. Just great.

“Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” he asked, genuinely concerned. “No pain or anything?”

She sat a little straighter. “I’m okay. Kind of tired, but overall pretty good.”

Jack decided she looked pretty good all over. Healthy, he corrected. Her still-flat abdomen encased in plain white capri pants, the soaked yellow T-shirt adhering to her torso, made Jack hard-pressed to believe she was actually going to have a baby.

Obviously she wasn’t very far along in the pregnancy. Obviously she couldn’t lay claim to much common sense, either, which made him really want to shake some sense into her. But she’d been shaken up enough for one day, so he settled for a little subtle chastising. “Now let me see if I’ve got this straight. You decided to go off in your balloon to tour the ocean at the risk of harming your unborn child?”

She hugged her knees to her chest and glared at him. “For your information, ballooning is a very safe mode of transportation. I’m more at risk driving on a Miami freeway. I would never do anything, anything, to hurt my baby. This was a fluke.”

A bite of guilt nipped at Jack. He had no call to judge anyone when it came to taking risks. God knew he had taken more than his share, with much more devastating consequences.

He sent her a half smile, a feeble attempt at an apology. “I suppose it’s a lot like sailing. Once it’s in the blood, you can’t consider giving it up.”

She glanced away but not before he caught a hint of sadness in her eyes. “Actually, it was my last trip until after the baby’s birth. I was leaving a festival near Miami. I’m not sure what happened. I think I might have passed out or something. The next thing I knew, I woke up out here, wherever here is.”

“We’re about twenty miles off the coast near Key Largo. You couldn’t get back to shore?”

“By the time I came to, the wind was unstable and I started losing altitude.”

He supposed that made sense, as much sense as it could to a man who preferred water to air. Sometimes the elements couldn’t be controlled. How well he knew that concept.

She gave him a sheepish smile, revealing a glimpse of white teeth and a dimple at the left corner of her lower lip. “Pretty lucky I happened upon you, huh?”

That remained to be seen, Jack decided. “Did you hit the deck when you were trying to land?”

“Not exactly.”

“It sounded like you hit something.”

“More like grazed.”

“The deck?”

She pointed upward. “The mast thingy. I aimed for it on my descent. I wanted to make sure I got your attention.”

It had definitely gotten his attention, then and now. And admittedly a smart thing for her to do, not that he cared for it much. No telling what kind of damage she’d done, but at least she hadn’t brought the mast down. At the moment he didn’t dare examine the thingy, fearing what he might find. Right now he was barely hanging on to some semblance of calm. Right now he had to deal with another pressing matter.

Coming to his feet, he asked with a great deal of benevolence, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Really. Promise.”

“Okay. I’m going to go see where the balloon went. I’ll be right back. You rest.”

Her expression reflected gratitude. “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

He decided not to tell her that his concern was for his boat, not her balloon. And he hoped like hell the damn thing had changed course.

But it hadn’t. He realized that the moment he arrived at the rear platform. The massive fabric billowed portside; the basket was lodged on the end of the swim ladder.

Tethering himself to the platform railing, he lowered to his stomach and inched down until he could reach the rig. With the set of bolt cutters stored aft, he started to work. First he dislodged the gondola and began cutting away the cables attaching the balloon to the framework that housed the burner. He fought the current’s pull, fought the sea spray jetting into his face. Fought his desperation and impatience. He continued practically blind but knew he was making progress when the fabric began pulling away.

Finally, the last cable snapped. His fingers ached, his eyes burned, but he supposed he should feel lucky that the rig hadn’t made its way underneath the boat. That could mean certain disaster.

“What are you doing?”

He hadn’t realized she was standing behind him. Right behind him. Without looking at her, he said, “I’ve freed your balloon.” Gave it a nice burial at sea, he almost told her but thought better of it.

“Why did you do that?”

“So it didn’t get caught up in the prop.”

Standing, he turned to face her and met the most melancholy expression he’d ever seen on a woman’s face. He couldn’t really blame her. He’d felt the same way when he’d lost his last boat to a cutthroat competition coupled with a relentless storm. He’d lost more than that.

At least he had saved her. At least she was alive, unharmed, in charge of all her faculties….

“Can you go get the envelope…the balloon itself? We could roll it up and store it on deck.”

Obviously she was crazy. Certifiable. “Not unless you expect me to swim for it.”

She wrapped her arms around her middle as she visually followed the flattened balloon now barely perceptible on the horizon. “Of course, that’s a stupid thing to ask considering what you’ve done for me. But that balloon is my livelihood.”

When this ordeal ended, he’d buy her another balloon. Hell, he had enough money to buy her fifty balloons, not that he had any desire to tell her that. The less she knew about him, the better. “I’m sorry, but I had no choice.”

She gave him a one-shoulder shrug and a surprisingly bright grin. “I’m sure it will all work out somehow. I’ll think of something.”

Great. A blond optimist, Jack thought. A tall, blond optimist, not without some fairly liberal curves that were more than obvious beneath her clinging clothing. Admittedly, she was pretty darned cute, even if she was a little scattered. Scattered and sexy. She was also shaking.

Turning his back on all that cuteness, he said, “Follow me. Let’s get you out of your clothes.” Oh, hell. “You can wear some of mine.”

Without protest she complied, and once they’d made it into the main salon, he faced her again. “It’s a little warmer in here. That should help.” Not Jack, though. He was already way too hot under the collar.

“Thanks,” she murmured. “I owe you.”

He considered one form of payment that would not be at all appropriate, or advisable. He had no use for women, cute or otherwise. Especially a woman who had interrupted his nice solitary life. A pregnant woman, no less. More than likely a married pregnant woman.

Something suddenly occurred to Jack, something he should have considered long before now. “After you change, we can try to get a message to your husband.”

She executed a prideful tip of her chin. “That would be futile since I don’t have one.”

“Boyfriend?” Jack asked, more than slightly curious, regardless of his caution.

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“Miraculous conception?”

Strolling to the navy-and-red plaid sofa, she ran her fingers along the edge. “If you’re inquiring about the father of my child, he’s not involved.”

And it was really none of Jack’s business. He sure as hell didn’t want her in the middle of his. “Okay. What about friends and family?”

“Actually, the members of my chase crew are probably wondering what happened to me when they saw me drift away.”

“I’m sure they are.” And Jack wondered what was happening to him. He couldn’t stop looking at her now exposed earlobe, her nice full mouth, her long, slender limbs—and imagining things he had no cause to imagine. For God’s sake, he didn’t even know her name.

With that in mind, he stuck out his hand. “Jackson Dunlap. I prefer Jack.”

Her grin illuminated the dimly lit cabin as she took his hand. “Elizabeth Matheson, and I prefer another name altogether. However, you may call me Lizzie.”

Despite his need to remain detached, he couldn’t suppress his own smile. “Well, Lizzie, at least we have a few things settled.”

Unfortunately, he felt very unsettled. As crazy as it seemed, the woman glowed, even when she wasn’t smiling. Even soaking wet and shivering, she possessed a weird kind of aura that would make most men take immediate notice. He certainly had. He was still noticing.

He didn’t have time to notice. He had to check out the mainsail and mast, and get the hell back to port.

Chalking up his disregard for his boat to months of celibacy, he simply said, “Bathroom’s in there, if you want to use it.” He pointed to the starboard head.

Her gaze swept the room and her smile returned. “Fantastic boat. It’s probably bigger than my apartment. Who owns it?”

“I do.”

“Oh. So where’s the rest of the crew?”

Long lost to the sea, Jack thought with the same old remorse. “It’s only me. I prefer it that way.”

She continued to survey the area. “Really? You handle this baby all by yourself? I’m impressed.”

So was he. Too impressed. With her. “You go grab a shower, I’ll go grab you some clothes.” And he would do his best not to grab her for the few remaining hours they would spend together.

With a nervous twist of her hands and another luminous smile, she said, “Okay,” then walked toward the head while regarding him over one shoulder. “You might want to bring me just a T-shirt since I doubt I could get into your shorts.”

He’d be willing to let her try.

Jack’s reaction to her innocent, offhand comment and the image it produced created a not-so-nonchalant response down south. “Fine. A T-shirt it is. Take your time. I’ll get things moving so we can head for land.”

The quicker he got rid of her, the better, for the sake of his own sanity and his valued seclusion.

Jackson Carter Dunlap, hotel magnate and self-made millionaire, didn’t like the thought of anyone disrupting the way of life he had come to know over the past twelve months. But damned if the woman who’d fallen from the sky like some misguided Dorothy wasn’t driving him to distraction. And it had taken her all of twelve minutes.

If Lizzie never tasted salt again, it would be too soon. At least the accommodations were first-rate, she thought as she sank farther into the garden tub, immersing herself in the warmth of fresh water.

The bathroom was much bigger than she’d envisioned, but it made sense. A big bathroom for one big strappin’ guy with broad shoulders and large hands. Except he had narrow hips, something she’d noticed immediately while walking behind him, shamelessly scrutinizing his butt.

She had also noticed his silver eyes because he’d had them trained on her from the beginning. Rugged was the first thought that had come to mind when she’d gotten a good look at him. His brown hair, sun-bleached on the ends, gave him a totally natural look. A good thing because she’d never gone for the kind of guy who got his highlights from a bottle. Mr. Dunlap wasn’t that kind at all. In fact, she couldn’t imagine him sitting still for a dye job, or sitting still for very long, period. She really liked his face, his healthy-looking skin. Nice and tan. But before he ruined it, someone really ought to remind him of the dangers of prolonged UV exposure. Maybe she would. Maybe she’d better not.

Although he could use a little cleanup, a shave and haircut, Lizzie got the definite impression that beneath Jack Dunlap’s added fur there existed some interesting territory many a woman would like to explore. But not her. Of course, not her. Being the plain sort, not at all a bombshell blonde, she wasn’t really any man’s ideal, and for the most part she’d been fine with that.

Oh, she had lots of men friends, but very few that had viewed her as a romantic prospect. Only one man, in fact. That relationship had happened a long time ago, without great success. Nothing tragic, no broken hearts. Just plain old apathy on the part of both parties. Recently she hadn’t met one guy that she’d cared to try on for size.

Not that Jack Dunlap hadn’t jump-started a few of her fantasies. But her host was just a tad bit irritated by her presence even though he had been accommodating. She’d sensed that immediately after he’d verified for himself she wasn’t hurt. Thank the Lord she hadn’t been hurt.

Resting her palm on her tummy, she smiled with relief. “Well, little Hank, Mommy almost did a number on us this time. But I promise, from now on, I’ll take good care of you. No more balloon flights until after you’re born. Heck, if I ever get off this boat, I might never do anything more risky than jaywalk, as long as there’s no oncoming traffic.”

Considering she no longer had a balloon, that wouldn’t be a problem. This meant she no longer had a balloon business, either. She couldn’t afford to buy another even though she would receive some insurance money. But it wouldn’t be enough to replace it, or to pay her crew and a pilot to take over for her until after the baby was born.

She only had limited savings left from her father’s life insurance, and that was for the baby. The rest she had used to keep the business going, the business her dad had always dreamed of owning. A dream he had never achieved.

Hank Matheson, her beloved father, had raised Lizzie by himself since the year she’d turned four—the same year her mother had died. He’d taught her how to fly. He’d taught her a lot, the most important being that life was what you made it. No matter how tough things got, silver linings did exist. Lizzie still believed that and probably always would, even if she didn’t have a job at present.

She supposed she could go back to being Lizzie the Makeover Artist at the salon. Less stress than owning her own business. Less money, too.

Lizzie toyed with the necklace at her throat. The chain contained her two most prized possessions—her father’s St. Christopher medal and the heart he had given her mother on their first anniversary, four months before Lizzie’s birth. Her good-luck charms served as a reminder that everything would work out, as it always had. After all, she’d survived losing her only family. She would survive this loss, too, because in the end, she wouldn’t be alone. She would have her baby.

A grinding sound followed by a loud curse pulled Lizzie out of her musings. Obviously Ahab was in command of some colorful language, even a few compound words she hadn’t heard except on cable-TV comedy shows.

Maybe she should just submerse herself underwater until he calmed down from whatever had him so irate. Maybe she was responsible for his rant.

The door flew open and the man with many curses entered the room. “Here’s your T-shirt.” He tossed it onto the cabinet where she’d laid out her clothes and underwear to dry.

Covered only by clear water and a full-body blush, she attempted to look pleasant. “This tub is heavenly.”

“It’s also full of water.”

He not only cussed like a typical sailor, he also talked in codes. “Yes. That’s what you usually do. Fill it up.”

He scowled. “I have limited fresh water on board. We have to be conservative.”

He moved closer to the edge of the tub, and Lizzie decided then and there that if he hadn’t seen her in the altogether when he’d entered the room, he certainly could now. What the heck. She couldn’t really cover herself, and frankly she wasn’t all that inhibited when it came to her body. However, the smoldering look in his eyes made her want to roll over onto her belly, face down, to try to rid herself of the heat his presence had generated.

Instead, she came to her knees, folded her arms on the tub’s ledge and rested her chin atop them. “I would really like some privacy, if you don’t mind.”

“I’ve seen a naked woman before.”

“Not this naked woman.”

His gaze slid over her once more. “I’m not looking.”

Could’ve fooled her. “Thanks for the T-shirt. Is there anything else?”

He turned toward the cabinet and studied her undies. Guess he didn’t find her drawers at all satisfactory. Obviously he resented her cluttering his bathroom. Or he might just plain resent her.

“Actually, there is something else,” he said. “Several things. First, the rules about bathing on the boat.”

“I promise I won’t take another bath while I’m here.”

“I doubt that.”

“Seriously, Jack, I don’t bathe twice a day unless I happen to exert myself.”

That brought his attention back to her. “It’s going to take us more than a day to get back to land.”

“I didn’t think we were that far offshore.”

“Relatively speaking, we’re not. But we have a few problems.”

From the stony look on his face, Lizzie wasn’t sure she wanted to hear about their problems. But she guessed she might as well. “What’s wrong?”

He rolled his neck on his shoulders, obviously dealing with a pain perhaps directly associated with her. “First of all, I went to check on the mast, to see if you did any damage. When I raised the sail, it blew out. The jib might catch some wind, if there was any, but there’s not much to speak of. And to top it off, the sails won’t come down because the block was damaged when you hit the mast.”

“Oh.” It was all she could think to say. “Surely the Coast Guard will be here soon.”

“Not likely.”

“Didn’t you call them?”

“I tried. Your little basket took out the radio antenna.”

She frowned. “Oh, so that’s what that was.”

“Yeah, that’s what that was. I have no way to communicate with anyone.”

Surely things weren’t as dire as he had made them out to be. “Doesn’t this boat have some sort of an engine?”

“Under normal circumstances, yes. But I have no power since something’s caught up on the prop. Would you happen to know what that could be?”

“You did cut the cables, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What about the tether lines?”

“Tether lines?”

Uh-oh. “The ones that hang from the gondola. They tie down the balloon once you’re grounded.”

His scowl made her want to shrivel and shrink. “Great. Thanks for telling me.” He turned toward the door but before exiting faced her again. “Take your time, princess. Might be your last soak for a long while.”

The nerve of him, calling her princess. Nobody called her that and got away with it. She stood without regard to her nudity. “I’m quite through now, and I’m definitely not a princess.” Ahab.

His silver eyes darkened as he gave her a lingering once-over, from chin to thighs, pausing at intimate places in between. “I could argue that point, but right now I have other things to do.”

Then he was gone, leaving her dripping, naked and totally bumfuzzled. Full of questions she needed answered now, whether he liked it or not.

Princess. Ha! She’d just have to show him that when backed into a corner, Queen Elizabeth could be a royal pain in the posterior.