Anne Marie Duquette - Castillo's Bride

Aurora kicked harder than ever, the current now helping her. She saw the thin tensile surface of water. She lifted the man in her arms as high as she could so that his lolling head broke the water first. Hers followed. She gasped for air, two, three, four breaths, while scanning the shore. She made certain the attackers were gone before swimming toward the nearest pier piling and wrapping her legs around the shell-encrusted wood to anchor herself, all the while holding Jordan.

Her hand splayed over the bruised, battered muscles of the man’s chest, feeling for a heartbeat as the cutting shells of barnacles and black clams sliced into her legs.

There was no heartbeat.

She hugged Jordan’s torso with the careful, measured strength years of ocean swimming had given her, willing his heart to beat. She compressed five times, then she cleared his breathing passage, sucking in gulps of air herself.

Rory pivoted his body sideways, using the buoyancy of the water. As she lowered her mouth to his torn, broken lips, she tasted ocean salt mingling with the saltiness of the man’s own blood. Her fingertips pressed into the already-bruised skin of one wrist, feeling for a pulse.

She felt no pulse.

“Don’t you die, dammit!” she swore between puffs of air. “Do you hear me? I need you alive.”

The pale masculine lips didn’t move. Aurora shivered, but didn’t attempt to swim the rest of the pier-length toward shore. She focused her whole attention on saving the man in her arms.

And prayed fervently that she wasn’t too late.

JORDAN CASTILLO CAME slowly to consciousness. Earlier there had been confusion, then pain, then blackness with nightmares, and more pain. But today that pain no longer seemed as hellish.

Where was he? How long had he been here?

He was too weak to move, too weak to speak, too weak to even open his eyes, but he could feel things. From the familiar rolling beneath him, he knew he was on a ship. Jordan breathed a sigh of relief. Like his father and grandfather before him, he lived most of his life at sea. And like his father and grandfather, he too hoped to draw his last breath on the sea. But not yet…Not today…Jordan desperately wanted to live, and fought fiercely against the terrible blackness that threatened to envelop him again.

His will had been sorely tested. He’d been frightened he’d lose his battle with death, and Jordan Castillo wasn’t a man who frightened easily. As long as he could still feel pain, he knew he was alive.

He could hear what went on around him. Even now he listened for the woman’s voice. They were supposed to meet at the pier. Was the woman who’d saved him the same Aurora Collins who could salvage his family fortunes?

Jordan exhaled, his broken ribs protesting. Head injuries could cause you to dream up funny things. If his rescuing mermaid was a fantasy that existed only in his bruised, beaten skull, he’d be very disappointed indeed.

There it was again. Her voice…

Jordan’s lips curved in a small, almost involuntary, smile. He relaxed, letting the sound wash over him. She wasn’t as close as he’d like, certainly not as close as he remembered during that nightmarish time when his life hung by a delicate thread—but she was close enough for him to make out her words.

“…Much better, you say, Neil?”

“Yes.” Jordan heard the male voice. His sea nymph definitely wasn’t alone. “He should be coming around soon.”

“Why he isn’t dead, I’ll never know. If you’d seen what those men did to him…”

To Jordan’s surprise, her voice broke. He hadn’t imagined her concern, after all. She’d been worried about him—still was. He wanted to ease her pain as she’d eased his. He tried to open his eyes, tried to reassure her, but couldn’t. When she spoke again, her voice was harsh.

“If he wasn’t so ill, I’d be back on shore looking for those three men myself. The receptionist said they told Jordan I was waiting in their car. She also said that judging by their accent, they were probably Brazilian. She didn’t manage to get much of a description, though. I wish—”

“Leave it to the authorities,” the man—Neil, Jordan assumed—told her. “Speaking of which, I wish you’d called for an ambulance instead of my ship. This man is not what you’d call a typical cruise-passenger guest.”

“Maybe not, but the ambulance couldn’t get there as fast. Your ship has a surgeon and an operating room, and you, my dear captain, were offshore. The Coast Guard was able to motor us out.”

“That’s highly irregular, and you know it,” the man said. “They ever hear of a helicopter? Like the one we’re using today to get him off the ship?”

“The life-flights were all out working that huge crash on the interstate. By the time one became available, Castillo would have died. He needed immediate surgery, your doctor said. Neil, I already explained all this to you. Why are we going through it again?”

“But you almost died! When will you stop taking these dangerous risks?”

“Let go of my arm,” the woman replied calmly. Jordan remembered that quiet calmness she possessed. When he’d nearly drowned, and then during his subsequent pain-racked time in this bed, she’d been his safe haven.

“Promise you’ll stay away from this man—and his problems. Let me take care of his medical arrangements.”

Jordan heard the soft ripple of her laugh. “I don’t take orders from you, even if you are one of my oldest friends.”

“Nonetheless, I want your promise. Your family would never forgive me if something—”

“Sorry, Neil. Now please, let go.”

“You have to come to your senses.” Jordan recognized the man’s proprietary attitude toward the woman—and recognized a similar feeling deep inside his own battered body. “You’ve lived by your own rules long enough. You can’t go on acting like…like some kind of renegade. It’s time to change.”

Jordan’s breath caught. He heard both strength and assurance in that warning. The woman’s male friend, this captain, was someone to be reckoned with.

As was the woman herself.

“Until that day comes—if it ever comes—I answer to myself alone,” the woman replied. “Remember that, Captain Harris. Now, please fetch the doctor.”

Was she ship’s crew herself? Did she also hold a billet on this ship? Did they wear maritime uniforms with ranks? If only it wasn’t so hard to remember things. Curiosity consumed him—especially about her.

Jordan finally managed to open his eyes. He gazed on the beauty of the woman before him for just a second before focusing on the uniformed man who held her captive. The man’s large hand gripped his angel’s forearm. Jordan’s weakness gave way beneath a burst of fury and adrenaline.

“Let her go,” he ordered in a clear voice. “Now.”

The couple froze. In unison, they turned to stare at him.

“Well, well, well, Mr. Castillo. Welcome back to the land of the living,” came the captain’s stiff-faced response. Jordan noticed he wore a civilian Naval uniform, that of a cruise-ship captain. He released the woman.

She responded with a much warmer welcome. “You’re awake,” she cried, her eyes sparkling with joy. “Excuse me, Neil, but I’d like to visit with our patient for a few minutes. Alone.”

Jordan turned his head to watch the other man. There was defiance in his expression, but it faded almost immediately. “I’ll check on you both later,” he said, then left.

Good, Jordan thought. Now he had his mystery woman all to himself. He found and pressed the button to raise his bed, then turned toward her a bit too quickly. A definite mistake. His head throbbed and he winced.

“Are you still in pain?” she asked, her voice sweet and slow. Her words were casual, but the concern in her eyes wasn’t. She moved closer to his side.