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“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.
Two
Lizzie grabbed the towel hanging from the bar at the end of the tub and quickly dried. She shoved the T-shirt over her head, thankful it was long enough to provide adequate cover. Refusing to wear soggy panties, she stomped out of the bathroom, barefoot and covered only in thin cotton. If she hadn’t lost her canvas slides during the swim, then she could give Ahab a swift kick in his great-looking butt for good measure.
As she left the bathroom in search of the salty seadog, she tried to tell herself that she understood his frustration, his snippy attitude. He’d been minding his own business, bothering no one, until she’d dropped in unannounced. But did he really have to be so nasty? She couldn’t help that he’d been the only thing in sight when she’d made her emergency landing. And a nice landing it was, even if he didn’t appreciate it. After all, she could’ve landed on his precious deck and swamped the entire boat, then where would he be? Quite possibly on the bottom of the ocean, and so would she.
She searched the living area but didn’t find him anywhere. When she started for the closed door at the rear of the boat, the sound of footsteps above drew her up the steps. By Bess, he was going to talk to her even if she had to sit on him. Now that might be fun.
Naughty, naughty girl, Lizzie, she silently scolded as she strode to her destination with wavering purpose, a little nervous over the prospect of facing his wrath. But that would not deter her. When she surfaced on the deck, she noticed the sun had all but set, providing just enough light where she could see him striding to the back of the boat, something silver clutched in his hand.
A gun? What was he doing with a gun?
Lord, no!
Driven by a need to prevent his demise, Lizzie ran toward him, hoping she wasn’t too late. When she reached the platform, she screamed, “Don’t do it!” to his back.
“Sorry, but I have to,” he muttered, and without turning around, he aimed the gun and unloaded bullets into the water several times.
Lizzie stood stunned, wondering what in the heck he had killed. Some unsuspecting fish? Dinner? Gosh, she was hungry. No time to consider that now.
He fisted his free hand at his side and clutched the gun in his other. “I’ll be a son of a…. Damn it straight to…” He blew out an angry breath.
It was perhaps the most skilled censorship she’d ever witnessed from a man. A nice thing, Lizzie decided. She didn’t want Baby Hank exposed to too much foul language.
After walking to Jack’s side, she saw nothing but a carousel of bubbles floating on the water’s surface. “What did you murder?”
“Your basket. The thing wouldn’t go away.”
She braced her hands on her hips and stared at him with ire. “Was it really bothering anything? I mean, that poor defenseless gondola has witnessed marriage engagements, golden anniversary celebrations, played host to Boy Scouts. Now you’ve sent it to dark, watery depths to become fish food.”
“The fish won’t touch it.”
“Then explain to me what harm it was doing, hanging on to your boat?”
He crouched with the gun gripped in his hand between his parted knees and his eyes focused on the sea. “Probably no real harm.”
“See there—”
