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Caught By Surprise
Sandra Paul
He'd make her pay……for luring him to her ship and having her men imprison him. Yes, the beautiful American had sealed her fate, for Saegar, the royal prince of Pacifica, would claim Beth Livingston as his wife, brand her with his passion and make her his forever….What had her father's crew discovered? Whoever–whatever–he was, Beth knew the prisoner with the chiseled face and chest of a Roman warrior directed his anger at her, and if she didn't convince her father to release him, she would one day feel the full wrath of his fury–and his heart's desires….
Long ago and far away…
…there was a world filled with light and laughter and love. But quakes buried the land below the sea. Slowly the people adapted to their new world. But a civil war broke out, forcing the king of Pacifica to send his four children far away, each with a guardian and a piece of the royal seal.
Twenty-five years later, it was time for the siblings to be reunited—and reclaim what was lost. Saegar, the royal prince of Pacifica, had only vague memories of his homeland. Now he was ready to return, but first he must answer the call of a maiden in distress….
A Tale of the Sea
MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE by Carla Cassidy
IN DEEP WATERS by Melissa McClone
CAUGHT BY SURPRISE by Sandra Paul
FOR THE TAKING by Lilian Darcy
Caught by Surprise
Sandra Paul
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dedicated to all the wonderful and resilient women of New York, especially those at Silhouette. You guys are the best.
SANDRA PAUL
married her high school sweetheart and they live in Southern California with their three children, their dog and their cat.
She loves to travel, even if it’s just several trips a month to her hometown bookstore. Bookstores are her favorite place to be.
Her first book with Silhouette Romance was the winner of RWA Golden Heart Award and a finalist for an RWA RITA
Award.
Contents
Prologue
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 Fourteen
Epilogue
Prologue
They were hot on his tail.
Pushing aside his growing desperation, he concentrated on escape. His powerful arms sliced through the cold sea while his leanly muscled lower body enhanced each butterfly stroke with a graceful, curving thrust. Ignoring the burning in his lungs, he kept his head down, unwilling to waste the millisecond it would take to draw a breath.
He gained a yard. Then another. He was fast—very fast. But he’d be a fool to believe he could outrace a motorboat forever. Nor would the men chasing him give up. Their greedy excitement vibrated the air above him as clearly as the boat’s motor vibrated the water.
He had to dive, quickly and deeply. Only in the dark, endless depths could he evade them. Another stroke, another slight gain. The rough, salty water flowed along his body like an icy caress. It was now or never. He soared higher to steepen his plunge—
And they struck. Fiery pain pierced his shoulder. He jerked, managed to break loose from the jagged steel, but failed to escape the net that followed.
Fiercely he fought the tangling strands. If he’d had his knife, he could have cut himself free as he’d once done to escape a patch of tenacious seaweed in the soft surf near his home. But his knife lay on the sandy ocean floor, and the clingy web tightened with each desperate twist that he gave.
He would have kept struggling, courting death, if death would have helped his people. But it wouldn’t. Dead or alive, his capture would prove their existence and send more greedy men out on the hunt.
So he stilled, conserving his energy as they hauled him to the surface. He almost welcomed the raw burn from the ropey twine scraping his skin; the sharp, pulsing fire from the wound in his shoulder. Pain would keep him alert. Anger would keep him focused.
He kept his expression blank as the fading sunlight glinted over his body, but inwardly he cursed the men staring at him with fearful fascination in their eyes. Even more, he cursed himself for the relentless curiosity that had driven him to gamble with his freedom.
But most of all, he cursed the pale-limbed female with the flowing brown hair who had lured him too close to danger. From the bow of her ship, she’d signaled for help using the ancient gestures of his people.
And he vowed revenge.
Chapter One
The combination lock on the hold door took forever to undo, and once inside, the slick railing of the spiraling staircase felt cold and clammy beneath Beth’s palm. She should have changed out of her heels into canvas deck shoes, she realized belatedly as she slowly descended into the ship’s hold. The metal steps were slippery. She certainly should have changed her evening dress for something more practical. The delicate blue silk would be ruined if sea water—or heaven forbid, fish bait or something equally disgusting—should happen to touch its gleaming folds.
Carefully holding her skirt away from the damp metal, Beth took another cautious step down—then gasped as the ship suddenly pitched. Clutching at the railing with both hands, she kept her balance. Barely. But when the ship rolled a second time her stomach went right along with it.
“Oh, darn, not again,” she groaned, shutting her eyes. She hated it when a storm drew near, triggering her sea-sickness. In fact, she hated the sea entirely with its endless up and down, up and down motion and the scary mystery of its dark, cold depths. If it was up to her, she’d remain on dry land every second of her life, she decided, as the ship heaved once again.
But it wasn’t up to her—not entirely. Because her father loved the sea and Carl T. Livingston was a certifiable genius who’d made enough from his biotechnological discoveries to indulge his every whim, including buying the huge, costly ship The Searcher. Unfortunately, his whims included putting a saltwater tank down in the hold of the vessel—a massive tank with a powerful pump, more than adequate to contain whatever creature his crew might capture for him to study.
Swallowing hard to force down her nausea, Beth opened her eyes and took another slow step downward. She wasn’t anxious to discover what they’d caught this time. She always felt sorry for the sea animals the men scooped up for her father to examine. Dolphins, seals—once even a small octopus so confused by its confinement that it had huddled near the tank bottom, futilely grasping the small rock it had been clinging to when the men had prodded it into their net. The little octopod had refused to swim around; it had refused to eat. And before Beth could convince her father to release it, the baby octopus had died.
Pushing aside the memory, she slowly kept going, wrinkling her nose as the pungent odors of machine oil and brine rose up to greet her. She hoped this new creature didn’t die. Especially since she’d been the one to cause its capture.
She hadn’t meant to. She’d been standing on the bow of the ship the previous evening, fighting the urge to vomit, when her father’s assistant had joined her.
She hadn’t wanted company, and certainly not Ralph Lesborn’s. Not that Ralph was unattractive. Tall and in his early thirties, Ralph’s thick, reddish-blond hair was always neatly combed, and beneath his classically straight nose, a stylishly thin mustache outlined his full mouth.
Beth had been pleased for her dad when Ralph had agreed to come work aboard The Searcher a couple of months ago, but lately Ralph had developed the tendency to stand too close; it made her uneasy. And uneasiness was the last thing she wanted to feel when her stomach was already doing somersaults.
Sure enough, Ralph had crowded next to her by the rail. The sickly sweet smell of the cologne he favored caught in her throat, and the flattery he murmured in her ear made her feel sicker than the biggest heaving wave. Perhaps because he considered himself a gourmet, Ralph’s compliments always seemed to involve food. She managed not to gag at the one about her eyes being as green as spinach—they were blue, for heaven’s sake—but when he’d cooed something about her long hair being the same color as the bran muffins he ate each morning, she’d been sure she’d lose it all over his hand-made leather shoes.
She was rolling her eyes in revulsion when she’d glimpsed a golden tail fin flip up out in the water. Hoping to distract Ralph from her bran muffin hair, she’d pointed to the strange fish in the distance.
The ploy had worked. Ralph had stiffened—red mustache quivering, long eyes narrowing—looking remarkably like a cat who’d spotted a fish in a bowl. “No…I don’t believe it. My God, it is!” he’d muttered almost beneath his breath. Then he’d hurried away to gather two of the crew, who’d quickly lowered the speedboat into the water and taken off.
Beth hadn’t stayed to watch as they’d chased the poor thing down. Sending up a silent prayer for its escape, she’d slipped away to the stuffy sanctuary of her room.
But unfortunately, they had caught the creature. Her father had refused to tell her what it was when they’d dined together earlier, but his excitement had been almost palpable. Only by promising to go see it herself and report right back to him, had she managed to dissuade him from trying to leave his bed.
Yep, the hold gave her the creeps, but there wasn’t much she wouldn’t do for her father these days, Beth reflected, grimacing as her foot slipped again. Precarious was the word the doctors had used six months ago when discussing Carl’s health after his latest heart attack. He seemed to fall victim to every virus going around, and just this week, had been laid up with the flu.
Not only was his physical health failing, but his mental health seemed to be deteriorating as well. Her heart ached as his once agile mind struggled to separate reality from illusion. She fought despair as he insisted on relentlessly searching the seas for the mythical beings that only existed in his confused brain.
She had long given up trying to make him abandon his hunt. All she wanted anymore was for him to be happy. So she wore evening gowns during their early dinners every day just to see a faint look of pleasure on his gaunt face. She tried to appreciate Ralph and his ridiculous, food-related compliments. And if her father wanted her to look at his mysterious fish and report back to him, then that’s what she would do.
Finally reaching the last step, she paused to glance over at the tank and the massive filter pump humming beside it. She’d hoped to check the fish out from the staircase. Since the tank was constructed of the same clear, indestructible acrylic as those used at public aquariums, she could usually see through it quite easily. But not this time.
The lighting wasn’t the problem. The electric lamps scattered along the walls couldn’t erase the shadows in the cavernous room, but a porthole cut high near the ceiling provided more than enough light to see. Even this late in the afternoon, the sunlight shone down through the thick, round window just like a spotlight, sparkling on the water below.
No, the real problem had been caused by the sea animal. It had churned the water—already disturbed by the pitching of the ship—into such a foaming whirlpool that only brief glimpses of its golden tail could be seen as it glided past.
“Darn it,” she muttered, making a face. “I’ll have to get closer.”
Lifting her skirt higher, she made her way across the slimy floor, carefully stepping around the biggest wet patches. “What on earth is in there?” she wondered aloud as she neared the tank. She paused a couple yards away, trying to peer through the frothing water. Not a dolphin, she decided. Nor a seal, either.
It had to be some kind of shark.
She wasn’t quite sure why she thought so. She’d certainly never heard of a golden shark. Yet, there was something about the way the creature moved, a lethal menace in its sensuous glide through the water, that reminded her irresistibly of those deadly sea predators.
A sudden thought made her pulse leap. Could it be a mutant shark, maybe? Now that would be a discovery—maybe a big enough discovery to restore her father’s reputation.
Budding hope replaced her reluctance. Moving right up to the side of the tank, she strained to see through the thick acrylic. A low, wooden platform hovered only a few feet over the surface of the water, but no way was she climbing up on that. With her luck, she’d fall in and the big fish would chomp her to bits.
The creature whipped by again. Her skin prickled, but she ignored her body’s instinctive reaction to the danger the shark represented, refusing to back away. It couldn’t get her here, after all—it was trapped in the tank. Besides, maybe it wasn’t a shark but just a large tuna or an oversize sea bass. Anxious to find out, she wiped off the condensation that had built on the walls with her palm, creating a small clear circle. Again the creature swept past. Again, all she caught was a blur of movement. “Darn! What is it?”
Determined not to miss it again, she flattened her nose against the tank—and froze.
“Good heavens!” A man was in there with the creature! Floating right before her eyes, less than two feet away!
His dark hair billowed out gently in the water creating an incongruously soft frame for a profile that wasn’t soft at all. High cheekbones, a bony jaw, an imperious high-bridged nose—the dominant cast of his features gave him the look of a Roman warrior. But his golden, suntanned skin, his broad, muscular shoulders—those were pure California surfer.
She gestured frantically to get his attention. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?” she demanded, her throat tight with alarm. “There’s a giant, scary—something—in there! You have to get out!”
She knocked on the tank and he turned his head. Beth sucked in a breath as his gaze locked with hers. His eyes… Never before had she seen such mesmerizing eyes. They were blue. Not an indeterminate blue like her own, but rather a true midnight. So dark as to appear almost black. So fathomless, she could feel the fine hairs prickle on the back of her neck as he looked deep into her soul.
For endless seconds they stared at each other through the slowly surging water. Then she wrenched her gaze away, swallowing to ease her dry throat.
He simply continued to watch her, not appearing concerned at all. Was he some kind of daredevil perhaps? Or a Greenpeace activist? Who was he? Not that it mattered, she thought in rising panic. Whoever he was, he had to get out of that tank before the mutant shark got him!
Her growing alarm must have been reflected on her face, because for the barest second, his enigmatic expression changed. Was it disdain—contempt?—that flashed across his face? Beth couldn’t be sure…and she forgot the question as he slowly swept his hand downward.
Instinctively, she followed the movement. Her gaze drifted down past his broad shoulders to his muscular chest, lingered for a second on the silver medallion lying against his golden skin, then dropped even lower to his washboard stomach and lean masculine hips. They were encased in some kind of odd, glittery suit, she realized, as he shifted slightly. A scaled suit. A golden scaled suit that covered his legs, his ankles, even his feet and ended in a…
Tail?
The mutant’s tail—golden and glittering. But not a mutant shark’s as she’d first surmised, but rather a mutant man’s. A mythical man described in ancient legends, the kind of being her father had been hunting for years. To be precise, a creature who was half fish, half human.
A merman.
Chapter Two
No— Yes! It couldn’t be…but it was! The evidence was floating right before her eyes. Beth felt dazed, unable to look away from that unbelievable tail. Logic and disbelief warred in her brain, freezing her in place. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
But he could. Her wide gaze grew even wider as the man—the fish—the whatever he was—suddenly shot to the surface of the tank. He hovered there a moment looking down at her…then turned and slapped his tail, sending a large wave lapping over the side.
Drenching Beth completely.
“Omigosh!” The shock of the icy water broke her paralysis. She turned to run, almost tripping over the sodden skirt of her gown as she stumbled back toward the staircase. She lost one shoe, then the other. She didn’t care. Not about that or how slimy the floor felt. Or the way the cold metal steps seemed to burn her bare feet as she scampered up them. Sheer blind panic—triggered by a primitive fear of the unknown—had her in its grip. All she cared about was getting away from that fish-man. Out of the gloom to safety.
She’d almost reached the top of the staircase when something grabbed her dress, yanking her to a halt. Him? Free of the tank? Her heart jumped into her throat. Clinging to the rail for support, she glanced behind her.
Her skirt had snagged on a rusty screw.
With a gasp of relief, she tore free. She fell, bruising her knee, but immediately scrambled up and kept going, running out the door, slamming it behind her. She took two steps—then paused.
The lock. She’d promised her father she’d relock the door.
Whirling around, she spun the combination until it clicked to a halt, then hurried off to her father’s stateroom. She tried to walk, but her steps kept quickening until at last—finally!—she burst through his door.
Carl Livingston stared at her across an expanse of plush maroon carpet. Alarm flashed across his gaunt face, and he struggled to sit up in his bed. “Elizabeth! My goodness, child, you’re all wet!”
Then he saw her expression. He stilled, leaning on his elbow with his eyes fixed on hers. “So it’s true—Ralph wasn’t mistaken.” His voice sounded oddly hushed. “We caught a mermaid.”
