His Stolen Bride. Barbara Dunlop

was less time than he would have liked. But that’s what happened when you threw a plan together at the last minute.

      “And then?” asked Mac. “Have you thought through what happens in the morning?”

      He had, and most of the options were not good. “We better have something concrete by then.”

      “Otherwise she’s a liability,” said Mac.

      Jackson had to agree. “At that point, she’s going to be a huge liability.”

      Crista was predictably angry at having her posh wedding ruined. If they didn’t find something to incriminate Vern, Jackson’s career if not his freedom would be at stake.

      He heard a sudden splash behind him.

      He spun to find the deck empty, Crista gone. His gaze moved frantically from corner to corner as he rushed to the stern and spotted her in the water. “You gotta be kidding me!”

      “What?” asked Mac.

      “Call you back.” Jackson dropped his phone.

      She was flailing in the choppy waves, obviously hampered by the voluminous white dress. She gasped and went under.

      He immediately tossed two life jackets overboard, as close to her as he could.

      “Grab one!” he shouted. Then he stripped off his jacket, kicked off his shoes and dived in.

      The water closed icy cold around him. He surfaced and gasped in a big breath. She was twenty feet away, and he kicked hard. He dug in with his arms, propelling himself toward her.

      When he looked up again, she was gone. He twisted his head, peering in all directions, spotting a wisp of white below the surface. He dived under, groping in the dark until he caught hold of her arm. He clamped his hand tight and hauled her upward, breaking the surface and wrapping his arm firmly around her chest.

      She coughed and sputtered.

      “Relax,” he told her. “Just relax and let me do the work.”

      She coughed again.

      He grabbed one of the life jackets and tucked it beneath her. The boat was close, but the water was frigid. He wasn’t going to be able to swim for long. Her teeth were already chattering.

      He found another life jacket and looped it around the arm that supported her. He used his legs and free arm to move them through the water.

      “You okay?” he asked her. “You breathing?”

      She nodded against his chest.

      “Don’t fight me,” he cautioned.

      “I won’t,” she rasped.

      The side of the boat loomed closer. He aimed for the stern where there was a small swimming platform. It was a relief to grasp on to something solid. His muscles throbbed from the effects of the cold water, and his limbs were starting to shake.

      He unceremoniously cupped her rear end and shoved her onto the platform. She scrambled up, her dress catching and tearing. He kept her braced until she was stable. Then he looped both forearms over the platform and hoisted himself up, sitting on the edge, dragging in deep breaths.

      “What the heck?” he demanded.

      She was breathing hard. “I thought I could make it.”

      “To the beach?”

      “It’s not that far.”

      “It’s a quarter mile. And you’re dressed in an anchor.”

      “The fabric is light.”

      “Maybe when it’s bone-dry.” He reached up and pulled himself to his feet. His legs trembled, and his knees felt weak, but he put an arm around her waist and lifted her up beside him.

      With near-numb fingers, he released the catch on the deck gate and swung it open.

      “Careful,” he cautioned as he propelled her back onto the deck.

      She held on and stepped shakily forward. “It tangled around my legs.”

      “You could have killed us both.” He followed her.

      “It’d serve you right.”

      “To be dead? You’d be dead, too.”

      “I’m going to be dead anyway.”

      “What?” He was baffled now.

      She was shivering. “I heard you on the phone. You said tomorrow morning I’d be a liability. We both know what that means.”

      “One of us obviously doesn’t.”

      “Don’t bother to deny it.”

      “Nobody’s killing anyone.” He gazed out at the dark water. “Despite your best attempt.”

      “You can’t let me live. I’ll turn you in. You’ll go to jail.”

      “You might not turn me in.”

      “Would you actually believe me if I said I wouldn’t?”

      “At the moment, no.”

      Right now, she was having a perfectly normal reaction to the circumstances. Proof of the truth might mitigate her anger eventually, but they didn’t have that yet.

      “Then that was a really stupid statement,” she said.

      “What I am going to prove is that I mean you no harm.”

      It was the best he could come up with for the moment. The breeze was chilling, and he ushered her past the bridge, opening the door to the cabin.

      “How are you going to do that?”

      “For starters by not harming you. Let’s find you something dry.”

      She glared at him. “I’m not taking off my dress.”

      He pointed inside. “You can change in the head—the bathroom. I’ve got some T-shirts on board and maybe some sweatpants, though they’d probably drop right off you.”

      “This is your boat?”

      “Of course it’s my boat. Whose boat did you think it was?”

      She passed through the door and stopped between the sofa and the kitchenette. “I thought maybe you stole it.”

      “I’m not a thief.”

      “You’re a kidnapper.”

      He realized she’d made a fair point. “Yeah, well, that’s the sum total of my criminal activity to date.” He started working on his soggy tie. “If you let me get past you, I’ll see what I can find.”

      She shrank out of his way against the counter.

      He turned sideways to pass her, and their thighs brushed together. She arched her back to keep her breasts from touching his chest. It made things worse, because her wet cleavage swelled above the snug, stiff fabric.

      Reaction slammed through his body, and he faltered, unable to stop himself from staring. She was soaked to the skin, her auburn hair plastered to her head, her makeup smeared. And yet she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

      “Jackson,” she said, her voice coming out a whisper.

      He lifted his gaze to meet hers. It was all he could do to keep his hands by his sides. He wanted to smooth her hair, brush the droplets from her cheeks and run his thumb across her lips.

      “Thank you,” she said.

      The words took him by surprise. “You’re welcome,” he automatically answered.

      For a minute, it seemed that neither of them could break eye contact. Longing roiled inside him. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to do so much more. And he wanted