Castillo's Bride. Anne Marie Duquette

waded through the frothing surf line and headed out to deeper waters, staying beneath the overhead pier for cover while she swam.

      The current tore at her long, sun-bleached hair, just as it would tear at the man and drag him down to the dangerous black waters below. The rocky bottom would dash him to pieces—if he didn’t drown first. Aurora shuddered, wishing she had her swim fins; they made it easier to fight back against the rip.

      But she was already committed to the rescue, and couldn’t second-guess herself now. Her strokes had carried her almost to the end of the pier when she saw Jordan’s body fall, heard the heavy splash, felt the slight displacement in the water surface and watched the unconscious man begin to sink.

      I must save him.

      Aurora kicked with all her strength to reach him. She sucked in a breath of air and dived deeply. The current grabbed her body and pulled her even deeper. Aurora didn’t resist. She let it lead her toward him.

      Her eyes stinging from the saltwater, she scanned the ocean depths. Luminous creatures much brighter than her watch eerily lit the scene. Nothing. Blood pounded in her ears as she was dragged deeper yet. If she didn’t find him soon, she would need to surface for air.

      Just a few more seconds. I can last a little longer. If I surface now, I’ll never find him.

      Suddenly the current pulled her into a collision with him. Jordan spiraled limply down the current’s path toward the bone-crushing concrete at the base of the pilings. Pulse racing, lungs burning, she thrust out her arms to encircle his chest from behind.

      She kicked hard for the surface, Jordan’s limbs trailing between hers. Fear spread icy tendrils through her veins. Her own lungs needed air—and the injured man had been under far longer than she had.

      We’re not surfacing fast enough. She kicked harder, moving both legs together repeatedly in a dolphin kick, to clear the dragging undertow. I’m not going to make it. I need to breathe now. Dear Lord, help me.

      Her prayers were answered. A cluster of unevenly timed waves headed toward shore and fought with the backwash. The rip abruptly changed direction to push Aurora and Jordan toward the surface. Lungs bursting, Aurora fought the pain of suffocation. Her body had done what all drowning victims’ did—the throat sphincter had automatically clamped shut, keeping water out of the bronchial tube. Those who drown suffocate to unconsciousness first; only then does the sphincter release and the lungs fill with fluid.

      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