The Bride with No Name. Marie Ferrarella

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      Maybe it was better this way. If she was unconscious, at least she wouldn’t be flailing wildly with her arms or clutching at him to help keep her afloat. Either way she would have been a liability, endangering them both.

      Trevor looked toward the shore. God, but it seemed like a long distance away. Turning the unconscious woman so that she was floating on her back, he tucked one arm around her waist as best he could and used the other to swim.

      It was awkward at best and progress was slow. The waves seemed to be against him, pushing him back by half the distance he’d made.

      It felt like an ongoing battle, one he couldn’t even begin to think about losing. No one knew he was out here. His family wouldn’t know what to think if all trace of him disappeared into the ocean.

      He couldn’t do that to them.

      Exhausted, he willed strength into his body, focusing on the shore and nothing else. He had to reach it. Nothing else was an option.

      It seemed as if it was taking forever.

      His lungs were burning and his quadriceps felt as if they were on fire. He pressed on, tightening his hold on the woman.

      By the time he finally reached the shore, his heart was racing, his head throbbing. He felt as if he’d swallowed a third of the ocean. Dragging her out and collapsing, he just lay there beside the woman he’d rescued, gasping for air, searching for precious equilibrium.

      As his breathing returned to a normal rhythm, he realized that the woman beside him wasn’t making any noise. She wasn’t gasping, wasn’t wheezing or coughing.

      Wasn’t breathing at all.

      Turning his head toward her, he noticed that her chest wasn’t rising and falling. She was as still as a dress-shop mannequin.

      “Damn it!”

      Scrambling to his knees, his own head spinning, Trevor struggled to remain upright as he began CPR. Again, he silently blessed Kate for her foresight because she had been the one to insist that they all—herself included—enroll in a class that taught CPR because “You never know when that kind of thing might come in handy.”

      She’d gone on to tease that if any of their pranks—far more subdued now that she was in their lives—would cause her heart to stop, they would at least know what to do.

      It wasn’t working. The woman wasn’t coming around, wasn’t breathing.

      “C’mon, lady, I didn’t almost drown trying to save you just to have you die on me out here. Breathe, damn it, breathe!”

      Rather than give up, Trevor went at the compressions more forcefully. Breathing into her tilted mouth proved to be harder, because he had very little air to spare, but he doggedly continued, doing what he could, refusing to give up.

      She was going to breathe and that’s all there was to it.

      He wasn’t sure just how long he was there, pressing her chest and then blowing air into her mouth. “Forever” echoed in his mind.

      Just as his endurance splintered, the woman opened her eyes. The moment she did, a startled, wary look came into them.

      Reflecting back later, Trevor realized he should have guessed she’d be confused and scared. The woman had opened her eyes to find a man pressing his hands against her chest, his mouth hovering above hers, still damp with the imprint of her lips.

      Coughing and spurting, the woman bolted upright, pushing him away. She scrambled back from him at the same time as her feet struggled for some kind of traction against the sand.

      “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded hoarsely, her eyes wide with anger.

      “Saving your life,” he told her simply. Still on his knees, Trevor bent over farther, pushing her dark red hair away from her face.

      Incensed, afraid and completely disoriented, she slapped away his hand. “Looks more like you’re trying to maul me,” she accused.

      Okay, he’d almost just drowned here, trying to save this woman’s life. He didn’t expect a ticker-tape parade, but a little civility would have been nice.

      “Right,” he said, exhaling the word in exasperation. “I come out here every night, trolling for bodies riding on the waves, looking to cop a feel.” He rose to his feet, glaring at her. “You were drowning, lady. In case it escaped you, I just saved your life.” His voice grew colder, more sarcastic. “In lieu of a sizable donation to my favorite charity, a simple ‘thank you’ will suffice.”

      She frowned as she tried to get up to her feet. Her frown deepened when Trevor offered her his hand. She wanted to ignore it, but even she had to admit she was too wobbly to make it up on her own. Muttering, “Don’t try anything else,” she took the hand he extended.

      But once on her feet, she began to sway again. Trevor caught her before she fell, automatically pulling her against him.

      A displeased cry died on her lips as her eyes rolled back in her head for a second time.

      She was unconscious again.

      Trevor sighed and shook his head. “Second verse, same as the first.”

      Picking her up into his arms, he walked toward the nearest wooden bench and laid the woman down as gently as possible. He began to rub her wrists and arms, trying to get a little circulation going.

      Her dress was plastered to her body. Wet, it looked almost see-through. It obviously offered her very little protection against the escalating wind. It also left very little to his imagination.

      She had one hell of a body.

      Trevor left her for a moment, hurrying off to where he’d dropped his jacket and shoes. He picked up both, then returned and covered her with his jacket. He checked the cell phone that had been in his pants pocket for the duration of his deep-sea adventure. Soggy, it had died. There was no calling for help.

      He began rubbing her arms again. It was several minutes before she opened her eyes for a second time. Trevor braced himself for another waspish confrontation, but this time, she seemed too weak. Instead, she put her hand to her head, as if it was hurting. Squinting at him, he heard her say, “Name?”

      “Trevor Marlowe,” he told her. “I—”

      “No—” impatience echoed in her frustrated, hoarse whisper “—mine.”

       Chapter Two

      Trevor sat back on his heels, eyeing the woman he’d just rescued. She couldn’t mean what he thought she meant.

      “What do you mean ‘mine?’”

      She struggled to sit up. This time, he gently but forcefully held her down. Anger flickered in her eyes, but he didn’t back away. His hands remained on her shoulders, pinning her down. There was no way she could move. She had no choice but to submit. It didn’t make her happy.

      “I mean what’s my name?” she СКАЧАТЬ