J.T. waited until the boat was out of sight then protected the woman’s body as best he could with his own as he made his way out of the jungle of roots and into the open
water. He held her with his injured arm while swimming with the other until he reached the beach.
“Don’t be dead, honey,” he kept saying as he carried her to the shore. “Don’t be dead.”
As gently as he could, he put her on her stomach on the beach and began to try to pump the water from her lungs. She was wearing a long-sleeved, high-necked, full-skirted dress, her dark hair coiled and pinned about her head. The dress clung to her in a way that allowed him to see that she had a beautiful body: tall, slim-hipped, a waist he could span with his hands, and big breasts that swelled against the fabric. Her face was turned to one side, her eyes closed, thick, dark lashes lying against a cheek as pure and pale as porcelain. She looked like some rare, precious flower that had never been exposed to sunlight. How could anyone have tried to kill this delicate beauty, he thought with anger. All his protective instincts rose within him.
“Sweet lady,” he said, squeezing on her ribs in a way that was half caress then lifting her arms. “Breathe, baby, breathe for Daddy Montgomery. Come on, sweetheart.”
Blood ran down his shoulder from the bullet wound and more blood flowed from half a dozen cuts from the razor clams, but he didn’t notice. His only concern was the life of this beautiful young woman.
He prayed, asking God to spare her.
“Come on, sweetheart, please try,” he begged. “You can’t give up now. You’re safe now. I’ll protect you. Please, baby. For me.”
After what seemed to be hours, he felt a shudder run through her body. She was alive!
He kissed her fragile-looking cheek, felt the cold skin, then resumed pumping with increased vigor. “That’s it, honey, just a little more. Take a big deep breath for Daddy. Breathe, goddamn you!”
Another shudder passed through her body and she gave a great gagging heave. J.T. felt so much empathy for her that his own sides tightened. A huge amount of water came from her mouth and she began to cough as she struggled to pull herself upright.
J.T. smiled, feeling a great joy flood through his veins, and thanked God as he pulled her into his lap. “That’s it, baby, get it all out.” He stroked her damp hair, caressed her small, frail back, and felt as God must have when He created man. J.T. didn’t know when anything had made him feel as good as saving this girl. He caressed her pretty cheek with the back of his fingers, cradled her like a child, and soothed her more. “You’re safe now, sweetheart. Perfectly safe.” He held her face against his neck.
“You—” She coughed.
“Don’t talk, honey, just rest. Get all the water out and I’ll take you home.” He began to rock her.
“You”—cough, cough—“may”—cough, cough.
“Yes, love? You can thank me later. Let’s get you into dry clothes for right now. How about some hot fish soup?” His voice was deep and loving.
The girl seemed to want desperately to say something so J.T. allowed her to move back a few inches so she could look at him.
He pulled her back into his arms, cradling her as if she were the most precious object on earth. “It’s all right, baby. No one will try to hurt you again.”
She struggled against him and he let her pull away again as he smiled at her indulgently.
Again he was struck with the sheer prettiness of her. Not beautiful in a modern sense but in an old-fashioned way. Her small features and perfectly shaped head made her look as if she had stepped out of an old photograph. She reminded him of the ladies in the fairy-tale books his mother read to him as a child. She was a damsel in distress and he was her rescuer. Warmth flooded him.
He kept his hands lightly at her back in a protective way. “All right, honey, what is it you want to say?” he said caressingly.
Trying to talk made her cough again but he waited patiently, his eyes filled with tenderness while she made the effort to gain control.
“You may not”—cough, cough—“touch me”—cough, cough—“I am”—cough, cough—“royalty.”
By the time she finished, her back was ramrod stiff.
It took J.T. a moment to comprehend what she had said. He stared at her stupidly.
“I am a royal princess and you”—she looked down her nose at his bare chest—“may not touch me.”
“I’ll be damned,” J.T. breathed, and dropped his hands from her back. Never in his life had he felt such betrayal. He was on his feet in seconds, leaving her sitting. “You ungrateful little—” he began, then stopped. His jaw hardened and his eyes glittered like blue fire as he looked at her before turning away and leaving her where she was. “Find your own breakfast, Princess,” he muttered, and stalked away from her.
Chapter Two
ARIA sat where she was on the beach. Her head hurt, her lungs hurt, her legs ached, and what she most wanted to do was lie down on the beach and cry. But a royal princess must never cry. A princess must never show anyone what she is feeling. To the outside world she must always smile even when she is in pain. She had been taught these things until they were second nature to her.
Once when she was a little girl, she had fallen from her pony and broken her arm. Even though she was only eight years old, she didn’t cry, but stood, holding her arm close to her body, and went inside to her mother. Neither her groom nor her governess knew that she was in pain. Later, after her arm had been set—through which ordeal Aria shed not one tear—her mother had congratulated her.