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her.

      He looked up at the Marengo, at its infamous majestic outline—there were people milling about, but nobody seemed to be shouting, Man overboard!

      And then he saw her. A single pale arm like a white reed rose above the water, then lowered in a circle as she stroked the surface and moved back effortlessly.

      He waited—watched, mesmerised. Each arm was raised high above her then down in a slow, graceful arc. He smiled. Put the binoculars that hung round his neck up to get a better view—he had to make sure she really was okay. She was swimming out past the safety buoys—and only a really experienced swimmer or a complete lunatic would be doing what she was doing. This was speedboat turf. Anything could go wrong.

      He saw her tread water and watched for her arms to rise and circle again. For a second there was immense calm. As if time had stopped. As if all the air had been sucked from the whole wide expanse of sea and sky. And then the surface of the water churned as white limbs thrashed.

      He narrowed his eyes—what had happened? She’d been gliding like a pro one minute, then thrashing like a novice the next. He powered up the boat immediately and went to her, eyes trained like a tractor beam on her. Her head sprang up and he almost felt her gaze, wide and frightened. He had to help her. There was nothing else in that moment but her safety.

      He cut the engine and nosed the boat away, and then in one move dived into the water and swam with bursting lungs towards her. She was still on the surface and he reached out, grabbed her light, silky limbs and clutched them to his chest, flipping backwards and powering them on.

      The frail limbs in his grasp suddenly took on a ferocious strength, and he had to dig a bit deeper to keep them afloat and moving.

      ‘Let me go—let me go!’ she yelled.

      Shock. It had to be. But it was really not helping.

      ‘You’re fine—you’re going to be okay. Relax!’

      He loosened his hold and then gripped her again, tucked his arm around her and propelled them back to his boat. She was still thrashing and yelling, and even as he reached round her waist, his hands meeting on warm wet skin, he could feel her strength and hear her rage.

      A part of him fired up.

      Like breaking in a new pony, he needed to overcome this flailing, furious female—pin her down and soothe her. But he had nothing to push back against, no purchase to propel her up and onto the boat. With one huge effort he raised her up and over the edge. His face caught curves and clefts, firm, soft wet skin, tiny triangles of bright green fabric and string and all sorts going on.

      She landed, and leaped out of his hands as he hauled himself up and over the edge, his breath steadying into pants as he stared at this bundle of nervous energy.

      She was even more beautiful up close. Her skin was pale, glistening satin, barely covered by the bikini that lay askew over lush curves. Her hair hung in soaked blonde tresses around her shoulders. Her arm... She was rubbing it up and down, up and down. He frowned as he realised just how mesmerised he was by her.

      Shaking it off, he stepped towards her. ‘Are you hurt?’

      The look on her face...

      ‘Am I hurt? You tore across the sea in this stupid boat! You nearly carved me up. And the marine life that actually does belong here—it’s a miracle that I’m not hurt!’

      Dante stared. This was beyond shock.

      ‘I got stung, you stupid great idiot! That’s all—there was no need for all—this.’

      She stared at him, ran glinting green eyes all over him, and he felt his jaw tense, his hands flex. He found himself standing taller, puffing out his chest, staring down at her.

      ‘No need for all what?’

      He could not get this framed right in his head. She’d been struggling in the water—he was sure she had! If he hadn’t seen her God knew what would have happened to her. What sort of person was ungrateful for that?

      ‘So you didn’t need any help? Well, my mistake, but you certainly didn’t look like you were in control out there.’

      Her head came up and she gave him that haughty look he’d clocked just before she’d vanished into the sea.

      ‘You didn’t rescue me! I didn’t need rescuing! I was fine—it was only a jellyfish! And if I hadn’t had to swim away from you and your stupid speedboat I would have seen it!’

      Dante opened his mouth and then bit down. What a foul-tempered witch! He should have left her there. She was screaming at him when all he’d tried to do was help her.

      ‘You might want to learn some manners, Princess. Before I toss you back overboard.’

      That was exactly what he wanted to do. He could feel his shoulders tensing further and his fists bunch—he had to get himself in check. What was going on? He was easy, slow—even lazy when it came to women. He never, ever got fired up. Never acted without brain and body being in total harmony. Hadn’t he learned anything all those years ago?

      So what the hell nerve was she touching that had him flexing and puffing and grinding his jaw when he looked at her?

      He looked at her now as her green eyes widened. Her rosy mouth fell open slightly, and maybe that was a moment of vulnerability stealing across her face like a cloud across the sun. Likely she was just another one of Lord Louis’s cast-offs, dramatically throwing herself overboard because she’d just realised her shelf life had expired.

      Who knew? Women were all games and drama. He had the T-shirt to prove it. And the only sure thing was that he was never going to be taken in by a woman again.

      ‘Do not call me Princess. I do not hold that title. And you might want to ask people if they want to be manhandled before you chuck them onto your boat.’

      ‘Plenty do.’ Dante smiled then, and watched her eyes widen all over again. He nodded his head back to the Sea Devil, where the gang would be getting well back on track now. ‘There’s a party over there, waiting for its host to return. So if you’ll excuse me...?’

      He gestured to the water—jerked his thumb. She could get on with her own rescue.

      ‘Off.’

      ‘What?’ She frowned as if he was speaking a different language—and not very clearly at that. ‘Who do you think you’re talking to?’

      He looked round at the Sea Devil. Another boat was making its way towards it and now berthed alongside. He put the binoculars back up to his eyes. Looked like the Cotier sisters climbing out. He’d know those legs anywhere...

      He turned back to her.

      ‘Sorry—what?’

      ‘You know, people like you—you disgust me! You’re just tourists, intent on destroying this place—it’s all parties and speedboats and you don’t give a damn about the island, or the people, or the animals, or—’

      ‘Maybe you didn’t hear me. I said, off.’

      Her eyes widened in shock and up went her chin even further.

      ‘Honestly! You think you can order me around now? Really? Do you know who I am?’

      ‘Know who you are? Apart from being the biggest pain in my ass, I couldn’t care less if you were the Queen of England. Which you’re not. So now I think—’

      He cocked his head, relishing the pink tinge to her neck, which seemed to be spreading to her chest. Her chest. She certainly had one—and it was well worth a lingering stare. But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction—even though the swell of her left breast, set almost completely free by her bikini, was quite a test.

      ‘I think you and I have nothing left to say to one another. So I’m ordering you now to get off my boat.’

      She stared right at him, and he knew that a lesser

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