by Ros Baxter
But she continued her work, picking up, tidying and stacking.
Ridge’s heart pounded in his chest as he hurried to her.
*
Donna turned as she heard the sound of her name, carried as though from a long distance. As she did, she registered Ridge’s stricken face and the crates toppling toward her at the same time. She jumped backward to avoid their descent, only to trip on a length of rope lying on the deck. As she tried to disentangle herself, she overbalanced, falling hard.
And then the world got very confusing, because she was falling, farther and faster than she had expected to, her heart leaping to her mouth.
A thousand thoughts warred with each other before a sheer black wall of terror hit her as she fell, seemingly in slow motion, toward the cold water. She was certain she would die. Sure, she could swim, but the waves were large and terrifying, and it had been a long time since she had swum in the ocean. Another part of her brain reminded her that it was not that far to the beach. Perhaps she could swim to shore. A third part fought the earlier one off—telling her she should tread water and wait for help from the yacht. She was almost sure she had been told what to do in the safety briefing—if only she could still her fevered mind long enough to remember.
Then she hit the water and all conscious thought vanished. The force of her fall pushed her under the waves, spinning and disorienting her. She took in great gulps as the impact and her screams pushed water into her mouth.
She opened her eyes and the world was only blue-green and pain as she tried to work out which way was up. She looked for the light and tried to push to the surface, but her terror and the fall robbed her of deliberate movement. She was flailing and gulping, alone and very afraid. Her thoughts turned to all the things she loved: Marcus, and the rest of her family. How would Marcus feel, losing his mother so soon after finding her again?
The fall brought all the old fears and sadnesses crashing into her brain. Being a teenager and pregnant with Marcus; how alone and afraid she had felt then. How hard it had been to look at the sweet, crinkled face of her baby boy and hand him over. She had been foolish and weak then, and she was being foolish and weak now.
The thought of her son’s face drove focus into her brain. Get it together.
She looked around, desperately, and began to head for the light. Seconds later, her face broke the surface and she dragged in a breath before being pulled under again by a new wave. She broke through once more, turning on the spot as she looked for the yacht. It seemed so far away already, after such a short time. In the moments before another wave crashed over her, she managed to make out Ridge, pointing and gesticulating on the deck, and others running to him. This time she held her breath as she went under, and waited until the wave passed before she clawed her way to the surface again.
The yacht. It was closer than the shore. She had to get to it. And of course, they would throw out a life buoy. Think, Donna, concentrate. But it was so hard. She was vaguely aware that less than a minute had passed, but it felt like an hour. Her limbs felt heavy like metal as she dragged them through the water. Her head pounded from the force of the fall and the shock of the ocean’s surface. She was dizzy from spinning under the waves and being knocked around by still more of them. But, worst of all, she was starting to feel the bitter taste of regret.
This was it. She knew she was in terrible danger. And she had been so blind. At the prospect of death, all the beautiful things of life danced tantalizingly before her eyes. Tears welled as she thought of precious friendships and delicious food, and all the people she loved. And then, over it all, Ridge’s face.
Why had she fought this thing between them? Why had she pushed him away? Sure, he didn’t know exactly what he was doing, but did any of them, really? The desire that was heating their interactions? Well, perhaps it was simply desire. But, now, desire seemed like a simple and beautiful thing. The stuff of life.
And this thing with Ridge, it seemed more beautiful than most. As she struck out for the yacht, she thought about this man who had been preoccupying her so much of late. She thought about his face, his skin, the darkness of his hair. And the way he smelled, like citrus and salt. She had been foolish to be so hung up on whether he was going to work for her, whether he was safe. Life was inherently uncertain. She couldn’t miss the irony of it all as she flailed in the waves. Yes, life was uncertain and you must take what pleasure and joy you could whenever it presented itself.
She blinked away the tears and focused on the yacht, a white beacon of hope.
As she did, she saw him. Ridge, shoeless and shirtless, diving off the side of the boat. He looked like an apparition, some ancient god whom legends were written about. The sight surprised her so much she slipped under another wave as it crashed atop her.
Oh my God, what is he doing? What is he thinking?
Her heart hammered in her chest as she watched him hit the water and strike out.
*
As Ridge watched Donna fall into the turbulent water, everything inside him froze. She looked like a photograph—captured in a perfect moment of surprise and fear; her long blond hair fanning out behind her, a tumble of long arms and legs.
It had taken a second for him to dash to the place she had fallen from and yell for help. But the yacht was moving fast in the belting wind, and already Donna was some distance away.
He frantically scanned the water for some sign of her, so he knew where to throw the buoy he had grabbed and where to head when he jumped in—because he already knew that was what he was going to do. The second he had seen her fall—perhaps before, as he watched the toppling crates and saw the scene playing out with some kind of second sight—he had known he could not lose her.
It didn’t matter what he had thought, or said, up until that moment. All of it fell away as he watched her fall. Donna. Beautiful Donna, who had somehow insinuated herself into his heart. Her poise and courage at the court hearing. Her clarity and skill at work. And those eyes, that bewitching hair, the way she smelled like vanilla and chocolate.
Who had he been kidding, thinking this thing between them was so simple, a lust to be sated, another notch on his belt? He didn’t know exactly what it was, but he knew he needed to save her if he was going to have any chance to find out. Right now all he knew was that she had utterly transfixed him, and he couldn’t sleep or concentrate on work, let alone think about another woman. Why hadn’t he answered her when she had asked him about Brooke? Why had he been such a fool?
He cursed himself as he thought about his pride—he had been so worried about her feelings for Eric. But it was crazy. He knew, he just knew, that this thing he was feeling was not a one-way street. It couldn’t possibly be. Not with the electricity firing the air between them every time they were together.
And now she was gone.
“Look for her,” he yelled at the captain as he began to tug off his shoes and shirt. “She hasn’t broken the surface yet.”
But as his shirt came off, he saw her, her blond head breaking free only to be smothered by another wave. His heart sank. She looked weak from shock, and she was being knocked around out there. He had to get to her, had to help her before another wave came. He threw the buoy toward her but he could see it landed far short of where it needed to be. Then he made for the edge.
The captain put a restraining hand on his arm. “No,” he said commandingly. “That’s not protocol. I’ll bring her around, we’ll have a better chance of getting her then.”
“You do that,” Ridge snapped, wanting to shake the man he was so calm, “but I’m going in.” He took another look at the last place he had seen Donna, and saw her break the surface again, this time appearing more focused, but also further away, and so small. Ridge had always been a strong swimmer, and had become even more so lately. He had spent a lot of time at the beach—swimming, kayaking—trying to lose himself after things had gone wrong with Brooke. He knew he could handle himself in the waves. He just hoped Donna could keep afloa
t long enough for him to get to her.
He hit the water more gracefully than she had, with time to prepare for it, and struck out immediately, concentrating hard on retaining his bearings. The water was very cold, more so than he had expected for this time of year, and it was very hard to see Donna now, with the swell so high. But he was confident the boat would circle quickly and if it got to her before he did, even better. But in the meantime, he had no intention of waiting around and hoping for the best. Donna was out there, and she was in bad shape. He had to help her, he couldn’t bear the thought of what might happen if he didn’t.
The recognition that he cared for her, popping into his brain with such certainty, did not frighten or even surprise him. It was like it had been there, waiting for him to notice it all this time. God knows if he saved her, he wouldn’t waste a moment before he told her. He would make her see that she could trust him enough to give him a chance, to give them a chance, to see where this might go between them. As soon as she was safe. The thought filled him with warmth and resolve. He hardly noticed his struggle with the waves, or the bitterness of the cool water on his skin. He only focused on the place she had been, and on maintaining his pace to get to her.
Every now and then he caught a glimpse of Donna’s face breaking through the waves, and it gave him strength. But it also filled him with fear, because she looked like she was losing steam. Ridge was enough of a sailor to understand how these things worked. If she had just jumped into the waves, she might have been fine out there for a while. But the combination of the fall, the swell and the shock would undo a far stronger swimmer than Donna. He focused on the spot he had seen her and began to chant in his mind: She will be okay. I’ll get to her. And then, as the sightings of her became fewer, he dispensed with the middle man and tried to place some thoughts right into her brain.
I’m coming. Donna, I’m coming. Hold on.
*
Donna was losing the fight. She could see the beautiful white yacht turning and making its way to her against the dark and ominous horizon, and she caught sight of Ridge, battling the waves to reach her. She summoned all the energy inside, but it was fading fast—fighting against the relentless pull and drag of the water; struggling to stay upright as she was buffeted over and over by waves and driving rain; and trying hard to hold onto her self-control as her head ached and her body flagged. It was all taking its toll.
She saw Ridge’s dark head coming closer. He was making far better headway against the water than she was, and she prayed he would be okay. The thought that he could be hurt—or worse—by coming to her rescue made her feel even more terrible. She pushed it away.
She allowed herself a fleeting moment of hope. All she had to do was hold on. She craned her neck again to see how far the yacht was from reaching her. It was hard to tell, and her eyes were stinging from the salt water and her head was spinning.
She quickly dipped under the surface as another wave loomed overhead. It was easier to ride it out underneath, even though the thought of all the things that might lurk below made her even more afraid. Were there sharks here? Or worse? Come to think of it, what was worse than a shark? She felt like giggling, and wondered if she was becoming hysterical as she felt the wave pass. She thrust her head above the water again, treading water slowly and gulping in air.
As she did, a huge, unexpected wave pounded her. She looked up to see that Ridge was very close, and she wanted to call out to him as she went under, but her mouth filled with saltwater. She spluttered and fought, but another wave followed in its wake, even more vicious and unexpected than the first. Her head filled with cotton wool and her vision started to go black. She tried hard to keep her eyes open. She wasn’t sure if it was an illusion, but Ridge seemed almost close enough to touch, his eyes blazing and his mouth set as he churned through the water toward her like a man possessed.
The thought occurred to her again as his face filled her vision before it went black.
He looks like a god.
*
The deck felt cool and wonderfully solid under the stinging skin of her back.
A mouth was pressed hard against hers, and her bruised, reeling brain wondered if this was some kind of fairy tale—Sleeping Beauty, perhaps—and she was being awakened by true love’s kiss. She felt like she was deep in the throes of a dream; a dream of being hunted, and then rescued.
But then a violent retch shook her and she rolled to the side and saltwater poured from her mouth and nose. Great racking sobs roused her and the whole horrible thing came flooding back—the fall, the sea, then losing consciousness. But somehow, here she was, on the boat, and someone had been . . . kissing her?
Her eyes fluttered open and she saw that her paramour was Ridge.
“Ah . . .” She sat up groggily, before he pushed her back down, settling her head on some blankets. “Do you think this is the right time to make out?”
Ridge laughed, a cool, sweet sound of joy and relief. “I call it mouth-to-mouth,” he said. “Obviously it’s been too long between kisses if that’s how you think it feels.”
Her eyes met his and she knew what they were both thinking. Not too long at all. Just today, in fact, not so long ago. And it had been amazing.
So much to say to him, but now was not the time, and she didn’t have the words yet. Her body was still shaking, and a small coterie of onlookers were gathered around them in a tight circle. Including, to Donna’s horror, Gigi.
The beautiful woman was staring at her, clearly shaken, tears rolling down her face. “Cherie!” she cried, crouching down and grasping Donna’s hand. “I am so glad you are okay. We were so worried. And Ridge!” She leaped to her feet and grabbed Ridge’s arm. “’E was like the knight in shining armor. No-one could believe what ’e did.”
The boat bumped into something and she realized they must be back at shore. Donna’s head spun as a man she did not recognize pushed forward. “They radioed me,” he explained, extracting a stethoscope from a small bag. “Are you okay Ms. Logan? Can you talk?”
Donna told him she was fine as he began the process of checking her over. He was slow and thorough. Ridge shooed everyone away and fetched blankets and drinks when instructed by the doctor. She found it hard to focus on the man attending to her, but she knew he had cool hands and a soft voice. He poked and prodded, and asked lots of questions in perfect English tinted by the very slightest French accent. Finally, he sat back on his heels.
“Well, Ms. Logan,” he said. “You seem remarkably unscathed by your little adventure. How do you feel?”
Donna considered his question carefully. Tired. Very, very tired.
The doctor whispered to Ridge, but Donna heard only one word: hospital.
She reached for Ridge’s arm. “No,” she begged. “Please.”
Ridge studied her quietly, and she tried to signal a message to him; a message she was too tired to explain right now. His eyes met hers and she knew he would make it okay. In that instant—communicating with Ridge without words; knowing he would support her—something else shifted. She knew she could trust Ridge, not just with her life, but with her secrets as well; with the most painful, vulnerable and shameful parts of herself.
Ridge nodded and conferred with the doctor. Eventually, he returned to her side. Alone.
“He said he’ll come by the apartment later,” he told her, his face a study of concern; his lashes still wet and his bare chest so close Donna could have reached out and licked it. “As long as you rest, okay? Because he didn’t like it.”
She nodded, closing her eyes in relief.
Ridge grasped her hand, so many unspoken things plain on his face. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “But tell me. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Donna nodded. “I just need to rest,” she said.
*
After the doctor left, Ridge pulled a chair up beside Donna’s bed. She had been given something for the dizziness and sleep was starting to pull her under.
She glance
d over at Ridge. He looked like a domesticated tiger: all dark good looks, long limbs and smoldering gaze. Playing nurse. “You planning to sit there all day?” But she smiled, because she really had appreciated his care and attention.
“No.” He smiled gently. “But I’ll wait until you drop off. You sure there’s nothing else you need?”
“I’m sure,” she said, yawning widely. “But Ridge?” She looked at him, watching her intently to see if she needed anything else, and tried to work out this strange and confusing creature he had morphed into.
“Mmm?” He fussed a little with her covers and Donna felt like she was five years old again, cosy and warm and protected.
“Thanks,” Donna said, trying to communicate with her eyes how much she meant it.
“Don’t mention it,” Ridge said, grinning. “I’m the go-to guy for damsels in distress. Didn’t you know that?”
Donna shook her head. “No,” she said. “I mean thank you for backing me up about the hospital.”
“Ah,” Ridge said, frowning gently at her. “That.” He leaned across and picked up her hand, holding it between his. “Want to tell me what it was all about?”
Donna shrugged. Surprisingly, she did. But she was so tired.
“Marcus,” she said simply.
Ridge’s frown deepened, then cleared. “Ah,” he said quietly. “The adoption.”
Tears blurred Donna’s vision. “I was so young,” she said, feeling her voice waver “Only sixteen.” As she spoke, she was back there: the cold, white room; being so confused; holding her baby briefly. “I can still smell the antiseptic, and his skin.” She turned her face to the pillow. “I hate hospitals.” She sniffed. “More than I hate anything else in the whole world.”
Before she knew what was happening, Ridge was in bed beside her, shifting her carefully over and wrapping his arms around her. And she was burying her face against the cottony comfort of his shirt, breathing in the fresh maleness of him as the tears poured from her.
Ridge patted her back and stroked her hair.
“I’m so tired,” she spluttered against his chest. “So very tired.”