The Bride with No Name. Marie Ferrarella
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 retorted.
Trevor quickly scanned her forehead, looking for a sign that she’d sustained a blow. But there was no gash, no telltale fresh abrasions or bump to indicate the possible cause of this dearth of information.
“You don’t know your name?” He looked at her skeptically.
The level of exasperation rose in her voice. What was he, an idiot? “I wouldn’t be asking you if I did.”
Trevor still wasn’t buying into this a hundred percent. Maybe she just had a macabre sense of humor. “This isn’t a joke?”
Fighting a wave of uneasy fear, the redhead spat out, “Do I look like I’m joking?”
“I have no idea,” he told her honestly. “I don’t know you.”
Fear mushroomed within her. There was something about lying here, horizontal, under this man’s intense perusal that stripped her of her strength, not to mention her capacity to think. She grabbed the side of the bench and pulled herself upright.
He’d said something that offered her a glimmer of hope in the appalling darkness. At least he’d cleared up one thing for her.
“So, my not remembering you, that’s okay?” She saw his brows draw together. She knew she wasn’t being very clear, but everything was still hopelessly jumbled in her head, like puzzle pieces thrown haphazardly out of a box. “I mean, I don’t know you, right?”
Trevor shook his head. He would have remembered if a woman the likes of this one had passed his line of vision. “No, not from Adam.”
“Adam?”
She thought he meant an actual person, Trevor realized. It would have been funny—if the situation weren’t so real. “It’s just an expression. Never mind.” He blew out a frustrated breath, thinking. “What’s the last thing that you remember?”
She closed her eyes, as if that could help her focus. By the expression on her face when she opened them again, it hadn’t.
“Water.”
“Okay,” he said gamely. Obviously this was going to require a bit of patience on his part. “Before that.”
The woman took a deep breath. He watched her eyes. In the light from the streetlamp just to the right of the bench, they looked to be a deep, intense green. And troubled. Very troubled.
“Nothing,” she answered.
He saw that her eyes glistened. Oh, God, not tears. He had no idea what to do with tears. Ordinarily,