Tethering himself to the platform railing, he lowered to his stomach and inched down until he could reach the rig. With the set of bolt cutters stored aft, he started to work. First he dislodged the gondola and began cutting away the cables attaching the balloon to the framework that housed the burner. He fought the current’s pull, fought the sea spray jetting into his face. Fought his desperation and impatience. He continued practically blind but knew he was making progress when the fabric began pulling away.

Finally, the last cable snapped. His fingers ached, his eyes burned, but he supposed he should feel lucky that the rig hadn’t made its way underneath the boat. That could mean certain disaster.

“What are you doing?”

He hadn’t realized she was standing behind him. Right behind him. Without looking at her, he said, “I’ve freed your balloon.” Gave it a nice burial at sea, he almost told her but thought better of it.

“Why did you do that?”

“So it didn’t get caught up in the prop.”

Standing, he turned to face her and met the most melancholy expression he’d ever seen on a woman’s face. He couldn’t really blame her. He’d felt the same way when he’d lost his last boat to a cutthroat competition coupled with a relentless storm. He’d lost more than that.

At least he had saved her. At least she was alive, unharmed, in charge of all her faculties….

“Can you go get the envelope…the balloon itself? We could roll it up and store it on deck.”

Obviously she was crazy. Certifiable. “Not unless you expect me to swim for it.”

She wrapped her arms around her middle as she visually followed the flattened balloon now barely perceptible on the horizon. “Of course, that’s a stupid thing to ask considering what you’ve done for me. But that balloon is my livelihood.”

When this ordeal ended, he’d buy her another balloon. Hell, he had enough money to buy her fifty balloons, not that he had any desire to tell her that. The less she knew about him, the better. “I’m sorry, but I had no choice.”

She gave him a one-shoulder shrug and a surprisingly bright grin. “I’m sure it will all work out somehow. I’ll think of something.”

Great. A blond optimist, Jack thought. A tall, blond optimist, not without some fairly liberal curves that were more than obvious beneath her clinging clothing. Admittedly, she was pretty darned cute, even if she was a little scattered. Scattered and sexy. She was also shaking.

Turning his back on all that cuteness, he said, “Follow me. Let’s get you out of your clothes.” Oh, hell. “You can wear some of mine.”

Without protest she complied, and once they’d made it into the main salon, he faced her again. “It’s a little warmer in here. That should help.” Not Jack, though. He was already way too hot under the collar.

“Thanks,” she murmured. “I owe you.”

He considered one form of payment that would not be at all appropriate, or advisable. He had no use for women, cute or otherwise. Especially a woman who had interrupted his nice solitary life. A pregnant woman, no less. More than likely a married pregnant woman.

Something suddenly occurred to Jack, something he should have considered long before now. “After you change, we can try to get a message to your husband.”

She executed a prideful tip of her chin. “That would be futile since I don’t have one.”

“Boyfriend?” Jack asked, more than slightly curious, regardless of his caution.

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“Miraculous conception?”

Strolling to the navy-and-red plaid sofa, she ran her fingers along the edge. “If you’re inquiring about the father of my child, he’s not involved.”

And it was really none of Jack’s business. He sure as hell didn’t want her in the middle of his. “Okay. What about friends and family?”

“Actually, the members of my chase crew are probably wondering what happened to me when they saw me drift away.”

“I’m sure they are.” And Jack wondered what was happening to him. He couldn’t stop looking at her now exposed earlobe, her nice full mouth, her long, slender limbs—and imagining things he had no cause to imagine. For God’s sake, he didn’t even know her name.

With that in mind, he stuck out his hand. “Jackson Dunlap. I prefer Jack.”

Her grin illuminated the dimly lit cabin as she took his hand. “Elizabeth Matheson, and I prefer another name altogether. However, you may call me Lizzie.”