of it. Or maybe she was, but it was all part of this moment. She was breathing a plea and she knew the plea was echoing in Ramón’s heart as well as her own.
Please…
The whale was wallowing in the swell, rolling up and down, up and down. Her massive pectoral fins were free now. They moved stiffly outward, upward, over and over, while Jenny and Ramón held their breath and prayed.
The big tail swung lazily back and forth; she seemed to be stretching, feeling her freedom. Making sure the ropes were no longer there.
‘She can’t have been caught all that long,’ Jenny whispered, breathless with wonder. ‘Look at her tail. That rope was tied so tightly but there’s hardly a cut.’
‘She might have only just swum into it,’ Ramón said and Jenny was aware that her awe was echoed in his voice. His arm had tightened around her and it seemed entirely natural. This was a prayer shared. ‘If it was loosened from the shore by a storm it might have only hit her a day or so ago. The calf looks healthy enough.’
The calf was back at its mother’s side now, nudging against her flank. Then it dived, straight down into the deep, and Jenny managed a faltering smile.
‘He’ll be feeding. She must still have milk. Oh, Ramón…’
‘Gianetta,’ Ramón murmured back, and she knew he was feeling exactly what she was feeling. Awe, hope, wonder. They might, they just might, have been incredibly, wondrously lucky.
And then the big whale moved. Her body seemed to ripple. Everything flexed at once, her tail, her fins…She rolled away, almost onto her back, as if to say to her calf: No feeding, not yet, I need to figure if I’m okay.
And figure she did. She swam forward in front of the boat, speeding up, speeding up. Faster, faster she swam, with her calf speeding after her.
And then, just as they thought they’d lost sight of her, she came sweeping back, a vast majestic mass of glossy black muscle and strength and bulk. Then, not a hundred yards from the boat, she rolled again, only higher, so her body was half out of the water, stretching, arching back, her pectoral fins outstretched, then falling backward with a massive splash that reached them on the boat and soaked them to the skin.
Neither of them noticed. Neither of them cared.
The whale was sinking now, deep, so deep that only a mass of still water on the surface showed her presence. Then she burst up one more time, arched back once more—and she dived once more and they saw her print on the water above as she adjusted course and headed for the horizon, her calf tearing after her.
Two wild creatures returned to the deep.
Tears were sliding uselessly down Jenny’s face. She couldn’t stop them, any more than she could stop smiling. And she looked up at Ramón and saw his smile echo hers.
‘We did it,’ she breathed. ‘Ramón, we did it.’
‘We did,’ he said, and he tugged her hard against him, then swung her round so he was looking into her tear-stained face. ‘We did it, Gianetta, we saved our whale. And you were magnificent. Gianetta, you may be a Spanish-Australian woman in name but I believe you have your nationality wrong. A woman like you…I believe you’re worthy of being a woman of Cepheus.’
And then, before she knew what he intended, before she could guess anything at all, he lifted her into his arms and he kissed her.
Chapter Four
ONE moment she was gazing out at the horizon, catching the last shimmer of the whale’s wake on the translucence of the sea. The next she was being kissed as she’d never been kissed in her life.
His hands were lifting her, pulling her hard in against him so her feet barely touched the deck. His body felt rock-hard, the muscled strength he’d just displayed still at work, only now directed straight at her. Straight with her.
The emotions of the rescue were all around her. He was wet and wild and wonderful. She was soaking as well, and the dripping fabric of his shirt and hers meant their bodies seemed to cling and melt.
It felt right. It felt meant. It felt as if there was no room or sense to argue.
His mouth met hers again, his arms tightening around her so she was locked hard against him. He was so close she could feel the rapid beat of his heart. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, her face had tilted instinctively, her mouth was caught…
Caught? Merged, more like. Two parts of a whole finding their home.
He tugged her tighter, tighter still against him, moulding her lips against his. She was hard against him, closer, closer, feeling him, tasting him, wanting him…
To be a part of him seemed suddenly as natural, as right, as breathing. To be kissed by this man was an extension of what had just happened.
Or maybe it was more than that. Maybe it was an extension of the whole of the last week.
Maybe she’d wanted this from the moment she’d seen him.
Either way, she certainly wasn’t objecting now. She heard herself give a tiny moan, almost a whimper, which was stupid because she didn’t feel the least like whimpering. She felt like shouting, Yes!
His mouth was demanding, his tongue was searching for an entry, his arms holding her so tightly now he must surely bruise. But he couldn’t hold her tight enough. She was holding him right back, desperate that she not be lowered, desperate that this miraculous contact not be lost.
He felt so good. He felt as if he was meant to be right here in her arms. That she’d been destined for this moment for ever and it had taken this long to find him.
He hadn’t shaved this morning. She could feel the stubble on his jaw, she could almost taste it. There was salt on his face—of course there was, he’d been practically submerged, over and over. He smelled of salt and sea, and of pure testosterone.
He tasted of Ramón.
‘Ramón.’ She heard herself whisper his name, or maybe it was in her heart, for how could she possibly whisper when he was kissing as if he was a man starved for a woman, starved of this woman? She knew so clearly what was happening, and she accepted it with elation. This woman was who he wanted and he’d take her, he wanted her, she was his and he was claiming his own.
Like the whale rolling joyously in the sea, she thought, dazed and almost delirious, this was nature; it was right, it was meant.
She was in his arms and she wasn’t letting go.
Ramón.
‘Gianetta…’ His voice was ragged with heat and desire. Somehow he dragged himself back from her and held her at arm’s length. ‘Gianetta, mia…’
‘If you’re asking if I want you, then the answer’s yes,’ she said huskily, and almost laughed at the look of blazing heat that came straight back at her. His eyes were almost black, gleaming with tenderness and want and passion. But something else. He wouldn’t take her yet. His eyes were searching.
‘I’ll take no woman against her will,’ he growled.
