She hugged her knees to her chest and glared at him. “For your information, ballooning is a very safe mode of transportation. I’m more at risk driving on a Miami freeway. I would never do anything, anything, to hurt my baby. This was a fluke.”

A bite of guilt nipped at Jack. He had no call to judge anyone when it came to taking risks. God knew he had taken more than his share, with much more devastating consequences.

He sent her a half smile, a feeble attempt at an apology. “I suppose it’s a lot like sailing. Once it’s in the blood, you can’t consider giving it up.”

She glanced away but not before he caught a hint of sadness in her eyes. “Actually, it was my last trip until after the baby’s birth. I was leaving a festival near Miami. I’m not sure what happened. I think I might have passed out or something. The next thing I knew, I woke up out here, wherever here is.”

“We’re about twenty miles off the coast near Key Largo. You couldn’t get back to shore?”

“By the time I came to, the wind was unstable and I started losing altitude.”

He supposed that made sense, as much sense as it could to a man who preferred water to air. Sometimes the elements couldn’t be controlled. How well he knew that concept.

She gave him a sheepish smile, revealing a glimpse of white teeth and a dimple at the left corner of her lower lip. “Pretty lucky I happened upon you, huh?”

That remained to be seen, Jack decided. “Did you hit the deck when you were trying to land?”

“Not exactly.”

“It sounded like you hit something.”

“More like grazed.”

“The deck?”

She pointed upward. “The mast thingy. I aimed for it on my descent. I wanted to make sure I got your attention.”

It had definitely gotten his attention, then and now. And admittedly a smart thing for her to do, not that he cared for it much. No telling what kind of damage she’d done, but at least she hadn’t brought the mast down. At the moment he didn’t dare examine the thingy, fearing what he might find. Right now he was barely hanging on to some semblance of calm. Right now he had to deal with another pressing matter.

Coming to his feet, he asked with a great deal of benevolence, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Really. Promise.”

“Okay. I’m going to go see where the balloon went. I’ll be right back. You rest.”

Her expression reflected gratitude. “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

He decided not to tell her that his concern was for his boat, not her balloon. And he hoped like hell the damn thing had changed course.

But it hadn’t. He realized that the moment he arrived at the rear platform. The massive fabric billowed portside; the basket was lodged on the end of the swim ladder.

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.”

Despite his need to remain detached, he couldn’t suppress his own smile. “Well, Lizzie, at least we have a few things settled.”

Unfortunately, he felt very unsettled. As crazy as it seemed, the woman glowed, even when she wasn’t smiling. Even soaking wet and shivering, she possessed a weird kind of aura that would make most men take immediate notice. He certainly had. He was still noticing.

He didn’t have time to notice. He had to check out the mainsail and mast, and get the hell back to port.

Chalking up his disregard for his boat to months of celibacy, he simply said, “Bathroom’s in there, if you want to use it.” He pointed to the starboard head.

Her gaze swept the room and her smile returned. “Fantastic boat. It’s probably bigger than my apartment. Who owns it?”