Stepping into the Prince's World Read Free Page A

heroine?
    â€˜I’m not,’ she said out loud. But some things weren’t negotiable. She couldn’t watch him drown—not when she knew the water. And she was a decent swimmer.
    â€˜You know where the dog food is, and the back door’s open,’ she told Rocky as she hauled off her coat and kicked off her boots. ‘If I disappear just chew a hole in the sack. Tell ’em I died trying.’
    But she had no intention of dying. She’d stick within reach of the rocks, where the current was weakest. She was not a heroine.
    Her jeans hit the clothes pile, and then her windcheater. Okay, then—ready, set, go .
    * * *
    He was making no headway. The current was hauling him out faster than he could swim.
    Raoul had been born tough and trained tougher. He hadn’t reached where he was in the army without survival skills being piled on to survival skills. He couldn’t outswim the current, so he knew he had to let it carry him out until it weakened—and then he had to figure out a way back in again.
    The problem was, he was past exhaustion.
    By the time he’d reached this island the yacht had been little more than a floating tub. The torn sails were useless. He’d used the motor to try and find some place to land, but the motor hadn’t had the strength to fight the surf. Then a wave, bigger than the rest, had hit him broadside.
    The boat had landed upside down on the rocks. He’d hit his head. It had taken him too long to get free of the wreck and now the water was freezing.
    If he let the current carry him out, would he have the strength to get back in again?
    He had no choice. He forced his body to relax and felt the rip take him. For the first time he stopped trying to swim. He raised his head, looking hopelessly towards the shore. He was being carried out again.
    There was someone on the beach.
    Someone who could help?
    Or not.
    The figure was slight—a boy? No, it was a woman, her shoulder-length curls flying out around her shoulders in the wind. She had a dog and she was yelling. She was gesticulating to the east of the cove.
    She was ripping off her windcheater and running down to the surf. Heading to the far left of the beach.
    If this was a local she’d know the water. She was heading to the left and waving at him.
    Maybe that was where the rip cut out.
    She was running into the water. She shouldn’t risk herself.
    He tried to yell but he was past it. He was pretty much past anything.
    The woman was running through the shallows and then diving into the first wave that was over chest high. Of all the stupid... Of all the brave...
    Okay, if she was headed into peril on his behalf the least he could do was help.
    He fought for one last burst of energy. He put his head down and tried to swim.
    * * *
    Uh-oh .
    There’d been a swimming pool in the basement of the offices of Craybourne, Ledger and Smythe. Some lawyers swam every lunchtime.
    Claire had mostly shopped. Or eaten lunch in the park. Or done nothing at all, which had sometimes seemed a pretty good option.
    It didn’t seem a good option now. She should have used that time to improve her swimming. She needed to be super-fit or more. There was no rip where she was swimming, but the downside of keeping close to the rocks at the side of the cove was the rocks themselves. They were sharp, and the waves weren’t regular. A couple picked her up and hurled her sideways.
    She was having trouble fighting her way out. She was also bone-chillingly cold. The iciness of Bass Strait in early spring was almost enough to give her a heart attack.
    And she couldn’t see whoever it was she was trying to rescue.
    He must be here somewhere, she thought. She just had to fight her way out behind the surf so she could see.
    Which meant diving through more waves. Which meant avoiding more rocks. Which meant...
    Crashing.
    * * *
    Something hit him—hard.
    He’d already hit his head on the rocks. The