скачать книгу бесплатно
Caught In A Storm Of Passion
Lucy Ryder
Dr Evelyn Carmichael’s plan:1. Travel to the South Pacific and stop her sister marrying the wrong man.2. Leave as quickly as possible and refocus on her career.3. Avoid all men along the way—they’re nothing but trouble!But things take an unexpected turn when Eve finds herself trapped with sexy pilot Chase Gallagher.One look is enough to tempt Eve to throw her plan out of the window…and indulge in a sinfully hot fling in paradise!
Praise for Lucy Ryder (#ulink_a26ec866-96a8-58e6-a373-dfe05008cea3)
‘Resisting Her Rebel Hero is an absolute delight to read … the sexy writing and refreshing characters leave their mark on every page.’
—Mills & Boon Junkie
He was naked.
Her breath escaped in a stuttered whoosh. Gloriously naked. From the top of his seal-wet dark hair to his big tanned feet and everything—she meant everything—in between. And—she gulped—there certainly was a lot of in between.
She must have made a sound, because Chase stopped shaking water from his hair and lifted his head, his stormy eyes zeroing in on her with laser-point accuracy.
Eve’s gaze flew upward and her mind came to a screeching halt.
For a long, breathless moment they stared at each other, the memory of last night like a blaze across the fifteen feet separating them. Finally an arrogant dark brow rose up his bruised forehead, galvanizing Eve into action. She squeaked out an ‘Oh!’ slapped a hand over her eyes in delayed reaction and half spun away, aware that her entire body had gone hot. Because the image had been burned onto her brain for all time.
An amused baritone drawled, ‘Enjoying the view?’ and Eve could have kicked herself for reacting like a ninth-grader caught in the boys’ locker room.
‘What … what the heck are you d-doing?’ she squeaked.
There was a rustle of fabric, then his amused voice drawled, ‘It’s safe now, Dr Prim. You can look.’
Eve’s eyes snapped open and she found him barely a foot away, looking all cool and damp and … amused, darn him. But ‘safe’ was hardly a word she’d use in connection with the sexy, grumpy pilot. Especially on a storm-ravaged beach, with that dark, dangerous aura surrounding his half-naked form and with him looking as if he belonged in this wild, deserted place.
Dear Reader (#ulink_7fa52391-f258-5b4b-b6e4-440a100cb452),
With life so hectic, I often wish I could transport myself to a South Seas island for a personal time-out and regain my sanity. Instead I decided to send my very stressed and focussed heroine there to find herself. And it wouldn’t be any kind of adventure without a little danger, because we all know that a good crisis shows us what we’re made of.
Fortunately Eve is made of stern stuff—she’s had plenty of opportunity to toughen up—and she sails through a violent storm and a crash landing with minor scrapes and bruises. But what she finds in the middle of the South Pacific challenges her closely guarded heart in every possible way.
I had such fun writing Eve and Chase’s story that I feel I had my time-out in paradise. I hope you do too.
Happy reading,
Lucy
With two beautiful daughters, LUCY RYDER had to curb her adventurous spirit and settle down. But because she’s easily bored by routine she turned to writing as a creative outlet, and to romances because ‘What else is there other than chocolate?’ Characterised by friends and family as a romantic cynic, Lucy can’t write serious stuff to save her life. She loves creating characters who are funny, romantic and just a little cynical.
Caught in a Storm of Passion
Lucy Ryder
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is dedicated to my niece and nephew, Cassandra and Sean Bassett, who are about to make me a great-aunt. I can’t wait to meet the new addition to our awesomely crazy family.
What a lucky kid to have you two as parents.
And also to my sister Jennifer Hargreaves, who needs a BIG hug and a lot of love and romance of her own.
I love you, Jen.
Contents
Cover (#u2c4b1ff9-83d9-5675-8f8b-7d894976f151)
Praise (#ub32c28e8-2a25-5208-bb89-f796a850b1fb)
Introduction (#u50111e8d-15a4-5645-a33f-ac753adace6c)
Dear Reader (#uf9bad175-3a8c-58ac-a85c-be713c9541be)
About the Author (#ub904c508-062a-5a3d-b668-8f5b3272a68d)
Title Page (#ud2034052-04a0-50a0-ace4-1172fa70b10d)
Dedication (#u1b3c2295-14b3-5016-9a40-cb7b9739b3be)
CHAPTER ONE (#u37dfdc65-9d6a-53ac-be46-f2d456c98221)
CHAPTER TWO (#u033365b0-f19a-536e-893c-4f8eb1274ddc)
CHAPTER THREE (#u4febe54a-0b78-58cb-86f8-500f575b493b)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_0ef7c3af-5aca-515c-a9f7-185dff0cf91f)
Tuamotu Archipelago—South Pacific
DR. EVELYN CARMICHAEL squeezed her eyes shut, dug her fingernails into the armrests either side of her and thanked God for the harness strapped across her chest. The large seaplane slewed sideways in the storm that had appeared out of nowhere, just an hour out of Port Laurent. All she could think was, I’m going to die... I’m going to die in the middle of the South Pacific and I’ve never had a halfway decent...well...that.
A monster gust of wind hit the aircraft broadside, threatening to shake everything loose. Metal screamed under the assault, as though the agony of it was too much to bear in stoic silence. Eve could empathize. She was all too ready to start screaming herself. And she would if she had the presence of mind to do anything but sit wide-eyed with terror as the world around her went to hell.
A good thing too, since being frozen with terror kept her from freaking out. Because, frankly, she’d rather die than give the man beside her—the pilot from hell—the pleasure of seeing her fall apart.
She didn’t look out the cockpit window and she didn’t look sideways at the heathen turning the air blue. He was big and scary enough, without the palpable tension pouring off him between curses.
And, boy, were his curses inventive. Some she’d never heard before...others she never would have thought, let alone uttered. But they rolled off his tongue like they were best buddies.
Fortunately he seemed to have forgotten her in his battle with the aircraft and Mother Nature. Which suited her just fine. It meant he was too busy to witness her mental meltdown.
Again.
A few hours earlier she’d opened her eyes and realized she was lying on a rattan sofa with a big half-naked sea god looming over her. Wide shouldered and long legged, he’d filled the space with a toxic cocktail of masculine superiority and supreme sexual confidence. She’d hated him instantly.
Of course it had absolutely nothing to do with the unwelcome shiver of almost primal awareness his proximity had sent zinging through her veins, but rather the abrupt knowledge that he’d seen her at her most helpless.
And if there was one thing Eve hated it was being helpless.
Fine. It might also have had something to do with the way he’d made her feel—like she was awkward and gawky and thirteen again. Like she had to pretend she wasn’t dressed in charity-shop rejects and the object of pity or derision.
She’d only had to look at him, leaning close and dripping water all over her, to know he’d put the bad in bad boy.
Fortunately for Eve she was no longer shy or geeky, and she’d never had a thing for bad boys. That had been her mother’s weakness and one she’d vowed never to share. Besides, she was a thirty-year-old recently qualified OB-GYN specialist, on the brink of a promising career, and she’d learned early on that a cool look and a raised brow quickly dispelled any unwelcome ideas.
But this...this Neanderthal, with his hard body, cool gray eyes and his soft cargoes worn in interesting places, had found her icy looks amusing. His eyebrow had arched with more mockery than she could ever hope to muster.
He’d promptly sent her blood pressure soaring into the stratosphere—and not just with aggravation. That, as far as Eve was concerned, was reason enough to hate him.
But none of that really mattered. Not when her entire life was flashing before her eyes—which were still squeezed tightly closed, to shut out the vision of her impending death.
“Just stay calm!” her pilot shouted above the roar of the storm and the screech of tortured metal.
“I am calm,” she snarled, snapping her eyes open to glare at him. And she could have promptly kicked herself when he turned those disturbing slate-gray eyes her way and she got a little light-headed.
From jet lag, worry and exhaustion, she assured herself. Or maybe it was from all the testosterone that surrounded him like a thick toxic cloud. She was clearly allergic. All she needed was the antihistamine, hidden somewhere in her luggage, and she’d be fine.
Hopefully immune.
Oh, wait. Her suitcase was MIA. Along with her mind for even starting on this wild goose chase in the first place.
“Is that why you’re whimpering?”
His mouth twitched and she was tempted to snarl at him again, maybe use her teeth. She’d never been a violent person, but she would make an exception with him. Unfortunately he was about as sensitive as a rock, and any biting on her part would in all probability be construed as interest.
“Just keep this flying boat in the air, Slick, and let me handle my own life flashes.”
“We’re going to be okay, I promise,” he said. “Chris has never failed me, and I’ve flown in much worse.”
She didn’t know how that could be possible, but who the heck was she to judge? She could take or leave flying on a good day, and this certainly wasn’t turning out to be one of them. Besides, after a lifetime of disappointments she never put much store in empty promises, and his promise to keep them safe was as about as empty as the sky had been a half-hour earlier.
“You named your seaplane Chris? So what’s it short for? Christine? Crystal?” She smirked. “Christian?”
He sent her a get real look that questioned her intelligence before flicking the Saint Christopher medal hanging overhead with one long tanned finger.
“Saint Chris. We have an understanding.”
She wished he had an understanding with the weather, instead of a piece of metal that had about as much magic as this flying boat.
The thought had only just formed when the world exploded in a blinding flash of blue-white light. She sucked in a terrified squeak and nearly scorched her lungs on white-hot sulfur an instant before sparks shot out of the control panel. They were almost instantly followed by ominous pop-popping sounds.
“Oh, great!”
“What?” Back ramrod straight, she turned huge eyes on her pilot. His face was grimmer than the Grim Reaper and the death grip he had on the joystick didn’t fill her with a lot of confidence. “What?”
“Dammit, don’t just sit there,” he snapped, his hands flying over the instruments. “Grab the fire extinguisher.”
“We’re on fire?” Eve felt her mouth drop open. She stared at him in horror. They were fifteen hundred feet above the sea, for God’s sake. They couldn’t be on fire. She was not going to fry in a flying fireball.
“Flames are coming out the damn control panel, woman,” he barked. “Of course we’re on fire. Now, get the extinguisher.”
“I thought you said we were going to be okay. You promised!” Eve could hear herself, but she was unable to move or keep the abject horror and panic from her voice.
She—who never panicked—was about to lose it.
“Dear God, we’re going to die. I knew this was a bad idea. But did I listen?”
“We are not going to die. And I always keep my promises.”
He caught her horrified gaze with his, and the burning intensity of his eyes was strangely hypnotizing.
“Always,” he growled fervently. “Now, snap out of it and get the damn extinguisher.”
In a daze, Eve fumbled for the buckle and wondered if it was such a good idea to leave her seat. Maybe the fire would go out on its own. Maybe he could smother it with his damn ego. Besides, her hands were shaking so badly it was several seconds before the mechanism gave and her safety harness snapped open.
She hadn’t signed up for this, she told herself, struggling to hang on to her composure. It was all just a bad dream. She was supposed to be in London, sitting in a posh hotel, attending the Women and Birth conference. Actually she had been in London—for all of two hours—before catching the first flight out of Heathrow because her sister had left a message saying she’d met someone and was getting married.
Married! To a guy she’d only just met. In the South Pacific, for crying out loud. Had Amelia lost her mind? Had she learned nothing from their dysfunctional childhood?
There would be no marriage, Eve vowed fervently. At least not yet. Because if her sister had lost her mind, as the older twin it was up to Eve to help her find it again. Besides, Eve had a lifetime’s experience of watching over her sweet, trusting sibling and she wasn’t going to stop now. Especially with the kind of men Amelia seemed to attract. Men quick to take advantage of her naive and generous soul. Like the men parading through their mother’s life.
Clearly being on a tropical island was messing with Amelia’s mind just as it had their mother’s, when she’d met and fallen head over heels in lust with their father. Just another man in a long line of users and abusers. All Eve had to do was fly out there, talk some sense into her twin and fly back to London in time for the last three days of the conference...preferably with her sister in tow. It would be just like their childhood. Just the two of them against the world.
