Caught In A Storm Of Passion. Lucy Ryder
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And hopefully someone who could tell her where to find a pilot named Chase.
She stepped onto the back porch and was instantly blinded by the midday light. Heat rose from the dock and the large bay reflected sunlight like a laser show.
Resisting the urge to retreat inside the blessedly dim building, she lifted a hand to shade her eyes as the raspy voice yelled, “Ia ora na e Maeva!” in her ear.
Heart lurching with fright, she swung around, expecting a hatchet-wielding psycho, and found herself face-to-beak with a large bright blue-and-scarlet parrot perched on a tree stump, watching her with baleful eyes.
“Oh!” she said to the bird on an explosive exhalation of relief, and took a cautionary step out of range of the wicked-looking beak. “Hi. Do you know where I can find, um...Chase?”
The bird cocked its head and Eve sighed. Now she was talking to a bird. Which probably meant lack of sleep along with stress and panic was sending her right over the edge.
“Okay. How about your owner?”
The parrot ruffled its bright feathers.
“Anyone?”
“Squaaawk!”
“Fine,” she said a little shortly. “I’ll just go find him myself, then, shall I?”
“Ma-oo roo-roo ro-aa,” the parrot crooned, and bobbed up and down.
“Yeah, you too,” she muttered, heading for the porch railing. She leaned over, looking past the abundant vegetation to follow where wide wooden planks led straight toward a fancy marina and the bustling business center. To her right it disappeared into the cluster of houses perched along the water’s edge a couple hundred yards away.
Not a living thing stirred, everything having most likely locked itself away from the suffocating heat.
Feeling a little queasy, Eve sank onto the top step, expelling a weary breath just as a long, tanned arm appeared out of the water and slapped onto the dock.
Almost instantly another appeared, holding a string bag of fish. And then, with both large hands planted on the dock, the rest of him followed—all six foot plus of him—emerging from the bay like a sea god visiting lesser land mortals.
Eve’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. Her eyes were locked on the gush of water lovingly tracing all that tanned masculine magnificence as it rushed south. Waaaay south.
She licked her parched lips, following the streams of water that cascaded over his wide chest and the almost perfect lines of his shoulders and biceps as though lovingly caressing the hard planes it traversed. Moving down spectacular pecs, racing over delineated abs toward the happy trail that disappeared into the waistband of his low-riding board shorts.
Eve sucked in a stunned breath—holy molasses—his legs were just as long and tanned and perfect as the rest of him. She blinked as the image wavered and wondered if she was hallucinating. But when he remained, bathed in sunlight that cast his ripped physique in bold relief, she sighed. One of those stupid girlie sighs that would have appalled her if she hadn’t been on the very edge of exhaustion.
Wow...just wow!
Unaware of her fascinated gaze, the sea god shook his head like a dog, water flying off in all directions, before stooping to retrieve the string bag in one effortless move. He turned and headed up the dock toward her, his free hand wiping water from his face.
Eve knew the instant he saw her. His body stilled for just a heartbeat, and if her gaze hadn’t been locked on him like a laser she would have missed that barely perceptible pause. Without breaking stride, he resumed that loose-hipped lope up the dock, his expression dark and hooded.
Feeling suddenly nervous, Eve rose to her feet and smoothed her hands down her skirt—whether to smooth out the wrinkles or to dry her damp palms, she wasn’t sure. Almost instantly there was a loud buzzing in her head. Her vision swam alarmingly, and as if from down a long, hollow tunnel she heard herself say, “I’m Evelyn Carmichael and I’m looking...for...I’m looking for... Ch—”
* * *
If there was one thing Chase Gallagher hated more than the IRS, it was big-city career women with big-city attitudes. But even he had to admit that the sight of long shapely legs ending in a pair of elegant heels was sexy as hell, and something that he hadn’t realized he’d missed.
And because he’d missed it he scowled down at the woman responsible for that unwelcome flash of yearning. He didn’t miss the city, or the hectic hours and traffic, and he certainly didn’t miss the big-city career attitude. Especially not the kind that made people put career before family. Hell. Career before anything. Except, of course, when something bigger and better came along.
He’d done that once and it had cost him more than a huge chunk of change.
So even though the sight of his visitor, all her prim tidiness beginning to fray at the edges, had sent his pulse ratcheting up a couple notches, he’d studied her coolly, determined to get rid of her as soon as possible. But that had been before she’d decided to sway on her feet and take a header into the ground, forcing him to leap forward and catch her before she fell.
Medium height, nice curvy body and scraped-back tawny hair that would probably glitter a hundred different colors in the sunlight—if she ever relaxed enough to let her hair down, he thought with a snort. Then a close-up of her face had him sucking in a shocked breath, because for one instant there he’d thought he was staring at his future sister-in-law.
But that was ridiculous, because not only had he left Amelia behind at the resort, with his brother, Jude, this woman had big-city impatience stamped all over her and none of Amelia’s sunny sweetness.
This had to be Amelia’s sister. The evil twin, he told himself as he slid one arm beneath her shoulders and the other beneath her knees.
Lifting her into his arms, Chase ascended the stairs, cursing his bad luck. He’d taken one look at the woman and recognized trouble.
And these days Chase Gallagher avoided trouble.
At least of the feminine variety.
He shook his head at the prim skirt, long-sleeved button-up shirt and nylon-clad legs. Oh, yeah—heat exhaustion just waiting to happen. If not for those things, this woman was a dead ringer for his brother’s fiancée.
With the parrot leading the way in a flurry of feathers, Chase carried her into the waiting room and laid her down on the rattan sofa that had seen better days. He adjusted a cushion beneath her head and stood back.
He knew he had to do something. What, he didn’t know. He knew only that the long-sleeved blouse was still buttoned at her wrists, and in this heat that was a sure-fire way to get heatstroke.
After a brief internal battle Chase cursed and reached out to slip the small buttons free, jolting as the parrot landed on his shoulder, crooning, “Ia ora na e Maeva,” in Chase’s ear.
“Yeah, welcome to you too, buddy,” he said in relief.
Ignoring the flashes of lace and silk was easier with the bird’s talons digging into his shoulder, reminding him that tugging the damp shirt and camisole from her waistband was for medical purposes. And not for whatever his mind was suddenly conjuring up.
He shook his head as much at the woman as at himself. No wonder she’d passed out. She was dressed like a school librarian heading for Congress. And then he couldn’t resist a little smile tugging reluctantly at his mouth.
Okay, maybe not a librarian, he thought, hurrying off to find water and a cloth. More like a sexy lawyer hoping to disguise herself as a librarian. He shook his head. No disguising all that creamy skin, or the curves beneath those prim clothes.
He sighed. The nylons would have to go. As would the blouse, or the under-thingy. But first he had to revive her and get some fluids down her throat.
She was moaning softly when he returned with a