Caught In A Storm Of Passion. Lucy Ryder
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“That...hurts...”
What didn’t hurt was the oddly arousing sensation of crisp hair against her sensitive palm. It was more like a lifeline to something solid and safe. Then she noticed something dark and wet matting his thick hair, the pallor beneath his smoothly tanned skin, and her senses abruptly sharpened into medic mode.
With renewed determination she shoved his hand away and struggled into a sitting position, gasping and wheezing because her chest felt as if it was being crushed.
“What...what the heck have you done to me?” she rasped, wondering if this was what it felt like to have a coronary. If so, she suddenly had a wealth of sympathy for anyone who’d ever had one.
His startled, “Huh?” was followed by a growled, “I saved your ass, if that’s what you mean...” accompanied by an injured scowl, as if she should be grateful that she ached everywhere. And she meant everywhere. “And just in case you forgot, lady, this is the second time in less than eight hours.”
Eve ignored him and looked past his mile-wide shoulders and aggravated expression.
What she saw had her eyes widening in shock.
She gasped at the sight of the padded seats, twisted at odd angles, and the stuff strewn everywhere. There was also a large plastic sheet covering a jagged hole where the wall—fuselage?—used to be. Chase must have rigged it to block out the storm, but water still continued to pour in along the sides.
Then the truth dawned on her and her gaze snapped back to him, her mouth dropping open at the realization that they’d—
“Ohmigod, you crashed?”
Dull color crept up his neck and he snapped out an insulted, “I did no such thing. The storm—”
“We’re upside down!” she interrupted, craning her head around his wide shoulders, slack-jawed as she studied the crazy angle of everything.
It made her feel off balance, because neither the floor nor the ceiling was where it should be.
Her gaze swung back to his, and when he opened his mouth Eve sucked in a quick breath and accused, “You said everything was going to be okay.”
A muscle twitched in his hard jaw and his expression darkened even more. “It is.”
“You said you’d handle things.”
“I did,” he gritted out, his stormy gaze locking with hers so intently that Eve finally realized he wasn’t as calm as she’d thought. And he looked...embarrassed, even.
They were barely hanging on to life and he was embarrassed? Typical alpha guy.
“How? In case you haven’t noticed, you crashed your plane.”
“No kidding?” he drawled, with a wealth of sarcasm that Eve thought was entirely unwarranted. “Congratulations, Miz Observant. In case you haven’t figured it out, direct lightning strikes tend to fry electronics. So, yeah,” he snarled, “we crashed. Happy?”
She sighed, recalling the sight of the seaplane, gleaming white and obviously well cared for as it bobbed gently on the bright blue waters of Port Laurent. “I’m sorry. It was a beautiful plane.”
He grunted, looking even more dejected if that was possible.
She tried for a conciliatory tone. “Do you...um...know where we are?”
He was silent for a couple beats, then he flicked her a speculative glance, as though trying to decide how to tell her that they’d crashed on the back of a giant sea turtle—or maybe in the middle of a volcano.
“You mean other than in a wrecked plane?”
Something very close to panic edged its way into Eve’s consciousness. He was looking at her with hooded gray eyes that had gone strangely wary. Conciliation went right out the window.
“You have no idea where we are, do you?”
“Well, not at the mo—”
“Oh. My. God.” Her eyes widened and clung to his, in the vain hope that he was joking. “You don’t!” she accused, the crushing feeling in her chest returning with a vengeance.
“Well, not exactly,” he growled, flashing an unreadable glance in her direction. “But you’re fine, aren’t you? No broken bones or anything? Right?” He didn’t even have the grace to look apologetic.
Eve’s heart lurched into her throat, threatening to cut off her air. She gasped for breath and clutched at her chest, where her heart threatened to punch its way through her ribs.
She sucked in another painful breath. This could not be happening. She’d fallen asleep and was still having a nightmare about the South Pacific and a flyboy from hell. But that was okay. Any minute now she’d wake up and—
“Fine? You call this fine?” Her voice rose to a hysterical squeak. “Oh, God.” Air whooshed in and out of her lungs a few times as she tried to calm herself, but she wasn’t getting calmer—in fact her vision was graying at the edges. “I...think...I’m having...a heart attack.”
“You’re just hyperventilating,” he said, with such masculine impatience she was tempted to whack him in the head. Oh, wait. He’d already been whacked in the head—which probably explained his abhorrent personality.
No, that wasn’t true. He’d been like that before the crash.
“Take a deep breath before you faint again.”
“I am not going to faint,” she snapped, trying to calm her panicked breathing. Oh, God, she was totally going to pass out. “I just can’t seem to...to take a deep...breath. My chest...feels...it feels like...you...punched...me.”
“That’s just bruising from the harness. Maybe you should let me check you out?” he offered helpfully. “Maybe you broke a few ribs.”
“And maybe you should back the hell off,” Eve wheezed, slapping at the hand reaching out to help unbutton her silk blouse. “You just want to gawk at the goods.”
Chase sat back with an exasperated huff. “Lady, I’ve already ‘gawked at the goods,’ as you so delicately put it,” he announced.
* * *
When she narrowed her eyes on him, as though imagining taking a scalpel to his intestines, he gave a careless shrug. “If it makes you feel better, you’re not my type. So I can be all professional without going insane with lust.”
Eve growled, and when Chase ventured a glance at her face she was—surprise, surprise—glaring at him, her lush bottom lip caught between pearly white teeth.
He groaned silently. Dammit. Now was not the time to be noticing her mouth. She was mad. He was mad. And they both needed medical attention. And since she was the doctor—yeah, well, maybe he shouldn’t think about her kissing anything better...
“But if you ask real nice...” he drawled, helping himself to a mouthful of bottled water and wishing it was expensive whiskey instead. Because, man, if there was ever a time for alcohol-induced mindlessness, it was now. “When we get outta here, I’ll help you with that little problem you were screaming about earlier.”
Large amber eyes blinked at him in confusion, and then he knew the instant she recalled what she’d been talking...screaming...about before they’d crashed. Her eyelashes flickered and her throat convulsed around an audible swallow. A faint blush crept into her cheeks.
Then her pink tongue sneaked out and slid over that bottom lip he was having such hot fantasies about and he was the one swallowing hard.
“Wh-what problem?” she rasped. “The only problem I have here is you.” Her gaze slid around the interior of the cabin rather than look at him. “And the fact that you crashed your plane.”
Ignoring her attempts to distract him, he held out the bottle and