Caught In A Storm Of Passion

Oh, wait—the groaning was coming from him.

“What the hell, lady?” he snarled, holding his cheek as he staggered backward and abruptly sat on the old rattan coffee table, which immediately groaned under his weight.

The move also knocked over the bottled water. He made a grab for it, only to have it sail through the air, spraying water in a wide arc. Most of it landed on her—soaking her already wet camisole. And...oh, man...rendering the thin silk almost transparent. Which he might have appreciated if she hadn’t just tried to head butt him to death.

She made a kind of squeaking, gasping sound and he saw wide amber eyes glaring at him through a haze of pain. Realizing he was still holding a wad of damp paper towels, he slapped it over the lump already forming on his cheek.

“What...what the hell was that for?” he demanded, checking for blood.

“You...you...” she gasped, and then she turned an interesting shade of green. “Uh-oh.” She gulped and slapped a palm over her mouth. A look of panic crossed her face. She sat up. “I think I’m... Oh!”

Understanding that garbled sentence, Chase surged to his feet, scooped her up and rushed down the short passage to the ladies’ bathroom. He shoved the door open with his shoulder as she made horrifying gagging sounds.

“Hold on a sec—nearly there,” he urged in panic, rushing into a stall and dumping her unceremoniously on her feet. In one smooth move he pushed her head over the toilet, with a firm hand on the back of her neck.

Unresisting, she sank to her knees, her body racked with a couple dozen dry heaves that made the sweat pop out across his forehead. He swallowed hard and retreated outside the stall. Just to give her some privacy, he told himself.

After a while there was silence, and when he heard a weak moan he stuck his head inside. She’d sagged against the wall, eyes closed as she wiped a limp wrist across her mouth. Tendrils of hair clung to her damp forehead and cheeks. She looked so miserable that Chase felt an unwelcome tug of empathy.

Dammit, he thought, shoving a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to feel anything—let alone empathy. He’d get stupid and act like he had rescue issues, for God’s sake—which, come to think of it, was how he’d met Avery.

Yeesh. What an idiot. He’d been a perfect mark. But he’d learnt a valuable lesson and he wasn’t about to repeat his biggest mistake ever. Not now that he was older and wiser. Not now that he’d learned exactly how devious women could be.

Eyeing her pasty face with increasing concern, he crouched beside her. “You okay?”

“I’m...fine...” she rasped, and licked dry lips. “I just need a—”

“Another moment?” he supplied helpfully when her words ended abruptly. “A doctor?”

“Don’t...don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed huskily, planting one hand on the toilet and the other on his shoulder.

Her touch had him thinking bad thoughts, especially when his body stirred.

“I am a doctor.” She tried to push herself to her feet but she was still weak and shaky and immediately slid back down.

He eyed her suspiciously as an unpleasant thought occurred to him. Fainting? Vomiting? It was exactly what had happened to Avery when—

“Are you pregnant?” he demanded abruptly.

Her head whipped up and her mouth dropped open. “What—? No!”

She looked so insulted that he should suggest such a thing that his breath escaped in a loud whoosh. He wasn’t entirely sure why her reaction relieved him—for all he knew she could be lying. And boy did he have enough experience with that!

Slipping his hand beneath her armpit, he rose, drawing her to her feet. She instantly sagged against him, legs wobbly as a newborn calf. Instead of pushing her away he drew her closer, enjoying her soft, warm scent and the feel of her plump breasts against his naked chest.

Realizing what he was doing, he quickly backed out of the stall and led her to the counter, shoving her into a chair while he ripped paper towels from the dispenser. He gave the tap a vicious little twist and thrust the wad into the stream of water that appeared.

What the hell was that? Maybe the heat was affecting him too, because no way could he be attracted to her. Not only was she a big-city woman, she was almost his sister, for cripes’ sake.

Well, her sister was. Which was the same thing. Wasn’t it?

His breath whooshed out. Hell.

He turned to find her watching him with those solemn golden-syrup eyes and felt his gut clench with something hot and wild. Something along the lines of golden syrup and...and acres of soft naked skin.

The reaction shook him.

Realizing he was standing there like an idiot, he tore his gaze away, feeling the tips of his ears burn. She was the last person he wanted to feel anything for. Which just went to show that abstinence made people crazy.

Hoping to restore his IQ, he thrust the dripping mess of paper in her direction and eyed her out of the corner of his eyes.

“If you’re a doctor, what the hell are you doing in the South Pacific dressed like...that?” He waved his arm, sending drops of water flying. “That’s an open invitation to dehydration and heat exhaustion.”

She eyed the sodden mass for a couple beats before lifting her gaze, her expression rife with annoyance and maybe her opinion of his medical skills.

It wasn’t in the least complimentary. So why the hell did Chase feel his lips twitch?

There was nothing amusing about this. Nothing at all. And he certainly wasn’t attracted to her. No way. She was too uptight for his liking, and she literally vibrated with exhaustion and impatience.

After a couple more beats she sighed and rose shakily to her feet. Taking the towels from him, she sagged weakly against the counter, where she dumped the sloppy mess and reached for the dispenser.

“Maybe because I was on my way to a conference in London when I got a very disturbing message about my sister getting married to a man she’s only just met. A loser who’s probably taking advantage of her right this minute. And,” she added, sending him a look in the mirror that questioned the size of his brain, “in case you think everyone lives in perpetual summer, the northern hemisphere is experiencing a season called winter. I left Boston in freezing rain and landed in a London blizzard.”

“Well, that—” he gestured rudely to her once-snazzy outfit, outraged by the nasty quip about his brother “—will have to go, or you’ll be fainting on me every five minutes.” Jude wasn’t the kind of guy to take advantage of women, more like the other way around.

She made a growling sound in the back of her throat and her narrowed gaze snapped up to lock on his in the mirror. Her expression didn’t bode well for his continued good health.

He barely managed to cover his grin with another frown.

Dammit. What the hell was wrong with him?

“I did not faint,” she said slowly, precisely. As though he was a few bricks short of a wall.

He snorted, beginning to enjoy himself. “Could have fooled me.”

Her eyes narrowed further. “I never faint. Anyway, why do you care? It’s not like we’re ever going to see each other again after I fly out of here.”

Her tone suggested she couldn’t wait for that moment, so he sighed and pushed away from the counter. Yeah, well, neither could he. But that wasn’t about to happen.

For either of them.

His enjoyment abruptly vanished.

“Uh-huh?” he drawled, heading for the door, where he paused, turning to find an odd expression on her face as she watched him leave. “And how do you plan to fly out of here, Your Highness? Grow a pair of wings?”

“Don’t be absurd. I’m looking for Chase...something or other.” She frowned and lifted pale unsteady fingers to the bruise already forming on her forehead.

He tried not to feel guilty for putting it there as it had mostly been her fault. Besides, his eye was also swelling, and his cheek hurt like hell.