Caught In A Storm Of Passion

He quickly lurched out of reach, telling himself it was a good thing he was over women like her.

A real good thing.

* * *

Eve surfaced slowly, aware of a gang of vindictive road workers using power drills inside her skull. She frowned and tried to shift away from the excavation, but the move sent pain stabbing through her.

Oh...ow! What...what the—?

Carefully drawing in a shallow breath, she took stock, wondering where she was, why she couldn’t remember...and why the heck someone was sitting on her chest. Then something cold and damp touched her head, right where it hurt. She gave a distressed moan and lifted her hand to swat feebly at the annoyance.

“G’way,” she mumbled crossly, shivering when a trickle of cold water made its way down her throat.

“Keep still,” a deep, familiar voice ordered, sending a bolt of something that felt like panic through her body.

Her eyes and mouth flew open, with the intention of giving him a piece of her mind, but the words froze in her throat when she found the hunky sea god close. Very close...and wet. As if she’d invaded his ocean kingdom and he was holding her hostage.

Yikes.

Every thought promptly flew right out of her head.

It was like déjà vu.

Or more like déjà dead.

She moaned softly on realizing that every part of her hurt. Even her eyes, which she narrowed against the light.

“Oh, great,” she rasped hoarsely. “I should have known. I’m dead, and the pilot from hell isn’t done torturing me.”

A spark of amusement briefly lit his storm-gray eyes, along with a look of what couldn’t possibly be concern and wild relief. Could it? And why hadn’t she noticed before how long and thick his dark lashes were?

Annoyance replaced the amusement, momentarily distracting her from the wet cloth he pressed to her pounding head. She tried evading it, but he gently cradled her head and turned her toward him.

“Keep still,” he muttered irritably. “I had to move you before I could check for internal injuries.”

“Isn’t that my line?” she rasped, gasping when he hit a particularly tender spot. “Ouch!” She grabbed his hand, her fingers barely fitting around the brawny wrist as she attempted to hold him off. And when she discovered that all she could do was cling weakly as he carefully dabbed the area, she grimaced.

Oh, yeah—and moaned. She could definitely moan too, she discovered—the low sound was slipping out without her permission. It was downright embarrassing. Besides, she was the doctor, dammit. Wasn’t it her job to heal the injured?

“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.