Caught In A Storm Of Passion

Or was it Moramumu?

She sighed.

She’d never even heard of the Society Islands, let alone a chain called the Tuamotu Archipelago. Which begged the question: what the heck was her sister doing down here? The last she’d heard Amelia had been singing at some fancy hotel in Hawaii.

“Lady, you sure you wanna be here?” the cab driver yelled over the music pumping from the boom box mounted on the dashboard. “There’s a much better place on the other side of the marina.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Eve said, hopefully masking her horror at the thought of getting back into that death trap for one mile more than was absolutely necessary. The guy flashed his gold teeth and cackled uproariously, making her think that maybe she hadn’t been all that successful in hiding her dismay. But then she was about twenty-nine hours past exhausted and couldn’t be expected to control anything more than the urge to weep. Or maybe scream.

And that was only because she was clenching her teeth hard enough to pulverize bone and enamel.

With a cheerfulness that Eve wished she felt—she was in the South Pacific, for heaven’s sake—the driver wrestled her bag from the cab and dropped it at her feet, along with her heavy winter coat. Then he hopped back into his decrepit vehicle and took off like a lost soul out of hell, singing at the top of his lungs to the song blaring from his boom box.

Sucking in air so heavy with moisture she thought she might be forced to grow gills, Eve hoisted her bag and coat onto her shoulder. Clutching her laptop close, she headed across the road to the small building squatting like a smug hen in a bed of exotic flowers and dense vegetation.

Suddenly she had absolutely no idea what she was doing.

The wooden doors to Tiki Sea & Air were open, and Eve climbed the stone stairs to a wide wraparound porch decorated with hanging baskets exploding with exotic-looking flowers. The heady fragrance reminded her of the perfume counters at Bloomingdale’s. Rich, lush and exotic.

Inhaling the humid air, Eve looked around and decided she must be dreaming—heck, she was exhausted enough. It was as if she’d stepped into a brochure advertising glamorous holiday destinations. But since she’d never taken a holiday, let alone been tempted to research one, she couldn’t tell for certain.

Okay, that was a lie. She and her sister had used to dream all the time when they were kids about finding some exotic island where they’d live with their father and eat coconuts and fruit and maybe learn to catch fish. A place where they’d be safe and adored.

She snorted. Yeah, right. That had been so long ago it might have been someone else’s dream. Before she’d stopped believing in fairy tales. Before she’d learned that if she wanted “safe and secure” she’d have to create it herself.

Swiping at a trickle of perspiration, she glanced over to where an old man lay dozing on an old rattan sofa and experienced a moment of pure envy. She’d be willing to harvest her own kidney for a soft bed, clean sheets and about twenty-four hours of oblivion.

Oh, yeah...and air-conditioning.

She groaned as sweat ran down her throat and disappeared between her breasts. Definitely air-conditioning.

Deciding that she didn’t have the energy to fight the old guy for sofa space, Eve headed for the open door and stepped into an old French Colonial–style building that looked about three decades past its sell-by date.

The room looked like something out of a movie. There was a scattering of worn rattan furnishings, coconut fiber mats dotting the floor and a large overhead fan that lazily circulated the heavy air.

A large curved bamboo counter took up most of the far end of the room, and behind that, through the open slatted wooden French doors, Eve could see a back porch leading down to a long, wide wooden dock. Bobbing on the insanely bright turquoise water was a large white seaplane. Beyond that she could see a headland and the open sea, sparkling like a trillion jewels in the sun.

Approaching the counter, Eve peered over the scarred surface, hoping to find someone who could help her. Other than an empty mug, an overflowing wastebasket and about a ton of boxes, the only sign of life was a quietly humming computer and the soft clunk, clunk, clunk of the overhead fan.

She glanced through another open doorway behind the counter into a small messy office, but it too was deserted.

“Dammit,” Eve muttered, huffing out an irritated breath. “Where the heck is everyone?”

A loud, hoarse, “Ia ora na e Maeva!” had her jumping about a foot in the air. She looked around, wide-eyed, for the owner of that raspy voice. But other than the loud snoring coming from the old man on the front porch the building was quiet.

Quiet and deserted.

Wonderful. Now she was hearing voices on top of everything else.

Telling herself she wasn’t losing her grip on reality, Eve dropped her belongings onto a nearby chair and headed for the open doors, determined to find the source of that raspy voice. 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 huge wad of paper toweling and an opened bottle of water. Tearing off a section of paper towel, he soaked it with cool water before wiping her clammy forehead.

The pulse at the base of her throat fluttered wildly; her breathing was rapid and shallow.

Great. Just great. Maybe he should just take her to the hospital and let them deal with her. Maybe he should just fly outta here and tell Amelia her sister hadn’t shown.

Yeah, and maybe he wouldn’t do any of those things, he thought as he envisioned the scene that would follow. He shuddered. Besides, the last thing he wanted was to see Amelia’s big blue eyes shimmering with hurt and know he was the cause.

Soaking another handful of towels, he roughly bathed the woman’s clammy skin, careful not to let his eyes wander to those tempting mounds of creamy flesh barely contained in silk and lace. If she suddenly woke up he didn’t want to be caught eyeing the goodies.

First, she wasn’t his type—so not your type, Chase—and second his mother had made sure her sons knew how to treat women with respect. Or else.

His mouth twisted as an unpleasant memory arose. Pity his ex-wife hadn’t had the same upbringing. Maybe then she wouldn’t have had a long-term affair with her boss and blamed Chase’s job and his family for the alienation of her affection.

He snorted. Yeah, right. As if making mounds of cash trading stocks and bonds was remotely alienating. He was the one who should have sued the damn lawyer, but by the time he’d recovered from the shock of betrayal he’d realized he didn’t care enough.

He’d survived the unpleasant discovery that his wife loved his money more than she’d loved him. But discovering that Avery had knowingly tried to pass off the Mercer Island shark’s baby as his had been like a gut punch.

Fortunately he wasn’t as stupid as he looked, and when he’d demanded a paternity test the whole ugly truth had come spewing out. What had really sickened him was the fact that whenever he’d previously brought up the subject of starting a family she’d always claimed that she wasn’t ready, that a baby would ruin her career and her figure.

After that he’d left Seattle and moved out here to the islands. He still ran his brokering business, from what his brother called his “bunker”—a windowless, climate-controlled room that housed his huge bank of computers. It was from there that he kept in contact with the financial world and the rest of his Seattle-based family.

But his marriage was in the past and really not worth dwelling on. If he did, he might just dump Amelia’s sister in the ocean, head off to his island retreat and pretend none of this had happened. But he really liked his almost sister-in-law, and he was fairly certain Jude wouldn’t be happy if he ditched her twin.

In the meantime, what the hell was he supposed to do with an unconscious woman heading for heat exhaustion? Other than strip her and toss her in the bay, that is.

Shoving a hand through his hair, he was contemplating his options when she moaned again. His gaze whipped upward in time to see the long, lush fringe of her dark eyelashes flutter and then lift, exposing glassy eyes the exact color of the five-hundred-dollar bottle of single malt whiskey he kept for special occasions.

Holy—

Air whooshed from his lungs as if he’d been punched in the head. He’d only ever seen eyes like that once before. Twice, actually. Once on an ancient amber Viking ring he’d seen in a museum and the second time...his friend’s eyes. But looking into Dr. Alain Broussard’s eyes didn’t normally leave him reeling like a drunken penguin.

Maybe he was the one in need of medical assistance.

She blinked and murmured a husky, “Hi,” her expression so softly sensuous that for an instant Chase was startled. Okay, stunned. Because...jeez...that look had reached out and grabbed him in a place that hadn’t been grabbed since his ex. Maybe even before.

In the next instant the sleepy expression cleared and any resemblance either to Amelia or Alain vanished. Soft and sensuous was replaced by razor-sharp intellect. And outrage.

“What...what the hell are you doing?” she demanded, the formerly husky voice full of indignation as she slapped at his hands, which had paused in the task of sponging her down.

Water dripped off the wad and soaked the silk camisole right over her left breast, drawing his fascinated gaze. She must have followed his eyes because she squeaked, shoved at his hand and lurched upright. Unfortunately he didn’t move back fast enough, and her head smacked into his cheekbone with enough force to rattle his brain.

She gave an agonized yelp, slapped a hand to her head and sank back against the cushions, moaning as if he’d gutted her with a dull spoon.

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.