Harlequin Desire February 2023--Box Set 2 of 2 by Reese Ryan

Author:Reese Ryan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2023-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

When the thunderstorm started she was still saying okay, but the word was a substitute for the F-freaking-bombs she wanted to drop and had a much higher pitch than normal. No amount of bad weather sailing videos on YouTube had prepared her for the reality of a small keelboat in the middle of a thunderstorm and she was starting to have serious doubts. The Cupcake rose and fell, her prow slapping hard against the water and sending spray everywhere. The whitecaps had whitecaps, for crying out loud, and the increasingly stronger gusts of wind made her feel like they were headed nowhere fast.

“Charlotte?”

“Yeah?”

She tried to find a silver lining. Maybe that the lightning hadn’t struck them? She counted that as a win. It made the hail that was bouncing down seem downright benevolent. And hey, the hail was merely pea-sized and not the golf ball–sized monstrosities that dented up the Vineyard’s cars and roofs indiscriminately. This was totally manageable, even if it felt like she was being attacked by a swarm of icy killer bees.

“You know I won’t let anything bad happen to you, right? I’m still right here with you.” He gave her a small smile, which was totally inappropriate, in her opinion. If ever there was a moment to panic, now was the time.

“Are you God?” She stabbed a finger in the direction of the purple-and-green clouds—which were no longer on the horizon but somehow overhead and simultaneously all around them.

“You’ll be okay,” he repeated.

She groaned. “I’d feel better if we were having this conversation on dry land.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Me, too.”

Well. Crap.

A new gust of wind jarred the Cupcake. The radio squawked feebly. The race officials had apparently misjudged the rapidity with which the storm would hit. They’d expected the racers to be around the island, heading into the final stretch before bad weather struck, but that seemed less and less likely.

“Since I’m still working on my trust issues,” she asked, “how anxious should I be right now? On a scale of one to ten?”

He adjusted the sails some more. “I’ve run worse races.”

“But those were bigger boats, right? With an entire crew of people who actually knew what they were doing?”

“You know what you’re doing,” he said. “You’ve got one job right now.”

“Right,” she shuddered, grateful for her water-resistant layers. “This is where you tell me it’s to trust you. That’s not working for me, although it’s a cute line.”

“The worst race ever, we had lightning strikes landing all around us and each time I touched the tiller, I got a shock.”

“Did you let go?”

He gave her a level look. “I held on when I had to.”

The thunderstorm/apocalyptic avalanche of rain wasn’t letting up, though. Even she could tell that. After another eternity of minutes, he turned them toward the island. “We can make a run for shore or we can try to speed up and outrun the weather. I’m voting for shore.”

“Did they call the race off?”

“Not yet.”

“But—”

“It’s just a race,” he said. “And while they’ll likely call it soon, I’d feel better if we played it safer now.

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