The Storm
Tara Wylde
Holly Hart
Red Cape Romance
Contents
Stay in touch!
I. The Storm
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
46. EPILOGUE
II. Keeping Her
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Chapter 116
Chapter 117
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Chapter 120
Chapter 121
Chapter 122
Chapter 123
Chapter 124
Chapter 125
Chapter 126
Chapter 127
Chapter 128
Chapter 129
130. EPILOGUE: SARA
III. The Chase
Chapter 131
Chapter 132
Chapter 133
Chapter 134
Chapter 135
Chapter 136
Chapter 137
Chapter 138
Chapter 139
Chapter 140
Chapter 141
Chapter 142
Chapter 143
Chapter 144
Chapter 145
Chapter 146
Chapter 147
Chapter 148
Chapter 149
Chapter 150
Chapter 151
Chapter 152
Chapter 153
Chapter 154
Chapter 155
Chapter 156
Chapter 157
Chapter 158
Chapter 159
Chapter 160
Chapter 161
Chapter 162
Chapter 163
Chapter 164
Chapter 165
Chapter 166
Chapter 167
Chapter 168
Chapter 169
Chapter 170
Chapter 171
Chapter 172
Chapter 173
Chapter 174
Chapter 175
Chapter 176
Chapter 177
Chapter 178
Chapter 179
Chapter 180
Chapter 181
Chapter 182
Chapter 183
Chapter 184
Chapter 185
Chapter 186
Chapter 187
Chapter 188
Chapter 189
190. EPILOGUE: CASSIE
IV. Climax
191. Skye
192. Skye
193. Harlan
194. Skye
195. Skye
196. Harlan
197. Skye
198. Skye
199. Skye
200. Harlan
201. Skye
202. Harlan
203. Skye
204. Skye
205. Skye
206. Harlan
207. Skye
208. Harlan
209. Skye
210. Harlan
211. Skye
212. Harlan
213. Skye
214. Harlan
215. Skye
216. Harlan
217. Harlan
218. Skye
219. Harlan
220. Skye
221. Skye
Epilogue – Skye
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Tara and I hope you love this book nearly as much as I loved writing it.
Love, Holly H.
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Part I
The Storm
I’m not a good man.
I never claimed I was.
But I can be good for her.
Even if she's young enough to be my daughter...
I ran from the evils of my former life.
Hid away in a mansion and bought a pup.
And then Storm appeared out of the blue.
Literally.
She drifted in on a shot-up, smoking yacht, chased by the wings of a thunderstorm.
This sweet, innocent girl, pure as the virgin snow.
My chance to learn to live again.
But she has secrets, too.
She's lived a life no woman ever should.
The Mob will stop at nothing to find her.
And now they know she's with me.
The man they've hunted for years...
But I'll protect her from the storm.
Whatever it takes.
Prologue
I should begin by telling you that I don’t consider myself a good man. I’ve done things no man would be proud of, and I�
�ve hurt people. Whether it was right or wrong is subjective; all I can say is that my life has been one of extreme circumstances, to which I’ve often responded with extreme measures.
Not that your understanding – or lack of it – means anything to me. The only one whose opinion matters is her.
From the moment I first saw her, disoriented and almost drowned by the heaving Atlantic, she has been the only thing in my life of value. I have money – more than a man could spend in a hundred lifetimes – but that’s just scribblings in an account ledger. It can’t make me laugh, or play music that brings me to tears, or make my heart thunder in my chest with a simple kiss.
Only she can do that: the Storm who blew into my life and smashed the wall of normalcy I’d carefully built around myself. She laid me bare in front of the winds and rains of my past, showed me the soul from which I can’t hide, and in doing so helped me finally understand who I truly am.
Yes, I left the lifestyle behind years ago. But I can’t leave myself behind. As an American once said to me when I was fresh off the boat from Russia: no matter where you go, there you are. I thought I understood that, until she explained it to me in a whole new way.
And she loved me. Not in spite of everything I am, but because of everything I am.
Storm came to me under extreme circumstances, and I will use extreme measures to keep her. I won’t apologize for it. If you can accept that, we won’t have a problem.
If you can’t, I suggest you stay out of my way, because nothing in this world will stop me from being with her and keeping her safe.
Nothing.
Chapter One
1. NICK
When the chubby little weatherman from Channel 7 actually puts on his rain gear and starts reporting live on location from the storm, I know it’s time to finally go down to the dock and secure my boat.
Samson and Delilah take my flank as they always do whenever I leave the rambling old mansion on the cliffs of Montauk. Shepherds are smart, loyal dogs, but they’re not keen on being left alone, especially in that 30,000-square-foot mausoleum I call home. Some robber baron built it at the turn of the last century as a monument to greed; I bought it because it’s hard to get to.
My long grey slicker shields me from the horizontal rain – the weatherman said winds were gusting up to fifty miles per hour – as I follow the path that leads from the gardens of my house down through a series of switchbacks on the bank and finally to the rocky shore below. The dogs range ahead until they’re out of sight, ignoring the weather.
It takes about five minutes to reach the single-vessel slip where I keep my vintage 30-foot Trojan. I normally just leave her anchored, but with this squall I figure it can’t hurt to get some chafe protectors down and get her moored in. I didn’t spend three years restoring my baby to her full 1974 glory to have it lost at sea, or worse, tossed up onto the rocks.
The dogs see it first and come bounding up to the dock from the rocky stretch of beach, barking their fool heads off. They’re normally very quiet for shepherds, so I take a glance around to see what’s set them off. The Atlantic is roiling with the storm and the horizon is mostly an ashen canvas of rain and fog, except…
Now I see it, too: a shadow maybe a hundred yards out, being tossed about by the waves. The general shape indicates a catamaran running on its sails. If the engines are out, there’s no way it can make it safely to my slip on its own, and if the winds pick up any more, it might end up flipped over and capsized.
God damn it. I just wanted to moor my boat.
“Looks like I won’t be dry anytime soon,” I grouse to the dogs, which they take as an invitation to join me on the Trojan. They hop in and trot down to the saloon as I climb the ladder to the cockpit and hit the toggle to bring up the anchor.
I cruise towards the catamaran at a slow and steady clip, fighting the waves and staying on course as best I can. At fifty yards, I can see her mainsail is just spinning freely – the boat must have gotten loose from its moorings somewhere up the coast and just blew out here. My work here is done.
“That’s what insurance is for,” I mutter as I crank the wheel to head back to the slip.
But now the dogs are barking again.
“What’s up your noses now?” I holler, but even as I do, I see it: a shape on the catamaran’s deck, listing and stumbling with each swell of the storm.
A human shape.
God damn it.
I spin the Trojan back in the other direction and quickly close the distance between us before dropping anchor. Suddenly, the catamaran bobs violently and the person on the deck is pinwheeling backwards towards the stern. There’s no way I’ll be able to pull up alongside and lash my boat to it before whoever it is goes overboard.
“GOD DAMN IT!” I bark. I toss off my slicker and throw my arms forward, leaping from the cockpit into the heaving waters.
My balls shrivel as I plunge into the cold waves and start kicking toward the catamaran. It’s only a matter of a dozen yards, but the storm throws up enough resistance that I’m huffing by the time I reach the ladder.
The shifting waters threaten to pitch me off as I pull myself up. That’s when I’m finally close enough to see that the hull is full of small black dots. I wipe the seawater from my eyes to get a clearer look and realize that they’re bullet holes.
It’s been a lot of years, but my body still welcomes the adrenalin like an old friend as it rushes into my system, quickening my heart rate and widening my pupils. If whoever’s on the deck has a gun, he’s going to regret ever sailing onto the little patch of the Atlantic that crosses my property.
“Help!” a high voice shrieks, and I realize that it’s just a girl. “Please, help me!”
She’s clutching the guardrail on the catamaran’s stern, desperately trying to keep from going overboard. I can see her more clearly now through the driving rain and spray: it’s not a girl but a young woman, late teens or early 20s, long hair, athletic build. No weapon in either hand. Whatever caused the holes, it’s a safe bet it wasn’t her.
I reach the deck and steady myself with the rails. My own sea legs are pretty good after all these years, and I list my way towards the cockpit, where I kick down the handle that drops the anchor to the ocean floor. Then I make my way over to her in just a handful of seconds.
Her blue eyes widen as she sees me. Even drenched by the storm and her current circumstances, she’s striking. But she’s definitely not dressed for the weather: her black cocktail dress barely reaches mid thigh and high heels aren’t doing her any good in this weather. No wonder she can barely keep her footing.
“Thank you!” she blurts as I take her arm. “I thought… I thought I was going to…”
At that moment, the bow heaves up, tossing us both backwards. I lose my grip on her and she loses her grip on the guardrail. A second later and she’s a splash in the ocean ten feet below.
Without thinking, I dive back in, my heart thundering. Through the grace of God, there’s still enough daylight for me to make out her shape underwater. A few powerful kicks and I have her in my arms. I pull her to the surface with me, but I can tell by her sluggish movements that she’s taken in water.