Heart Raider (Heartthrob Series, Book 1)

by Knightly, Sophia

  Grueling morning workouts helped him get through the long days, but he still had no desire to be with people again. Not yet and definitely not with someone as tempting as Ronnie. It wouldn’t be long before the little pain-in-the-ass snoop began pestering him for an interview. Problem was, Ronnie wasn’t little anymore. She was all grown up and affecting his body in ways he didn’t care to admit.

  She still had a piquant face with mischievous green eyes and a generous mouth prone to wisecracks. Her glossy hair fell in lush layers to her shoulders in vibrant shades of honey, copper, red and chestnut. With a creamy complexion that flushed pink at the slightest provocation, she had a sprinkling of freckles on her snub nose that only added to her wayward appeal.

  She sure had filled out nicely too. He’d noted the way her round breasts had pressed against the damp fabric when she’d swayed her arms above her head in that impromptu dance she’d just done. When she’d finally turned to clamber into her car, her wet dress had clung to a slim waist above the saucy swell of her bottom. The corners of Nick’s mouth quirked up as he entertained the thought of taking a bite of that luscious Georgia peach.

  Heat infused his loins at the thought of making love to her. He clamped his jaw to dispel the image of her pale, slender legs entwined around his hips, welcoming his thrusts with reckless abandon. Ronnie’s insatiable thirst for adventure was sure to make her wild in bed.

  Nick expelled a deep-throated groan and stepped back from the window when she drove away, determined to put temptation firmly out of sight, out of mind.

  Veronique checked her provisions before slamming the back door of her rental car and climbing in again. She never went back to town as Nick had ordered. Instead, she drove to a secluded area near the beach and watched the ocean’s waves build as the rain fell. The car windows were opened a crack so water wouldn’t come in and she could breathe. Through the narrow opening between the top of the window and the car frame, she relished the smell of salty sea air. Pinpricks of excitement revved her up as she imagined the ocean’s magnificence during a hurricane. It would be a sight to behold.

  Good thing she’d brought all the necessary hurricane supplies from Miami. She planned to stay at least a few days, hopefully with Nick. When an hour passed, she decided it was time for round two with Mr. Private.

  She started the ignition, shifted gears and headed toward the dirt road that led to Nick’s place. Holding her cell phone in one hand, she dialed her boss.

  “Hey, Tom, just checking in before the storm.”

  “Where are you?” Tom asked. “There’s an order for mandatory evacuation from Fort Myers up to Tampa.”

  “Is Abby a hurricane yet?”

  “Yeah, a category one. It’s gaining speed in the Gulf.”

  “I interviewed some members of a natural disaster survival group called the ‘preppers’ in Fort Myers. Some interesting characters there,” she said, chuckling. “Should make for a good human interest story.”

  “Don’t venture out till it’s safe. Helene would not appreciate you risking your life again so soon. She’d be beside herself with worry!”

  Veronique stiffened at the mention of her mother. Crusty Tom Leggett was not only her boss, but also a family friend who felt comfortable lecturing her.

  “Leave Maman out of this, you grizzly ole bear.”

  “Dammit, Ronnie, if I hear—”

  She waved the phone away from her ear while he blustered. When he finished, she said, “Calm down, I’ll be okay. I’ve lived through many hurricanes.”

  “Where will you sleep tonight?”

  “I’m camping out at a childhood friend’s house. I plan on enjoying the fireworks tonight.”

  “Fireworks?” he asked dubiously.

  “Yeah, thunder, lightning, raging winds. All that exciting stuff,” she said, not letting on that the real fireworks would be coming from Nick.

  “A hurricane is no laughing matter. Be careful,” Tom said, sounding more like a father than a boss.

  “When have I ever been anything but careful?”

  He groaned. “Don’t get me started. Your last stunt—”

  “Never mind. Gotta go. I’ll call you after the storm to check in.”

  “Hold on. You still haven’t told me where you are,” he shouted, sounding exasperated.

  “Can’t hear you,” she shouted back. “We have a bad connection. Bye, Tom.”

  She quickly shut off her cell phone. No sense in wasting a fully charged battery until the phone lines went down, which was bound to happen when Abby hit. Veronique didn’t want Tom to know that she’d rooted elusive billionaire Nick Cameron out of his hidey-hole. She’d tell Tom when she was able to deliver a stellar interview with Nick.

  No one knew of the convoluted evidence she had uncovered about Nick’s ex-wife’s dealings that would create a domino effect of destruction if it came to light. She couldn’t divulge that to him—or Tom—until her investigation was complete. She planned on telling Nick before Tom, so he could do damage control first.

  Hurricane Abby was the first hurricane of the season. Before leaving New York, she’d told Tom that she planned to interview the die-hard locals who never left the west coast, even when threatened by a huge hurricane. Turquoise Bay was rarely hit by hurricanes. The last one to come through was in 2004, when Hurricane Charley rolled ashore. The causeway, which connected the island to the mainland just north of Fort Myers, had sustained minor damage and had been subsequently reinforced. It took three years to complete and had cost a bundle. She felt confident the new causeway would withstand the incoming storm.

  The rain beat harder against her windshield as the car jostled along the narrow road. She’d already changed in the car from her sundress into jeans and a tank top. She’d only worn the sundress so Nick would appreciate her as a woman. But had he even noticed? She had hoped for a glimmer of male appreciation in his keen eyes, but for some lame reason, he still didn’t see her as a woman, only as the mischievous tomboy at summer camp.

  Veronique heard a loud pop and had to use every driving skill she possessed to control the car as it careened to the left side of the road, almost crashing against a palm tree. When it came to a skidding stop, the vehicle sank to one side, hobbled by a flat tire. She got out and kicked the offending tire. Damn. She’d helped her cousin Jeremy change a tire once before, but not in the pouring rain. She felt like screaming with frustration, but didn’t indulge in the weakness.

  “Don’t be a ninny. It’s no biggie,” she told herself as she heaved a fortifying breath. She buttoned up her bright yellow rain slicker and got out. Pelting rain and strong winds instantly buffeted her unprotected head as she opened the trunk. The door nearly hit her head as it bobbed up and down in the wind while she pulled out the spare tire along with the necessary tools.

  She racked her memory for everything Cousin Jeremy had taught her about changing a tire. She got out the jack and shoved it under the car, pumping hard to raise it from the ground high enough to remove the flat. With two hands gripping the wrench, she grunted and groaned and put every ounce of strength into unscrewing the bolts that held the lug-nuts in place. She ignored the stream of rainwater that poured inside the neckline of her slicker and slid down her spine into the back of her jeans as she squatted beside the tire. When the last bolt finally came free, Veronique rocked back with the force of her efforts and landed with a wet splat in the mud, on the soggy seat of her jeans.

  She let out an exasperated snort and shoved her sopping hair out of her eyes, tucking her stray curls behind her ears. Normally, she didn’t mind getting wet, but this was ridiculous. Summoning her last reserve of energy, she put the spare on, then forced herself up and put away the flat tire and tools. Her muscles twanged with the effort of keeping balance as the wind and rain swirled around her. She covered the car seat as best she could with the damp towel. It was disheartening to see that her foot quivered when she hit the accelerator. Ignoring it, she clutched the steering wheel and focused on the r
oad ahead.

  A bit worse for wear, but triumphant, she was on her way. Dusk was settling in as Veronique pulled up to Nick’s. She noticed that the windows had since been shuttered. Well, at least the tyrant wasn’t taking the hurricane lightly. She honked the horn and waited a few minutes. When Nick didn’t appear, she blared it until she saw the front door swing open.

  That got his attention. Wild-eyed with aggravation, he looked like a wicked pirate ready to pounce on her with a vengeance. “What are you doing here?” he roared.

  “I brought you stuff,” Veronique called out.

  When Nick didn’t budge from the front door, she lied, “I need help. My foot is hurt.” It wasn’t really a lie. Her right foot had been trembling earlier and she felt gravel grinding into the heel of her foot.

  “I have plenty of hurricane supplies,” she yelled when he didn’t move. “You’re going to need this stuff tonight.”

  The blistering look on Nick’s face was priceless before he slammed the front door.

  Stunned, Veronique closed her eyes and prayed he would come to his senses and be civil. She got out of the car, adopted an exaggerated limp and hobbled up the path to his front door.

  Just before she reached the veranda, Nick darted outside and came toward her in a yellow fisherman’s slicker. He snatched the car keys out of her hand and looped one brawny arm around her midsection, hefting her against his hard side. He carted her up the steps in that inglorious way, her feet dangling above the floor.

  Within moments, he flung the door open and carefully deposited her in the small foyer. Nick’s longish hair grazed his corded neck above the plastic slicker. He smelled good, an appealing mixture of rain and male. Veronique suddenly felt lightheaded. She couldn’t blame it on not having eaten lunch today—Nick’s heady proximity made desire zip through her like lightning.

  He briskly helped her out of her wet slicker and handed her a beach towel. “Dry off. You’re dripping on the floor.”

  Veronique gratefully wrapped herself in the towel and used one corner to absorb the water dripping from her hair so it wouldn’t leak on the wooden floor. Mortified, she realized she was shaking. It had to be the lack of food all day.

  Nick’s large hand curled around her nape as he peered into her eyes. “Hey, you okay?”

  Veronique nodded and swallowed hard, determined not to let his tender touch open the floodgates of emotion precariously held in check. All the brashness was knocked out of her at the remembrance of a much younger Nick bandaging her scraped knees after a horse had thrown her, or putting an ice pack on her aching head after a run-in with a soccer ball. Even when she’d driven him crazy, he’d treated her with consideration, just like he’d treated the other kids away from home for the summer.

  The most vivid recollection made her eyes well up unexpectedly. She was transported back fifteen years to mid-July at a ranch house in North Carolina where she had huddled in the bushes around midnight, terrified at the police circling the grounds, searching for her.

  Nick had been the first to spot her and coax her out. But instead of scolding her because it was the second time she’d tried to run away that summer, he’d patted her back and soothed her while she’d cried her heart out. She had loved being with her friends at camp, but she’d also been desperate to go home, fearing that her dad would self-destruct and die while she was away. Tragically, her fears had been realized when Daddy died that very summer.

  Exhausted, hungry, and drenched to the bone, Veronique felt physically and emotionally spent. Nick’s gaze met hers with a mixture of exasperation and concern. She wanted to thank him, but she couldn’t risk her voice sounding as quivery as she felt—vulnerable and too exposed before his eyes.

  “Where are you going?” she asked when he turned and pushed open the front door against a strong gust of wind.

  “To unload your stuff before the storm gets worse,” he said.

  “I’ll help.”

  “No, you’re hurt. How bad is it?” he asked, eyeing her foot.

  She looked at her foot and twirled it cautiously. “Actually…it feels better now. Must have been gravel in my shoe.”

  He gave her a baleful look. “Stay here.”

  “I’d rather help.” She felt silly being caught in the lie and didn’t like the censure in his scalding eyes.

  “No.” The rigid set of his jaw convinced her to stay inside while he carried in box after sopping cardboard box of supplies.

  In the kitchen, she peeked inside the Sub Zero refrigerator. Surprisingly, it was well stocked with fresh fruit, milk, bread, cheese and cold cuts. The freezer had several neatly stacked frozen meals and a pint of dulce de leche ice cream. The state-of-the art kitchen had a stainless steel Jenn-Air six burner gas cooktop and a microwave/convection double oven. The frozen meals had probably been made by a housekeeper, unless he’d taken up cooking. Nick had to have a housekeeper; the place was too tidy and sparkling clean for bachelor’s digs unless he was a neat freak and the Nick she remembered wasn’t.

  Nick returned with the final box and when everything was laid out on the black granite island counter, he turned to her with an incredulous look.

  “Who taught you how to prepare for a hurricane?” He gestured toward the batteries, Sterno cans, flashlights, small portable radio, LED lantern, bottled water, canned and dried goods.

  “I wasn’t a girl scout and summer camp regular for nothing,” she retorted with a grin. She pulled a bottle of wine out of her shoulder bag. “Look what I brought for the hurricane party.”

  “You are a hurricane,” he stated bluntly. “You look like hell, yet you’re grinning with that feisty look in your eyes. I don’t know what you’re up to, but I aim to find out real soon.”

  She shrugged. “When Abby hits, you’ll be thankful that I saved your hide for the next few days.”

  “It’ll be your hide that needs saving if you don’t clear out of here by morning, if it doesn’t,” he said grimly.

  Veronique ignored his rude threat. “Do you realize that within hours we might not have any power? The roads will be blocked by debris and fallen power lines. We might be—”

  “We?” he cut in. “I don’t like the sound of that, Veronique. There’s nothing I’d like more than to toss you out of here, but you can stay until the storm passes.”

  She wondered why he was calling her Veronique now. No doubt to get some distance from the past.

  “Thanks for letting me stay.” He was reluctantly allowing her to stay. Score one for me, she thought, ineffectually hiding her joy. “Since you’re in such a generous mood, I’d like to request a hot shower. If you don’t mind, kind sir.”

  “I do mind. Not that it seems to bother you.”

  “You used to have a beautiful smile. Why don’t you smile more often?”

  He responded with a snort and abruptly left her in the kitchen. He returned carrying two folded towels and one of his T-shirts.

  “Thanks. Which way to the bathroom?” she asked.

  “Down the hall to your right.”

  She lingered beside him, not wanting to go yet.

  “Have you eaten dinner?” he asked.

  “Nope.”

  “No wonder you looked lightheaded when I set you down.”

  “I didn’t have time to eat.”

  “Canned soup and a sandwich will have to do.”

  She smiled. “Fine with me. I’m not picky.”

  The air between them was clogged with tension as neither spoke. Veronique was the first to break the silence. “I’m looking forward to a nice, hot shower. I had to change a flat tire on my way back here.” She wriggled and gave him an impish grin. “It feels like I have mud and leaves in places a lady shouldn’t mention.”

  “Since when were you ladylike?” The corners of his mouth quirked up sardonically. “You wouldn’t be complaining about mud if you’d evacuated like any other sane person.”

  “Is that an admission of insanity?” When he didn’t respond, she chided, “
Don’t be ungrateful. I brought the goods, remember?”

  “I didn’t ask for them, remember?” He took her elbow, causing gooseflesh to rise where his callused fingertips touched her skin. He led her down the hall, stopping in front of the bathroom adjacent to the master bedroom. “Here you go. You’ll find what you need in there. My housekeeper keeps it well-stocked.”

  He turned and started walking away.

  “You’re leaving? I might need my back scrubbed,” she said with a coy smile.

  “Get going.” He opened the door for her and lightly swatted her bottom as she stepped forward.

  “Hey, watch it,” she said, her hand flying to her bottom.

  His mouth twitched. “There’s more where that came from,” he said dryly.

  She rolled her eyes. “Not bloody likely. I know some Tae Kwon Do.”

  His derisive snort told her what he thought of that as he ambled away.

  Veronique entered the black and white marble bathroom and groaned when she saw herself in the wall-to-wall mirror. What a bedraggled mess! No wonder Nick hadn’t been tempted to scrub her back…or anything else.

  He hadn’t been kidding earlier when he’d said she looked like hell. That had been a kind understatement. Black streaks of mascara crisscrossed her pale cheeks. Her freckles stood out in comic relief, the last of her concealing powder and glossy apricot lipstick long gone. Her bangs, usually side swept, were plastered to her forehead and her wet hair was encrusted with leaves and mud thanks to changing the tire in the storm.

  She turned away from the mirror and ran her palm across the sleek, white marble counter, marveling at how much Nick’s circumstances had changed over the past years. Through hard work and brilliant strategy, he had single-handedly risen from a disadvantaged childhood to a life of wealth and privilege. Despite his fall from grace last year, Nick still indulged his finer tastes. She rummaged through the black mahogany cabinets and delighted in finding the highest quality soaps and shampoo.