The Storm Read online

  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

  Stay in touch!

  Stay in touch!

  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.