The Trouble With Paradise Read online

  “Stick with Andy.”

  She shook her head. “What?”

  “You heard me. And you know why.”

  “Actually, I don’t.”

  Turning away, he took a few more things from the shelves, and dropped them into a backpack for himself. “You need to make sure they’re drinking plenty of liquids—”

  The boat pitched again and she put out her hand to brace herself against the wall.

  He simply spread his legs and remained steady. “They’ll need you to remind them to keep drinking. If anyone turns nonresponsive, come find me.”

  She studied his broad shoulders, and the invisible weight there. He either didn’t want her, or didn’t want to want her. She voted for option number two. “You must get tired of this.”

  “Being a doctor?”

  “Babysitting passengers. Storms. Not having your own space.”

  He looked at her for a long moment. “Most people assume my job is the best job on the planet. Sailing for a living. Taking care of the occasional seasickness. Or splinter.”

  She ignored that because he was most definitely not taking care of her splinter. “I would think that this job might be a bit . . . claustrophobic for you.”

  He turned away, but not before she saw the truth in his gaze.

  Why did he do it? Why did he stay? “Did you mean it when you said I should be with Andy?”

  “I mean everything I say. Always.”

  TEN

  Christian made it up to the deck, then leaned against the hull, eyes closed, body tight. His body had been tight ever since he’d first laid eyes on Dorie, but he could get over that.

  What he couldn’t get over was the way she’d gotten inside him. Just looking at her, with those wide, expressive eyes, all that untamable hair, that sweet expression, which said she might be a little naive but was willing to try anything . . .

  He wasn’t used to such conflicting emotions. There hadn’t been many in his life he’d let get to him. His mother, yes. She’d been the center of his universe, but he’d lost her so young he could scarcely even remember being held by her. After that he’d been sent from his native France to live with his father, who’d been a traveling medic, a man not much for warmth and affection. Later there’d been women, even a few Christian had found himself attached to, but no one who’d made him want things.

  Until now. He wasn’t sure what it was about Dorie, or what he wanted exactly. She had a way of opening him up and laying him bare, even while being so damned annoying he wanted to wrap his fingers around her neck and squeeze.

  No, that was a big, fat lie. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, and his body.

  And his tongue.

  Even more unsettling, he wanted more, more than he’d wanted in a long time. She’d made him feel this way with a single glance of those soulful eyes, the ones that always gave her away; gave away her insecurity, her vulnerability, her sweet, loving nature.

  Her attraction to him.

  An attraction he’d all but told her to give to Andy instead. Definitely that was for the best. The two of them would enjoy their vacation, and then go on their merry way.

  And Christian would still have one long year left in his own personal hell . . .

  He could hear someone swearing—Denny. The winds and rain had lessened slightly. One thing in their favor. Now if they could survive the seas, limp into the next port, and get the passengers safe on land . . .

  “Goddamn piece of shit scuppers, fuck me if they won’t goddamn work.” More from Denny, who was slapping at his instruments—those that were left. “Hell, fuck, shit—”

  “You kiss your maman with that mouth?”

  Denny didn’t laugh, or make some smart-ass comment in return, which had Christian taking another good long look at him. They’d worked together a long time now, and though there was an ease, a familiarity, there was not a kinship. They were too different for that, but it didn’t take close kinship to see Denny was overly pale, and not pissed off as Christian had first thought, but something far worse.

  Scared.

  “Shitty day, mate,” Denny said without looking at him. “I’m running warps and using the drogue. But the waves are traveling faster than the boat, breaking over our stern. Pushing us sideways. We’re going to broach.”

  “Let’s loop lines on the port primary winch—”

  “You think I haven’t tried that?” Denny shoved his wet hair out of his face. “We’re out of gear. We have to switch to passive techniques, no other choice.”

  Passive techniques meant giving up and hoping for the best. Christian had never been good at passive. Never. Spending his younger years traveling Africa, South America, wherever his father had been needed, they’d gone, all the while gathering life skills. Those years had been exhilarating, adventurous, and educational as well as exhausting, but had left him with a certain sense of invincibility.

  Yet he didn’t feel so invincible now.

  Another wave hit them hard. The deck became a grave-yard as things washed overboard.

  “See?” Denny yelled over the mountainous seas slamming into them like a battering ram. “Screwed.”

  “The storm’s weakening.” In fact, he could see the edge of it on the far horizon, just beyond the swirling gray massive clouds.

  Blue skies.

  “Hope it’s not too late.”

  It wasn’t like Denny to be such a defeatist, and Christian took another good look at him, noting the deep gash above his left eyebrow. “What happened?”

  “Bastard wave. I hit the helm. While I was down, the water carried away the front of the mainsheet and block, and tore things loose by the tiller. Almost tore me loose as well.”

  Christian moved directly in front of him and studied his eyes. He looked okay. “You need to take a few minutes off, give your brain a rest.”

  “Well, fuck me.”

  “I’ll pass. You need a few stitches.”

  “Later.”

  Christian set his backpack down between his feet, where he could make sure it didn’t slide away. He pulled out gauze as Dorie had done for him, and straightening, he dabbed at the cut. “Where’s Ethan and Bobby?”

  “Checking out another little problem.”

  “Which is?”

  Denny’s mouth tightened even more, his gaze remained straight outward, at the storm raging. “We’re taking on water. Can’t radio for help either, not with the radio trashed by the lightning strike. Our spare and all our spare supplies in the raft are gone as well.”

  “Well, you radioed yesterday, right? So someone knows we’re out here.”

  “Storm blew us off course. Way off course. Truth is, I have no clue where we are, and neither will anyone looking for us.”

  Christian’s stomach sank. Definitely not so invincible now. If they’d already been off course when the distress signal had gone out, there was no telling how long help would be. “I’ll take over for a bit, you need to rest.”

  It spoke of exactly how bad off they were that Denny let him. He took the helm, or what was left of it, and tried not to think about anything other than keeping them afloat.

  Dorie found Brandy sick as a dog. Cadence wasn’t in much better shape. Convinced they needed sustenance, she put on her life vest and attempted to make her way to the galley, thwarted by the heavy rocking of the boat. But she was far too determined to let a little wind and water stop her, and finally, bruised and battered, she made her way up the stairs.

  If Christian caught her, he’d probably be pissed off, but he was the one who’d put her in charge of the patients, so really he had no one to blame but himself.

  She didn’t see Christian. She didn’t see anyone as she fought her way to the deck, where for a moment she just stood, holding on to the railing for dear life, staring at the bow of the ship as it lifted and fell, making her feel as if she stood on a seesaw. Worse, she knew it was daytime but the skies were so dark and stormy, it could have been before dawn for all the light the d