Storm Surge

Published by: eXtasy Books

Author : Evelyn Starr

ISBN :978-1-55487-567-2

Page :261

Word Count :65250

Publication Date :2010-08-24

Series : #

Heat Level :

Available Formats : Storm Surge (pdf) , Storm Surge (prc) , Storm Surge (epub) , Storm Surge (mobi)

Category : Contemporary Romance , Erotic Romance , Romance

Product Code: 978-1-55487-567-2

Qty

$2.50

0 reviews
Write a review

Swept in by the storm. Never have such simple words had such complex import. Never have they carried such incredible danger.

The island was her place. Her very special one, where she can hide in times of trouble and withstand all the storms the world can hurl her way. So is it any wonder that she's completely unprepared when this storm, the worst she's ever seen, produces a kind of trouble, a kind of danger that will change her and her island forever?

Beyond rain-streaked glass, lightning flashed. Blue-white, orange-white, lightning forked wildly across every quadrant of visible sky, accompanied by a long series of deep and bone-jarring rumbles of thunder breaking almost directly overhead.

The storm was coming in quicker than expected. Slashing lickety-split across Narragansett Bay from the south and the east, it was perfectly poised to strike a direct hit on Spinnaker Island. And the cottage where Ottawa McKee had holed up with only her cat, Lucile, for company.

The storm had already blackened every bit of sky beyond her tower room’s wide windows. And it had grown heavier. Chasing away every trace of what should be a glorious, golden, late September evening. Turning it preternaturally dark, then night-black as the first angry slashes of rain struck sideways across the front of the cottage.

Down on the lawn, trees and Ottawa’s prized hydrangea shrubs tossed and thrashed beneath the onslaught. And farther out, where lawn joined the rocky strip that passed for a beach at this part of the island, the sheltering screen of bulrushes danced a wild and pagan dance of glee, joy, and welcome to forces elemental, forces primal, forces unpredictable.

“It’s going to be a big one this time, Lucile.”

Was that a touch of regret Ottawa heard in her own voice? A touch…however slight…of wishing she’d listened to her neighbor Darrell when he’d done everything but get down on his knees and beg her to leave with all the rest? Go across to Bristol before the storm rolled in and it was too late? Of wishing like anything that she was there with them right now, waiting it out in the relative security of some motel, guest house, or bed and breakfast?

Lucile didn’t inquire if Ottawa really believed that. Lifting her head from sleep on the deep wicker settee, Lucile wasn’t especially interested. Mewing once, desultorily, she flicked a silken-black ear in Ottawa’s direction. And that was her only response.

“It’s just you and me, you know.”

This time Lucile didn’t deign to answer with even a flick of an ear. She’d spent a good part of her kitten-hood cowering beneath the porch or one or another of the hydrangea bushes, quivering with fear as hordes of kids, dogs, and other assorted terrors had continually beset the place, and her.

That was how it had been when Ottawa’s mother had been alive. When the family had still been speaking to each other and the cottage had been a favorite place for the multitudes to converge. Sometimes for weeks…a month, the whole summer…at a time.

Now that all of that was in the past and unlikely to resume, it was clear Lucile believed nothing could disturb her. Nothing could ruffle her silken-smooth black and white coat.

“Some company you’re going to be, fur-ball.”

Again, no answer.

Sighing, Ottawa picked up her glass of wine from the windowsill…New York white, tart and tangy with the taste of fat green grapes, one of her favorites…and turned back to the windows.

Back to the storm.

There was something about this one.

Something held its breath. Something waited for more than the storm surge rolling in to drown the crescent of crushed clamshells that passed for a beach and hammer against the tumble of boulders that lined its sides…something that waited with a hint of calculated treachery in its attitude. Something ominous, that carried in its wind-swirling depths an aroused, strange thrill of excitement that tingled swiftly, silently, across every inch of Ottawa’s skin.

What raged beyond the glass might be the first harbinger of the next big one, the next hurricane, like the Storm of ‘38 or Carol in 1954. The next that would bounce willy-nilly across Narragansett and all of Rhode Island, swollen with rain, bruise-dark with bad intent and alive with wind-whipped water all set and eager to rip to shreds everything that happened into its path.

“I don’t know, Lucile.” Ottawa glanced back at the sleeping pile of fur. “Maybe Darrell was right. Maybe we should have…”

This time thunder didn’t roll across the sky.

This time the thunder split the sky wide open.

Accompanied by lightning that flashed thermonuclear…bright enough to sear the eyes and light every leaf on every tree below, every stalk of beach grass, every rock, rill and motionless form on the rapidly vanishing beach with the light of hell being thrown open.

Instantly, Lucile was on her feet. Apparently, deciding there were a few things that could ruffle and harm her after all, she flew to Ottawa’s side LOL – that’s what she did – flew. I had a cat who could do that once with eyes wide and tail bristled. She perched on the windowsill close by Ottawa’s side and peered, finally as unsettled as Ottawa, into the storm.

When lightning flashed again, Lucile yowled. The way Lucile had never yowled. Not even in the bad old days when she’d been a natural target for every kid who’d wanted to hold her when she didn’t want to be held and every dog who’d wanted to make a quick meal of her when she didn’t want to be a meal. Standing straight up on her hind paws, she clawed at the glass almost frantically. Clawed and yowled, clawed and yowled as lightning flashed and peal after peal of thunder shook the sturdy, snug cottage right down to its beach-rock foundations.