2. NICK

She snaps awake to the explosion of a pine knot in the fire, gasping and pitching forward under the coverlet of the antique four-poster bed. Her terror at the sound confirms my suspicion that the holes in the catamaran’s hull came from gunfire.

“It’s all right,” I say softly from my chair next to the fire. “You’re safe. No one can hurt you here.”

Her gaze darts around the room as she takes in her new surroundings: a large, high-ceilinged bed chamber covered in polished mahogany paneling, with rich Oriental rugs and a small antique shop’s worth of period furniture. It’s one of fifteen such bedrooms in my house on the hill, none of which has been occupied by a human since I bought it more than a decade ago.

Slowly, the storm behind her azure eyes seems to dissipate as she realizes she’s not in danger. Her heaving chest begins to slow under the cable-knit sweater I swaddled her in, as her breathing returns to a more normal pace – or as normal as it can be, given the circumstances. Her hair has finally dried into a series of golden tangles, and her pale skin is regaining some color now from the heat of the bed and the fire.

Finally, after several long moments, she lies back in the bed and pulls the covers up to her chin.

“Where am I?” she asks in a papery voice.

Interesting that her first concern is where she is, not who I am. More evidence that whoever put the holes in the catamaran is more fearsome to her than the grim, bearded man sitting next to the fireplace in this strange room with her.

“You’re in my home,” I say. “Up the road from East Hampton.”

She stares at me in silence for what seems like a full minute, running her tapered fingers through the thatch of her hair. It makes her seem younger somehow, and I wonder again just how old she is.

“You,” she says. “You saved me. On the boat.”

I nod.

She leans forward in the bed, and I can see naked gratitude in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she says earnestly.

I nod again. She’s not offering details on how she ended up on the boat or who put the holes in it, and I’m not going to push. I learned long ago that asking for details rarely makes a situation better.

“My name is Nick,” I say. I raise my eyebrows, inviting a response.

She bites her lip and looks away. All right, then.

“How about I call you Storm?” I offer.

She smiles and nods, obviously relieved. Oddly, I find myself smiling back. I can’t remember the last time I did that; it feels strange on my face.

“Storm it is, then. Is there anyone you need to call?”

A shadow crosses her face; it’s all the answer I need.

“Right,” I nod. “A single woman.”

“I’m sorry,” she blurts. “I don’t really – I mean, I just…”

I raise a hand to quiet her. “You don’t need to explain anything to me,” I say. “You’re welcome to stay here until you feel better. I haven’t had a companion in a while. Well, other than Samson and Delilah, of course.”

She blinks. “Samson and Delilah?”

I wave my hand towards the side of her bed. She leans over to see the dogs lying on the floor, muzzles on paws, looking up at her. As she makes eye contact, their tails begin to wag in unison.

“Oh!” she gasps. “They’re beautiful!”

They’re also the best judges of character I’ve ever known, and they haven’t left Storm’s side since I brought her onto my boat. That alone is enough reason for me to keep her here and not ask questions. And, of course, the fact that I’d appreciate the same if I was in her position.

Storm turns to me with a childlike grin. “Can I pet them?”

The dogs stand and raise their muzzles to her outstretched hand. Samson, the larger of the two, slides his leathery tongue along Storm’s palm, prompting a giggle of delight.

“They like you,” I say. “Usually they just ignore strangers. Unless they’re doing something they’re not supposed to, of course.”

She frowns. “What happens then?”

I shrug. “They’re highly trained guard dogs. You do the math.”

Her eyes widen and she looks down at them as she absently scratches behind Delilah’s ear. Delilah’s eyes are closed in silent appreciation.

“They’re so sweet,” says Storm. “I can’t believe they’d hurt anyone.”

I surprise myself by chuckling. It’s been ages since I’ve laughed.

“They’re predators,” I say. “It’s in their nature. But they can be tamed so that they keep their deadly instincts in check until they’re needed.”

Her blue eyes meet mine and suddenly my belly is full of butterflies.

“Did you train them yourself?” she asks.

I nod. “My father taught me.”

He taught me a lot of things, I don’t add.

Storm looks around the bedroom, taking it in this time instead of just trying to get her bearings. Judging by the look on her face, she’s impressed – perhaps even intimidated. Outside the window, the rear gardens glow red in the furious sunset that was left behind by the abating storm.

“Is this all yours?” she asks. “The whole house?”

“Yes,” I say, then nod towards the dogs. “Well, mine and theirs.”

She looks at them and giggles. “That’s a lot of house for three, don’t you think?”

“I suppose. But it’s far away from other people, and hard to get to, which is how I like it.”

Storm’s brows knit and I know I’ve said something wrong.

“I’m sorry,” she says, reaching for the coverlet. “I should go. You’ve done so much for me already –”

“No,” I say quickly, fighting a surge of adrenaline in my belly. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re welcome here. In fact, I insist you stay until you feel better.”

She bites her lip. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a burden on you.”

I weigh whether to keep dancing around the subject or to pull it into the light. As is my nature, I choose the latter.

“Someone has already tried to kill you once,” I say.

Her eyes widen. “How did you…?”

“I saw the holes in the hull of the boat. Look, I don’t particularly care what led to you being out in that storm; your past is your business. But there’s an old saying about being responsible for a life you save, and I can guarantee that you’ll be safe here.”

Storm sits silently for a few moments, chewing that over.

“You don’t know the people who are – who led to me being on that boat,” she says. “I don’t want to put you in danger.”

I chuckle again. “I’m in no danger, Storm. Trust me.”

She looks down at the dogs, then back up at me.

“I believe you,” she says quietly. “I don’t know why, but I do.”

Why does that make my belly flutter?

“Good,” I say with a full-on smile. God, how long has it been since anyone saw one of those on my face?

“What happened to the boat I was on?” she asks.

“It should still be anchored where I left it. I was planning to retrieve it after you woke up.”

“You can sink it for all I care,” she says with a scowl.

“All right.” I nod.

Storm blinks at me. “I didn’t really – I mean, you’d actually sink it?”

“Sure. Easier than bringing it in.”

“But – but what about… you know, the owner?”

“I’m guessing the owner was the one who shot at you, so I don’t really care about their opinion.”

She mulls that over, then nods. “Okay,” she says. “Yes. Please sink it.”

“You’ll be all right without me?” I ask as I stand to leave.

She smiles and strokes Samson’s head.

“I’d say I’m pretty safe, wouldn’t you?”

I surprise myself by smiling again. Twice in one day is a record for me, at least for the last decade or so.

“The bathroom is through that door,” I say, pointing in the direction of the room’s en suite. “The kitchen is on the main floor in the east wing.”

“East wing?” she says, eyebrows raised. “How big is this place?”

“Big enough to get lost in. Don’t worry; the dogs will follow you anywhere you go. I’ll be back soon.”

As I turn to leave she says: “Nick?”

“Yes?”

“Be careful. Okay?”

“I always am.”

She nods. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“Once I’m back, we can talk about things a bit more. Or not. Up to you.”

“I think – I think I’d like to talk more.”

“So would I.”

Did that just come out of my mouth? I’ve been alone in this house for more than a dozen years with no one but the dogs to talk to. And that’s the way I like it. Then this woman shows up out of nowhere and suddenly I’m a chatterbox?

I shake my head as I stalk out of the room, wondering what the hell I’m getting myself into.