And then he shut the door in her face.
The wood nearly clipped her nose. She stood there for a stunned second, mouth hanging open, before indignation surged through her like wildfire.
She marched forward and banged on the door. "I may not be a scientist, but I am an adaptable human beingwho can survive a little inconvenience. So whether you like it or not, we're roommates for the foreseeable future. Now open this door!"
His firm "No" sounded from the other side.
She grabbed the door handle and shook it hard. "How can you have so much compassion for a bunch of fish but none for a fellow human being having the worst day of her life?"
"Fish don't exaggerate. You'll be fine."
"Yeah? What about food, genius? Am I supposed to fashion a spear out of driftwood and go fishing for my supper? I could starve out here!"
"Humans can go a surprisingly long time without food. It's water you need to worry about, but it's bound to rain at some point."
You've got to be kidding me.
"You're a jerk," she called out, taking a seat on the edge of the wooden bench that looked as comfortable as a bed of nails. "We'll see how long that no-help policy lasts, Dr. Carmichael."
Silence from the other side. She imagined him already back at some microscope, having dismissed her entirely.
Then, just when she thought the day couldn't get worse, a rapidly darkening sky swallowed up the sunshine and a large crackle of thunder made her jump.
Just great. Now a freaking monsoon?
She pulled a large banana leaf free and huddled beneath it for some kind of protection from the sudden tropical storm, but within minutes she sat there a sodden mess.
The rain came down in sheets, warm but relentless, plastering her carefully styled hair to her skull and turning her designer beach cover-up into a second skin. Mascara ran down her cheeks in tragic black rivulets. She gasped, trying to keep her luggage protected so her laptop didn’t end up in a soggy puddle amongst wet clothing.
I should be knee-deep in adult beverages right now, but no—instead I'm living my worst nightmare, trapped on a beach from hell with Dr. Crankypants as the sole inhabitant.
Was this karma for not donating to the Monterey Bay Aquarium fundraiser last fall?
A particularly fat rivulet of rainwater rolled off the banana leaf and splasheddirectly on her face.
Ugh.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, succeeding only in smearing more mascara across her cheekbones. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled like the universe was laughing at her.
Okay, no pity parties allowed. You got this. Every man has his weakness. You just need to find his.
She was Lily St. John. Adapting was part of the adventure—even if it meant dealing with the world's meanest marine biologist on an island that time—and apparently GPS—forgot.
If she could survive twenty-four years with John St. John as her father—a man who'd once told her that "participation trophies are why your generation lacks character" while she held her high school valedictorian award—she could survive anything.
Including Dr. Crankypants.
Chapter Two
The rain hammered against the roof of the small cabin, a relentless percussion that underscored Alex's irritation. Normally, the rain soothed him, but now that he had an unscheduled guest, all he could think about was how she was upsetting his plans.
Despite instructing himself otherwise, he glanced out the window to observe the woman. She huddled under a banana leaf, looking like a drowned mouse. Her wildly bouncy brown curls plastered to her skull from the rain, causing her green eyes to appear disproportionately large for her face.
And she was shivering.
The rational part of his brain—the part that had earned him a PhD and navigated the cutthroat world of academic funding—pointed out that hypothermia was areal risk in tropical storms. The water might be warm, but wind chill combined with wet clothing could drop core body temperature faster than most people realized.
The petty part of his brain suggested she'd brought this on herself.
