Page 4 of Wicked Rush

“We meet again, Dr. Rollins.” The sound of his smooth voice sent shivers over her skin.

Lars Elliott.CEO of DLar-Tech. Extreme sports enthusiast. Never without a date, but not committed to any one woman, the charismatic leader was well known for his altruistic contributions to environmental programs that supported sustainability of aquatic communities.

As her eyes met his, she struggled to remain calm. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She hadn’t seen him since the hospital. Dressed in his black tuxedo, he was far more handsome than she remembered. His striking blue eyes penetrated her. Tanned, his skin glowed in the light of the gas heaters that warmed the night air. Resisting the urge to reach for him, she dug her fingernails into the wooden railing.

“Cat got your tongue? No ‘hello’ for the man who saved you? No ‘thank you’?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Lars Elliott.” Lars raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

“Mr. Elliott,” she began. “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”

“Lars. It’s what you called me that day on the beach. You do recall it?” he asked. A small smile formed on his lips, yet his dark eyes warned he was serious.

Braelynn forced her gaze toward the shore, afraid that he’d read her expression. She’d come too far to let her crush on the adventurer keep her from attaining her goal. She glanced over her shoulder, hoping neither her uncle nor Shane could see her speaking to him. His voice snapped her attention back to the conversation.

“You know, this type of behavior could be construed as rude.” He gave a small laugh and reached for a glass of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray.

“I didn’t mean…” Braelynn’s gut twisted at his words.

“But you see,” his voice never wavered as he paused to take a sip of his drink, “I’ve learned that people aren’t always who they appear to be.”

“I’m sorry but I’m not sure what you mean. I’m exactly who I am.” Braelynn nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“And who is that, Doctor?” He cocked his head and smiled. “Are you the marine biologist who worked in the Caribbean? The one, who as a grad assistant, did a stint in South Africa researching sharks off Cape Town? Or the researcher who now works at a biotech company?”

“Seal Island. I was only there for a month,” Braelynn corrected him. It had been the most amazing four weeks of her life, documenting great white behavior. “My current occupation is far safer.”

“Interesting you should say that, because as I recall you were shot on a beach recently. Seems much more dangerous. How’s the shoulder?” Lars edged next to Braelynn, his attention moving to the waves crashing loudly onto the rocks.

A quiver ran through her as his jacket brushed her dress. She took a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of his masculine aftershave. Jesus, she thought she’d learned to command her emotions.

“My shoulder…my shoulder,” she stammered, slowly lifting her lids. There were days the residual pain haunted her, but the doctors assured her it would fade with time. “It’s fine.”

“You look gorgeous tonight.”

“Mr. Elliott, I…” The compliment took her off guard. How could he possibly be interested in her after the way she’d treated him, ignored him?

“Lars.” He set his glass down on the railing and swiveled to face her.

“Lars?” Braelynn repeated. Her cheeks heated, causing her to briefly avert her gaze. Summoning courage, she turned back and locked her eyes on his. “I’m sorry I didn’t thank you in the hospital. You have to understand. Sometimes we do things…things that don’t make sense. I needed my privacy. I couldn’t meet with strangers.” She exhaled, knowing the lie was laced with the truth.

“I found you on the beach, stayed with you.” His voice softened. “I waited during your surgery. Then you had the infection. When you woke up…”

“Thank you.” She gave him a small smile, wishing she could tell him how much she appreciated all he’d done for her. If he hadn’t been there that day, the killer may have finished the job.

“We need to talk, doctor.”

“I think we’ve said all we should say.” The band resumed playing and she looked to the stage. Fly Me to the Moon echoed in the night.

“Dance with me.” Lars extended his hand. While his gesture implied asking for consent, the tone of his voice told her it wasn’t a request.

“I can’t. This is a company function. What if they…” They see us? They suspect I know you? It was a stupid risk, she knew, yet she lost the words to refuse.

“Sinatra,” he commented, pulling her closer. He took her glass and set it aside.

“Um, yes.” Braelynn gave in to her secret craving, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor.