Daniela clung to the front of Seans shirt, blinking the tears from her eyes.
Every time she looked at him, she was reminded of the way hed touched her last night. Her body ached in secret places, hungry for more, and her heart swelled inside her chest, burdened with an impossible longing.
She loved him so much.
And she knew it was too late. She couldnt ask him for a second try, or another chance. But maybe he would grant her someclosure.
Taking a deep breath, she snuggled closer to him, twining her arms around his neck. Beneath her fingertips, his muscles were tense. She could see the pulse point at the base of his throat, beating strong and fast.
They both wanted this.
Dear Reader,
A few years ago I came across a fascinating book by nonfiction author Susan Casey. The Devils Teeth chronicles her visits to the Farallon Islands, a National Wildlife Refuge best known for its great white sharks. Her chilling account of this extreme, isolated location sparked a story idea of my own. In the summer of 2008, when I traveled to San Francisco for the RWA National Conference, I made plans to see the islands with my agent. We braved damp weather, rough seas, and a crowded charter boat. It was an unforgettable experience!
Using the Farallones as my backdrop, I sat down to write Stranded With Her Ex, a story about facing fears and overcoming obstacles. Although this is an unusual setting for a romance, cold and inhospitable, it is here that my characters find love again. Hearts thaw and sleeping bags heat up. I hope you enjoy the journey.
Warmest regards,
Jill Sorenson
Stranded With Her Ex
Jill Sorenson
www.millsandboon.co.uk
JILL SORENSON writes sexy romantic suspense. Her books have appeared in Cosmopolitan magazine.
After earning a degree in literature and a bilingual teaching credential from California State University, she decided teaching wasnt her cup of tea. She started writing one day while her firstborn was taking a nap and hasnt stopped since. She lives in San Diego with her husband and two young daughters.
Also Available from Jill Sorenson:
Dangerous to Touch Tempted by His Target Risky Christmaswith Jennifer Morey
To my agent, Laurie McLean, for booking the charter boat to the Farallones, and for getting the Dramamine. You are my lifesaver.
To my editor, Stacy Boyd, for tweeting about how much you loved this story, and for your unwavering enthusiasm.
To my husband, my rock, who loves me for better or for worse.
To my daughters. I couldnt have written a story about loss without acknowledging what Ive gained. I love you both with all my heart.
To my mom, as always, for reading to me.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Daniela Flores tightened her grip on the cold, wet aluminum railing. Keeping her eyes on the horizon and her feet planted on the deck, she took a series of calming breaths.
She wasnt seasick. Shed been on smaller boats in rougher water than this more times than she could count. The San Francisco Bay wasnt known for smooth sailing, and many of the other passengers were feeling poorly, but Danielas discomfort had nothing to do with a rocking hull, unsteady surface or brisk salt spray.
Her ailment was more mental than physical. Since the accident, she disliked cramped quarters and confined spaces.
Across the crowded cabin, past whey-faced day-trippers and sturdy-legged sailors, the open sea beckoned, mocking her with its infinite expanse. Although a boat this size wasnt as restrictive as the crushed cab of a car, neither did it offer a convenient escape route. The water below was a chilly fifty degrees.
She much preferred the cool blue waves of San Diego, her hometown, where ocean temps hovered at an agreeable seventy degrees. Or southern Mexico, her birthplace, where the sea was as warm and sultry as a hot summer night.
Here, the cold water wasnt even the greatest deterrent for swimmers. Her destination, twenty-seven miles off the coast of San Francisco, was a seldom-visited place called the Farallon Islands, an infamous feeding ground for great white sharks.
The captains intercom crackled with distortion as he made an announcement. Devils Teeth, dead ahead.
The Farallones had earned this moniker a hundred years ago from the fishermen and egg collectors who dared eke out a living here. With no docking facilities, the rocky crags were inhospitable to the extreme, rising from the sea in a jumble of sharp, serrated edges. Although teeming with animal life, every nook and cranny filled with birds and seals and sea lions, the surface area was devoid of greenery.
During the spring, the islands were grassy and lush, dotted with small shrubs and speckled with wildflowers. Now, in late September, the salt-sprayed granite was noticeably bare, picked as clean as old bones.
Daniela watched the godforsaken place materialize before her with a mixture of dread and anticipation. On this cold, gray day, the islands were shrouded by fog, cloaked in mystery. If anything, the landscape was even less appealing than the pictures shed seen. And yet, she could make out the pale brown coat of a Steller sea lion, the subject of her current research project. He was reclining near the top of a cliff like a king lording over his realm.
Her heart began to race with excitement, thudding in her chest. The Farallones were a wildlife researchers dream come true. Surely she could set aside her phobia and enjoy her stay here. Six weeks of uninterrupted study were almost impossible to come by, and shed been waiting over a year for this unique opportunity.
Whenever she was feeling closed in, she could do her breathing exercises. She would stay focused on the present, rather than letting the trauma of the past overwhelm her, blurring the edges of her vision and squeezing the air from her lungs. She would keep her eyes on the horizon and her feet on the ground.
As they drew closer to Southeast Farallon, the main island, she noticed a single house. It was a large, ramshackle dwelling, built over a century ago for light keepers and their families. The old Victorian stood stark and lonely on the only flat stretch of terrain, an ordinary structure on alien landscape. Like a gas station on the moon.
They say its haunted.
The deckhands voice startled her. She dragged her gaze from the whitewashed house to his wind-chafed face. The entire island?
Nah, he said with a smile. Just the house.
She cast a speculative glance at the simple, no-frills structure. It was the least intimidating feature on the island. And she, like most scientists, didnt believe in ghosts. If she had, she might have believed in an afterlife, as well. Faith was a comfort shed been denied in her darkest hour, and she wasnt going to start being superstitious now.
Im more worried about the sharks, she admitted.
The deckhand grunted his response and jerked his chin toward the shore. Theyll be coming for you now.
She caught a glimpse of two dark figures walking along a footpath etched into the side of the cliff, a few hundred yards from the house. With no docking facilities, setting foot on the island was a tricky process. The research biologists had access to a beat-up old Boston whaler, hoisted above the surface of the water by a formidable-looking crane.
At fifteen feet, the boat was smaller than a full-grown great white.
While she watched, one of the figures boarded the whaler, and the other lowered it to the pounding surf below. In a few efficient moments, the boat was speeding out to pick her up.
Dont panic, she whispered, squaring her shoulders.
The man driving the boat brought it alongside the charter and killed the engine, exchanging a friendly greeting with a crew member.
When he stood, throwing the deckhand a rope to tie off the whaler, she studied him with unabashed curiosity. His legs were covered by dark, waterproof trousers and knee-high rubber boots, same as hers. Unlike her immaculate, just-purchased ensemble, his clothes were well-used and far from spotless. His jacket was splotched with what might have been bird droppings, and his face was shadowed by a weeks worth of stubble.
Seen any sharks today? the deckhand asked.
The man grinned. Day aint over yet.
Based on his dark good looks, she guessed that this was Jason Ruiz, the Filipino oceanographer shed been communicating with via email. Shed seen a grainy photo of him once and it hadnt done him justice.
The deckhand lobbed her duffel in his direction. After catching it deftly, Jason motioned with his gloved fingers. Toss her to me. Im ready.
The deckhands eyes were merry, full of mischief.
Daniela took a step back. Id rather not
Were just messing with you, Jason said, patting the aluminum seat beside him. Jump over here.
She moistened her lips, measuring the distance between the boats with trepidation. The expanse was less than two feet, but the drop went quite a ways down. And, although the whaler was tied off, it was still a moving target.
Her stomach churned as she watched it pitch and sway. Jump?
Yeah. And try not to hit water. Just because we havent seen the sharks doesnt mean they arent there.
The deckhand laughed, as if this were a joke. It wasnt. This time of year, the sharks were most definitely there. They came to the Farallones every fall to dine on a rich assortment of seals and sea lions.
Daniela stared at the surface of the water, feeling faint.
Shed been briefed about the boat situation, of course. But reading a matter-of-fact description detailing the steps needed to access the island was different than actually going through with it. Leaping from a charter to an aluminum boat in shark-infested waters was madness. One false move, one tiny miscalculation, and
Gulp.
Jason gave the deckhand a knowing smirk. Just throw her to me, Jackie. She cant weigh much more than that bag.
No, she protested, taking a step forward. She was pretty sure they were teasing again, but she also didnt want to give herself time to reconsider. Chickening out before shed begun was not an option.
She took a deep breath and grabbed Jasons proffered hand, hopping over the short but frightening precipice.
She didnt fall into the water. She didnt hit the aluminum seat, either. She collided with Jason Ruiz, almost knocking them both off balance. He threw his arms around her and braced his legs wide, holding her steady until the boat stopped rocking.
Daniela clung to him, her heart racing. She hadnt been this close to a man in a long time, and it felt good. Strange, but good. He was much taller than she was, and a lot stronger. She could feel the muscles in his arms and the flatness of his chest against her breasts.
He smelled good, too. Like salt and ocean and hard work. But even while she registered these sensations, there was one irrational, overriding thought: Hes not Sean.
Im sorry, she said, clearing her throat.
Dont mention it, he murmured, making sure she was ready to stand on her own before he released her. I never get tired of beautiful women throwing themselves at me. I only wish Id showered in recent memory. The corner of his mouth tipped up. Theres a shortage of hot water on the island, and were all a bit rank.
She couldnt help but smile. You dont smell bad.
Really? I thought I smelled like bird crap and B.O.
Laughing, she shook her head. Bird crap, maybe. The faint odor of ammonia filled her nostrils, but it was coming from the island, not him.
Im Jason.
Daniela, she said, grasping his hand. As quickly as it came, the sexual tension between them dissolved. He was still smiling at her in an appreciative, masculine way, and she was smiling back at him, unable to deny his considerable appeal, but there was no intensity to their mutual admiration.
With his easy charm and handsome face, he probably had a way with the ladies. Shed known men like him before. Her ex-husband, for one. Women had always dropped at Seans feet, and hed done little to discourage them.
Feeling her smile slip, she pulled her hand away.
If he noticed her change of mood, he didnt remark upon it. Ready? he asked, catching the rope the deckhand threw at him and tucking it away.
Nodding, she perched on the edge of the aluminum seat, paralyzed by self-consciousness. She was so far out of her element here. The past two years, shed been in virtual seclusion, working from her desk at home and putting in late hours at the research facility. Shed interacted with more spreadsheets than animals. This trip was, in part, an attempt to get her life back. A return to her roots.
She hadnt chosen conservation biology to spend all her time indoors.
Rubbing elbows with other scientists, most of whom were men, was nothing new, and she was no stranger to roughing it, but she hadnt socialized, much less dated, in ages. The close proximity of a hot guy rattled her more than shed like to admit.
And she couldnt stop comparing him to Sean.
The two men probably knew each other. There werent that many shark experts in the world, let alone the West Coast, and Jason was from San Diego. They were close in age, although Sean was about five years older. Both of them were tall and fit and remarkably good-looking. They were also consummate outdoorsmen and staunch environmentalists, more comfortable on a surfboard than in a boardroom.
Upon closer inspection, Jason was the more striking of the two, with his dark eyes and sensual mouth. But Seans all-American ruggedness had always hit her in the right spot.
Daniela turned her gaze back to the calm-inducing horizon. She hadnt seen Sean in over a year, but he still managed to monopolize her thoughts.
Jason maneuvered the whaler into position beneath the boom, a task that required concentration and dexterity. When he found the right place, he stood and hitched the heavy metal hook to the hull with no assistance from Daniela.
She did her best to hang on to her seat and stay out of his way.
Once connected, the whaler was lifted high into the air by the crane, and this ride was no less nerve-wracking than the two-hour boat trip to the islands or the precarious jump shed taken a few moments ago. She gripped the aluminum bench until her knuckles went white. When the boat shuddered to a stop over dry land, she breathed a sigh of relief and flexed her icy hands.