AllFreeNovel
Share Us
A massive jolt wrenched Nico sideways in his seat. His head hit the wall and the glass flew from his hand, whisky spilling everywhere and soaking the crotch of his trousers. He swore, looked up, and saw his flight attendant, Evelyn, clutching a seat-back. He barked at her to sit down and strap herself in, then picked up the built-in handset that gave him direct access to the cockpit.
‘Severe unexpected turbulence, sir,’ his pilot informed him. ‘It’s the edge of a category three storm—coming through a couple of hours earlier than expected.’
Expected? Nico swore again. He always checked the weather forecasts when he was headed to the island. Always. But this time... This time he’d forgotten. He’d been preoccupied. Distracted.
‘We have clearance from Toulon, provided we land in the next fifteen minutes,’ the pilot advised. ‘After that everything’s grounded or diverted.’
Which meant he had zero chance of flying the chopper to the island. He stared grimly out of the window. The cloud was menacing and black, darkening the interior of the plane.
‘What direction is the storm coming from?’
The pilot rattled off the latest update—and Nico felt the blood drain from his face.
The storm was headed straight for Île de Lavande.
> CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE PHONE LINE was dead.
With clammy hands Marietta put the receiver back in its cradle on Nico’s desk.
This is just some bad weather, she told herself for the umpteenth time—then jumped as the entire house shifted and groaned under the onslaught of the powerful wind. She looked out of the window at the angry sky. Dark. It was so dark. Yet it was only late afternoon. She tried the light switch in the study, then a couple out in the hall—nothing. The house had no power.
Dio. Please let Nico be safe, she prayed. He wouldn’t do anything crazy, would he? Like try to fly in this weather?
She wheeled herself to a window in the living room, looked out at the sea, which had been whipped into a seething grey-green frenzy, then back at the clouds—which looked wilder, even blacker now if that were possible.
No. Of course Nico wouldn’t try to fly in this. He was too safety-conscious. Too sensible.
If only she had been sensible. If only she hadn’t argued with him. If only she hadn’t been so stubborn and proud and oversensitive about her independence. She could have been warm and comfortable with the Bouchards right now. Instead she was here. Alone and, yes—she’d swallow her pride and admit it—just a tiny bit terrified.
Rain came down—thick, horizontal sheets of it lashing the glass—and the wind roared like some kind of vicious animal howling for blood. It raised the hairs on Marietta’s nape. Made her want to curl up in Nico’s bed, pull the covers over her head and breathe in his scent. Pretend that he was there and she was wrapped in his strong arms, protected and safe.
She pulled in a deep breath.
Nico wouldn’t travel in this storm. She was alone—at least for tonight. Which meant she’d need to be calm, practical. Prepared. She’d start by looking for a torch, she decided. Then she’d recheck the windows and doors to make sure the house was secure, and hunt out some candles and matches.
She found a lantern torch in the utility room and started her check of the house in the study. She wheeled to the window and glanced out—just as the large terrace table at which she and Nico had shared so many meals by the pool started to slide across the limestone pavers. Her eyes rounded with disbelief. The table was heavy—a solid piece of outdoor furniture—yet it might as well have been plastic for all its resistance to the wind.
Her heart surged into her throat as another wild gust shook the walls—and then the table simply lifted into the air like a piece of driftwood and flew towards the house.
Marietta backed her chair away as fast as she could and spun around. But the torch slipped off her lap and caught under her wheel. Her chair lurched and tipped and she threw her arms out to break her fall, crashing to the floor at the same moment as the table slammed into the study window. She locked her arms over her head, protecting her face from the splintered glass that showered all around her.
Fear clawed at her chest and a sob punched out of her throat. Clapping her hands over her ears, she tried to block out the violent cacophony of wind and rain. And started to pray.
* * *
Nico paced the floor of his hotel room in Toulon.
The room was tiny, compared to the hotel suites he normally stayed in, but the city was full of stranded travellers and last-minute accommodation was scarce. Not that he cared one iota about the room. He barely noticed the tired decor and frayed furnishings. Barely registered the cramped confines that forced him to spin on his heel every ten steps and pace in the other direction.
The floor beneath him shook and the glass in the windows shuddered. The wind was gaining strength, becoming brutal in its capacity for damage even with the full force of the storm yet to hit the mainland. Toulon and the other coastal cities and towns were in a state of lockdown; in this part of Europe storms of this category were rare and people were cautious and nervous.
A cold sweat drenched his skin.
He was nervous.
He stopped. No. Nervous didn’t do justice to what he was feeling right now.
