Saving Ariel: a Protective Hero Second Chance Romantic Suspense Read online

  Hands steady, I clear the antenna and make a note to speak to their Offshore Installation Manager about putting stuff up above the deck level. The skids touch down, and I radio an update back to base. The whine of the engine powers down, and the rotors come to a stop.

  In the back, Andrew and Larry gather our gear, hefting packs to their backs and ready the stretchers. They wait for me to give the all-clear.

  Outside, three men wait. Shrouded in rain gear, their bulky orange shapes flash in the landing lights. Beneath their hoods, their faces fall into shadow.

  I spent eight years in the military. Alpha men are a dime a dozen in the Army, but we all had the same purpose, the same mission. The business of oil drilling attracts a similar breed, rough and rugged men, only these don’t hold to a code I understand. With the military, everyone marches to the same drummer, follows the same orders, and can be trusted implicitly.

  Drillers? They’re a rough lot.

  They make me uncomfortable, and I don’t trust them.

  Gusts buffet the helideck and the craft shudders. As the whine of the engine disappears, another sound replaces it. A deep, thunderous booming, felt more than heard, joins the roar of the wind. Vibrations from waves crashing against the support pillars rip through the super-structure. Nature’s power literally shakes the world.

  I pop open my door and signal to the waiting crew it’s safe to approach. They rush forward and secure my skids, bracing the helicopter against the rising winds. They do the same to the rotors overhead.

  Once the skids are locked securely to the helideck, I give the signal for Andrew and Larry. The two men jump out, packs strapped to their backs and portable stretchers in tow.

  This isn’t our first foray to one of the thousands of oil rigs distributed throughout the Gulf. The imposing structures never fail to inspire awe, and I feel some of that now pounding in my blood. Or maybe that’s adrenaline spiking along my nerves? It doesn’t matter. Everything about this situation is intense.

  Safety protocols have been drilled into me, as they have for my crew. Many of the walkways, stairwells, and ladders span vast distances with deadly drops beneath them. One hand on the rail at all times. It’s a mantra we live with. A fall here can be fatal. Drilling remains one of the most dangerous professions for a reason.

  A thick arm braces my door as a gust tries to slam it shut on my leg.

  “Careful!” a gruff voice shouts.

  “Thanks.”

  He pulls back, a look of surprise on his face. “You’re a chick.”

  “All day. Every day.”

  “Huh.” He holds the door open against the wind. “Come with me.”

  “I’ll stay here, thank you.”

  “Not happening. Too dangerous.” His gruff features brook no argument as he studies my face. An aura of authority surrounds him and slams into me with the absolute assurance I will do as he says.

  My entire career has been spent facing down dominant men and overcoming male and female stereotypes that define who I can and can’t be. I earned my right to pilot the helicopter and won’t let his overwhelming presence force me into feeling less because I happen to be a chick.

  But that authoritative aura?

  It does things—spins my thoughts, teases my mind, and draws forth a powerful need to cave to his demands. To dispel the effect he has on me, I shake my head and grit my teeth.

  “I’m staying with the helicopter.”

  “No. You’re not.” He props open the door, leans in, and pulls me out of my seat.

  Chapter Two

  Aiden

  I can’t believe my eyes when I see who lands the helicopter in the middle of the storm.

  A female?

  Women are few and far between out on the rigs, but female pilots are even rarer. As if that isn’t enough, this one appears to be stubborn as shit, refusing to comply with my commands.

  Doesn’t she know who’s in charge around here?

  “Let go of me.” Her tiny hand pounds against my chest.

  I don’t mean to frighten her, only to get her off the platform. It isn’t safe to stay with the helicopter, not with the gusts we’re seeing.

  If she was a man, it wouldn’t be an issue. I would have yanked a man out and kicked his ass all the way to the ladder leading to the catwalk. I don’t take lip from any of my crew, and definitely not from those unfamiliar with how things work on a rig.

  All I care about is safety.

  What I don’t need is to carry on a long, drawn-out conversation about what should be a non-issue. The helideck isn’t safe, and there is no way in hell I’ll leave anybody, man or woman, alone up here in this weather. I release the pilot and point to the stairs. Maybe she’ll listen to reason.

  “No need to get your panties in a wad, but get your ass down those stairs.” I cross my arms over my chest. The orange survival suit squeaks as it strains across my bulky chest.

  “Why you … you …” Her face turns beet red.

  I shouldn’t laugh. I really should hold it together, but I can’t help myself. A low chuckle escapes me.

  “Let me help you out. Asshole, brute, dickhead?” A grin plasters itself on my face, and I can’t make it go away. She looks so damn indignant and sexy as hell. “Which one is it going to be?”

  “You’re a prick," she says with a huff, "you know that?”

  “Ah, I hadn’t gotten to prick yet, but it is next.”

  I glance into the darkness. The sea seethes below us. The waves are double in size from earlier in the day. This hurricane is going to pack a punch, and if we don’t hurry things along, we won’t make it off the rig before all hell breaks loose.

  I turn my attention to the pretty pilot. “Look, I get that you want to stay with the helicopter, but it’s not safe. Therefore, it's not happening.”

  “It’s not safe crawling around a rig in the dark either. I’ll take my chances.”

  “Not happening.”

  I reach for her, but she jerks away and crosses her arms over her chest. I can’t help the way my eyes drop to take in the curve of her breasts. The defiant stare she levels at me makes me grin.

  This chick has a temper. I respect that. But I’m still in charge.

  Too many women cave beneath my demands. Frankly, I find it boring, but this hellcat sparks my interest and stimulates other parts of my anatomy, which have no business taking notice … at least not now.

  “And what are you going to do about it?”

  Her defiance stirs something deep inside, something primal and highly inappropriate. I can’t help it, needing to see how far she will take this. By rights, she has no choice but to follow my orders. As the Offshore Installation Manager, I’m the final authority on the rig, but then maybe she doesn’t understand how things work out here? I'll have to break it to her because she can’t refuse one of my orders.

  “Get out of that helicopter and follow me down, or I’ll toss you over my shoulder and carry you. Since I have a feeling you’ll kick and scream, and knowing I need to keep a hand on a railing at all times, that won’t end well for either of us. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not dump you over the railing. There are sharks in these waters.”

  “A fall from this height is fatal,” she says.

  “You’d still be shark bait. How about we skip feeding the sharks and you do as you’re told? What’s it going to be? You coming with me? Or do I have to carry you?” I size her up, thinking about how much fun that can be.

  “There’s no way in hell you’re carrying me. I’ll bring you up on assault charges.” She edges away from me.

  “I respect that.” I mirror her pose and stare down at her. “But you’re not filing charges. I’m the only one in charge around here, which means you do as I say.”

  “Bossy much?”

  “You have no idea.” With a sweep of my arm, I gesture toward the stairs. “Ladies choice: on your feet or over my shoulder? I can tell you which one I prefer, but that might get me written up.”
>
  “You’re an ass. You know that?”

  “I’m also a stickler for safety and for others following my orders.” I stretch out my hand. “I’m Aiden Cole, OIM, that means Offshore Installation ….”

  “I know what an OIM is, asshole.”

  Her temper and sharp comebacks are sexy as fuck. Despite the dangerous conditions, impending superstorm, and the very real threat of having to ride out the storm on the rig, she turns me on. None of that is good.

  “Good, then you know you have to do as I say.”

  “I don’t see why I can’t stay here.”

  As if to support my argument, the wind whips over the helideck and nearly blows off the door to the helicopter. I grab it, stabilizing it until the gust dies down.

  Her eyes widen as the helicopter rocks in the clamps. It’s locked tight and won’t be going anywhere, but that was one hell of a gust. With Julian approaching, things will only get worse.

  “Look, it’s going to take a moment to stabilize my crewmen. Then we have to load them on stretchers, walk them back, and lift them from that deck down there to this one up here. There’s only the five of us left on this rig, and I’m not leaving anyone alone where I don’t have eyes on them.”

  The play of emotions marching across her face is interesting to watch. I’m not kidding about tossing her over my shoulder. It isn’t an exaggeration and will be highly unsafe, but she seems to believe I might do just that. Which has me considering what it’ll feel like to drape her over my shoulder and go all caveman on her, and that has me thinking about how much fun it could be to tie her to my bed and do other things.

  With a shake of my head, I toss the fantasy and focus on maintaining my professionalism. She makes that impossible, however, with her brown, doe eyes and pert little mouth.

  With a huff, she exits the helicopter. Poor thing is barely five-foot-six and looks like she weighs a buck twenty at most. The slightest gust could sweep her off the decking.

  “Stay here.” I grip her hand and place it over the handle of the door, indicating she should hang on.

  “I thought I was supposed to go with you.”

  “You are, but you need a harness.”

  “Andrew and Larry didn’t need harnesses.”

  “They’re also well over two hundred pounds. You’re half that, and I’ll be damned if I let the medevac pilot get blown off the platform.”

  “I’m not going to—”

  Another gust sweeps over the rig. Metal groans and it slams her against the helicopter. If the wind had come from the other direction, she would’ve been knocked to her ass and would’ve slid halfway across the deck. Her grip tightens and she gives a clipped nod.

  Finally, some sense settles into her head. I go to a utility box and retrieve a safety harness. I already wear one, as do my men. Before we make our way back, I’ll need to make sure the transport team have them as well.

  Is it even safe to take off in weather like this?

  I don’t know, but the pilot doesn’t seem concerned. That’s a good thing because no one wants to ride out a hurricane trapped inside a rig. I sure don’t, but will the company send another helicopter to pick up my remaining crewmen?

  It’s already on its way, but the timing is going to be tight. I need to get my wounded off the rig before that helicopter can land and evacuate the last of my men.

  Gritting my teeth, I return to the pilot with the webbing. Not caring what she thinks about where I might or might not be touching, I force her to step into the harness and pull it up to her waist. Tightening the straps, I hook one end of a short strap to a D-ring on her harness and fasten the other end to mine. Now, at least if the wind tries to blow her away, she’ll be anchored to me.

  I give another smirk, thinking about tying her down again.

  “You ready?” I have to shout to be heard over the wind.

  Unlike me, she doesn’t have weather gear. Rain drips down her face, but her tight bun keeps her hair out of the way. I bet a million dollars this chick is prior military with that tight-ass regulation bun. It makes more sense, to be honest.

  She gives a nod and I head toward the stairs. It’s a bit of a hike from the helideck down the stairs and across catwalks to the crew area. I have two men in the sickbay. One with multiple leg fractures and the other is knocked out cold.

  The accident occurred when the men rushed to tie down equipment in advance of the storm. Rushing and a momentary lack of attention were all it took for an accident to happen.

  I lead the way, pointing to the railings she needs to grip as we go up and down stairs and across the catwalks. The woman listens as I bark orders, obeying immediately.

  Yeah, she’s prior military.

  Despite the noise from the growling winds, the rig sits in silence. Shut down, it’s prepped to hunker down and endure the storm. It’ll take a massive storm to upset the rig, but the company doesn’t take chances with its men. Everyone is evacuated until the storm passes.

  We move by a row of emergency lifeboats: red torpedoes which hang over the ocean. In the event of an emergency, they release and plummet down to the water over two hundred feet below. I pray to never have to take that ride. The company says it is safe, but I doubt it.

  Unsinkable, they can endure any storm. The occupants inside, however, will be tossed about like corks. Without any orientation as to up and down, and with no view of the outside world, they’ll all come out covered in one another’s vomit. I’ve never been in one and might choose going down with the rig over climbing into one of those. That decision will be mine to make, but I have faith in my rig. It won’t fail me.

  “Come on. It’s just a bit further.”

  The woman is a fighter. She struggles with the wind. Head down, white-knuckled grip, and soaked to the bone, she doesn’t voice one word of complaint.

  Yet another thing I admire.

  The door to the crew area is just ahead and I lead her to it as fast as safety allows. It’s getting dicey outside.

  I yank on the door, then hold it open. She steps under my arm and over the hatchway. I follow her inside and remove my safety gear. With a turn of the locking mechanism, I seal us away from the storm and the howling wind. It seems eerily quiet inside, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of the beautiful woman trembling beside me.

  Her teeth chatter and she looks like a ghost.

  “We need to get you into something dry.”

  “W-wh-where are m-m-my m-men?”

  “Darlin’, your teeth are chattering so hard I can barely understand a word you’re saying.”

  Her gaze pops to mine and determination flashes in their depths. “Where are they?”

  I point down the hall. “Not far.”

  She turns and stomps down the hallway. Guess we’re going to sickbay.

  Chapter Three

  Ariel

  My heart hammers in my chest and I can barely breathe. I tell myself it has nothing to do with the imposing stranger walking behind me, although he’s a sight to melt the coldest heart.

  Tall, imposing, stunningly attractive, his baby blues stop me in my tracks. Baby blues are my Achilles heel, and I’ve fallen for them one time too many.

  But that’s not why my heart races.

  From the very first step on the stairs leading down from the helideck, terror holds me in its iron-fisted grip. Thankfully, I have the OIM’s broad shoulders to stare at as he leads the way. It helps to keep my attention from straying from the rails of the catwalks to the deadly depths they span. Beneath them, an angry sea surges as white-capped waves slam against the support pillars of the oil rig.

  As the OIM moves me from one catwalk to another, the blood in my veins races inside my body with the same ferocity as the wind buffeting me outside.

  As a helicopter pilot, height isn’t something I fear. How many times have I stared between my feet, watching the ground drop away? Or how about all the times I willingly rappelled out of a helicopter?

  I live most of my life between ground
level and five thousand feet. I've conquered any number of fears in life, survived the heat of battle, and I’ve never been afraid.

  That roiling sea, with its unrestrained fury? It makes me feel small, inconsequential, and terribly vulnerable.

  The fear running rampant in my body must be a combination of the wind, the darkness, and the driving rain, which makes me grit my teeth and struggle to take the next step. Rain soaks the thick fabric of my flight suit, and the wind chills me to the bone. My teeth chatter and my hands shake.

  Hypothermia much?

  That walk takes less than five minutes, yet I arrive in the throes of a full-bodied shiver. I have to walk back the way I came, and it won’t be quick. Not with two stretchers to maneuver. How am I going to fly when I can barely control my hands?

  “Take the hall to your left.” He speaks in one of those sexy Texan drawls, and the way his eyes spark when he laughs makes my belly flutter. I don’t need to deal with school girl infatuation and decide I need to stay far away from this man.

  “Second left, and then take the first door on your right.”

  He guides me, keeping pace as I stomp down the halls. Why am I angry? There’s no reason to be this pissed off at a guy who’s merely doing his job.

  It isn't him.

  It’s my reaction to him.

  The one thing in life I abhor is not being in control, and he stole all my self-control the moment those baby blues of his breached my defenses. He reminds me of a disaster of a man, one who took my heart and shredded it to pieces.

  I take in a deep breath and force myself to calm down. At least I know what stirs my anger. Except for the drawl, he’s a dead ringer for Rick, the last disaster in a string of failed relationships with blue-eyed men.

  “Thanks.”

  I feel a little calmer after that cleansing breath. Maybe another one, two, or four will help? Now that I know why the OIM triggered such a strong reaction, I can do something to counteract it.

  At least, that’s the plan.

  I open the door the OIM indicates and step inside. Andrew and Larry are already hard at work, leaning over two men stretched out on two gurneys. Their injuries weren’t a part of my pre-flight brief, but I listened in on the two men during the flight. There was an accident that crushed one of the men and knocked the other one unconscious.