The Charming Storm Chaser - Page 9

“Off and on,” she admits. “It’s my job.”

A knot of dread settles in my stomach. “Were you filming while I talked about the storm shelters my sister and I design and build?”

“Yes,” she says, “but I turned the camera off as soon as you said you do it anonymously.”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “A little late, don’t you think?”

It’s my own damn fault. Most women dress to impress me, but she showed up that first day wearing baggy, comfortable clothes, and no makeup—and hasn’t changed her look since. Though I’ve caught a glimpse or two of her beautiful brown hair.

Her casual demeanor instantly put me at ease, and every day that we’ve spent together, I’ve let my guard slip more and more. It doesn’t hurt, of course, that she’s still beautiful, with dark blue eyes and a wide smile that lights up her face. And she’s so damn easy to talk to.

Because it’s her job, asshole. She is a documentary filmmaker.

“I’m sorry, Kane. I didn’t mean—”

“To invade my privacy?” I snarl. “I guess it just comes naturally to people who hide behind cameras.”

“You’re the one who signed up to star in a reality TV show,” she snaps back. “Perhaps you’ve never seen one? They generally involve confessionals with the stars.”

A gust of wind batters the truck, and a moment later, rain pelts the windshield. Thunder rumbles in the distance. “Are you wearing your seatbelt?” I demand.

“Yes.”

Those clouds are moving fast…

Within minutes, the worst of the storm is on top of us. Gray storm clouds block the sunlight, leaving nothing but the truck’s headlights and angry bolts of lightning to illuminate the road. I search the sky for any signs of a funnel cloud, but it’s impossible to see more than a few feet ahead.

“Should we stop?” Cami asks.

“Not unless you want to get caught in a flash flood,” I say, gesturing to the creek next to the road.

She gasps, and I know she’s noticed that the shallow bank is nearly full. “What do we do if that happens?”

“Try not to drown.”

“I guess my time with the spear fisherman wasn’t a waste of time, after all,” she mutters.

“Spear fisherman?”

“Never mind.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Don’t want your private thoughts exposed on camera?”

She sighs. “Since I’m just the cameraperson, and not the person getting big bucks to star in a TV show, no.”

She’s got me there.

Hail slams into the truck and coats the road with ice. The windshield wipers are practically useless, flapping back and forth with all their might, but far too slow to keep up with the torrent. And the creek, now a rushing river, has jumped the bank ahead and is licking at the shoulder of the road. Conditions are deteriorating quickly, and it’s becoming too dangerous to keep driving—but we’re still too close to the creek. Fuck.

“Hold on,” I tell Cami. “It’s about to get hairy.”

Chapter 8

Cami

The truck hits a patch of water and hydroplanes. I stare in horror as we slide toward the creek. Kane jerks the wheel, skidding across the road and slamming into the guardrail on the other side. My seatbelt bites into my chest but holds me in place. Unfortunately, my face smashes into the camera.

The blow knocks off my hat, but thank goodness I was wearing it, because it blocks the brunt of the impact. Even so, the camera lens hits me right below my eye. For a moment, I’m stunned. Then pain erupts across my cheek bone.