Read Online Seduced by the Storm by Sydney Croft - Free Book Online Page A

gain if he’d
had full scuba gear on.
    The
free dive, when done right and for pleasure or practice, was one of the
ultimate rushes—a Zen thing, an ancient skill. And he was comfortable here,
with the water crushing down on him, floating in that suspended place that
could literally become life or death. The ocean molded around his frame,
sucking him down into her depths and holding him tight, like a woman’s legs and
arms wrapping around him when she was right about to come. The way Faith had
last night…
    Faith.
A fitting concept right about now.
    Mammalian
diving reflex kicked in almost immediately, his body understanding what he
expected of it, allowing him to endure the depth he was headed toward with the
lack of oxygen.
    Heart
rate slowed—80…70…60—ultimately, the bradycardia would lower his rate to less
than 55. Vasoconstriction followed, then splenic contraction, and finally blood
shift, which saved his lungs as he got down past thirty meters.
    The
weight belt kept him in a moderately straight line—he had to steer clear of
using the rig legs as guides because he didn’t want to get caught against them.
The water grew colder and churned hard and it took everything he had to not let
himself get pulled off course.
    Fucking
man-made storm. He’d kill Sean Stowe the second he got the chance. All part of
the mission.
    Lungs
squeezed, the pressure in his ears nearly unbearable, letting him know he was
rapidly approaching his max.
    The
water was so churned up he could barely see even with the dive light, and he
slammed against something that was either human or shark—and shit, he hoped it
was human.
    Whatever
it was had bounced away, and he only had one shot of getting it back now, and
no time to waste.
    Hooking
his foot on one of the hundreds of steel cables that spiderwebbed between the
rig legs, he closed his eyes and let the tingle start at his toes. He reached
out with his mind and drew the object toward him, until he was able to grab an
arm—Len’s arm.
    The
diver was clinging to a line tethered to the inoperative dive bell, both legs hanging
motionless. Not good. Wyatt grabbed Len around the waist and snapped the line
free. Len, weak and barely conscious, went loose-limbed as Wyatt held the other
man’s back to his chest.
    He
released the weight belt and kicked the fins hard enough to gain the momentum
for his upward travel, hanging on to Len, who was heavy as shit in his dive
gear. The full helmet kept slamming backward into Wyatt’s face, and the way he
had to crane his neck to the side to keep from getting whacked wasn’t making
things any easier. The ocean turned ferocious on him halfway back from the
depths—spun him and his charge around and nearly fucking upside-down.
    His
lungs ached, the natural instinct to exhale excruciating to hold off, and he
fought like hell to get them upright.
    Once
he did, he prayed he was going in the right direction. He added another prayer
that Len survived the ascent. They didn’t have time to decompress, not with
Len’s air running out. Hopefully, the boys on deck had the hyperbaric chamber
ready.
    He
broke the surface, exhaling hard through the snorkel, his body heavy as it
began to pay back its O 2 debt. As gently as he could, which was
damned near impossible in the fifteen-foot seas, he pulled the deadweight that
was Len toward the dive platform.
    The
first person he saw was Faith, waiting for him on the mid-level deck, safe from
the violent swells. That was the best part of all.
    A
wave slammed into him. He twisted, took the brunt of the impact against the
side of the platform. Pain jammed the breath in his throat, but he fought
through it, hooked his free arm around a ladder rung. Exhaustion screamed
through him. Gritting his teeth, he used the last of his strength to haul Len
up.
    Driving
rain stung his face and crashing waves nearly dislodged him twice, but finally,
panting with effort, he got Len within reach of the men gathered at the