Chapter One
She measured the distance between the outcrop and the water below her. It was ideal. The shadows would meld beautifully with the sunlight and she’d never get a better shot.
She framed the shot in her viewfinder, inhaled and held her breath to keep the camera steady. One, two, three, she counted. The canoe came into the frame with the athlete manning the oars. His rugged face was a study in concentration. She paused for one more second, but before she could trigger the shot she was freefalling from her perch toward the water.
The next thing Annalisa Webb knew, she was sprawled in the canoe…no, they were called boats or sculls, she reminded herself.
“What the hell?”
Those were the first words out of the mouth of the angry man holding Annalisa in his arms. She had fleeting seconds to notice his black hair and hypnotic blue eyes then she looked at her camera. At least the Nikon was high and dry, for the moment. She started to move her arm, sincerely hoping she could get the camera into its protective backpack before anything else happened.
“Damn it! Don’t move!” His eyes were furious and she really didn’t like his tone. Then she realized the boat was tilting left and right.
“Um…” She couldn’t help it. She had a bad feeling and she had to protect her Nikon. She had a backup body at the hotel, but the high-powered telephoto lens would be harder and more expensive to replace.
“Don’t. Mov—”
That was as far as he got before he lost the battle to keep the boat upright. It tipped, dumping Annalisa and the angry man into the cool water of the Holston River, the site of the United States Championship rowing competition, the final tune-up for the summer Olympics Games. She gasped in shock as the water enveloped her. She could swim, but the combination of the surprise of her fall and the weight of her equipment caused her to flail wildly.
Her camera hadn’t dropped to the bottom of the river, thank God. It was still securely around her neck. But she knew it wasn’t good for it to be getting so wet. She finally managed to use one hand to keep herself afloat while she lifted the camera out of the water with the other. She wasn’t concerned about the items in her backpack—it was waterproof—just the camera and its lens. As she fiddled with her camera, a noise beside her drew her attention. The rower, one Robert Buchanan, was treading water beside her. His short hair was the perfect foil for his ruggedly handsome face with the slashes of black brows, currently furrowed in a frown. His strong, brown arms were keeping him afloat easily. The purplish-blue ink of the Army Ranger tattoo on his chiseled biceps drew her eyes repeatedly, as did the way the fitted red, white and blue tank uniform shirt outlined his pectoral muscles. She licked her lips, when what she really wanted to do was take a bite of the delicious flesh revealed by his outfit.
“Are you all right?” His tone was curt but she couldn’t really blame him for that.
She swallowed a mouthful of water and coughed a bit. “Yes,” she managed.
“Good. You’re an idiot.” She didn’t know him, but his attitude was one of disdain. Granted, he was all wet too, and was no doubt feeling embarrassed about turning over his boat, but she didn’t think he should be talking to her that way.
“Now wait just a minute.” She started kicking and dog-paddling her way to the shore one-handed. “I don’t think…”
“No, that’s obvious. You don’t think. Going so far out on that ledge was precarious. Anybody with eyes and a lick of sense could tell the water has eroded the rock beneath it. And it was in the damn warnings about the venue,” he stated as he kept pace beside her, even when she knew he could have probably been to the shore and back twice by now. His strokes were strong, even and sure, his dark tanned arms flashing easily in and out of the water.
Though he was certainly a better swimmer than she, he wasn’t
She measured the distance between the outcrop and the water below her. It was ideal. The shadows would meld beautifully with the sunlight and she’d never get a better shot.
She framed the shot in her viewfinder, inhaled and held her breath to keep the camera steady. One, two, three, she counted. The canoe came into the frame with the athlete manning the oars. His rugged face was a study in concentration. She paused for one more second, but before she could trigger the shot she was freefalling from her perch toward the water.
The next thing Annalisa Webb knew, she was sprawled in the canoe…no, they were called boats or sculls, she reminded herself.
“What the hell?”
Those were the first words out of the mouth of the angry man holding Annalisa in his arms. She had fleeting seconds to notice his black hair and hypnotic blue eyes then she looked at her camera. At least the Nikon was high and dry, for the moment. She started to move her arm, sincerely hoping she could get the camera into its protective backpack before anything else happened.
“Damn it! Don’t move!” His eyes were furious and she really didn’t like his tone. Then she realized the boat was tilting left and right.
“Um…” She couldn’t help it. She had a bad feeling and she had to protect her Nikon. She had a backup body at the hotel, but the high-powered telephoto lens would be harder and more expensive to replace.
“Don’t. Mov—”
That was as far as he got before he lost the battle to keep the boat upright. It tipped, dumping Annalisa and the angry man into the cool water of the Holston River, the site of the United States Championship rowing competition, the final tune-up for the summer Olympics Games. She gasped in shock as the water enveloped her. She could swim, but the combination of the surprise of her fall and the weight of her equipment caused her to flail wildly.
Her camera hadn’t dropped to the bottom of the river, thank God. It was still securely around her neck. But she knew it wasn’t good for it to be getting so wet. She finally managed to use one hand to keep herself afloat while she lifted the camera out of the water with the other. She wasn’t concerned about the items in her backpack—it was waterproof—just the camera and its lens. As she fiddled with her camera, a noise beside her drew her attention. The rower, one Robert Buchanan, was treading water beside her. His short hair was the perfect foil for his ruggedly handsome face with the slashes of black brows, currently furrowed in a frown. His strong, brown arms were keeping him afloat easily. The purplish-blue ink of the Army Ranger tattoo on his chiseled biceps drew her eyes repeatedly, as did the way the fitted red, white and blue tank uniform shirt outlined his pectoral muscles. She licked her lips, when what she really wanted to do was take a bite of the delicious flesh revealed by his outfit.
“Are you all right?” His tone was curt but she couldn’t really blame him for that.
She swallowed a mouthful of water and coughed a bit. “Yes,” she managed.
“Good. You’re an idiot.” She didn’t know him, but his attitude was one of disdain. Granted, he was all wet too, and was no doubt feeling embarrassed about turning over his boat, but she didn’t think he should be talking to her that way.
“Now wait just a minute.” She started kicking and dog-paddling her way to the shore one-handed. “I don’t think…”
“No, that’s obvious. You don’t think. Going so far out on that ledge was precarious. Anybody with eyes and a lick of sense could tell the water has eroded the rock beneath it. And it was in the damn warnings about the venue,” he stated as he kept pace beside her, even when she knew he could have probably been to the shore and back twice by now. His strokes were strong, even and sure, his dark tanned arms flashing easily in and out of the water.
Though he was certainly a better swimmer than she, he wasn’t
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