The Hurricane

Book 1: The Hurricane

by R.J. Prescott

Genres: Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance; New Adult Romance; Sports Romance

Synopsis

**Goodreads finalist for BEST DEBUT**

A love that's worth keeping is worth fighting for . . .

Emily McCarthy is living in fear of a dark and dangerous past. A gifted mathematician, she is little more than a hollow, broken shell, trying desperately to make ends meet long enough to finish her degree.

Through an unlikely friendship with the aging, cantankerous owner of an old boxing gym, Em is thrown into the path of the most dangerous man that she has ever met.

Cormac "the Hurricane" O'Connell is cut, tattooed and dangerous. He is a lethal weapon with no safety and everyone is waiting for the mis-fire. He's never been knocked out before, but when he meet Em he falls, HARD. Unlike any other girl he's ever met, she doesn't want anything from him. Just being around her makes him want to be a better person.

They are polar opposites who were never meant to find each other, but some things are just worth the fight.

Perfect for fans of Kristen Ashley and Katy Evans

'A refreshing addition to the fighter romance genre. A realistic and beautiful journey of two people beating the odds to achieve their happily ever after." Harper Sloan

Release date: July 14, 2015

Publisher: Forever

Print pages: 308

Sample

Oh, my God, I am so late! I ran down the street, my heart pounding. The early morning commuters trying to make it into the office were oblivious to my plight as I dodged in and out of people. My thin summer shoes offered nearly no protection against the bitter bite of the frosty morning. By the time I opened the back door to Daisy’s Cafe, my teeth were chattering and my fingers were stiff with what I was sure was the onset of frostbite. I had no idea what I was going to do when winter really set in. I was barely scraping together enough money for rent and food, let alone having to worry about gloves and a winter coat.

“Mornin’, Em.” Mike, the owner, smiled as he turned the bacon over in the pan. For the last few weeks, I’d been pulling extra shifts at the cafe, and then studying when I got home. I thought I could handle it, but after waking up at my desk half an hour ago, I knew I was wrong. I wasn’t surprised that Mike didn’t seem mad. I’d never been late for a shift before, and more often than not, I was the last to leave. Daisy’s had heating, after all. Heating and company. Two of the things I was in need of most at the moment.

“Sorry I’m late,” I mumbled to Mike. I avoided making eye contact and raced to hang up my coat and tie my apron. Tapping down the pocket, I made sure I had my pad and pencil, and quickly scraped my hair back with one of the elastics kept permanently around my wrist. Wrestling it into a messy bun, I weaved through the kitchen and grabbed a pot of coffee. I passed Rhona who’d been at Daisy’s since the doors first opened.

“Slow down, love,” she said with a warm smile. “You just need to do the refills and take the order for table two.”

She breezed into the kitchen without waiting for a reply. Daisy’s was one of the only cafes around that offered unlimited tea and coffee refills with a meal, which meant the place was usually packed for breakfast. After running around topping up coffees, I said hello to Danny as he sat down at his usual table. We chatted for a bit and, promising him a fresh pot, I headed to the kitchen to pass Mike the order for table two. As I walked back out, I froze. Sitting next to Danny, and glancing at me over the menu, was hands down the hottest guy I had ever seen. His nose had a slight crook in it, which made me think it was once broken, but that was the only flaw in his otherwise perfect face. Razor-sharp cheekbones, tanned skin, and dark hair added to the beauty that seemed completely at odds with his stature. If it weren’t for the broken nose, he could be a model, but I knew that whatever this man did was dangerous, because everything about him exuded violence. I had no idea who he was, and the fact that he was sitting with Danny should have eased me, but it didn’t. My internal alarm was going off big time. From the set of his shoulders, to the sheer size of him, he looked like nothing but trouble. Whoever he was, it looked like Danny was raking him over the coals about something.

Danny was a small, wiry man, who couldn’t have been much younger than seventy-five. The deep grooves in his face and leathery skin spoke of hard living, but he was no frail pensioner. Mike was twice the size of Danny, but even he was a little bit scared of him. From my very first shift at Daisy’s, he’d strolled through the door a few minutes past opening, plonked himself in an empty booth in my section, and beckoned me over—which soon became our morning ritual. But that first day was different; I’d been absolutely petrified of everything and everyone. Most regulars had gravitated toward the other girls’ sections, wary of the new girl messing up their order. Danny had no such compunctions, though. He’d sat straight down and called out, “Hey, sunshine, come and get me a cuppa coffee. I don’t bite.”

Shaking like a leaf, I filled his cup, and by sheer force of will, avoided spilling the scalding liquid all over his lap. If he noticed my nerves, he’d never said anything. He rattled off his order then unfolded a crisp, clean newspaper, and read silently until I brought out his breakfast. When he was finished, I removed his plate and refilled his coffee.

“Thank you, sunshine,” he said, without smiling and without looking up from his paper.

Things went on that way for a few weeks, and when I finally stopped shaking, he spoke to me. It was never anything too personal, just remarks about the weather, questions about school, and what I thought of my professors. In the beginning, I did my best to find one-word answers, but just over a year later, Danny was the closest thing I had to a friend. I wanted to run and hide in the kitchen. But hiding wouldn’t do me any good, it never did. Ten horrific years of my stepfather, Frank, knocking me around had taught me not to speak unless spoken to and not to make eye contact. Whenever I felt threatened, those were the rules I fell back on.

Moving quickly through the tables, I wiped down a couple, gathered up a few dirty dishes, and after dropping them off at the kitchen, I could procrastinate no further and headed to Danny’s table.

“Two full fried breakfasts please, sunshine,” Danny croaked, with his usual scowl. If he ever did smile at me, I was a little worried that his weather-beaten face might crack. Lowering my eyes, I gave him a small nod but didn’t reply. It was our usual routine, and he was familiar with it. Without asking him, I filled up his coffee cup, and my hands trembled. It had been months since that happened, and I knew if I had to ask Danny’s companion if he’d like coffee, my voice would crack. I turned toward him with the coffeepot in my hand, and my eye caught on the sleeve of his white T-shirt. The biggest biceps that I’d ever seen strained the seams, and beneath, the edge of a tattoo was visible. It looked like a series of intricately woven Celtic designs. From what I could see, the artwork was beautiful.

“O’Connell, do you want coffee or not?” Danny snapped at him. I flinched at the sharpness of his tone, but he did, at least, save me from speaking.

“Yeah, sure,” the guy replied lazily, almost bored. I shook badly again, and I was sure that I’d spill it, but I didn’t. Gathering up their menus, I all but whispered, “I’ll be back with your order soon,” and fled to the kitchen to hide. The guy’s eyes were boring a hole in my back as I walked away. Ten minutes later, their order was done. Taking their warm plates through to the cafe, I placed the identical breakfasts down in front of them and escaped.

“You keep your eyes off that, boyo. That one’s not for you,” I heard Danny warn quietly.

Danny was born and raised in Killarney, Ireland, and I very much doubted that the forty years he’d spent here in London had softened his accent much.

“Why was she shaking so badly?” the man Danny had called O’Connell asked in a deep, husky voice with a slight Irish lilt that was just about the sexiest thing that I had ever heard.

Danny sighed deeply before answering. “You probably scare the shite out of her. That one’s special, but she ain’t for you, so you’d best mind yourself and leave her to her business. Now, stop looking after something you can’t have and think about what I said, ’cause if we have one more conversation about you drinkin’ and fightin’, you eejit, then you and me are gonna have words!”

The rest of the conversation was lost on me. The idea of Danny threatening this mountain of a man with anything would be enough to make me to smile, if he hadn’t mentioned the fighting. Truth be told, you only had to look at O’Connell to know that he was dangerous. It was hard to tell how tall he was, but by the way he was crammed into that booth, I’d guess he was big. Broad shouldered and ripped, he looked every inch a fighter, but with that relaxed, almost bored, indifference about him that sold the package. He could take care of himself, and he knew it.

A few more of my regulars made their way over to my section, and after doing my rounds with the coffee and rushing back and forth with orders, I realized that the seat across from Danny was empty. I let out a deep breath and began clearing the table.

“Give my compliments to Mike,” Danny told me, as I stacked up the plates.

“Sure, Danny,” I replied. “Can I get you another coffee?”

“No, thank you, sunshine. My bladder control is not what it used to be, and I’m gonna find it hard enough to get back to work as it is.”

This was more information than I needed to know. I was sure that he threw it out there just to get a rise out of me, and I humored him by rolling my eyes.

“Make sure you wrap up warm, then,” I gestured toward his coat and scarf on the bench. “It’s bitter out.”

I dealt with ringing up his check, and before he’d even closed the door behind him, Katrina Bray was up in my face. With her shirt pulled tight against her impressive cleavage, and a skirt rolled higher than her apron, she stomped her way toward me.

“What the hell was Cormac O’Connell doing in your section?”

I gave her the one-shouldered shrug. “I have no friggin’ clue, and you’re welcome to serve him next time,” would be my response of choice, but I kept my mouth shut. Katrina was the last person that I needed to start an argument with.

“You have absolutely no idea who he is, do you?”

She obviously deduced this for herself, given the vacant look on my face. Without waiting for an answer, she flounced off in a cloud of cheap perfume. Rhona, having heard the whole exchange, shoulder bumped me on her way back to the kitchen.

“Go on, girl. ’Bout time that madam had a bit of competition, and once upon a time, I wouldn’t have minded a piece of that boy, myself. I wouldn’t be turning a blind eye if I was twenty years younger.”

“Need some help?” I motioned to the dishes in her hand, trying to change the subject. It had completely escaped her notice that I was neither flirting, nor being flirted with. I was no expert, but I was sure that you actually needed to talk to someone to start a relationship.

“No thanks, love, I’ve got it. Your section is getting pretty full.”

She nodded back toward the cafe. Seeing she was right, I hurried back to take orders. People were pretty slow about coming into my section to begin with, but once they saw me waiting on Danny every day, they slowly started drifting over. The breakfast and lunch shifts flew by, punctuated by evil looks from Katrina. I guessed from her attitude, that O’Connell was on her hit list and she hadn’t scored with him yet. Which would put him in the minority, from what I hear. When Katrina wanted a guy, he usually didn’t offer much resistance. She had nothing to worry about from me, though. If O’Connell came in here again, she was welcome to him. However good-looking the package, I didn’t need that kind of trouble in my life. It wasn’t as if he’d ever give me a second look, anyway.

By the time my shift ended, I was glad to be heading to class. Waitressing was okay, and it was nice to have some company, but school was where I really lost myself. Getting a place at UCL had been the scariest and most exhilarating thing that had ever happened to me. None of it would have been possible without my former teacher, Mrs. Wallis. I had been wriggling around in my seat, trying not to let the chair touch any of the fresh bruises hidden under my sweater when she had approached me. With tears in her eyes, she had told me she knew I had a difficult home life, and as I was nearly eighteen, there was a way of escaping. If I wanted her help, I would have it. That was the nearest that I ever came to breaking down. Part of me wanted to scream at her that if she knew, then why didn’t she tell social services so they could get me? I think we both knew that would only have made things worse, though. I didn’t scream at her or cry, but actually setting out the bare bones of a plan was terrifying. The fear of being caught, and of my stepfather, Frank, discovering what I was doing, had me feeling sick every minute of every day. Using Mrs. Wallis’ address, I had applied for university places and identification. When I turned eighteen, I changed my surname legally. I accepted a place studying applied mathematics at University College London and now, eighteen months later, the only person who could ever connect Emily Thomas from Cardiff, South Wales, with me was Mrs. Wallis, an elderly home economics teacher who was the only person I’d ever trusted.

I’d breezed an access course in accounting over the summer, but my heart was in math. It was clean and pure, and in my world of gray, it was black and white. If I had any chance at building a future then I needed qualifications. The dread of being caught was always ever present, though. I guessed that Frank was looking for me but getting my degree was worth the risk. His need for power and control wouldn’t allow me to walk away from him. If I committed to staying in one place long enough to finish university, I had to keep a low profile. It was my best chance of evading him. So, I did what I’d always done. I made no eye contact and never initiated conversation. It worked in high school, but university was a completely different kettle of fish. The guys here were relentless. Politely turning down unwanted advances, without causing offense, had become an art form that I’d perfected. It was the safest way to live, but I was lonely. There were days that I desperately wanted someone, anyone, to call a friend. In lecture room three, on that frosty Tuesday afternoon, I got just that.

“This seat taken?”

I looked down at cherry red leather boots with a killer heel and looked up to see that the voice belonging to them liked to coordinate her cherry red hair with her outfit. Clearly, I was more than backward when it came to accessorizing. My hair didn’t go with anything.

“Um…” I looked around, desperate to say yes, hoping to remain as anonymous as possible. The lecture theater was only a third full, at best, and there was no reason why this girl would want to sit next to me. She wore a short denim miniskirt, a fitted black top, and a leather jacket that I would have given my left arm for. With the killer boots and her glossy hair layered artfully around her face, she looked edgy and hot. No wonder half the man geeks were drooling. My first thought was that she was in the wrong place.

“No,” I replied. Could I have been more socially inept? If she was in the right place, it looked like she’d be beating off the guys with a stick, so what better place to take cover than beside the only other girl in the room.

“Nikki Martin,” she said, sliding into the adjoining seat.

“Sorry?” I mumbled.

“I’m Nikki Martin,” she stated, expectantly awaiting a response.

“Oh, hi,” I replied, as I went back to copying down the equation from the projector.

“Oh, my God, you really are one of them,” she laughed, teasingly.

“One of them?” I answered, glancing up in confusion.

“The freaks who only speak in numbers and have no social skills whatsoever.”

“Wow, rude much?” Oh, my God! I’ve never been confrontational, EVER, but with this girl, it just slipped out. She laughed again, probably at the look of sheer horror on my face.

“So, the kitten has claws. You know, you and me are going to get on just fine.”

I had no idea what to say to that. This girl was like a beautiful steamroller.

“Okay, a name would be good about now, unless you want me to call you Mathlexy all term.”

“Mathlexy?” Yep, I was getting good at repeating everything she said back to her as a question.

“I can tell you’re a math fiend by the stack of handwritten notes you’ve got there, and you’re the sexiest thing this lot has probably ever seen.” She gestured around the lecture hall, and I wasn’t convinced that the guys would actually wait until the end of class to pounce on her. The wide-eyed looks of disbelief, appreciation, and finally hunger reminded me of starving hyenas, eyeing up their appetizer. I giggled at the image and snorted through my nose at the absurdity of the name. Snorting was neither sexy nor attractive.

“Emily McCarthy,” I offered up in return, hopeful of rejecting that ridiculous nickname before anyone heard it. The last name was new. I’d only had it for a year, and I was still getting used to it. But I figured that keeping my first name wouldn’t hurt. Emily was a pretty common name and people got suspicious if you didn’t answer to your name when called because you didn’t know it.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Emily McCarthy,” she answered.

By the end of the lecture, I had three sides of crisp clean notes, and Nikki had half a page and some lovely heart and floral murals.

“What’s your next class?” she asked, as we were stuffing things into our bags.

“I don’t have another one for a couple of hours,” I replied. “I was just going to the library to study.”

“Perfect, I have a couple of hours free. Let’s go and grab a coffee. My treat.”

She looped her arm through mine and all but dragged me out, clearly not caring about my plans.

Latte, espresso, tall, fat, mocha, grande. The board in front of me laid out the endless possible taste sensations, and I agonized over my decision. I loved coffee, but on my budget, regular coffee at Daisy’s was about as good as it got. So, if this was my treat for the month then I was going to make the most of it.

“Come on, Em,” Nikki moaned, “I’m growing old here!”

“A cappuccino, please,” I ordered quickly. The barista handed me my drink, and I pulled out the chair next to Nikki. She took a long sip of her coffee, sighed deeply, and turned to me.

“So… the whole social hermit thing. Is it just for a term or are you committed for life?”

I was so grateful to have escaped my former life that living for three years without forming any attachments seemed like a small price to pay for my freedom. The reality was that I had escaped from hell, only to find that fear still incarcerated me in a prison from which there was no escape. I was afraid that the more memorable I became; the more likely it was that I would be found. However irrational that fear was, it made me close myself off from forming any kind of friendship. Until Nikki sat down next to me, it was the only way I knew. I’d been so caught up in surviving and staying free, that I’d forgotten that freedom was a state of mind. I might have escaped physically, but mentally, I was still giving the son of a bitch that power over me. Changing that cycle would need a conscious decision, and making a new friend seemed like a good place to start.

“Why would you think that I’m a social hermit?” I asked, already knowing the answer. I was curious, though, to find out how she saw me.

“Look, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’ve been sitting behind you in class since the start of term. Granted, most of the class seems fairly antisocial, but you don’t talk to anyone, and you seem to avoid catching people’s eye so they don’t initiate a conversation.”

“You’ve been in that class for a month?” I asked, slightly shocked.

“See, that’s what I mean. If you’d looked up from your notes occasionally, you’d have seen me.”

“Sorry,” I apologized. “I’m not much good at making new friends.”

“Neither am I,” she admitted, which surprised me. “Well, I’m not much good at making girlfriends, anyway. Most of my friends are guys. I guess my tendency to say things as they are, without filtering, puts girls off. If you ask me how you look, and I think your dress makes your arse look fat, I’ll tell you. If you ask me what I think of your boyfriend, and he’s a dick, I’ll tell you. I think that makes me a pretty awesome friend, but most girls don’t agree.” She shrugged, humorously, and I couldn’t help but like her.

“Anyway, I’m sick of not having anyone to talk to in class, so I thought I’d say hello. If you really don’t want to talk, though, I can go back to sitting behind you.”

“Like that wouldn’t be weird,” I replied. “I’m glad you sat next to me. It’s nice to make a new friend.”

“Well, don’t get too attached to me. I’m sure I’ll say something to piss you off by the weekend.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend, and I don’t wear dresses, so we should be fine.”

She grinned at me, and her smile was infectious.

“Look, one of the guys on the rugby team is having a party in a couple of weeks. How about you come with me?” she asked.

I almost choked on my coffee at the thought of dancing around in a tiny skirt and chucking back the shots.

“Um, thanks Nikki, but I’m kind of working double shifts waitressing to pay for my course. If it’s on a weekend, chances are I’ll be working.”

“Well, just think on it. You can get ready at my place and borrow some of my clothes and stuff. We’d have a blast.”

I had no intention of going, but I was blown away that this girl, who hardly knew me at all, would be so generous. I wasn’t used to such random acts of kindness.

“I’ll think about it,” I replied, knowing my answer wouldn’t change. “So, how come you’re going? Do you know some of the guys on the rugby team?” I asked, taking a sip of my coffee and burning my tongue.

“I’m friends with a few of them, and there’s a few going who I wouldn’t mind being more than friendly with.”

I looked down and blushed as I thought about O’Connell, who was pretty much the only guy I’d thought about like that in a very long time. When I looked back up, Nikki was staring at me as though she was mentally sizing me up for a boyfriend.

“I’m not interested in meeting anyone, Nikki,” I warned. “I’ve got enough on my plate between my job and classes.”

“Fine,” she sighed dramatically. “You can be my wingman when I’m wearing beer goggles. I have terrible taste in men when I’m drunk. Just pull me away from the ones I’d chew my arm off to get away from in the morning.”

I burst out laughing at the image, and it was the first time that I could remember laughing in a very long time.

* * *

I woke up the next morning shaking with fear. It had been a while since I’d dreamt at all, and I’d forgotten just how bad they were. I had no doubt that my conversation with Nikki yesterday had triggered it. New things always did. The nightmare was one of a hundred memories that I’d never be free of.

I had been about fifteen at the time and taking out the rubbish when Noah Rawlinson, a guy from my class, strolled by my house, walking his dog.

“Hey, Em, how are you?”

“Good, thanks. He’s gorgeous, what’s his name?” I asked, as I bent down to rub the coat of the overenthusiastic golden retriever licking at my hand.

“Umm… Barbie,” he mumbled, his face coloring with embarrassment.

“Seriously,” I replied.

“I know, I know,” he laughed, rubbing Barbie’s coat along with me.

“I wanted a dog when I was a kid and Mum let me choose the dog, but my little sister got to pick the name.”

I tried not to smile but couldn’t help it.

“That’s pretty tragic. Poor dog.”

“Poor dog! You should try yelling after this crazy animal in a park full of people. I’m sure he’s disobedient just to make me look stupid.”

Noah and I had caught each other’s eye a couple of times in class, and I’d been hoping he’d ask me out. He pushed his floppy blond hair out of his eyes and shifted from foot to foot, obviously building up to something. I bit my lip with nervous anticipation.

“So, were you planning on going to the end of year dance?” he asked. I carried on patting Barbie’s coat. The poor dog would be bald by the time we made a date.

“I hadn’t really thought about it yet,” I lied. Hello! What girl in my year hadn’t thought about the dance?

“Well, would you like to go with me?” Noah asked, sheepishly.

“I’d love to. Thank you,” I replied, after a slight pause.

“That’s great. So, I guess I’ll see you at school?” he suggested with a happy grin. At my nod and smile, he pulled Barbie along to continue their stroll, lifting his hand to wave goodbye as I walked inside. I was still smiling and contemplating what to wear to the dance, when the slap came out of nowhere and hit with so much force that the side of my face smashed into the kitchen cabinet. As I landed on the floor, Frank’s boot hit me straight in the stomach, and I choked back the bile that would only make him madder.

“You little fucking slut. You can’t even take the rubbish out without lifting your skirt for the nearest pussy-sniffing son of a bitch out there. Have you fucked him already? You have, haven’t you?” he screamed, not waiting for an answer as a second boot planted in my gut.

It was a long time before the hits stopped coming. Apart from the one cut to my eye, my clothes would cover the worst of the damage. I didn’t make it off the floor that night, and the next day I made it as far as my bed, but as soon as I was well enough, I gave Noah some lame apology and broke our date. He never asked again, and I stopped looking him in the eye. I stopped looking everyone in the eye. The floor had become my new favorite scenery, and my stepfather’s reign of power had begun.

* * *

I had work soon, and I needed to get my head in the right place. Using a technique I’d first read about on the Internet, I grabbed the scented candle on my bedside table, lit it, and inhaled deeply, savoring the candle’s sweet vanilla fragrance. Holding my breath, I focused on clearing my mind of everything and exhaled. After a few minutes, the panic had receded. I was always afraid, but I could think past the anxiety now. Looking at my watch, I saw I only had thirty minutes before my shift started. For the second day in a row, I was running to work again.

* * *

“Good mornin’, sunshine,” Danny croaked, in his usual gruff voice. He sounded like he smoked twenty a day, but it was probably more like fifty. The tips of his fingers gave away his habit as much as his voice.

“Morning, Danny. How are you today?” I asked. Danny looked up from the menu. He always read the menu, and I had no idea why, because he ordered the same thing every day.

“What happened?” he barked at me.

“What do you mean?” I asked, frowning in confusion.

“You asked me a question. Aside from asking me what I want for breakfast, you never do that. So I want to know what’s up.”

I could feel myself clamming up. I looked down instinctively and bit my lip.

“Now, don’t you start cowering on me, girl. Something’s happened to you, and I’m nosy enough to want to know what it is. You should know me well enough by now to know that my bark is worse than my bite, so stop looking at the floor and better still, take a seat and talk to me a little bit.”

He nodded at the seat across the booth from his. I looked up and met his gaze. You could tell a lot from a person’s eyes. I wasn’t the world’s best judge of character, but I could usually tell when a smile on the face hid meanness behind the eyes.

“I can’t, Danny. I don’t think Mike would much like me sitting down on the job.”

“Don’t you get breaks?”

“Danny, you’re always my first customer of the day. It’s a little early for a break, don’t you think?”

“Rhona?” Danny barked, as she headed toward the kitchen.

“Can you spare our girl for five minutes?” He nodded toward me, and I was stunned.

“Course I can. We won’t get many in till half past. Just keep an eye out for anyone in your section,” she called back, seeming unperturbed. So far, Danny was my only customer, so pouring myself a cup of coffee, I sat down in the booth opposite him. He waited patiently.

“Don’t you want to order your breakfast while we wait?”

“I’ve got all day,” he said. “You can put my order in when the next table fills up.

So?” he barked.

“I made a new friend,” I answered. His expression didn’t change, but the tone was mor. . .