Capturing the Crown Bundle. Nina Bruhns

unbuckled and took off for the front of the plane. While he was gone, though the jet seemed steadier, she could have sworn they now descended rather than climbed.

      An eternity seemed to pass before he returned.

      His expression hard, he stood staring at her for a moment before dropping down into his seat and refastening the seat belt.

      “Chase?” She touched his arm. “What did he want?”

      “To give me bad news.” The gaze that met hers was bleak. “If you’re a praying person, you’d better start now. Though he’s bringing us down to try and land, the other engine has sustained damage, too. Franco doesn’t know how much longer it will last.”

      She stared at him, a stranger until that very morning, and twice the bearer of bad news. “We’re going to crash?”

      A muscle worked in his jaw. “It certainly looks that way.”

      God help her, she didn’t want to die the same way she’d lived her life—alone. But she wasn’t alone, she had her baby. Her unborn child.

      Once, music had been enough. She’d thought her art was her life, her reason for existence, her sole, all-consuming passion. The weight and solid feel of her cello, the pure, smooth sound of her gleaming horsehair bow gliding across the strings, had been her everything. Until now.

      Now her baby mattered more than anything.

      She had to live so her child could be born. Grabbing Chase’s hand, she gripped his fingers. “I can’t believe this. I’m not ready.”

      He unhooked his seat belt. “Come here.”

      “What?” She stared blankly. “What do you mean?”

      His expression compassionate, he pushed the buckle and freed her from her own restraint. “Come here.”

      Still she resisted. “But isn’t it safer to stay buckled in?”

      “Maybe. Maybe not. But there’s no way in hell either of us need to go through this alone. Now come here.”

      He pulled her out of her seat and into his arms.

      At first, she held herself stiffly. But the human need for contact and comfort outweighed any other considerations and she relaxed. Chase was bigger than she’d expected, and the lean hardness of his body felt reassuring.

      Heart pounding, she let her shoulder rest against his chest. Once she’d settled in, arms around his neck, his around her waist, he refastened his seat belt so they were secured together.

      “Okay?” he asked.

      She nodded, trying to keep her breathing even, resisting the impulse to gulp air, knowing if she started hyper-ventilating, she’d pass out. And she didn’t want that. If there was a way to save herself and her baby, she needed to stay awake and take it.

      The plane bucked and, once again, straightened itself out. Sydney released a breath she hadn’t even been aware of holding, and a tremor shook her.

      “Steady.” His deep voice rumbled from his chest. Under her ear, his heartbeat pounded.

      She looked up at him, a stranger, a rugged, beautiful man, and caught herself wishing she’d met him earlier, at another time and place. “I don’t want to die.”

      “Me neither. I’m just hoping Franco and Dell can bring us down safely.”

      “Isn’t there anything else we can do?”

      “Yeah.” A ghost of a grim smile crossed his face. “Pray.”

      The plane took another odd skip and it seemed their descent had become a plunge.

      Sydney shuddered.

      Chase smoothed her hair with his tanned hand. “Take it easy. They’ve still got it under control.”

      The lights winked out. The interior of the cabin went black.

      Chapter 3

      Something burning…smoke. Sydney tossed her head restlessly, sure she was dreaming, but wondering why she hurt so badly.

      Experimentally, she moved. And groaned. She ached, she hurt and she felt as if she’d been pummeled senseless by an angry giant with a hard fist.

      Her baby! Opening her eyes, she found she was lying on craggy rocks, too close to the gently lapping waves for comfort. Smoke billowed from a cluster of trees nearby, and she smelled the acrid scent of aviation gas.

      Jet fuel.

      She was soaked, as though she’d been in the water and somehow made her way to the shore. Since she had no conscious memory of doing so, she was lucky she hadn’t drowned.

      Lifting her head, she winced as pain lanced through her. She touched her aching shoulder. Her hand came away sticky with blood. Blinking, she stared at her red fingers, and bit back a sob. What on earth…?

      A piece of metal looked as though it had been stabbed into the ground nearby.

      The plane crash!

      Though it hurt, she turned her head again, toward the smoke, looking for Chase. Was he there, near the fire?

      “Chase?” She tried to yell, but her voice would only croak. She had to get up, get over there, and see if she could help rescue him or Franco and Dell.

      Swallowing, wincing as even that small movement hurt, Sydney told herself she had to get up, move away from the ever-encroaching waves and find Chase.

      She couldn’t make her body move. She lifted her head, trying to see the rest of her, to ascertain whether she’d been injured worse than she knew. Apart from her aching head and stiff neck, and the now-throbbing cut on her side, she felt no other actual pains.

      Then why couldn’t she push herself to her feet?

      A small explosion rocked the beach. More smoke billowed out from behind the row of trees. The jet, most likely. She should be glad she’d been thrown farther away.

      Thrown. All at once, the staggering truth of what had happened hit her. Miraculously, she’d survived a plane crash.

      So far.

      She refused to think anything negative. She was alive. That counted for a lot. From the looks of things, it appeared she might be the only one who had survived. She and the tiny, precious life growing inside her. She could only pray her unborn child was all right. At least she had no cuts on her abdomen, no aches or bloodstains to indicate she’d miscarried.

      Her baby had to be all right. More than anything, she prayed her unborn child had not been injured.

      She finally struggled to her feet. Standing, weaving, she licked her lip and tasted blood and salt and sweat. Thirsty, so thirsty. She swayed, her vision blurry, and then forced herself to focus. Focus. Live.

      A blur moved toward her, moving fast in the blinding sunlight. An animal? No, a man. Running toward her. Shielding her eyes against the sun, she squinted as she tried to make him out.

      Chase? Her heart rate tripled. Could it be? She rubbed her blurry eyes and again attempted to focus. Yes, Chase. Moving toward her. Whole. Unhurt.

      Glancing down at herself, she winced at her bloody, torn blouse. She swayed again, dropping to her knees. Damn, her head hurt. She might be injured there, too.

      “Sydney!” Chase. Blinking, she lifted her head and attempted a feeble wave.

      He ran toward her. His lips moved, but she couldn’t understand his words. She stared at him, resisting the urge to reach out her hand and sob in relief. He’d made it through the crash in even better shape than she. Except for a still-bleeding, jagged cut on his leg, he appeared to be unhurt.

      Good. Then maybe he could help her, until rescue arrived.

      Her last conscious memory was of Chase scooping her up in his strong arms.