Tally Cruise has come to Paradise Island for a long-awaited reunion with the father she never knew. But when she arrives, he is nowhere to be found. Still, she is so thrilled by the seductive beauty of the island that she doesn't see the danger that is boiling right below the surface--until a mysterious explosion nearly kills her. She is rescued by an enigmatic man whose intensity is as undeniable as his sex appeal . . . a mysterious stranger who is not what he seems.
Michael Wright is on Paradise to settle an old score with Tally's father, the man responsible for the accident that ended his Navy SEAL career . . . and killed his best friend. But even though he hopes to use Tally to reach his target, Michael cannot deny the deep feelings she inspires within him, or the fact that her life is in serious danger. Paradise Island is a place full of hidden intrigue and peril, as deadly as it is beautiful, and Michael will need every skill he learned as a SEAL to ensure that he and Tally escape alive. . . .
IN TOO DEEP
From the Paperback edition.
...contains all the ingredients that made her previous books so popular...enough suspense to make a Bond flick seem tame. --This text refers to the Mass Market Paperback edition.
-- PUBLISHERS WEEKLY.
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1 . A GREAT read!
Posted December 31, 2008 by Lisa C , Potomac FallsTally and Michael are polar opposites, so they attract each other like a moth to a flame. Michael is intense, dark and brooding while Tally is funny, a little goofy and has a knack for stepping in the middle of trouble.
Michael wants to use her, but finds himself protecting her instead. She screws up all of his well laid plans, but in the end she's the one who saves him (even from himself). On the surface, Tally appears vulnerable and weak, but deep down she is fierce. Micheal appears to be a tough as nails warrior, but on the inside, he is wounded and afraid. They help each other catch and defeat the bad guys, but will they survive with their hearts in tact?
This is another nail biting suspenseful romance novel by Cherry Adair, and it is in my humble opinion, one of her best.
July 27, 2004
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Excerpt from In Too Deep by Cherry Adair
"Turn around, lady. I can't see what the hell you're saying!"
From the deck of the Nemesis, Michael Wright attempted to lip-read the conversation onboard the Serendipity four hundred yards away while his boat pitched and yawed with the swell of the waves.
Tally Cruise and Arnaud Bouchard.
The daughter and the right-hand man of his archenemy, Trevor Church.
Now here was an unholy alliance.
The high-powered binocs brought the woman up close and personal. Plain little thing. Stubborn chin. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Surprisingly sensual mouth.
Her timing sucked. Hell, Church wasn't even around. Yet.
Michael had three days before Church's return. Three days to bait and set the trap. Three days, after eleven months of meticulous planning.
Anticipation had kept him motivated. But he wasn't alive. Lieutenant Michael Wright had died on Paradise Island last October. Now the living ghost of the man occupying his shell was ready to write the last chapter and close the book on Church once and for all.
It was as personal as it was unofficial.
Even off the books, this would be his last mission for Uncle Sam. He needed no accolades, no medals, and no acknowledgment. He and his partner had started this a year ago.
Now he was back. Alone.
Failure was not an option.
He was ready. Focused. Intent. A heat-seeking missile targeted on Church's destruction. The long months of preparation had come down to mere days. The hours ticking away like a metronome in his brain.
Bouchard grabbed Tally about the waist and tried to kiss her. Ms. Cruise pushed out of the guy's arms, then hauled off and slapped him. Hard.
"Ow." Michael winced. "That's gotta hurt."
Apparently it did. She shook her hand, her slender shoulders stiff as she turned away. Gait unsteady because of the rough seas, she continued gesturing as she paced.
Talking. Animated. Pissed.
He readjusted the binoculars for a better view. "Better" being the operative word. He almost didn't notice the absence of his left eye.
The increasing swells three miles out from Paradise Island sent the two yachts bobbing like opposite ends of a teeter-totter. The cork action didn't help Michael's lousy depth perception. And according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, things were about to get worse.
Considerably worse, if NOAA's prediction of category three monsoon winds slamming into the French Polynesian Marquesas Islands by late afternoon was accurate.
As soon as he'd learned of the approaching typhoon, Michael had integrated it into his plans. What he hadn't incorporated was the presence of the young woman on the other boat.
"Damn. Turn around again, honey, so I can see what you're saying," Michael complained. "Not that you don't have a sweet ass." The view from the back, in fact, was prime. Her slender hands punctuated her words. She stormed all the way to the rail near the bathing platform at the stern, then made an about-face with military precision and started the circuit all over again.
Her curly black hair bounced around her head in the gathering wind. Navy slacks hid the shape of her long legs, but did great things for a truly spectacular ass. The wind pressed her neatly tucked white shirt against small, high breasts and a flat stomach.
His libido had flat-lined way back. But it wasn't dead after all. Not if he could still appreciate a great ass. The shrinks had talked to him about depression before the navy cut him loose. Hell, he wasn't depressed. For months nothing had held his interest for long. If he'd had the energy to be anything, it would've been pissed.
At least now he was doing something about it. He lacked the official backing of Uncle Sam, but he had other players on his dance card if he needed them. None of whom had to play by the rules.