Catching Preeya Synopsis
Flight attendant Preeya Patel wears her mother’s wanderlust-genes like a catwalk model. After quitting med school, she flies fast-and-free through her twenties—a staunch middle finger to her Dr. Dad. She wants the life of her dreams—a wild ride with a savage partner in crime to go with it. But dreams don’t often match what fate delivers…
Young widower, Dr. Ben Trainer, is flying to Mexico, joining yet another vaccine mission, alleviating his grief and guilt one needy soul at a time. And…risking his life might just set him free.
When an in-flight emergency throws Ben and Preeya together to save a child, logic and whimsy collide. Both lost souls’ find something hot and deep and true—an unforeseen connection. But dreams morph, old nightmares haunt, secrets surface. In order to navigate their futures, they must face their pasts.
Will Preeya recognize the man of her wildest dreams? Or will Ben fly from this second-chance love before her eyes open? A fight—or flight—to the finish…for love.
Stacy kept him on the call for too long, insisting on hearing the entire in-flight saga.
He didn’t cut her off, wasn’t about to tell her he had someone waiting for him. A woman. No, he couldn’t say the words out loud, even. An innocent drink or not, he wasn’t even going there with his sister. Stacy’s response would’ve made him run away from the bar as fast as his long-ass legs would carry him.
He cleared his throat as he went to gather up the papers. Gone? Pretty sure they were the only two souls in the hotel, he shrugged and headed to meet Preeya and assumedly the paperwork at the pathetic excuse for a bar.
He laughed out loud as he entered the rustic little lounge—Preeya was on a bar stool waving wildly. She called his name to be sure he saw her, even with no one else around except for the bartender. The three empty shot glasses in front of her—and the pile of forms on a table behind her—helped explain the shift in his in-flight medical assistant’s mood. She was petite but muscular—no skinny waif, for certain. Still, one shot would animate someone her size in that short a time, let alone three shots.
He nodded and continued toward her.
“Dr. Ben, over here!” Okay, got it. “Ben!” He smirked at the bartender and waved at them both.
Ben. Hmm. How strange it was to hear his first name spoken out loud. Beyond the brief conversations with Stanton and his sister, he hadn’t had anyone call him Ben in just over a year. He was Dr. Trainer abroad and to staff and patients. And he liked the clinical objectivity. He liked not being “Ben” to anyone for a while.
Also strange and out of character for him was that he’d made it a point to this stranger—even before she assisted him in saving a life today—that she call him Ben.
“Earth to Ben…or more like Boise to Ben.” She laughed. “Did you?”
“Sorry. Did I…what?”
“Want a double or just a wimpy single shot, good doctor?”
He smiled then looked at the bartender instead of at her damned bewitching eyes. “A double, please.” Then he mustered the strength to return her gaze. “Why not? I’m game. Back in the day, I passed my exams on no sleep and a case of beer,” he lied. Her disbelieving glance and single raised brow said she saw right through him. “Okay, so no, I haven’t ever done that.” He shook his head and laughed. “But I can sure as hell finish this small stack of documentation on a double shot. Well…pretty damn sure.” He winked at her. Jesus, man…what is with you?
“I actually finished most of the pile while you were on your call. There are a few I can’t do—medical professionals only—but the rest wasn’t too bad at all.”
Huh—gorgeous and diligent.
Ben, man, stop. And keep cool.
Right. He swallowed then grabbed the pile, checked for surface spillage on the bar top, and seeing none, plopped the papers down and hopped up onto a stool.
“Wow, you really attacked this. Was my call that long?” he asked, thumbing through the stack as the bartender set a double shot in front of him.
“Yeah, or I work fast. Or both,” she said through a giggle and a wink. “I hadn’t realized how bad I needed a drink…which I used as the carrot to finish the papers. But sorry I didn’t wait for you.”
He nodded and raised his drink to her. “No worries, and cheers,” then he threw it back and grunted as the icy-hot vodka poured through him.
She giggled, a next shot in her hand, gotten as if by magic. She lifted her glass. “To shrimp safety!” then pounded the drink back.
He cracked up then, his laugh deeper and louder than he’d heard it in…so long. The drink, the flight, the outlet…the company. “Yes, to safe shrimp.”
Then she broke out laughing, for certain from the fourth shot hitting her already saturated bloodstream, because what he said just wasn’t that funny. But it didn’t matter. This, whatever this was, felt really…good.
Rissa Brahm Bio
Contemporary romance writer Rissa Brahm grew up in New York and has since lived in all four corners of the United States, and beyond. The beautiful paradise of Puerto Vallarta, Mexico—the core setting of her hot & heartfelt debut series, Paradise South—is Rissa’s most recent and beloved home.
After two decades of working in the rigid—and sometimes blurry—world of finance, she's taken hold of her truest dream, writing hot and heartfelt stories full time.
When not chained-by-choice to her MacBook, she is embarking on outdoor adventures with her husband and little girl, laughing to tears with a good rom com, eating amazing Indian food with something chocolate for dessert; reading good, hot scorchers in bed; biking, long walks, and yoga; zoning out to killer music from across the decades and the globe; and getting lost only to discover a new exciting route home again. You can connect with Rissa on Facebook, Twitter or by email anytime by heading to www.RissaBrahm.com.
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