Turbulent Intentions (Billionaire Aviators #1) - Melody Anne Page 0,40
aviation and nautical themes, old family photos, and various mementos. Even with all its elegance and charm, there was something undeniably masculine about the house. A bachelor pad—even if the bachelor in question was impeccably stylish, self-possessed, and fabulously wealthy . . . This place certainly needs a woman’s touch. There aren’t any flowers or throw pillows. But still, I’m impressed, Stormy thought as she continued exploring. This was a house a family could grow in and she had a distinct vision of it someday holding a picture perfect family—complete with children, golden retriever, and minivan in the driveway.
She moved through the foyer, looking at the pictures along the wall that led back to the kitchen and dining room. And that’s when she froze in her tracks. Amy was nowhere to be found, but it wouldn’t have mattered if she were in the room or not.
She recognized the man in the picture with three other handsome guys. Taking a step closer to the photo, she gazed at the image of Captain Cooper Armstrong and three other men that were so strikingly similar in appearance, she had to assume they were either brothers or cousins. Stormy continued scanning the photos of them participating in flying, fishing, sailing, and a multitude of other outdoor sports.
What kind of prank was destiny playing on her? She couldn’t be in the home of the man she had engaged in a one-night stand with, and then who had completely forgotten her. Fate wouldn’t be that cruel.
Her heart thundered as she stared at the picture, maybe for a minute, maybe an hour. No, she wouldn’t believe that her luck could be so completely horrible. There had to be another explanation. He had to be friends with whoever owned the place. That was certainly it. Didn’t all the rich guys hang out together?
Yes, she convinced herself, he must just be a friend. Because who in the heck hung pictures of themselves all over their walls? Her heart slowed down as she smiled. Of course it wasn’t Green Eyes’ house.
“Okay, girl, I know it’s fun looking all over the place, but I found your room and I’m halfway unloaded already,” Amy said, making Stormy jump. “So get your butt moving, and help me finish. I have a hair appointment I refuse to miss.”
“I . . . uh, don’t know if I can stay here,” she said. Maybe she wasn’t as calm as she’d thought she was.
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is a dream-come-true kind of house. You’re absolutely not gonna leave,” Amy said with an outraged gasp.
“Do you recognize this man?” Stormy said, pointing her finger hard against the glass.
Amy looked and then her eyes widened slightly. “Isn’t that the pilot who was such an ass to you at the airport?”
“Yeah, among other things,” Stormy mumbled.
“Well, maybe he’s really good friends with whoever lives here,” Amy said. “Guys don’t put pictures of themselves on the walls.”
Exactly what Stormy had just been thinking. Okay, she was definitely overreacting here.
“Look, Stormy, you can’t give up this place. You literally have nowhere to go,” Amy reminded her. “I hate to point that out, but it’s the truth.”
“I can go to a motel,” Stormy said almost desperately.
“And you’d last a week because your money would run out and then you’d be broke and homeless,” Amy pointed out. “Then what?”
“You don’t understand,” Stormy tried saying.
“I get it,” Amy interrupted. “But sometimes we have to put our feelings aside and do what’s best for us, not what we think we need to do.”
“It’s not his place,” Stormy said. She was more and more sure of that. But still she looked around nervously.
“Hello,” she called out. There was nothing. “Is anyone home?”
“Um, darling, if no one has appeared yet, then I don’t think they’re going to,” Amy said with a laugh.
The only response that could be heard in the house was the sound of a ticking grandfather clock. Maybe it was an omen.
Amy left Stormy behind, obviously reluctant about doing so. After an hour, she decided to explore more of the home now that her meager possessions were put away.
Maybe she would find out exactly who resided in the house. She was saying prayers at two-minute intervals that it wasn’t Cooper Armstrong.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sweat dripping down his brow, Cooper pushed himself even harder as he ran along the rocky terrain of the Gig Harbor coastline. A breeze ruffled through his hair, and once in a while a mist would come up and cool him down.